#those smooth motherfuckers
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A fuckin. Muppets??
#Trolls 3 liveblogging#I mean theyre fun and ill take anything over the atrocities that those smooth plastic motherfuckers v&v are#They just took me by surprise
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the love witch
modern!eddie munson x fem!witchy!reader
summary: Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend. Hell, he's not even sure how he was able to get you interested in him in the first place. Despite him not really believing in your witchy practices, he's incredibly supportive, but that doesn't come without his cheeky digs. He agrees to a tarot reading for shits and giggles. You don't like that he doesn't take it seriously.
cw: no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, reader has female anatomy, oral (F receiving), face sitting, sub!Eddie, dom!Reader, choking, slight biting, dirty talk, honorifics, unprotected piv (pls don't do that), ending leans towards the whole witchy vibe
word count: 4.8k
this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact
Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker.
Living in a small studio apartment in the Haight-Ashbury of San Francisco, which he got a damn good price on.
He works at one of the many vintage record stores in the neighborhood, which pulsates with raw musical energy, almost as if he steps in the 70s every time he gets out of the front door of his apartment building.
Sometimes he just sits on his fire escape to fuck around with his guitar, inspired by the smells of incense coming from the crystal shops, the music coming from the vintage clothing stores and the pungent smell of lingering weed at all hours of the day.
And with the shaggy, long, brown curls, bullet belt and chains, his black cutoff band t- shirts and heavy lace up boots, he seems to fit right in- for the first time in his life.
Next to his record store there is one of the many crystal shops on the high street, a tiny little nook he always walks by on the way to work and snickers to himself. There’s no way people believe in all that.
He stops doing that once he meets you.
Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker because he crosses paths with you.
He meets you while he is on his lunch break, using those thirty minutes of peace to walk around and usually pick up some prerolls from the dispensary a couple buildings down, or he lingers in front of the guitar store on the other side of the street, ogling at a B.C. Rich or an Ibanez, spending his break in there, fucking around with a cool amp.
He meets you on an off day. A day where he doesn't feel like walking around, so he just stands in front of his store smoking a cigarette. You're walking a longtime client out of the crystal shop next door.
“Thank you for that dried lavender, Janice! I’ll set aside some of that incense for you when we get the shipment” he hears you say. He turns around, snickers at your words while Janice passes in front of him, disappearing in the Saturday afternoon crowd.
“Something funny?” you ask. Your voice feels smooth like honey wine. He turns around, and suddenly he doesn't feel like snickering anymore.
You look so pretty, the kind of pretty that is almost otherworldly. Like you could’ve come up in his head while planning a DnD campaign. Purple bell sleeve top, a long, black, flowy skirt and lace- up boots. Dressed like his own elven high priestess.
He realizes he’d been staring at you for a good silent minute. He nervously breaks eye contact to put out his cigarette on the sole of his Docs.
“Sorry– heh, just don’t really believe in all that stuff” he says, shrugging. In doing that, his evidently too- short shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of the skin of his tummy, which doesn’t go unnoticed to you.
You lean on the doorframe of the store “What’s your name again?” you ask, a feline smile creeping on your lips.
He swallows “I um- haven’t told you my- It’s Edward- Eddie!” he corrects himself, you got him flustered “Nobody calls me Edward” he remarks.
His stammer makes you smile, like he's a wounded puppy dog.
“Alright Edward Eddie, see you around” and with that you disappear back into the store.
It takes Eddie a week to learn your name, asking the owner of the crystal shop you work at with no luck, then running into Janice a week later, who kindly tells him your name and then raves about you for a good ten minutes. Quite the hypewoman.
It takes Eddie another two weeks to ask you out on a date. You're wearing a long mauvish dress under a white cardigan when he sees you walk into the store. Your hair is pulled back from your face and he swears he sees stars in your eyes.
You say yes and agree to meet at a coffee shop, and by the end of the day, he asks you for a second date. And then a third, and a fourth, and by the arrival of fall, Eddie Munson has a girlfriend.
Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend.
He even jokes with his friends that his witch girlfriend put a spell on him. Made him drink a love potion, because he can't justify him being so obsessed with you.
Another thing he can't justify is you actually liking him. Sometimes he still needs to pinch himself to make sure it's not all a joke.
A pretty girl that looks like she's straight out of his DnD fantasies is dating him? There's no way shit like that happens to Edward Munson.
Although his apartment is right above the record shop, which means sneaking away for a quickie whenever you guys have matched up work schedules, he loves your apartment.
Twenty minutes away from Haight- Ashbury, in Twin Peaks, there lies your apartment. In an old building from the sixties or seventies, you have it decorated with tapestries and sun- catchers and rugs and pillows and cushions. It's a joy for Eddie's senses.
And with dating you, came Circe, your black cat who seems to have taken an almost immediate liking to Eddie.
Your apartment always smells like incense and candles, a smell you bring with you wherever you go. A smell Eddie loves. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and a big purple couch in the living room.
Everything is antique, lucky finds from thrift stores or flea markets. The table, chairs. The bookcases that hold your witchy books and your crystals.
The first time he comes over he picks one up. A carnelian.
"So, these pretty rocks are supposed to... what?" he asks, toying with every bit and bob on your bookshelf.
"They're crystals, Eddie. And each different one has a purpose. That one you're holding is a carnelian" you say, pouring him a cup of loose- leaf herbal tea, and pointing at the crystal with your nose.
"Okay, and what's it do?" he asks, toying with the smooth surface and going to sit on the ground next to you. He blows on his tea and takes a sip. He isn't a tea enjoyer, but for you he could be.
"Well, a lot of things, but primarily carnelians help boost sexual energy-" you get interrupted by Eddie sputtering out his tea. Some of it lands on you, which causes you to let out a shriek.
The ridiculousness of the situation is both endearing and hilarious. The poor guy probably didn't expect you being so blunt about your use of crystals to aid your sex life.
A giggle escapes you while Eddie tinges a deep shade of crimson from the embarrassment. He shakily sets down the teacup and saucer.
"Shi-shit sorry, lemme help you clean it up" he says, scrambling for the napkins on the coffee table to clean his mess up.
"You got some on me, Eddie" you say as you move your hair from your face to let him clean up the spit- out tea from your cheek.
"Oh my god, sorry lemme get that" he repeats, flushed.
He's shaky in reaching for the napkin to wipe your skin, afraid that he might have ruined his shot at dating you just because he cannot keep his mouth shut.
"It's honestly not a big deal, Ed. It was just funny for the most part" you smile at him, reaching your hand to lay his head on your shoulder. He breathes again.
Once he's calmed down he continues his curious interview.
"So what, do you put it up your pussy or something?" The idea of it makes Eddie's blood run slightly hotter. You laugh.
He blushes at your reaction, feeling slightly embarrassed once he registers what he had just said.
A sheepish "sorry" escapes his lips.
"No, no it's fine" you chuckle "not exactly. You just kinda charge them and set intentions. Then you can take it with you on, like, a date, if you wanna hope for something more" you say. He becomes very aware of his hard- on when you say that.
There is a thick sense of expectation in the air once those words leave your mouth. It could be the thick incense smoke floating around the room, or it could be the way you're looking at him like you want to eat him whole. Your faces get closer.
"I brought one with me today, actually" you admit. And he has never taken his shirt off so fast in his life.
So every time you hang out, he carries a piece if carnelian in his pocket, in hopes to repeat what happened at your apartment.
With time, he learns to carry a rose quartz with him, too.
Soon after, you begin gifting him crystals and bracelets to carry with him. He likes his black tourmaline beaded bracelet the best.
"It's for protection" you had said. It's just very metal to him.
He never really believes in it, but it's sweet, seeing you show up to his apartment with little colorful rocks to put on his windowsill. You teach him how to recharge them and set intentions, but after the second or third time he just can't be bothered.
He quickly learns it's not just pretty rocks you're interested in. You're, like, a full- fledged witch. Hence, the nickname 'witchy' he'd given you.
You ask him for the time and place of his birth. He scrambles to text his uncle Wayne to ask if he remembers what time he's born.
After a couple days of searching, Wayne comes across Elizabeth Munson's old diary. Indianapolis, Indiana, December 21st, 1997 at 3:47 AM.
Eddie Munson has a birth chart.
Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Aries rising.
Whatever that means.
You try to explain it to him, but to no avail. He doesn't really care much for the stars. Except the ones in your eyes.
He swears he can see them twinkle every time you're laying on your brocade rug in the candle lit living room. He learns you don't really use your couch, rather, you just lay on the floor, among a pile of pillows.
Sometimes you're watching TV together. You're sat in between his legs, leaning against his chest, while Circe lays on your lap. And you look at his palms, tracing the fine lines and ridges of his calloused hands.
"You have lines on the top of your hand" you whisper, kissing his fingers.
He blows the cigarette smoke out the open window, careful not to make your house smell.
"Yeah, no shit. We all have 'em, witchy" he places a kiss to the crown of your head.
"No, look right here" you say, tracing the faint lines right where his callouses are "lines like this means you're gonna have a long life" you kiss that spot on his hand. Coarse, but warm.
"Thank fuck, imagine if i just got hit by a cable car tomorrow?" he chuckles, going back to watching TV.
You trace a deep line that goes across the palm of his hand, you smile to yourself.
"Whatcha smilin' about, witchy?" he says, eyes still glued on the TV.
"You have a double heart line. Means you love a lot" you turn and give him a smile. One of those that make your eyes sparkle in the candlelight.
"If I have a double heart line, does that mean I love you more?" he asks, sickly sweet. He cringes at himself for swearing he wasn't going to be that guy, but when you look at him like he just hung the moon for you, he can allow himself to be disgustingly sappy.
You think about it, because he does have a point, but you don't want to make him win this two- month long game you've been playing, so instead you take his palm once more.
"Look, Ed" you say, pointing at a random prominent line "this line tells me you're an asshole" you laugh, as he pinches your sides and you try to squirm away, but his hands are holding you firmly while planting sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach.
Cheek, neck, shoulder. He inhales the curve between your neck and shoulder, and you swear your feel a bit of tongue poke out between his lips. Then he stops.
And you feel it. Deeply seated at the bottom of your back, pressing against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants.
Eddie loves the way you smell, intoxicated by the smell of lavender incense and some kind of berry perfume you wear.
He's convinced that perfume is actually just a pheromone concentrate, because he cannot stop the blood rushing to his dick everytime he catches a whiff of the sweet berries, nestled in the crook of your neck, behind your ear.
"And where's the line that tells me I'm gonna get a kiss?" Eddie asks, voice low and gravelly, a voice that fills you with need, makes your breath falter from your lungs, replacing it with water. But you kiss him nonetheless, and maybe him getting a kiss is written in the stars, after all.
He softly grabs your hair as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Honey- wine whimpers falling from your lips, as you try and get Circe off your lap and in literally any other room. The cat seems to be unbothered.
"Ed... she doesn't want to move" you whine, high pitched voice expressing annoyance, but also overwhelmed at how cute your cat is.
"She's the biggest cockblocker in history" he mutters annoyed, you laugh. A groan leaves his mouth.
"Leave her alone she's just a baby! Us having sex tonight just wasn't in the stars" you shrug, light and airy as you go back to leaning on his chest and petting Circe.
Fuck the stars. He huffs, accepting his fate
He waits for you outside of the shop when he's not working. Guitar case slung around his shoulders, so he can practice at yours, he picks you up and you take the train to your apartment.
"How was work today, witchy?" he asks, roping a hand around your shoulders and giving you a tender kiss on your head.
"Meh, a. bunch of wannabe Tiktok witches, a bunch of old ladies booking tarot readings and threatening to leave bad reviews because I told them their husband is cheating on them or something" you shrug getting on the bus "Janice came, though, she brought me some jasmine flowers so I can make love tea" you say, sitting down. He sits next to you.
You take out the small satchel of dried jasmine flowers, taking in the sweet scent of citrusy flowers.
"Love tea?" he asks "that what you give me when I come over to your apartment every time?" he dips his nose in the satchel, giving it a sniff.
"Yeah, you wish" you laugh "just peppermint tea. Don't want you accusing me I put a love spell on you" Eddie smiles and lays your head on his shoulder while you play with the tassels of your bag, letting you close your eyes for the twenty minutes of the train ride.
Once you're home he slings the guitar case off his shoulders and takes it out, sitting at the stools of your breakfast counter, while you empty the contents of your bag.
Herbs, oils and a new card deck.
"So, what do you need to do now?" he asks, pulling out his phone, looking for guitar tabs to practice on.
"'kay, so" you begin "I need to make tea blend, then putting stuff together for this new project I'm working on, and then break out this new deck I got from work" you say, lost in the mysticism of your to- do list.
Sometimes he finds it funny that the stuff you have to worry about is totally otherworldly to what he usually worries about.
He watches you break out the mortar and pestle while you measure a teaspoon of dried rosebuds, a teaspoon of dried lavender buds, a teaspoon of jasmine and a pinch of cinnamon. He mindlessly plays a couple chords from a song he heard at the record shop.
"What's the cinnamon for?" he asks, pointing at the jar.
"Spicing things up? Cinnamon is a spice, so could be. I'm trying out this new recipe" you say, grinding the flowers together.
"So what you're saying" he begins, looking up from his guitar "is that you're making sex tea" and the feline grin plastered on your face is enough to make you wanna smack him in the head.
"This is not sex tea, Edward" you interject sternly while pouring the contents of the mortar in a new jar.
You light an incense stick, a rose infused one, to set your intentions for this batch, then putting it to rest on your windowsill for the night.
"What are you doing, witchy?" he asks, following your gaze as you set down the jar.
"It's for the moon. Charges the tea" you say, nonchalantly "can you pass me that deck on the counter, please?" you sit on the carpet legs crossed, while Eddie reaches for the card deck and tosses it at you. You catch it.
He sets down his guitar against the counter to goes to stand in front of you as you take the tarot cards out of the deck and start shuffling them.
"What's that baby?" he asks, he swears he can never stop learning from you.
"My new tarot deck, I need to break it out. Want me to give you a reading?" you ask, hoping he'll say yes.
He truly thinks about it, because he doesn't believe in any of this stuff, but saying no to you and watching your eyes darken with sadness is something he doesn't want to put himself through.
He is a weak, weak man.
He shrugs. "Alright then" he says, sitting down on one of the cushy pink pillows on the floor of your apartment "gimme a reading, you little witch"
Your ringed hands shuffle the gold filigree cards.
"I'm gonna do a regular spread, 'kay? Just past, present, future" you look at him, and he swears he sees your eyes twinkling again in the light of the glass lamp on the side table.
You fan out the cards on the carpet and let him pick three cards.
He's reluctant about this, all he really wants is to cook dinner together and spend the evening with you.
You spread the three cards out and unveil the first one.
"Okay, so that's The Empress. Means you have a significant female figure in your life. It usually represents feminine beauty, abundance" you say, explaining it to him.
"You got some abundance, alright" he huffs a laugh, quickly silenced by a deathly stare. You didn't like it when he made fun of what you liked. You roll your eyes at him.
"Sorry, witchy. Keep going" he smiles, like he's about to crack another joke.
"Yeah, okay." you flip the middle card "what luck. You got the lovers" you say, unenthusiastically.
Eddie's eyes light up at the possibility of a joke "Is that the card that tells me I'm getting some sick pussy in the next five minutes?" he asks, his tone makes you want to throw the empty box of cards at his head.
"It looks like you're not taking it seriously, so what's the point" you go to stand up, but he stops you.
"Sorry, baby, please don't leave. I'm enjoying this, Sorry, I won't make any more jokes, I promise" he pleads, and a wicked idea sparks in your head. He sounds really pretty when he begs.
You let out an annoyed groan as you sit back down and you unveil the last card, his future.
Ace of wands. Sex really was in his cards tonight.
"What's that, baby?" he asks.
"Ace of wands. Looks like you're gonna get some 'sick pussy' after all, Munson. Lie down." You command.
He flushes red. "Huh?" you reach under your long skirt to remove your panties.
"I said lie down, I'm giving you what the cards said" you stare at him, expectation in your eyes as he lays down on the brocade carpet, unsure if he should feel afraid or like the luckiest motherfucker alive.
"Better put in the work, pretty boy" you say, crawling on top of him, he looks at you, eyes blown as you lift your skirt, climbing the length of his body. You reach a resting place right on top of his mouth.
It takes him a second to register that you're sitting on his face, and his tongue darts out of his open mouth, to shyly have a taste.
"C'mon now, Eddie, where is the passion? You seemed really passionate about cracking jokes earlier, didn't you?" you cooed, holding up your shirt to look at his eyes, twinkling and darkened as his tongue begins to lap up the length of your pussy.
He gets the hang of it as your hips begin to grind on his face, his tongue darting in and out of your hole as his nose bumps deliciously against your clit.
"Mmm fuck" you gasp as you raise your hips to let him breathe, but he just pulls you down harder. A gasp escapes your mouth as the sound of your moans and Eddie's slurping fills the room.
Even he hears it, because you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head as a resounding hum escapes his lips, vibrating against you, wet and sensitive.
A whine leaves your mouth as you begin to get more desperate, grabbing a handful of his hair, grinding your hips harder against his tongue.
"Doing so good for me, Ed." you say in a feeble attempt to keep the reins controlled, but his tongue works magic on you, making your brain turn to mush.
"There you go don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" you command, and his tongue flicks against your clit, catching it between his teeth to begin to suck at it.
A mewl leaves your lips, feeling the familiar warmth in your belly begin to form as you pull harder on his hair, moans becoming more high pitched and strained as Eddie makes quick work of his tongue on you.
"'mgonna cum on your face, you want that?" you ask, a rhetorical question, because of course he wants you to gush all over him.
And so you do. You come with a silent scream, riding the orgasm out with the last few snaps of your hips, as your breathing stills and your vision goes white.
Eddie's also panting like a dog under you, aching in his pants for you to make him cum.
You get off his mouth, his chin coated with your fluids as he gathers them on his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. You can't help but mutter a "good boy" as you reach for the belt of his pants.
"Sit up" you command, as he goes to straighten his back and lean against your purple couch.
You take off his shirt "I'm gonna ride you, yeah?" he looks at you like you've just discovered that aliens are real.
"God, yes please, please" he says, looking up at you as you unzip your top off, and you swear his eyes grow bigger at the sight of your chest, your bra still on. A longing sigh leaves his mouth.
You unbutton his jeans and lower them to his mid thigh along with his boxers as his cock slaps against his tummy. He hisses at the feeling as he watches you align yourself on top of it.
"You want it, Ed?" you question, an aura of cool, calm control exuding from you.
He whines. "Please, I want it so bad. Please put it in" he begs, and you've never realized how pretty his voice sounded when begging. Whiny and high pitched, nasal, almost as if he were about to cry. A prayer for you to fulfill him, make him whole.
Like he is nothing without you.
Is that what it felt like for him to see you crying on his cock every night? A rush of power washes over you, as you motion to sink down on him, but quickly going back up.
He lets out a whiny cry, a bratty child without his candy.
"Uh- huh. Beg me to fuck you, Ed" you say. You swear you can feel him shiver, his cock jumping from underneath your skirt.
"F-fuck, please. Please fuck me. Please my love, my witch, my high priestess" he rambles, your hand creeps up his thick neck, wrapping around it "fuck mmm please, I'll do anything. I'll give you everything" a frenzied speech, his words speed up at the feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck.
He'd let you sacrifice him to the devil if you asked him.
Feeling his pulse point with your nails as you begin to squeeze the sides of it, a needy gasp escapes the pretty boy's mouth.
Flushed a pretty red, sweat clinging to the base of his neck and forehead, hair curling and sticking to his feverish skin as you begin to sink down on him.
Inch by inch, slowly feeling him fill you up, as a quiet "oh" escapes you once you've taken all of him.
His breath is quick and labored, quiet pleas rolling out of the sweetness of his tongue, where the taste of you lingers. The love potion you'd been administering him all along.
Eddie Munson is not a religious guy, but if he needs to pray to his goddess to get you to fuck him he'll do it.
But you start moving. A slow, feline movement of your back, almost as if you and Circe were the same creature, a shapeshifter from another world. A goddess, an empress of his body and mind. He was wrapped around your finger.
Your hands tighten around his neck as you grind yourself down on him, he whimpers.
"Mmmm, so big" you mutter against his ear, biting his lobe. And everything you do makes him whine and buck himself deeper inside you, hitting the spongy walls deep inside you, needing more of you. Needing you to swallow him whole.
And you comply, raising your hips and lowering them, bouncing yourself on him as if you were only using him to chase your own pleasure. The thought of it makes Eddie shiver and moan, a strangled sound coming out of his constricted throat.
He hopes your hand leaves a mark on his neck, so people know he's yours. So people know that the witch next door spelled him and he is now in love with her. He never wants to get away from her.
"You- you're so good" he whispers, hips rising and falling on his cock, head lolling as you feel yourself get close again.
"Yeah, baby? Thank me, then. Thank your goddess for making you feel so good" you command, and his hands travel through every inch of your body, feeling every ridge and crease and bump. Wanting to feel you, wanting to worship you.
"F-fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." a prayer to his goddess, for making him feel so good. "Please more, I- I'm so-"
"You're close aren't you?" you coo, cradling the back of his head with your free hand. Making him look at you.
"'M so close, please let me let me let me please" he begins to chant, too far gone from the feeling of your nails digging on the sides of his neck, scratching his sweaty scalp, tongue tracing the outline of his lips as quick and labored breaths escape him.
"C'mon, cum for me" you whisper in his ear, letting go of his neck and latching your lips onto him, leaving a few purple bruises on his milky skin.
You feel him spill inside you with a whine, shivering, while you ride him for all he is, chasing your own release.
You follow him soon after, biting down on his shoulder. The taste of his sweaty skin lingering on your tongue.
You stay clung to him for a few minutes after, quiet and panting as he revels in the post- orgasmic feeling you've just given him.
"Never thought I would've been the submissive type" he huffs out with a laugh as you climb off of him.
"Well, you're welcome. Gonna go have a milk bath, be right back" you stand, reveling in the feeling of his spent spilling out of you.
He hears the shower turn on and as he's getting dressed, Circe comes to nuzzle on his lap.
He raises an eyebrow.
Where has she been the whole time? The rooms of your apartment were all open when you got back. She was probably just taking a nap in your bed.
He shrugs as he delivers a couple pets to her head.
Meanwhile in the bathroom, a spell book is suspended mid air as you look a spell to get rid of a hickey that Eddie had left on your neck.
mini taglist: @strangerstilinski, @stuckonthefiction, @elegantkoalapaper, @gravedigginbbydoll, @eddiesxangel, @reidsbtch, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticharrington, @hideoutside, @monstxrteeth, @the-local-pendeja, @thornsnvultures, @strangerfreaks, @unverifiedmeatsuit, @strangerfreaks, @starlitlakes, @thebejeweledwatercat, @aphrogeneias, @chrrymunson, @amira0303, @paradise-summertime, @onegirlmanytales, @piecsesrising, @feralamdtiredrat, @m0llygunn , @angel-upon, @lavendermunson, @cowboylikemunson
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson x witchy!reader#modern!eddie x witchy!reader#modern!eddie munson#stranger things fan fiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#eddie munson au
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lucky charm
pairing: lando norris x reader
summary: lando finds comfort in your presence as doubt starts to creep in before a race (2k)
warnings: minimal swearing
a/n: hi i know i'm still super new here and i'm not even sure if i'm actually going to start writing rpf but i think about this motherfucker 24/7 now and this came to me in a dream <3 let's ignore the actual way he got his ring necklace okay? okay!
“No one saw you come in, right?”
Lando let the door close behind him gently, a total opposite to the quickest few steps you’d ever seen him take across the small driver’s room, and he leaned over to kiss you, hard.
You let out a squeak of surprise at the force of it, but had no hesitation in kissing him back as soon as your body caught up with your brain, arms looping around his neck to bring him down and closer to you.
Lando’s knees hit the cushions on either side of you, hands doing the same on the leather backrest, clumsy as all hell but twice as determined not to let his mouth leave yours.
Your fingers knocked the McLaren cap right off his head as they moved into his hair, clutching at his chocolate curls on instinct like you’d done so many times before. But never here, never before one of Lando’s races, and certainly never at the risk of being caught by anyone in the facility at any given moment.
It didn’t seem to matter to Lando, though, with the way he was kissing you like he was parched and you were the only thing that could quench his thirst.
But given the rather frantic series of texts you’d received from him that got you here in the first place, you weren’t at all too surprised. You knew how nervous Lando got before races, and if there was something you could do, you’d never hesitate to be there for him. Especially since you were able to make it to this one.
“Yeah,” He mumbled between kisses, panting against your lips. Somehow he’d managed to switch positions so he was the one on the sofa now and you were sitting on his lap, straddling his hips as you continued your rather sloppy makeout session. “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. ‘M sneaky like that.”
“Had a lot of practice at this, have you?”
“No!” It was almost comical how fast he pulled away from you to blurt out his answer. “No, not at all. I don’t know why I said that, I—”
“I was just kidding, bub.” You chuckled, smoothing the pad of your thumb across his kiss-swollen bottom lip fondly. Lando grinned sheepishly, giving your waist a playful little pinch. You’d never get over the way he looked at you, like you were the only other person to exist in the world—especially when he was under you like this, and especially with those eyes. His baby cow eyes, you always called them.
Even so, Lando was extremely tense, you could tell. He tended to get very in his head before races, probably why he asked you to come meet him so close to the green flag, to help him quell his nerves a little. He always said you helped him more than anything else ever could.
“I have something for you.” You said softly.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” He leaned back against the cushion, happily accepting the chaste kiss you pressed to his lips before you bounced off his lap and over to where your bag was sitting.
You rummaged around in it for a few moments until you found what you were looking for, a triumphant grin on your face as you made your way back over to an intrigued Lando. This time you settled next to him, throwing your legs across his lap. His hand came to rest on your knee immediately.
“Open it.” You urged, pressing the small black bag into his waiting palm. He undid the drawstring carefully, beaming even before he got a look at what was inside. That smile only grew bigger as he poured the contents of the bag into his hand.
A thin silver chain, joined together at the ends with two interlocking rings, sleek and silver just like the rest of the necklace. Upon closer inspection, he saw numbers etched into the inside of each one. One of them, Lando recognized instantly as the date of your anniversary. The other looked like a set of coordinates, but he wasn’t too great at geography, so he looked to you for an explanation.
“The place we first met.”
“You looked up the coordinates of that tiny little restaurant? Nerd.” He chuckled, artfully dodging the swat you aimed his way at his teasing remark.
“It could be, like, your new lucky charm or something.” You shrugged, watching him turn the rings around carefully between his fingers.
Lando glanced up, bumping your shoulder with his gently. “I’ve already got one.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It’s you.”
“Me?”
“I like knowing you’re watching me. Even though I can’t see you, or even if you’re not here, knowing I’ve got you cheering me on from wherever you are helps. I think it makes me a better driver.”
“Lan, you’re already a great driver.. You don’t need me for you to know that.”
“I know. I just—it keeps me focused. To know you’re there.” He said softly, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “And now with this, I can have a piece of you with me whenever. Here, help me put it on.”
“You can’t wear it under your suit, Lando, even I know that.”
“Alright, well, I’ll figure it out later. C’mon, put it on me.” Lando leaned forward, giving you space to bring the chain up over his head and around his neck. He even managed to sneak in another kiss whilst you followed the silver down to where the rings rested just below his collarbones. Your fingers stroked at the warm skin there, the cold of the metal contrasting.
“It looks good on you.”
Lando melted like a popsicle on a hot summer day under your touch, smiling so big at you that you could hardly believe this was the same boy who had other drivers trembling in their fireproofs. He hoisted you back into his lap effortlessly, nosing at your pulse point a bit before smacking a kiss to your cheek when you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. “You look good on me.”
“That was so bad. Like, really bad. I get why they call you Lando Norizz now.”
“What?! Bad? That was so fucking smooth!” He huffed, going from looking completely smitten to entirely offended. “And I happen to have lots of rizz, thank you very much. I practically ooze rizz, love.”
“I take it back.” You replied solemnly, patting Lando’s cheek. “That was worse.”
“You’re so mean to me. I don’t know why I even put up with this harassment!”
“Always so dramatic, you.”
“I’ve got to be! How else would I be able to withstand this abuse?”
You scoffed playfully and moved to climb off him, opting to keep a safe enough distance away so you wouldn’t be tempted to kiss him stupid. Then he’d really be late. “Don’t you have a race to prepare for, driver boy?”
“I am,” He said earnestly, tucking his hands behind his head. You arched a skeptical brow, hands propped on your hips.
“By hiding out in here with me?”
“You know what they say—calm the mind, and the body will follow.”
“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that.”
“Well maybe people should start!”
You huffed out an amused chuckle, crossing your arms. “Are you ready?”
A sudden silence blanketed the tiny room, Lando’s non response giving you all you needed to know.
He reached out for you with a pout that you’d never been quite able to resist, fingers beckoning you back over longingly, like you were too far away for his liking. You gave in almost immediately despite previously wanting to give him space, trudging over with an overexaggerated roll of your eyes and letting yourself be pulled back onto his lap yet again.
“I’ll be alright.” He answered finally, taking your hand in his. He fiddled with your fingers, tracing along each digit languidly and then circling his thumb over your palm—once, twice, a third time.
This, something you’d learned quite early on in your relationship with Lando, was one of his many versions of self-soothing. The repetition of his actions proved rather calming to him, and it certainly helped that he got to feel your skin against his.
His brows drew together in thought, furrowed and tense until you pushed your thumb into the wrinkle between them, smoothing out the scrunch. He wrapped his fingers around your wrist loosely.
“You’re gonna do great, you know.” You insisted.
He offered you as good of a smile as he could muster. “Yeah. I know.”
“You’re gonna do your best, and whatever happens, you’ve got so many people who’ll be proud of you no matter what.”
“I don’t know if it’s enough.” Lando blurted, scratching at a patch on his suit. “I’ve been racing for years, and I still have no wins to show for it. It’s not fair to my team, it’s not fair to the fans. It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to have a boyfriend who can’t fucking drive for shit.”
“Lando, I’m not with you because of your job.” You said shortly, pressing your lips into a thin, unamused line. “And quite frankly, I feel hurt that you could even think I was.”
Lando was quick to soothe, shaking his head frantically. He took both your hands in his, squeezing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, it’s just—I get in my head a lot. And I start to overthink, and shit comes out of my mouth that I don’t mean. I know you’re not like that, I do. I’m sorry.”
You softened, sighing. “You could never win a race, ever, and I'd still love you all the same.”
He snorted. “Well, I’d like to win one at some point.”
“What I meant was, I can’t speak for everyone else, but my pride for you has nothing to do with how well you do on the track, my love.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m proud of you because you’re you. You’re kind and you work hard, and you try your best at everything you do. Even if the outcome isn’t what you expected, you keep at it. You keep going. That’s one of the reasons why I love you, that’s why I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m stupid.” He groaned, tipping his head back against the couch cushions. You simply made a noise of agreement. “You’re too good to me. I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, you really need to go back to the garage. I’m sure Oscar’s sent out a search party for you at this point.” You said firmly, giving his chest a sharp poke. Lando groaned again but made to get up, shifting your legs off him so he could climb to his feet.
“Fine. Just kick me out of my own room, why don’t you?” He huffed dramatically, swiping his hat off the floor and jamming it back over his hair. You aimed a fake kick towards him, stifling a giggle when he caught your foot and pretended to undo your laces. “Kiss?”
“You need to leave, Lando,” You whined, batting him away gently. “I refuse to be the reason you’re late.”
“One more. Just one more for good luck and I promise I’ll leave.” He insisted, expression pleading. You grumbled something unintelligible, reaching up begrudgingly to bring him down for one last kiss.
Lando smiled against your lips, snaking a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place a few beats longer than you intended. You practically had to unstick yourself from him, giving him a little shove towards the door so he’d actually leave.
Immediately, he whirled around. “Wait, wait—”
“Lando! Go!”
“No, no, hold on, it’s important.” He slipped his newfound chain over his head, rubbing his thumb over both rings before holding it out towards you. “Keep this safe for me?” He asked earnestly, pressing the necklace into your hands. “Can’t have my lucky charm getting lost already, can I?”
“Give ‘em hell, number four.” You smiled, donning the necklace yourself. He beamed, blowing you a kiss as he backpedaled down the hall. "Number four on the track, number one in my heart!"
You could hear his infectious laughter echoing even as he retreated around the corner.
Lando would be fine. And if he wasn’t, he’d bounce back, like he always did. And you’d be there to support him every step of the way, like you always were.
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#lando norris#lando norris x reader#ln4 x reader#ln4#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris imagine#lando norris one shot
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How would each CoD character react to you touching their cheek for the first time? (In a caressing way)
A/N: Oh my god, this is actually the cutest and I couldn't think of a better way to start off this blog, thank you for this, love! I hope you enjoy! ~ Hannah
ALEX KELLER
Oh, this man is absolutely melting the second your hand cups the side of his face.
The goofiest damn grin on his face, corners of his eyes crinkling, soft laugh rumbling in his chest.
"How ya doing, sweetheart? Hanging in there?" Man is always concerned with you and your well-being.
Absolutely is the type of person to just completely nuzzle into your touch, soft sigh of content leaving his lips.
You aren't getting your hand back any time soon. Try and pull away, and he will absolutely pull the kicked puppy look. You can't bring yourself to pull away anyway.
ALEJANDRO VARGAS
"Oh, is there something you need, mi vida?" This motherfucker and his sweet, smooth voice. Love him.
He will gently draw you in close with a hand on your waist, that signature cheeky grin on his lips. He'll gently take your hand in his and just press sweet kisses to your fingertips.
This will lead to him pulling you aside for a moment, peppering you in sweet kisses and showering you in the most endearing compliments in Spanish.
Expect to be walking away with a spring in your step and a flushed face.
GARY "ROACH" SANDERSON
At first, he will look wildly confused, his brows furrowing slightly and his head cocking to the side.
"What's up, hun? Everything okay?" He signs the term of endearment with so much passion every time, it is absolutely the sweetest and most heartwarming thing. Any term of endearment he uses is always signed with more passion than anything else.
Once you let him know you just wanted to love on him, this cheeky little shit is flirting with you like crazy.
"Oh, just wanted to love on me, huh? Well, there's more ways you could-" He cuts his signing off with his own laughter when you playfully shove his face away, and he follows after you, making obnoxious kissy noises.
He makes it up to you, though, with the most affectionate kisses. He's goofy and that reflects in how he shows you his love.
(Can you tell I love Roach? I love him very much.)
JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH
Johnny will take your other hand, place it on his other cheek, and will gently press your hands against his cheeks to squish his face.
He hums happily, reveling in your touch as his eyes shut and his lips curl into a smile.
"Always know what I need before I even do, mo chridhe." This man is so, so whipped for you. Looks at you with so much love and affection that you might as well melt before him.
Do expect this to end up with you wrapped up in his arms, snuggled close, the Scotsman whispering some of the stupidest jokes known to man to you in an effort to get you to laugh.
JOHN PRICE
I have like a very specific image in mind for this one!
He tends to work himself to the bone, getting lost and caught up in his work, and its very, very hard to get him out of it. It's one of those nights where you find him hunched over his desk, nose buried in his work.
You walk up behind him, gently resting your hand on his cheek and he pauses, tilting his head back to look up at you.
Despite the exhaustion, his expression softens, the tender smile on his face highlighting the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.
"It's late, isn't it...? Mmm... Alright, dearest, I'll head to bed."
He gently grasps your wrist and tilts his head to press a fleeting kiss to your palm, and then to the pulse point on your wrist. It takes a bit more convincing before he's off to bed.
(I'm a bit biased, I'm a major John Price simp if you couldn't tell.)
KEEGAN RUSS
Look, I firmly believe our resident masked men are softies, but they're all different in terms of their softness.
This man is a softie with you, but good god, is he suave and flirty.
"Mmm, what's up, kid...? Just looking for an excuse to see my face, hm? All you had to do was ask." It should be illegal how much this man's voice sounds like a silky purr.
Soft kisses to your fingers, knuckles, and the back of your palm. Fleeting kisses that barely meet, brushing against your skin and leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.
"Always so sweet for me, kid."
KÖNIG
(Apparently this man is a colonel? And from what I've seen, if he joined at 18, and if we take the average amount of time it takes to get to that rank... This man is likely in his early 40s. Dilf König? Dilf König.)
Masked man number two! Softie, but different from Keegan. This man is the shy sort of soft.
I imagine this would happen after he shows you his face for the first time. He grew up bullied for his appearance, among other things, and its made him rather insecure about his looks.
When you gently cup the side of his face after studying him for a moment, he heaves a shuddering sigh and averts his gaze shyly. But, the second you tell him how handsome he is, his face goes pink and he flushes shyly.
"Ah, meine Sonne und Sterne... You're going to make me melt." He then proceeds to kiss you softly on the forehead and tells you how much he loves you.
KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK
A pleasant flush works its way onto his cheeks and he gives you that beautiful smile full of sunshine.
"Missed you, lovely. You been taking good care of yourself?" Sweet, heartless man that he is, worrying about you even though he looks exhausted after his most recent mission.
Gently draws you into him and just hugs you tight, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and sighing happily. The second your cologne or perfume washes over him, all tension leaves him completely.
"Missed this. Missed you." Whispered words against your skin. He gently sways in place with you as you two embrace, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. Fully cherishes the moment.
"How's about some takeout and we finally watch that show you've been talking about? The House of the Dragon, right? Hopefully its better than the last few seasons of Game of Thrones." You have a stellar date in as you binge the entirety of The House of the Dragon and make up for lost cuddling time.
(Gaz does NOT get enough love and it's criminal. Perfect boyfriend/husband material right here. I adore him. Also? Man is absolutely gorgeous? Best man.)
NIKOLAI
(Russian dilf? Yes please! Underrated man right here.)
Late nights in bed, curled up with him are always the sweetest. Soft whispered nothings as you both lay together, skin on skin, fully content in a post sex haze.
He shoots you a lazy grin as you cup his face, his hand gently rubbing up and down the expanse of your back. "What's on your mind, мое солнышко? Laying there looking so stunning..."
Soft, playful kisses are placed along your jaw, a cheeky smirk on his lips when you begin to protest, laughter in your voice.
"One more round wouldn't hurt... We can sleep in tomorrow morning, Золотце." You know damn well you're going to be exhausted in the morning as he takes the time to worship every inch of your skin.
RODOLFO "RUDY" PARRA
(Rudy, my darling, my beloved, my SWEET! This man is also criminally underrated even though he's PERFECT husband material. SHAME!)
He happily returns the favor as you rest your hand against his cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as he rests his forehead against yours.
"Long day, cariño? Mmm, I understand... I'll draw us a bath and we can relax." He takes your hand, pressing sweet kisses to your knuckles before he draws a bath for the both of you.
You both spend most of the evening in the tub, you resting against his back as he holds you close, featherlight kisses pressed to your skin as you both talk about your day.
The both of you take such good care of each other, and there's never less than 100% put into your relationship on both sides.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY
Masked softie number 3: Tender and longing edition.
His night terrors don't often wake you; he's usually fairly good at hiding them. The first time he does wake you is during a particularly violent one that has him thrashing and crying out in his sleep.
He wakes not long after you do, sweating and panting, his voice hoarse from how much he had been crying out. Once you're sure he's fully conscious, you gently rest your hand against his cheek and guide him through a grounding routine: 5 things he sees, 4 people he knows, 3 foods he likes, 2 things he hates, and one thing he loves.
As he talks, you become his sole focus as the night terror fades into the back of his mind, the grounding method working wonders.
And when it comes to the one thing he loves, he shuts his eyes and presses further into your touch, a few tears streaking down his cheeks. One hand gently clutches your wrist while the other rests against yours, holding your hand against his cheek. He doesn't need to say it. You know.
You always, always know. And with a kiss to his forehead and your thumb stroking against his cheek, you let him know. I love you too.
[I'M SORRY IF ANY OF THE TRANSLATIONS ARE INCORRECT, I TRIED MY BEST TO GET THE PROPER ONES!]
Mi vida - My life; honey
Mo chridhe - My heart
Meine Sonne und Sterne - My sun and stars
мое солнышко - My sunshine
Золотце - Honey; darling
Cariño - Honey; dear
TAGLIST:
@floral-force
#cod mw2#cod headcanons#cod imagine#cod x reader#alex keller x reader#alex keller#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas#gary roach sanderson x reader#roach x reader#gary roach sanderson#soap mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#captain price x reader#captain price#john price#keegan russ x reader#keegan russ#konig x reader#konig#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz mw2#nikolai x reader#nikolai mw2#rodolfo rudy parra x reader#rudy x reader#rudy parra#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley
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𝖆𝖈𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : choso x fem reader
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : choso just couldn’t wait for you and him to be acquainted.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : college au, smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, praise, teasing, fingering, edging?
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 5.3K
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from acquainted by the weeknd.
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! probably my favorite yet. i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!
18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT
Baby, you're no good 'cause they warned me ‘bout your type.
“Yeah, no.”
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean, NO. She’s bad news, dude.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t. She just gives off the vibe that she’d break your heart or somethin'.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, she’s out of your league, first of all. You’re kinda awkward, and I can’t tell if you’re celibate or just can’t get laid. That and she’s pretty friendly with everyone.”
“Shouldn’t she be friendly?”
“Yeah, a little too friendly. A jealous motherfucker like you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“She wouldn’t be that way if she was in a relationship, right?”
Yuuji raised his eyebrow and threw his arms up.
“The world may never know. That is unless…you wanna know?”
Choso rolled his eyes, following Yuuji to class.
Baby, you're no good; I think I fell for you.
Little did Yuuji know Choso was already in love with you. As much as he’d try not to, he couldn’t help but see you walking around campus.
Pretty face adorned with sparkly lipgloss, your hair always down, giving a slight view of your hoop earrings. You usually wore a little locket necklace, never telling anyone what was inside, sitting atop a pink shirt that your tits always looked great in. Then a miniskirt that, depending on the breeze that day, gave a sneak peek of your ass. Then, the heels you wear, except for the winter when you wore a cute pair of boots with leggings, he could practically see through them. It was tough when he was in class with you; you raised your hand to answer a question, a French manicure, and the clinking of your bangles that were practically ASMR for him. Then, there were your books that, when some random guy wasn’t offering to hold them, pressed against your chest, making your breasts lift as you walked. Sometimes, you’d wear a perfume that smelled like cake; other days, vanilla, pretty hard to miss as you walked by. Then there was your skin, always glowing like you drank from the fountain of youth or something, legs smooth as you crossed them over one another or stood before the seminar to answer a question on the board. Sometimes, you had a pair of stockings or thigh highs that covered them, ending a little lower than where your skirt ended; god forbid you bent over, which you were careful never to do, usually asking someone to pick something up for you. You never touched a door either; sure, it was because every guy wanted to fuck you, running around like your puppies ready for a task; sometimes you gave them one, they’d run back to you with a lollipop or something like that, which you parted your lips so sexily to take in and suck.
It's not like he was paying attention or anything.
You got me puttin' time in.
Now, Choso wasn’t terrible at talking to girls, sometimes getting approached but a little too awkward to continue the conversation. Then again, he had the hots for you, so it was hard to look at anyone else. He’d got it in his mind that he’d talk to you one of these days. Maybe he’d ask you out on a date, but he wouldn’t know how he’d react if you rejected him; in light of that, he never said anything to you, just an awkward look if you guys ever made eye contact, which you always gave him a confident one, followed by a wave. But all that was thrown out the window right now. He was too shocked that you were standing in front of him to hear what you’d said; your face had one of those optimistic looks, hands sitting on his desk in the library as your arms squished your tits together, leaning over a bit to look at him.
“Hello, earth to Choso, you there?”
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
Your skirt sat particularly short on your hips today, your belly button ring gleaming with a little heart at the end, but his eyes drifted to your waistline, a little bit of a pink fabric peeking ever so slightly out the top of your denim-
“I said, “Hey, Choso! What’s up?””
“Oh, sorry. Not much, how about you?”
“Oh, nothin’; saw you were sittin’ alone and wanted to come say hi; that okay?”
It was more than okay. He had to shift in his seat, boner becoming irritably hard against his thigh.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Uh, wanna take a seat?”
“Sure! So, whatcha workin' on?”
“Oh, I’m just studying for the statistics exam.”
“That class is super hard! I feel like I’m not getting any of it.”
He took that as his one-way ticket to testing the waters with you.
“I could, um, tutor you if you want.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
You perked up, hand touching his arms, tits calling out as you shifted towards him in the seat. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, but he knew he had to focus if this was gonna work at all.
“Yeah, it’s no problem.”
“Perfect, when are you free?
He was free anytime for you.
“Uh, I’m free after classes; what about you?”
“Hmm, well, I have a sorority meeting at six tomorrow, so that probably won’t work, but then, ooo, I have cheer practice on Thursday, ugh, and I can’t forget Nobara’s party on Friday!”
“So, Wednesday?”
“Perfect! We’d just have to do it after my nail appointment at 3.”
He looked at your nails; nothing looked bad about them, so he was confused. He hadn’t realized how busy you were, which explained why you didn’t have a boyfriend. But that only made him feel worse.
“I think your nails are nice like that?”
You were blushing now, bringing a hand out in front of you two.
“Ya think so? I was thinking of changing the color; I've changed my mind since last week.”
Your phone got a ring; he noticed it was Mai, a girl he’d often see you walking around with. Happily, you answered it.
“Hey babe, what's up?”
He couldn't hear what Mai was saying to you on the phone, but fuck, he wished you'd answer the phone like that for him. That's when it struck him that he hadn't even-
“Sorry about that! She had to tell me about this crazy thing one of our sisters did.”
“Sisters?”
“Yeah, like in our sorority, silly! Anyways, gotta blast, but I enjoyed our chat!”
You pulled a pen out of your purse along with a piece of gum; after unwrapping it and putting it in your mouth, you grabbed Choso’s hand, writing down your phone number.
“There ya go, put it in fast so it doesn’t wash off, 'kay? Bye, cutie!”
With that, you walked away. See, this is where Choso was fucked; he had to think about when he should text you, now, later today, or Wednesday? That and his boner. He hurried up and shuffled to his and Yuuji’s dorm room, using his backpack to cover his crotch.
Nobody got me feeling this way.
“YOU GOT HER NUMBER?”
“Yes, but it’s because I’m tutoring her.”
“So, you and her, alone. “Studying”.”
“Yes, Yuuji, now fuck off!”
When Choso told Yuuji about the exchange earlier, he was convinced you were on something.
“So, she just randomly walked up to you? Isn’t that weird?”
“Is it that foreign for someone to want to talk to me?”
Yuuji looked him up and down, giving him that look. Choso scoffed and continued typing up his essay. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, if he was being honest. He tried his best to put off texting you, but that lasted all but 4 hours.
“Hey. It’s Choso.”
He sighed as he threw his head back. He was feeling a bit stupid, to be honest. For all he knew, you had been dared to talk to him, or it was a little game you came up with. Still, he knew it wasn’t in your character to do something like that, but his self-loathing told him otherwise. All of a sudden, though, his screen lit up.
“haiiii <3 wednesday still good? :3”
“Yeah, what time?”
“let’s do 5, 'kay?”
“Sounds good.”
“yay! see you then :p.”
When Wednesday came around, Choso was nervous all day. Yuuji teased him for it, saying there was nothing to worry about; you guys were only “studying.” Choso had seen you in class with the usual demeanor and look, but instead, today, you gave him a wink as you walked by, which went straight to his dick. It had been 4:55, and he was pacing his room, trying to mentally and physically prepare to be alone with you for the next hour or so. But then five came, then 5:05, then-
A knock at the door, which he was praying, wasn't Yuuji coming back to the room; he told Choso earlier he was gonna spend the night out ‘In case something happened.’ Much to Choso’s bliss, it was you, panting a bit.
“I'm so sorry! I spilled my smoothie on my other top, so I had to change, then I ran over as fast as I could! You’re not too mad at me, are you?”
Choso had realized you had a different shirt on when he opened the door. This one was a lower cut, your cleavage on full display, the bottom short cropped. Damn, you looked good.
“You’re fine; come in.”
“Ooo, thanks!”
You walked into the room, and he waited for you to say something; his room was pretty much clean, except for a pair of socks Yuuji left on the floor. Instead, you smile at him, then bend over to set your purse and books- fuck, you bent over. Choso looked at every single item in the room, anything to not stare at your ass in his peripheral vision. Quickly, you got up and turned around, Choso flustered as ever.
“Somethin’ wrong?”
“Uh, no…let’s get started.”
An hour passed, and Choso was shocked at his level of resolve. He tried his best to help you and pay attention to the papers in front of you, but fuck, your tits looked great from this angle.
“All done! I think this is the best I’ve ever done! Thank you so so much!”
You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him into a hug that made his breath rapid. You pulled back from him now, still hugging him, as you looked up at him with those doe eyes of yours. Choso was much taller than you, so he was getting quite the view, but that came with him looking the most flustered he’s ever been. You let go with a giggle, walking over to sit on his bed. He watched you sit back on your hands, legs slightly open as your chest poked out. God, you looked cute, even better that you were sitting on HIS bed.
“Hey, Choso?”
“Yeah?”
“I need your help with something.”
“What’s up?”
You got me touchin' on your body…
He walked over to you with a confused look on his face. What could you possibly want? You guys had already studied, which is what you both agreed to; maybe another class-
You opened your thighs to him, panty-clad pussy on full display.
He was about to fucking die. He couldn’t help but pinch himself; he had to be dreaming. It was already surprising to him that you were in his room, but you practically asking him to touch your pussy was an enigma. You pulled him forward by his shirt, his face up to yours.
“That is, if you wanna.”
Choso started melting, but he wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. With urgency, he dropped to his knees, positioning himself on the floor between your legs, both draped over his shoulders as he pulled you closer to him. God, he could smell you; it was making him hungry. Then there was your thong soaked from your wetness, leading him to wonder how long you wanted this. The print of your lips against the fabric was about to send him over. He brought his hands up your legs, the feeling of your plush thighs making him ache, all the way up to your hips, where he flipped your skirt up. He wasted no time grabbing the edge of your panties, backing up to pull them down your legs. You opened up a little more for him, soaked pussy on full display. He was dreaming, he was dreaming, he was dreaming. He experimentally brought his fingers up to spread your lips apart, precum dripping out of you. He almost passed out, but that was the last thing he needed to start his mission.
Choso brought his lips down to your pussy, lapping up all of your juices, then fucking his tongue into you. You were moaning, body arching as you found your fingers in his hair. Fuck you tasted good. He brought his tongue to your clit, circling the bud slowly, making the most out of this situation and simultaneously making you whimper.
“Choso….”
You sounded so fucking good. Every moan of his name went straight to his dick, which was looking to rub against anything to get some relief. He brought his fingers up and slipped them inside you, making you groan loudly. He explored your walls carefully, but it wasn’t until he curled his fingers that he really got a rise out of you.
“Fuck, right there, don’t stop!”
He was a damn good listener. He pumped his fingers in and out of you as your body jerked, begging to cum. He was in disbelief; he was the one making you feel like this. Moan like this. Cum like this. It came hard, fingers gripping his hair in a way that brought him out of his hazy state. And fuck, as you came down, you rutted your pussy against his tongue, mouth still opened and eyes rolled back. Choso was in fucking heaven. You were panting on his bed, half-naked, back still arched; you were a sight to see. You began to come back to earth, sitting up on your hands again, pussy most likely staining the sheets, but it’s not like he fuckin' cared.
“Come here.”
Your usual bubbly demeanor left the second you came, grabbing Choso by his shirt and bringing him down to kiss you. You opened your legs so he could position himself between them, kissing him intensely now. Instinctively, he brought his hand up to your tits, groping them through the fabric of your shirt, pinching your nipple once he found it. He ruts his hips against yours, making you groan into his mouth. Fuck, you were so hot, all of his senses were filled with you, he was gonna lose his-
I know I'd rather be complacent.
He fucking came on himself. Simultaneously, your phone began to ring, the same tone as the other day when Mai called you. With a pout, you walked over to his desk to grab your phone. God, he praised himself for wearing back sweats that day. Luckily for him, it didn’t seem you noticed, picking up the phone and smiling. Just like that, you were back to your usual self.
“Hey, hey!”
Mai said something to you as Choso went to his drawer, already looking for a set of underwear and pants to replace the ones he accidentally soaked. You were pouting now, tilting your head to the side as you talked to her.
“But Maiiii, I’m doing something super important!”
You looked at him from head to toe, smirking as you continued talking. Fuck, what were you guys talking about?
“Ugh, fine, but you owe me! See you in a bit.”
You hung up the phone and walked over to him, a sad look on your face as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your head into his chest.
“You gotta go?”
“Yeah, but I really don’t want to!”
“It’s fine. You should be ready for the test on Thursday.”
You bent over to pick up your purse and books again; this time, he really couldn’t look because he knew his dick would probably betray him. You put your heels back on, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
“Bye, cutie!”
“Um, bye.”
Choso took a shower as soon as you left, in which he had to relieve himself from the events of today. It’s like he couldn’t get your taste you out of his head; every time he tried to focus on his essay, you were there. It didn’t help when he found your thong on the floor beside his bed. Shit, he hadn’t even thought to put them back on you. Quickly, he texted you, letting you know you forgot them.
“oopsie :3 consider them a gift ;)”
Fuck, you were dangerous.
Girl, I'm so glad we're acquainted.
Baby, you're no good.
“YOU DID WHAT?”
“Shut the fuck up, you're gonna wake the whole hall!”
“Let me get this straight, you fucked her?”
“No, yes, well, not exactly. I, you know…”
“Awe shit, she sucked your-”
“NO, YUUJI, JESUS.”
“So, what did you- Holy shit, you gave her head!”
Choso became flustered, never really having a conversation with Yuuji about his sex life, but Yuuji was more than open about his.
“Yes, I gave her head.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up! You’re too damn loud!”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s not like I didn’t believe in you or anything, but a girl like that? I probably would’ve cum on myself.”
Now, Choso knew you were busy, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to see you again. He’d remembered everything you said you had to do, so he figured he’d talk to you again at Nobara’s party. He was initially going because Nobara was a mutual friend through Yuuji, but now, he had a way better reason. You guys had seen each other around the halls Thursday, you giving him a wink every time you saw him, and he’d return it with a blush and grin. He hadn’t texted you either, trying to be considerate of your time, but as Friday afternoon came along, you appeared to be distant with him. He was nervous at this point. What if he was over-analyzing things? Just a quick fuck to get each other’s rocks off? Then, unfortunately, the thought came to mind that maybe you had realized he came on himself, which hurt his feelings pretty bad. I mean, he couldn’t help it; spontaneous oral on the girl he’d liked for months now, he was already in bad shape to begin with. But, fuck, he missed you.
All my homies think I'm crazy 'cause I'm thinkin' 'bout us lately.
Nobara’s party could be heard down the street, some AirBnb, all your sisters put in on. Choso couldn’t lie; it was pretty nice, a large house with at least eight bedrooms, a pool and basketball court in the back, and balconies on almost every window. He and Yuuji had shuffled their way into the house, Yuuji immediately looking for something to drink that was far from water. Once he found a bottle of tequila, he poured him and Choso a couple of shots, both throwing them back like it was nothing. Yuuji seemed to know everyone at this party, sparking conversation with damn near anyone that walked by. He and Choso found their way to the backyard, sitting in the little patio section next to the pool.
“So, did you text her yet?”
“No, I’m pretty sure she’s upset with me about something.”
“Cause she’s been giving you the silent treatment?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, she’s obviously not giving it to him.”
But really, if I could, I'd forget about you.
Yuuji pointed to you on the other side of the pool, talking to some guy. You held a cup, presumably with alcohol, but what you were wearing was the kicker. You hadn’t bothered to wear a top, just your string bikini covering your tits, which wasn’t doing a very good job of covering them up. Then there were your shorts; they were basically underwear with how high they came up, the underside of your ass on display. You were leaning into the guy, obviously in deep conversation. The guy, however, was getting an eyeful; he couldn’t even make eye contact with you because he was staring so intently at your chest.
You got me puttin' time in.
Choso couldn’t lie, it pissed him off real bad. He couldn’t tell if it was because you were talking to this guy and not him or because the guy was looking at you so inappropriately; it wasn’t like he was one to talk. But his jaw locked as he saw the guy slip a hand onto your waist as you stumbled a bit, and you didn’t stop him.
“She’s free to do what she wants.”
“Yeah, she’s doin’ what she wants, alright. Your face was in her pussy on Wednesday, and she’s probably gonna do the same to him tonight.”
Nobody got me feeling this way.
Yuuji’s comment had put a fire under Choso’s ass. Immediately, he got up from where he and Yuuji sat, heading straight towards you.
“Told you, you were jealous, bitch!”
Now, Choso wasn’t the confrontational type, but three shots in, he felt a little bit of that liquid courage. He’d closed the gap between the patio and the pool quickly, focused on getting to you; as he walked up, he could hear you giggling at whatever that fucker was saying. You turned your head in surprise, an awkward smile on your face as Choso grabbed your arm.
“Gonna borrow her right quick.”
Choso could hear the guy cursing him out in confusion as he walked away with you, but if anyone was confused, it was you.
You got me touchin' on your body….
Choso led you up the stairs as you rushed to keep up, spilling your drink a bit. He found an empty bedroom, walked you into it, and locked it behind him.
“Choso, what the actual fuck?”
“What are you doing, huh?”
“What am I doing? What am I doing? Motherfucker, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you haven’t talked to me in days. Then you pull me in here, like I’m the bad guy or something, fuck, did eating me out mean anything to you?”
“Of course it did! I haven’t texted you because I wanted to give you space!”
“I could’ve made time for you! I don’t wanna hear your shitty excuses as to-”
To say that we're in love is dangerous…
Your sentence was cut short by Choso pulling you into a kiss. You were fucking mad at him, sure, but you wanted to fuck him more than anything. That’s why you let him lay you on the bed behind you, mouth coming to kiss you, even deeper this time. He pulled back to undo your top, allowing your tits free.
“So, who the fuck was that?”
He brought his lips down to your nipple, sucking it as you moaned softly.
“A friend, what are you, jealous?”
He sucked the other one, massaging your tits as you watched him intently.
“Depends.”
“On?”
But, girl, I'm so glad we're acquainted.
Choso began to move his way down, sucking the skin of your stomach as he brought his hands down to hook into your shorts. He had them down to your ankles, pulling them off of you.
“I’m your friend too, no?”
“Something like that.”
He undid the strings on your bikini, throwing them somewhere in the room. He brought his face down to you, kissing your inner thighs to tease you.
“You let all your friends eat your pussy?”
Ever since I met you, I couldn't believe what you did.
You couldn’t answer his question, body reacting to the kitten licks he was giving your clit. Choso was a bit more familiar with you now; he knew you liked it when he fucked you with his tongue and that you moan a little harder when he pressed his tongue harder on our bud. But, god, you were intoxicating. He missed the taste of your pre-cum on his lips, shamelessly saturating his whole face with your juices. That is until he pulled his face back, teasing you.
“Answer me, princess.”
“No, I don't.”
That made him hungry, greedy even. His face was back on you, fucking his tongue into you as he pinned your hips down, watching you squirm from the pleasure. The pleasure he was giving you.
Choso picked up the pace of his tongue, his fingers finding their way to your pussy, curling them as he sucked on your clit. One hand still on your hips to keep you still; it was all in vain because when you came, your body came undone. You buck your hips into his touch, moaning his name as you let him suck you through your high. You were fucking beautiful. He pulled up to look at you, smirking as he saw your tits rise and fall from all the panting you were doing. He figured it wasn’t too bad to give you another orgasm; you looked so fucking hot coming down that he couldn’t resist drinking your cum as he brought his thumb to your clit. You were on fucking fire, still recovering from before, and now he was bringing you up to his face. He pinned you down, devouring you instantly.
Now, Choso felt a little adventurous, bringing his hands up to rub your nipples between his fingers while you fucked his face. You didn’t know where all this nerve came from, presumably because he’s made you cum twice now, the third one about to join. But you honestly didn’t give a fuck. If he had the balls to eat you as good as he was doing, you could care less. Because his tongue was just too damn distracting. You began to grind your pussy on his face, not even considering his ability to breathe; it’s not like he was concerned about it. You were moaning his name like a symphony, pulling them out of you more frequently as you felt your body giving in again.
“Choso, I’m, I, fuck!”
So comfort me…
Choso smirked into your pussy as you came, falling over onto the bed immediately. He was kissing you now, soft and sweet, like he didn’t intend to fuck the shit out of you. With a careful hand, he brought your leg up, pulling it away from the other so he could get in between them. He enjoyed the view of you, spent and gasping for air, bucking your hips slowly as you waited for him to fuck you. As he began removing his clothes, he continued this little conversation.
“Hm, that doesn’t make sense then, does it?”
“You’re more than a friend, Choso.”
At this point, he’d taken everything but his boxers off, dick almost stabbing out the front of his briefs. He took them off quickly, bringing his body back up to sit on top of yours. He kissed you as he fingered your pussy again, making you squirm under his touch. Messily, he brought your cum out of your pussy, rubbing it over his shaft as he looked down at you.
“More than a friend, huh?”
Choso kissed your neck as he slid his dick in, holding your hips as he rolled his into yours. He was painfully slow, pulling out to sink back in. Fuck, it was torture.
“Yes, Choso! Now fuck me, please!”
“No problem.”
He slammed his hips into yours, making you groan. He gripped you tightly as he fucked you, forehead meeting yours so he could see your pretty face as you took him so well.
“When was the last time you got fucked?”
“Months ago.”
“So, you decided you just wanted me to eat your pussy one day?”
He began that slow pace again, scratching his back as he reached the deepest parts of you.
“No, I liked you for a while! Thought you didn’t like me ‘til I met you in the library!”
He couldn’t fucking believe it. This entire time you’d been waiting for him to make a move, and he was too fucking pussy to do it. Well, he’ll make it up to you now by fucking your pussy. He hit that sweet spot inside you as you moved your hips to meet his, hands brushing through his hair as he gave it to you right where you needed him. And god, you were sexy. You pressed your tits against his chest as he fucked you into the bed, practically screaming his name every time he’d give you a hard thrust to get a rise out of you.
“I want you, princess.”
To be fair, you hadn’t really entertained any of the guys who wanted you; they’d just ogle you, but you wanted someone who’d claim you. Make you his. And Choso was doing it. He fucked you like no one had ever done before, sucking hickeys all over you that you were sure you didn’t have enough concealer to cover up. Then, there was the way he’d moan into your ear. Sometimes your name, but mostly baby, princess, beautiful. He was taking you higher and higher, and you didn’t wanna come down.
“Then, I’m yours.”
Ain't no rush from me.
That was enough for Choso. He fucked you faster, keeping your hips still so he could fuck you how you needed it. Your body was practically begging to cum again, all but throwing yourself at him. He prayed you’d cum soon because he’d be down for the count here shortly, panting into the side of your neck as he took you. And take you, he did, gripping his shoulders as you moaned his name into the room, eyes rolling back and mouth wide open as you came for the third time that night. You honestly didn’t know you had it in you, nor did Choso, because he was right behind you, gripping the headboard as he fucked you through his orgasm, whimpering your name as he fell to pieces inside you. Your pussy was like fucking heaven, taking his cum so well as your hands fell to your side, too fucked out to move.
I’ll keep on touchin' on your body. To say that we're in love is dangerous…
Choso fell beside you, exhausted as ever. He was grateful he’d taken precautionary measures and relieved himself before he came to the party cause he surely would’ve cum the second he felt your pussy. He looked over at you; he could tell you were pretty damn tired; who wouldn’t be after he made you cum so many times. So, he helped you put your clothes back on, carrying you down the stairs and out to his car. He shot Yuuji a text to let him know he was leaving, choosing to leave out the details of what he had been doing for the past hour and a half. After getting you in the car, he got in the driver’s seat and started it.
“Ima take ya home, okay?”
You perked up a little, grabbing his arm and wrapping around it.
“Wanna go home with you!”
“Whatever ya want, princess.”
Choso gripped your thigh as he drove off, returning to his dorm. He carried you to his room, removing your clothes and helping you get into one of his t-shirts. Both of you in the bed, he pulled you into his chest, letting you get comfortable. You look up at him, smiling a bit as you yawn.
“Night, baby!”
You kissed him quickly and laid back down, drifting off to sleep.
‘Baby’, huh? He could get used to that.
But, girl, I'm so glad we're acquainted.
♱ the song used in this story is acquainted by the weeknd. 🖤
♱ masterlist.
♱ all fics playlist.
𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.
#choso x reader#chosoxreader#choso x female reader#choso x f!reader#choso x fem!reader#choso x you#choso smut#choso fluff#choso fanfic#choso fic#choso kamo#kamo choso#jjk x reader#jjk x fem!reader#jjk smut#jjk fluff#jjk choso#choso#kamo#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#thelovelyruin#thelovelyarcana#Spotify
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the merman is back.
it’s a little weird how used to him you’ve gotten. he’d only shown up for the first time a few months ago, but when you’re largely alone out on the boat or in your oceanfront lab there’s no shortage of ways for him to visit with nobody around.
he’s yet to tell you a name, but after the first few weeks of silence he suddenly revealed a passable understanding of english; when he speaks it's rudimentary, but he clearly understands everything you say, even if he doesn’t listen half the time.
you haven’t gotten the nerve to get in the water with him. in fact, you haven’t gotten in the water at all since he arrived, even when your colleagues are around and he’s notably not. he’s massive, his tail alone being well over two meters long and possessing the torso of a man who would tower over you on dry land (a handsome man, you're begrudged to admit, with those broad shoulders and blood red eyes and that ash blond hair that somehow looks good immediately coming out of the water). he’s assured you in his blunt, curt way that of course he doesn’t want to eat you but you still have anxieties about getting out into the open water you’ve always loved and being pulled under by a fucking sea monster.
he’s getting bolder, though. when you take the boat out today, he follows it, like the dolphins used to back when you operated out of the keys; that sleek black body would be terrifying just from the size, like seeing a fully grown orca bump up against the hull.
and when you weigh anchor, almost immediately, the boat keels aftward when he pulls himself onto the deck.
you shriek and he immediately pins you with a steely glare. he’s never done that before. it’s fucking terrifying, though he’s not managed to drag his whole body up and you’re a little comforted by that. it’s just his arms—two massive, heavily muscled things that are flexed and crossed in front of him, holding his head, shoulders, and much of his human-like torso up out of the water with ease. that enormous tail trails behind him and it’s still terrifying to see, your heart skipping a beat every time the shimmering orange markings catch your eye.
you don’t know what you’ll do if he decides to come all the way onto the boat. he wouldn’t be able to maneuver that well, but where the fuck would you go? into the damn water?
“fucking christ!” you yelp. “don’t just do that, motherfucker!”
“calm,” he snaps as he rolls his eyes.
the urge to flip him the bird is overshadowed by the knowledge that he wouldn’t understand, and you’re too frazzled to explain what go fuck yourself means. instead, you turn back around to clean up the cabin that he’s managed to mess up.
“oi, human, come.”
you huff, shouting your name at him and pointedly refusing to turn away from your task. he’s clearly annoyed at that, and you belatedly realize that perhaps if you’re really that terrified of him coming onto the boat you shouldn’t provoke him. luckily, rather than heaving himself up, he jerks the entire hull.
it’s a smooth motion for him, gripping the stern and rolling his tail so that the boat moves with him. it’s like being out in a storm, and though you’re well aware that it’s just your needy visitor, your sea-hardened stomach still lurches at the familiar feeling.
you stumble out of the cabin, careful not to be thrown over the edge. “i’m out! holy shit, i have a damn job you know, i can’t spend all my time catering to your whims.”
he stops as soon as you get back on deck. “calm,” he tells you again, and you're really starting to hate the word, “too loud.”
“who’s fucking fault is that? don’t rock my damn ship.”
“sit,” he demands rather than apologizing.
there are a plethora of reasons not to. you won’t be able to get away quickly if you need to, you shouldn’t be encouraging his demands by obliging immediately, you really do have a job to do instead of… whatever this is—instead of listening to any one of those reasons, you ease yourself down with your legs crossed a little ways away from where he’s holding himself.
he snarls, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. “closer.”
“no,” you snap. “not if you’re threatening me.”
his mouth shuts immediately, brow furrowed and lips pouting in an expression that’s less pleading or apologetic and more contemplative.
“not a threat,” he seems to settle on saying.
you roll your own eyes. “yeah. okay.”
“come here.”
“why?”
“wanna feel you.”
that throws you for a loop. what could he mean by that? you realize that perhaps he’s as fascinated by you as you are by him.
you’ve caught him staring at your body in the past. he’s never reacted like you’d expect—if you’d caught a human looking at you like that and then turning away when you caught his eye, he’d have been checking you out. but when it’s an apex predator of a different species, there’s an entirely different context, one you’re even less enthused about.
you’re standing before you’ve fully thought it through, fully freaked and ready for him to go. you barely get to uncross your legs, however, before he lunges.
it’s far faster than your not-normally-hunted-because-you’re-a-modern-person mind can follow. a cold, clawed hand snaps out to latch around your ankle and yanks you downward, slamming your back into the boat’s coarse deck and then dragging you towards the edge. there’s not even time for you to shriek.
this is it, you think. he’s going to eat you now; he’ll drag you under and rip you apart, or maybe he’ll drown you first as a mercy. you hope he doesn’t want to play with you further, drag you into the water and let go to make you swim because he wants a chase.
the moment your ankle hits the water he stops.
you’re breathing heavily, free leg still braced on the deck, arms finding purchase on a pole nearby. his whole body is underwater aside from his eyes and the very top of his head, but you can still see that massive dark shadow—only little flashes of that pretty orange-gold patterning visible as his scales glint beneath the sun—and it sends a thrill through you. he’s so ungodly enormous.
that hand is still around your ankle, but it’s looser now. his mouth is beneath the waves so he doesn’t speak, but his eyes are soft and almost regretful as he regards you.
“okay…” you move slowly, getting to a better position. it pulls your captive ankle from the water and the movement causes his grip to tighten as if he’s reluctant to remove it—he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t let you go. you’re forced to sit on the edge of the deck with your feet dangling over the side.
“let me feel you,” he tries again, as if he’s giving you a choice.
“ask,” you decide upon demanding. his words have made you realize, with a burst of shame and a promise to never tell anyone in the future, that you’re not entirely opposed to the strange rude merman feeling you.
you’re gifted a growl, not unlike the snarl from before but lacking the teeth. he’s learning, you realize, not only in not baring those terrifying weapons at you but also in removing his hand from your ankle.
“can i… touch you,” he spits out, like the words and your request are insulting.
and again you think there are far too many reasons to give in just like that. you’ve been around enough children to know that rewarding problematic behavior is hardly the way forward, but there’s a certain part of your brain that’s in control right now and it’s not particularly interested in breaking him of his demanding attitude (quite the contrary, to your chagrin, this very annoying part of your brain is enjoying it).
“are you sure you’re not going to eat me?”
“no eating.” he huffs, wrinkling his nose.
“what, i smell bad or something.”
he regards you, approaching a little closer, and you resist the urge to pull your legs up to hold your knees to your chest.
“smell good,” he says, “not like food.”
all right.
“fine, then. if you’re not going to take a bite out of my calf, then… sure. feel me, i guess.”
he’s just as fast as before, not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before he’s lashing out and grabbing your leg again. this time, he’s not looking at your face; he’s focused entirely on your feet, those big hands inspecting them thoroughly.
it’s rough, and you’re a little glad because if he’d been gentle it would have likely been too ticklish. he’s still careful with his massive claws; you’re sure they’re sharp enough to pierce your skin with ease, and he’s clearly skilled enough to avoid it. you’re more than thankful, because you’ve seen how he hunts with them (he’s dropped disemboweled fish in front of you before as strange gifts) and you don’t want your legs to end up like his prey even if he doesn’t eat you.
he moves on from your feet, both hands latching onto one calf and almost massaging it in reverence. his face is even closer now; you really ought to be more worried by the proximity of those teeth to your skin, but the fascination on his face is so enthralling.
by the time he reaches the back of your knee, you're tensing. while before he’d been mostly in the water, he’s very nearly at your height now, holding himself up by his grip on you and an awkward hold on the deck with his spare hand.
and then he’s at your thigh, and your breath is heavy.
because he’s basically laid out on your lap, one arm wrapped entirely around your upper leg such that his large palm rests flush, fingers spread, against the plush flesh of your inner thigh. and he’s no less fascinated, expression no less sincere, as he pulls further up to get closer.
“warm,” he says, more to himself than you. he blinks, as if shaking away a daze, and his eyes jump up from your thighs to look at your stomach. “soft…”
his head drops. you jump, caught up in the strange haze he's brought with him but snapping out of it as he lays his head on your lap. your heart thumps erratically, your breath long bated. he’s not looking at your thigh anymore, and not your face either—he’s locked on your stomach, your loose t-shirt having ridden up slightly to reveal more bare skin.
you ought to see it coming, really, but when that big, cold hand moves from your thigh to your torso, sliding smoothly beneath your shirt and running up your bare stomach, you yelp and jolt back.
he startles, and then he’s gone, slipping back off you and disappearing down into the murky water. you’re left panting, with nothing but a very wet body and the ghost of his touch on your legs…
and the heat of your face at the knowledge that, while you’d been surprised, you kind of wanted him to go further.
#bnha x reader#bakugo x reader#mine.🌧#char.🌧 bakugou#that one beach episode#just a lil merbaku 👉👈#for the soul#w a spitfire reader bc im me JHSBDF#this is reposted!!! i wrote it like two yrs ago for jotato kujo lmfaoooooo but rewrote it for bakugo who tbh i think it works for even bett#but the og is still up on my ao3 so
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if reqs r closed pls ignore this sorry im genuinely so blind so idk if u were taking them rn, but can i request “the captain will have to get involved pretty soon” situation from that fic where a new lieutenant joins, overall just like a part 2 where price does have to get involved 😭😭 like ghost is just so annoyed with this man
Hey reader! 🍫 No need to worry; I don’t have a “policy” on requests apart from the nsfw thingy (i don’t know how to write smut). Whatever comes, I accept it wholeheartedly! :)
Synopsis: Ghost and the new Lt. get in a fight. Price handles the situation accordingly and nobody is happy.
Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader, Captain John Price
Word Count: 1,112
Notes:
For those who haven’t read Part 1, here it is.
Lots of swearing and mentions of physical injuries. Other than that, it’s fluff.
Want more?
———————————————————————
Yup. Unfortunately, the Captain had to get involved in the end.
Not just him, though; an entire room full of trained soldiers had to jump in and separate Ghost from almost strangling Lt. Wilson, or “Mr Toothless,” as he often referred to him.
Why “Mr Toothless”, you may ask? Well, Ghost decided to baptize the new lieutenant with that nickname for a couple of reasons.
First, he took your comment about Wilson’s fake teeth to heart. “If they’re fake,” he reasoned, “that means the fucker is already toothless and wears veneers to cover ’em up.”
And when you told him that’s not true since some people undergo cosmetic surgery to improve something they might have suffered an injury from, Ghost came up with his second reason as to why the new lieutenant is—or rather will be—toothless.
“Might have suffered an injury?” He contemplated. “Well, he’s about to suffer another one when I knock them out again.”
So, it was either “Mr. Toothless over there” or “Mr. Future Toothless one again.” Whatever the case, Ghost never called him by his real name, which started to piss off Lt. Wilson a whole lot. And that’s how it all escalated.
The breaking point came while at the briefing room, with Price at the head of the table and the two lieutenants seated across from each other. The rest of the team was strategically scattered around, avoiding being too close to Riley or Wilson. They were like furnaces, ready to burst at any time and burn you along with them, so you all figured it was best to stay as far away from them as possible.
Price was dividing the teams for the new mission: Team Alpha (Ghost’s Team) had to reach the target’s point by air, while Team Bravo (Wilson’s Team) would travel by land. The tipping point was when Price absentmindedly assigned you to Wilson’s team. Being Ghost’s Achilles’ heel, you were enough to light up a spark in the furnace. Wilson, on the other hand, was, in fact, a motherfucker. He knew that you, being assigned to his team, would piss Ghost off, so he turned towards you and winked upon hearing your name.
“Awesome,” he said, “doll’s with me.”
“Call them a doll again,” Ghost replied, “and I’ll make you as shiny and smooth as a Ken.” A threat that seemed nonsensical then but became clearer over time. And it wasn’t funny at all. See, Ken dolls lack organs, including a brain, heart, and, as Ghost hinted, a certain... anatomical feature.
And, as you stand in front of Ghost at Price’s office, tending to his cut lip and bruised eye, questions swirl in your mind. First and foremost, why is Ghost so obsessed with Lt. Wilson’s bones and limps? How was he planning to execute such a horrendous action? And how did he manage to leap onto the table and kick Wilson in the face like Leonidas did in the movie “300”?
“You fucked up big time, Simon,” Price warns Ghost as he paces around the room with his hands on his waist.
“He started it,” Ghost retorts.
“No,” Price shouts, running towards Ghost and inching away from his bruised-up face, “you landed the first kick, and then things escalated faster than a wildfire in a dry forest.”
Ghost sighs. “How is he?” He asks.
You look at him, shocked. This guy amazes you. All he wanted was to kick Wilson right in the face, and now he’s worried about his health.
“He is fucked; that’s how he is,” Price replies, “and you’re fucked too.”
“What’ll happen now?” Ghost asks
Price lets out a sharp chuckle. Not one of entertainment, for sure. Something that hints you’re both about to find out.
“I’m relieving Lt. Wilson of his duties in the field and relocating him to another position,” the Captain announces.
“Good,” Ghost replies. “At least he’ll be out of my business for a while.”
“Oh, on the contrary brother,” Price smirks, “he’ll be all up in your business now.”
You stop treating Ghost’s wound and turn to Price. “W-where exactly are you relocating, Lt. Wilson, Captain?” You ask, confused.
Price approaches you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, now both facing Ghost.
“I’m putting Wilson in the same office as you two,” Price says, smiling. “That is until you and him sort out your… issues.”
Ghost doesn’t react. He stretches his neck while looking at Price.
“You think I wouldn’t find out what the apple of discord was?” Price whispers at Ghost, “You and him either become best friends, or you’re both out.” He says. He removes his hand from your shoulder, adjusts his hat, nods at you, and walks out of the room.
You turn towards Ghost, who’s now leaning on his legs, looking at the floor.
“Look at me,” you command, “I still need to patch that lip of yours.”
He obeys and looks up. You sigh. As much as you trust Price and his strategic decision to put the three of you in the same room, you fear that the ball is now in your field. Juggling Ghost’s outbursts was something you learned to handle with skill and prowess. But including Lt. Harris in the equation is like putting two starving lions in a cage with an antelope.
“Why?” You ask, as you treat his bottom lip, “Why act so stupidly when you know it is you that I fancy?”
He looks away and shrugs. “He called you a doll.”
“And look where we are now, Simon,” you say. “Price gave you your last chance, and we get to have Mr Toothless with us at the office.”
“Won’t be an office anymore, love,” he mutters, “it’ll be a dollhouse full of Barbie and Ken dolls.”
You smile and lift his chin up with your fingers. “So, if I’m Barbie and he’s Ken,” you say, bringing your face closer to his, “who are you?”
“Oh, I’m Action Man, love.” He says and tries to wink with a swollen, already shut, black eye.
———————————————————————
Part 3 ->
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley fic#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader#simon riley#ghost cod#cod ghost#call of duty#modern warfare 2#cod mwii#ghost call of duty#cod mw2#cod mw ghost
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masterpiece | marcus pike
Summary | Even surrounded by works of art, you're his favourite masterpiece.
Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Warnings | A fair amount of art metaphors, Marcus being a smooth motherfucker but a smitten one, explicit smut, fingering, unprotected PiV, creampie, public sex (don't ask me why I write this man fucking in public so much), alcohol consumption, two Taylor Swift song lyric references if you look hard enough, no use of y/n. Reader is a blank slate physically but is described wearing a dress and is wearing red lipstick.
Word Count | 1.5k
Authors Note | Don't look at me. I saw this post. Immediately thought of Marcus and wrote this in less than 24 hours. As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena who continually inspires me to be creative and to write what I love. If you liked this, please consider reblogging or commenting, it is my life blood. This might be my favourite thing I have ever written, so enjoy.
Beautiful divider by @saradika
Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
The Mona Lisa. The Girl With The Pearl Earring. The Birth Of Venus. All of them masterpieces, but none of them could hold a candle to you this evening in his eyes.
Stood in the dimly lit room, draped in a dress of burgundy silk, the low-cut back showing off your spine, teasing what sat lower, the curve of your ass that he gets to cradle in his hands each evening, the glass of champagne held in your delicate fingers, fingers he knows so intimately these days, how they feel wrapped around that specific part of him. The light glints on the stones of your earrings, dropping delicately from your ears, swinging lightly, touching the skin of your neck that is traced by his mouth each night. And when you turn to him, meet his eyes across the room, and smile at him, he wishes he could paint you, immortalise you on canvas, hang you on a wall, display you, so that the rest of the world, for the rest of history, could understand just how priceless you were to him.
He doesn’t even really know why he’s here, much like he thinks when he does anything that doesn’t involved shutting the two of you away in his home or yours and forgetting anything else exists outside of those four walls. Letting you wrap yourself around him, tangled in sheets, with whispered sighs, his hands on your hips and thighs, caught up in nothing but each other and the way he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way for anyone before, not his ex-wife, not his failed engagement, none of them. None of them made his heart skip like you do, none of them could set his skin on fire with the trace of their fingernails across his skin like you could, none of them would make him feel as good as you would. In the dead of night, your head pillowed on his shoulder, breath fanning across his skin, he realises he’s never loved until you.
When you turn, abandoning the conversation you’re having with God knows who, start walking towards him, parting the crowd like the Red Sea, your eyes focused on him and him alone, he finds that his breath catches in his throat, still not quite believing he is the apple of your eye, the man you search for in a crowd.
“You’re staring.”
“Your fault for looking like that.”
His hand snakes across silk and then the bare skin of your back, dipping to kiss the corner of your mouth so as to not smudge the clean line of red that your mouth is painted.
“See anything you want to buy?”
He smirks, “There’s only one piece of art here that I want, and it’s not for sale.”
You press up onto your tiptoes, mouth by his ear, “Would you hang me on your wall, Pike?”
Looking down at you, those doe eyes, long eyelashes fluttering at him, knowing exactly what you do to him, he bites his lip, “Maybe not hang baby,” He all but growls at you, “But pin you against it? Always.”
And then it all happens in a flurry. Hand around wrist, heels clicking against the floor as he pulls you from the crowd, out of one room, down a hallway and into the first room which door will open. It’s dark inside, save for the floor lights that illuminate the paintings. Normally, when you let him walk you around this particular gallery, all you’re focused on is the way his face lights when he talks, when he’s allowed, for once, to be unapologetically nerdy about something, but tonight, he’s not looking at the art, he’s looking at you.
Like predator after prey, he takes one step forward, as you take one back, slowly but surely backing you up under his gaze until your bare back hits a wall, cornered between two paintings, his palms on either side of your head, mouth dipping to yours, finding a finger pressed against his lips, one of your eyebrows raised, with a point to your own lips and that fucking lipstick that he knows he’ll smudge later if he’s got anything to say about it.
So instead, lips attach to neck, pressing, nipping, sucking sometimes as those fingers of his work the silk up from your ankles, up as high as he can be bothered to pull it before his hand is sinking underneath it, finding you bare.
“Filthy little minx.”
“Have you seen this dress?” You counter, “You would have seen the lines.”
He cuts you off, parting you with his fingers, sinking them lower, finding you slick to the touch, fingers sinking inside, pulling a gasp from you as your delicate hands circle his wrist, not as a warning, but as an encouragement, keeping him there, keeping his fingers inside you as they curl, search out that spot within you that makes you sing. And he finds it, because of course he does, watches as your knees buckle a little, held up only by his other hand on your waist, anchoring you right where he wants you as those fingers drag up, circling that bud of nerves so perfectly, your head tipped back against the wall.
“Go on, baby,” He encourages, fingers fast and precise against you, knowing exactly how to tear you apart, “Let go for me.”
So you do, legs shaking, his name like a chant on your lips, you come, hips chasing his hand as his movements slow, working you through it but not to the point of overstimulation. He looks you dead in the eye as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucks the taste of you from his skin, leaning back into your mouth, an expectant look in your eyes that you’ve already told him about this.
“Tongue.”
It’s demanding, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing, so you stick it out, do as you’re told, hoping to earn the golden star from him, those two words that make you weaker than anything.
He leans in, traces his tongue against yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth before giving you that reward.
“Good girl.”
Then his hands are snaking down, gripping your ass through the silk, lifting you gently to wrap your legs around his hips. His hands fumble with his trousers, moving them only enough to free his cock, your hands shifting your dress again, pulling it up to pool at your waist as the length of his slips trough your slick folds, before he’s buried inside you to the hilt in one movement.
There’s a moment of pause, where you look at each other, where you get used to the feel of him inside you, stretching you so perfectly like he always does, him getting used to the warmth of you, the way those walls of yours flutter around him. Then he’s moving, knowing this isn’t the place for him to take his time, hips rocking into yours, slamming your back into the wall as your arms lace around his shoulders, helping him to keep you held up, hands against your ass squeezing where he can.
“Careful of the paintings, agent.” You tease.
“You’re the only masterpiece I care about,” He breathes back, “Pinned to the wall like you should be.”
It’s quick and it’s sloppy, but its no less incredible as it is when he lays you down, pulls you apart with his mouth, then his fingers, then both, and then finally sinks into you, with your legs pressed back to your chest. Here, it’s different, the way his cock punches so deep inside you it takes your breath away, the way you claw at his shoulders, rock into him on his thrusts so you take him deeper. The way you’re surrounded by magnificence but only look at him, warmth in your eyes, nothing but love as he stutters with his movements a little.
“Gonna fill me up?” You ask, voice sickly sweet, “Leave yourself dripping down my thighs when we go back?”
Fuck, you’re filth personified when you talk like that, when you let him mark you, fuck you full of him and walk around with him dripping down your skin, no-one else any the wiser.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He growls into the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe, marginally missing the silver of your earrings.
“Please.”
It’s the first break in your facade, the way you beg like that and he knows its all over, always is when you beg for him, beg for him to fill you up. He doesn’t last much longer, hips pushing into yours a handful of times before you can feel the warmth spreading inside of you, a breathe of your name against the skin of your neck as he fills you, fucks you to the point that you’re already dripping him before he pulls himself from you, letting your dress drape back down your legs, feet planted on the floor, as he tucks himself back into his trousers.
Your palms smooth down your dress and as he twines his fingers with yours, leads you back into the main gallery, thighs coated in him, no-one would be any the wiser that he has indeed painted you as his own masterpiece right under their noses.
#Marcus pike#Marcus pike smut#Marcus pike x reader#Marcus pike x female reader#Marcus Pike x you#Marcus pike x f!reader#marcus pike fluff#Marcus pike Fic#Marcus pike fanfic#Marcus pike fanfiction#the mentalist#the mentalist fic#the mentalist fanfic#the mentalist fanfiction#Pedro Pascal#Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal#Marcus Pike the mentalist
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Too Much
alt.: How to Break a Defiant Whumpee 101, cws in tags!
When the lock clicks and the door opens once again, the foreboding light cascades down in the form of a person's shadow onto him and he cannot hold in a moan of distress.
He jerks his hands down against the cold floor in helpless, terrified frustration. His blood trickles from under the thick cable wire tying his wrists tightly together, collecting in a puddle with the rest of his spilled life force on the floor. Those cuts barely had time to close over, now torn open again. It cannot have been more than a couple hours since the last visit; what had he done to incur this unbearable punishment today? Who did he piss off this bad?
He listens to the familiar, heavy footsteps nearing him, hoping desperately that they aren't here for him. Unfortunately, those steel-toed boots enter his vision and do not leave, slowing to a stop right in front of his cell, peeking through the bars curiously. He wishes that just once, they would walk right past him; that he would be ignored and left alone. Alas, today has not been the luckiest.
"Oh, just look at you. Always such a sight for sore eyes."
"F-Fuck off."
Leaning up against the cell door, they trail their eyes along every inch of his skin. Of all his captors, this one might just be the worst, if only for their creepy fucking mannerisms. It's hard to forget about those intense, dark eyes and that impossibly smooth, gross voice that makes his skin crawl and keeps him company even in his nightmares. Among all the other things he was hoping for just a moment ago, not having to see them today was quite high up on his list.
They click their tongue. — "You still have your tongue then. Could've fooled me. You look awful."
Their grin made the insult sound more like a twisted compliment. He forces out another weak reply. — "Wow. Thanks."
They pause, tapping their index finger against one metal bar. They are just standing there, staring at him. Their expression is infuriatingly pleasant.
He fucking hates this. Why couldn't they just leave him alone today? Why does he have to be looking up at this terrifying motherfucker from the coldest, most uncomfortable corner of his cell, already exhausted, beaten halfway to death, and be forced to go through yet another round of pain? This just isn't fair.
They take a deep, content sigh, seemingly done with their sightseeing. — "Right."
They back up to stretch, then fit the key into the cell door, promptly sliding inside once it's open. His foreseeable future has swiftly become his near future, and he is anything but ready for it to become his present.
"W-Wait, wait, don't come in, you can't be ser— "
"How could I not when you look so lonely, cuddled up to the wall all by yourself?" — they sing, watching him struggle to push himself further into the corner he was left in by the one before them. From this close, it's even more apparent how rough he had it lately.
If the numerous black-purple pools of blood under his skin weren't enough, the fresh pool by his hand and the splatter of red across the walls would make it more than obvious. Everywhere they look they find another cut, another bruise, another mark and slash and burn. The ever present rings around his wrists are deeper, and now a new one resides around his throat like a collar. His eyes are dark and crimson, looking at them like he might just burst into tears.
He pushes his back into the wall with a cry. A new desperation has morphed his voice into something truly delicious. — "Just, leave, leave me alone!"
They smile innocently. — "Oh, should I? I'll consider it."
"No, stop, please — !" — his throat rasps and breaks his words, but that is nothing new. What is new, however, is the begging. This one has to be forced to beg usually, and now here he is, already close to sobbing for them to just let him be before they could even set a hand on him.
With something between a groan and a whimper, he twists his body to be hidden, curling up to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as he cowers, shaking, shielding his face with bound hands before they could even reach him. He looks utterly pathetic, and that melts their heart — but then they notice something truly surprising, something deviously intriguing.
"Don't tell me... Baby, are you crying? Already?" — They do not even try to hide the grin in their voice as they kneel in front of him. He only curls up tighter, sniffling. — "Now you're starting to worry me. This is very unlike you. I expect insults and swearing, not weeping."
He doesn't respond with anything but a huff of air. They try to peer behind those twitching fingers — a couple of them are definitely broken — but their curiosity isn't sated. The thought of finally having broken him crosses their mind. — "What happened?"
Their question goes unanswered. This guessing game is already starting to irritate them.
They take a light hold of one of those fractured fingers, leering; only a threat for now. — "You know I prefer screams to silence."
"Don't," — he half-wheezes.
"Talk to me then. What's troubling you, sweetheart?" — they cut him off entirely, cooing like they aren't the very reason he's like this.
"I'm... I'm scared."
"I can tell."
"I just — please, I-I just —"
They say nothing. He swallows dryly.
"I just don't want to be hurt again," — he whispers miserably, — "I can't, again, I can't — "
They still don't say anything. They still hold onto that damn finger. He almost wishes they would just get on with the torture instead of whatever this is.
"What, what do you want from me? Just fucking leave! Please!" — he yells, pleads, loses his mind a little more. — "Are you blind? Do you seriously want me to explain to you why I'm, why I'm having a-, a fucking meltdown?"
"I've barely had a, a single minute to myself today where I didn't have to en-entertain any of you pricks, and when I think it's finally over, when, when I get just a second, a m-, a moment to breathe," — he takes a strained couple inhales, almost hyperventilating before harshly gulping down his anxiety again, fighting sobs, — "y-you fucking show up. Like you always do. And, and now I'm here, yet again, left on the floor tired and, and hurt and bleeding — and you're, you're — it always g—, it never gets better. It never f-fffucking stops."
Nothing more is said for a while. They just watch him cry in his little corner coated in fresh blood, breaking apart in front of them. This is an incredible, rare sight. An important moment. They see a precious opportunity and they simply cannot resist seizing it.
They let go of his hand, gently laying their palm on his head instead. The gasp and the flinch are wonderfully unexpected, yet so beautiful to see. — "How many of us came today?" — they inquire softly, almost genuine.
His fragile throat lets out the most raw, wretched sounds they have ever heard him make. — "Y-You were the only one who hasn't. Eh-everyone and their mother came to visit me. I was really fucking hoping you wouldn't."
Ah. The others all took turns today, huh. They did a fine job at whittling him down. They don't even know how all of them managed to get their round in in such a short period of time.
"All five of us?"
"Yeah," — he mumbles. He's furiously wiping at his eyes, starting to lose all hope of getting any rest now that they are this close, and clearly not leaving any time soon. He hoped this embarrassing outbreak would at least deter them somehow, but none of his hopes today came true. They aren't exactly a bleeding heart who would change their mind about torturing him just because he's a little sad. If anything, he thinks, being this pathetic might have just spurred them on. — "But it doesn't, doesn't matter, does it? You sadistic freaks don't care about anything but, but beating the shit out of me any chance you get. I don't know why I thought that you of all people would understand."
This is perfect.
They lean in close. — "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean? Am I special?"
"Especially annoying." — Now that's more like him. Retorts and insults flying out of his mouth like bullets. They really wish they could have him confess that he finds them the most intimidating out of everyone, that the ‘annoyance’, as he put it, comes from the fact that his backtalk doesn't have any effect on them, and that they know him on a deeper level than any of the others and that scares him more than anything — but they recognise when the moment allows for a play like that. He's already building up his walls again; they can't let this moment slip through their fingers.
"Mmm. Well, I have a proposal for you." — They dig their fingers under his great mess of locks, not unkind. — "Look at me."
"That's not a proposal."
"I'll tell you once you look at me."
"No."
They sink their hand in deeper, twisting into his hair like the claws of a beast. — "Come on. Don't you want to hear it?"
He only lifts his hands higher to hide behind, now muffling his tone. — "I know that, th-that you only want to see me cry."
They smile. — "Yes. And I know you want to avoid more pain."
This thinly veiled threat does two things: it pisses him off, and it brings back that foolish hope that they will take mercy on him if he behaves as they like.
Just one more push. A soft, light order. — "Look at me, baby."
Ordinarily, this would never work. He might even laugh in their face or spit at them for asking, especially so sweetly. This time, however, he is just a lonely, sad little guy in a cell, desperate for sweetness. They wait patiently. He shudders uncomfortably, snivelling.
Silently, with a deadly glare, he finally looks at them.
His eyes are red, puffy, and so, so tired. His lips are bitten bloody, cracked, pouting. The scar over his right cheek has been reopened, enlarged to run down the side of his neck. A gorgeous purple bruise has nestled under his left eye, running like paint in water across his skin. His tears drew clean streaks along his face, sliding down the length of his neck. It's beautiful, mesmerising. They are mesmerised for a little too long, though.
"I hate you so fucking much, you're so gross," — he hisses, done watching their eyes rake over him like an object while having the most adoring, fond smile doing so. It always sends a shiver down his spine when they do this, and having them be so close just makes it even more unbearable. He can clearly see their eyes refocus and return to make eye contact at his remark and it makes him nauseous.
It's fascinating how little bite his voice holds now, with the tears still flowing freely and his throat closed up. So many thoughts of torment run through their mind, images of taking advantage of this weakened state he is in and breaking him until there is nothing left, until he is like this all the time; crying and pitiful and obedient and lovely. None of that makes it to the surface.
"My proposal is this;" — they say instead, — "we could go on with what I had planned for today. This option includes this high voltage shock collar I brought with me."
As they turn to get the collar he assumes they must be bluffing, but horrifyingly enough, they turn back with a thick, black loop of leather with a box attached to it and a remote in their other hand, grinning excitedly. He remains silent in shock.
"Or," — they say after a pause to let him simmer in anticipation, setting their toy to the side, — "we could forget about that for now, and let you rest instead. How does that sound?"
He can barely believe his ears. They actually care? This is a trick, it must be.
"You're lying." — His splotchy face must have betrayed his bewilderment, because they murmur a chuckle before they respond.
"I am not. I can tell you are in a lot of pain."
They take a gamble as they take his head into their hand gingerly, turning him towards them by one shoulder and one cheek carefully, fully expecting him to struggle. There is resistance, as always, but quieter, just a small weight put behind pulling them forward which might as well just be his tired body refusing to cooperate. He says nothing. His lip wobbles. His expression is less cutting than usual, the edge replaced by worn flesh and agony.
They make an effort to remove all malice from their eyes, looking at him with sympathy and love instead. They give him exactly what he has been craving for the weeks he has been trapped here. Someone who can tell him they know he has been trying his best.
They look right into his eyes empathically, and sadly sigh; — "You're just tired, aren't you?"
Those are the magic words to open the gates to his true anguish. Something about this awfully simple, assuring sentence whispered so knowingly — it breaks something in him, and his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he cannot help the sobs bubbling to the surface. Because it is that simple, isn't it? He is so, so damn tired. All he wants is some rest. The assurance that someone sees him struggling, and understands how badly he hurts, and how little he really asks for. Coming from his torturer, it should not feel so liberating. But he is far past rationalism, his want for a single kind gesture has long become a burning need he would do anything for in this moment.
He may regret it later, but for now he leans into their hand as he lets every sob he ever swallowed down free, letting them see how broken he truly is already. From under all that grit and animosity comes pure childlike, innocent suffering, so potent he doesn't know what to do with it besides letting it envelop him. Just the right opportunity and a couple pokes, and he has crumbled under all this weight.
They lead him closer, pulling him out of his defensive position against the wall slowly to embrace him. He is all but powerless to stop his fragile form from moulding under their touch, gasping wretchedly in their arms. He is shivering like a leaf. It's intoxicating.
There they remain until his sobs weaken, and his exhausted body slumps against them like dead weight. Somewhere along the line they had let themself slide down to the ground, inviting him to lie on something soft for the first time in forever, even if it is only their own body. The floor isn't exactly clean — it's quite disgusting in fact — but it is well worth it to have this ball of resentment tamed for even a small bit, even if they have to lie on filth for it. This one instance of kindness will have lasting effects on their relationship and him as a person, even if he doesn't realise it, or even if he does. He will find it hard to look at them the same way, and will find it difficult to keep up his defiance in front of them when he knows they have seen him truly at his wits end.
He may let them touch him more often without a word. He may find it easier to do as they say without fighting. He may grow more attached to them through this, having a closer connection to them than to any of the others. He may even ask them again, once the time comes, to have mercy on him again, and they will give it to him, letting him fall deeper and deeper. He will have to swallow his pride, and he will only swallow it for them. This small moment will be crucial in the future. Maybe they could capitalise just a little more on this by telling the others they can't see him for a day. They will visit him tomorrow and ease his mind again, let him heal, see how he acts after this humiliating exchange.
The unconscious man in their arms will learn to be theirs with time; he has already made so much progress. This one is theirs, just as soon as it becomes too much to bear again.
...
He didn't even yell at them for calling him baby.
~
Taglist: @morning-star-whump
Masterlist | Ko-Fi
#whump#creepy whumper#my writing#whump writing#intimate whumper#fear#sadistic whumper#captivity whump#defiant whumpee#multiple whumpers#referenced torture#manipulation#blood#restrained#crying#this is pretty tame#but very satisfying
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#373
“What the fuck is this I’m hearing about you? My buddy Deputy Watson asked me why I have a faggot working for me? He tells me that you have a record for sex in public bathrooms. Is it true?
“Of course it is! I can see it on your face. Have the common decency of at least admitting it…. Jesus fuck! You know when I hired you, I told you I didn’t want any drama. And now I have to deal with this. I can’t be thought of a sperm burper. With my wife filing for divorce and living across the state at her sisters, people will start to think nasty shit about me once they find out that I have a fag working for me.
“You were recommended to us because you are a hard worker; you keep your head down. You don’t drink and you don’t cavort around in town. Now I know why.
“Watson was telling me that you were caught once before at a rest stop in South Dakota getting cornholed. He also said that the charges were dropped. Lucky you. So you must like sucking on random dick at some nasty assed bathroom. What the fuck is the draw?
“Nothing to say?... I want an answer….
“…You like to blow straight men? Why would a straight man want to get blown by some fag when he can get it at home?...
“…Watch your mouth! The last time I got a blowjob has no bearing on this conversation. You know damned well that Louise and I are going through a divorce. I haven’t had anything in a long… Wait a minute, are you looking to give me head?
“…Back to being silent…?
“Uh…
“Uh…
“Awww, fuck it…. I could go for some head. You want it?... No one will ever know that this happened, you got that? Good. Then get on your fucking knees.
“I got a lot of skin…. God damn! You are eager! My wife makes me get hard first before I… Oh fuck! Oh man.
“Fuck! Watch your goddamned teeth!... I will knock them out. Trust me I will. My dick may not be long, but it gets really fat. Those teeth better know their place.
“Damn, not many women could deep throat me. Fuck I will be using this mouth again.
“Fuck! What did I tell you about your teeth?
“Fuck you faggot! You want me to hit you again, keep up with the teeth. You hurt me, then I hurt you. What do you have to say?... Hunh?...
“Damn right you’re sorry. Look up at me. Open your mouth. Let me feel your teeth…. Holy shit! That’s some jagged teeth you have there.
“I want you to make an appointment with your dentist. I want him to grind them smooth. You got that? I pay for your dental, let me benefit from that. And make that appointment as soon as possible.
“Look at me…. That slap means I’m serious about this. Now get the fuck up. You take men up your shitter? Of course, you do. Get out of those Levi’s.
“A fucking jock strap? You are such a fag. Leave it on. I’m not interested in what you have in front.
“It’s been years since I fucked an ass. Most of the time it was to put a bitch into place. You’ll be the first faggot, but it will be for the same damned reason.
“Spread your legs further. Damn. That’s a pale ass. Hold still…. Oooh. You have been fucked before. I can’t remember when my head went in so easy. So I guess I don’t have to wait for you to adjust to me.
“Right to the root! Fuck your pussy is treating my cock so well. Aw, shut up. I don’t want to hear any goddamned complaints from you. If you wanted more lube, you should have put more spit on my dick. Next time think to do that.
“Now shut the fuck up. I’m in the middle of fucking here….
“Your cunt knows how to take a pounding. I like that. I like that a lot…. Do that again. Fuck, this is one talented cunt. And it’s right here every day. Yeah. This cunt is going to be used going forward.
“Fuck yeah. I’m taking ownership of this cunt. It’s mine. You got that?...
“Answer me motherfucker. Who’s cunt is this?
“Damned right. You will give up other men. It’s mine. You understand faggot?
“…You better.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Get ready. You gonna get flooded with a huge load. Here it cums. Here it goddamned cums! Urg! Urg! Fuuuck. Shit!
“Don’t fucking move. Stay put. Clamp down.
“Dammit faggot. No wonder so many men use you like this. Not anymore. I wasn’t kidding when I said you are to give up other men. That cunt is mine. I don’t want any other man touching my property. You got that faggot?... You say, ‘Yes Sir!’
“That’s better. You understand that I will be fucking it after we get done work every day?
“I’m one horny son of a bitch, a controlling one at that. That’s why my wife is filing for a divorce. You are going to be taking over her duties of taking my nut. Let’s go up to the house so you can fix me some dinner.
“No leave those Levi’s there. You don’t deserve to wear pants. The jock is all you need. As I said before, I’m not interested in what you have up front. In fact, it shouldn’t be any of your concern either.
“Now get up to the house…. Goddamn, that’s a nice ass. I don’t know if I will be able to make it through dinner without plowing that cunt and unloading a second time. My dick can go all night, especially a cunt that treats my dick well. That cunt will be so full by the end of the night. Now get moving.”
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Oh Pretty Woman~
70s!Rockstar!Robin x Groupie!fem!reader.
Rockstar!Robin (she's her own warning honestly).
Your high heels clicked, walking into the hallways of the apartment building as if it was yours. Crimson red lipstick and fur coat on. You were supposed to stop with the habit of getting with these rock stars, but there was something so different with the way this rockstar whispered into your ear before she left.
"L.A ain't the same without you, doll."
Robin. Robin Buckley. How could you forget? You were her pretty little drug, the girl wrapped around her finger, the princess she'd pamper and spoil whenever she was on the road. The girl that wasn't explicitly hers, and yet, the girl she lead on to believe that maybe she was more than just some groupie.
Your friend, a journalist who was simply following everywhere Hellfire went - where Robin went - stood by the front of the door, grabbing a pen and a notepad. He doesn't know anything about you and Robin, or the whole groupie thing, but you'd like to keep it that away.
"You ready to meet some cool people?" you asked him. Watching him straighten his jacket and hair. You found it amusing how he wanted to look so formal for a party, you shrugged it off. He only nods.
You weaved a sigh, opening the doorknob. Musicians, groupies, and a shit ton of strangers fill the apartment. It was a big place so to speak, music filling the room through a broken record player. For the rest of the night, you made sure to stick to your friend, a looking eye for him so that he wouldn't get drunk or "unprofessional" as he worded it. He said he was a journalist, but in truth, he really is just a young boy writing and fanboying over rockstars.
"Guess who's going on a motherfucking tour!" Eddie Munson, Hellfire's lead guitarist, yelled as he opened the door, bottle of wine in hand as he chugged. A hand is shoved to his face, pushing him away from the door. A boy tall and muscular walks into the door - Steve Harrington, the bassist of Hellfire waves to the crowd.
"Don't mind him, he's drunk." Steve chimed, pulling Dustin Henderson, their drummer, into the room. All three boys running and prodding towards the partygoers. Where's Robin?
And as the thought of her comes to mind, in flare jeans, and a graphic sleeveless shirt, Robin walks in. Leather boots long and fitted on her legs, sweat after tonight's opening act for some band they don't even remember the name of shined and slicked on her exposed arms, muscular and smooth. Her hair dishevelled and longer than the last time you saw her, the brown roots of her hair growing a little more. Heart-shaped sunglasses blocked the vision which were her blue eyes. Those goddamn eyes that could weaken you with a single glance.
"I'm not late am I?" Robin asked, smooth and slim fingers holding onto the rim of her glasses as she pushed it up to her hair. Her fingers tut with her hair, a playful chuckle erupting from her soft, glossy lips. She strides to the couch, hips swaying so effortlessly as she walked towards the rest of hellfire. Sitting down on the empty space between Eddie and Steve, manspreading as her arms slung around the two boys shoulders.
Your fingers gripped on the red cup you were holding. Your friend had a grin on his face, tugging to your coat as if it told you everything that he wanted the two of you to do : go closer to hellfire.
You look down on your cup, it's almost empty, a perfect excuse not to go near Hellfire - near Robin. "Why don't you go alone? I'll watch from afar." you chuckled awkwardly. Noticing now tense you were, without really knowing the reason why, your friend nods, leaving you alone with the crowd.
He waves over to the group, a toothy smile from Dustin in response. He lets your friend sit in the armrest of the couch, bickering over something you couldn't quite hear. A guy in the crowd goes over to you, talking about the band and all that stuff, responding to him with half hearted "mhms" and mindless nods.
But your eyes were focused elsewhere; focused on the girl scanning the crowd. The girl who's eyes, blue and deep, scanned the faces of the strangers in her apartment - as if she was looking for that one familiar face, your face.
And that's when eyes meet. Her eyes meeting your own. You could feel your heart skip a beat, a crimson hue arising on your cheeks. She was no guitarist, but she plucked on your heartstrings better than anyone could.
A smile tuts on her lips. That goddamn smile, a devilish glint in her eyes, her smile pursed into a smirk.
You looked down on your cup, empty. "I need to get some ice." You announce to the stranger who came up to you, running down the halls in search of an ice machine, in which you find in a small room.
You get in, and as you do, you hear the door swing shut.
Holy shit.
"I can't believe you actually showed up." She whispered, her breath against your neck, fingers sliding to grip onto your waist. You've never actually felt yourself melt before, but as you felt her fingers caress on the fabric of your coat you knew you were done for.
"When does it end?"
"What?" Robin cooed, her voice deep and low, a tone she's always reserved just for you. Her fingers move high up, planting them on your waist.
"This. The story about the girl who's wrapped around a rockstar's little finger and when she gets tired of being this rockstar's plaything she leaves. The rockstar sends her six...no..ten letters and doesn't even leave a backstage pass in San Diego." You replied, sliding her hands off your body. "Robin I've had enough. I'm done with this lifestyle. I'm done with you." You added, there wasn't much truth in your words as you'd like to believe yourself, and Robin didn't believe you at all.
She smiled. Why did she smile?
"Oh honey." Robin chuckled, fingers moving to grab your cup. "I say you're done with all this when I tell you are." She replied, grabbing ice from the machine. "And let me tell you, the day you're truly done, rock n roll's gonna miss you." You hear ice being tossed to your glass, daring not to look at Robin herself.
"It's gonna miss the way you turn a hotel into a home."
An ice cube thrown to your glass.
"The way you know every song. Every song. Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones." A chuckle slips out of her plush lips. Another cube thrown to your glass.
"Coats and vests in the middle of summer." Another cube.
"Those pink lips and the way it giggles over every small compliment." Another cube.
"The way it fawns over me as if it's never been complimented all it's life."
Silence fills the room, your fingers brushing over a table. A lump in your throat. You feel warm hands on the grip of your waist, your cup left on the table.
"You're more than just some groupie, darling." She cooed, lips brushing on the flesh of your ear. "You're your own kind of woman." She said before turning you around to face her, pinning you up against the brim of the table. "You're my woman."
And before you could protest, she kissed you powerfully. Hands gripping on the edge of the table as if fighting to keep your hands off her. She pulled you closer, a smirk on the edge of her lips as a soft whimper slips from yours. A needy sound that could make her go ballistic.
"So loud for me already, huh?" She chuckled, pulling away. "I barely even touched you."
Fingers brush against your chin, making you look up at her.
"Come to Arizona, baby."
"Never." yes
She smirked. "We leave tomorrow. 9AM. And pack light this time, Jesus."
#robin buckley#stranger things#robin buckley stranger things#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley fanfiction#robin buckley x fem!reader#aylasology#robin buckley x reader fanfiction#aylasology4robinbuckley!#aylasologyfics#Can you tell i used to be obssesed over Almost Famous#Rockstar Robin Buckley
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saw u post something like ‘leon breeder balls’ and i let out the ugliest laugh 😭💀
but like…. I AGREE SO MUCH. mmmmm thinking about pent up leon after a mission and all he wants to do is just unload everything from his breeder balls and into ur needy pussy :(( OR maybe one night ur silly self asked him if u could hold his balls but then u start to gently massage it and it just makes him hard bc he loves it when u touch him… i am going insane over this fuckin pixel help me
SO FUCKING REAL ITS REAL. i believe this one is gonna be on a bit of the longer side, i love him.. a lot. also very fluffy smuts kinda short i’m sowwies.. it’s just pure longing.. sorry i went all out.
after a few grueling days of uncertainty, your boyfriend finally bids you a bountiful hello once he walks through the door. there were always downsides of being so closely acquainted with leon s. kennedy. the several days he’s m.i.a on a mission and you don’t even fucking know if he’s alive kind of downsides and the jesus fucking christ this motherfucker is so damn needy downside.
the moment he walked into that very door of your shared abode, you could just sense the tenseness plaguing the usually easy to breathe in environment of the place. he was dirty, face covered in ash as well as dirt and mud, it was like he was rolling around in a pigs pin the entirety he was in spain. but, those things didn’t come directly out of your mouth, especially not if he’s practically running across the living space to smother you in his arms. “leon—“ you were cut off with his nose nuzzling through the parts of your hair, choosing to bite your tongue as you could tell he was reveling in this moment.
he didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to touch. no spot was neglected kind of touch. you relished in the presence of normalcy as you melted in his embrace, opting to bury your face into his chest as you both sat there, touching. several people were killed for him to be there, and boy was it so fucking worth it. you mustered up enough courage to break the silence, noticing the absence of his sheepskin bomber jacket, expensively crafted with tough leather. it looked perfect on him, at least you thought so.
“forgot something?” you muffled against his hold, you could feel his body respond to your voice somehow as he slowly separated himself from you, it seemed almost impossible. he let out a low chuckle, sucking in a breath before pressing a thumb against your cheek. “can’t say that i didn’t, hadn’t seen that jacket in ages..” he grinned through his admission, visibly bashful. he stared down at you grumpily, pouting like a child just cause you just had to speak up and make him let go of you. you cocked a brow at his direction and he defeatedly averted his gaze. you snickered, advancing farther into both of your’s home to fetch a washcloth, thoroughly wetting it in the kitchen sink before turning back to him.
he followed you, like a dog. who knew that he could become domesticated by a woman. ever since the events of raccoon city, things haven’t been in his favor when it came to his love life, meeting you was like encountering a saint personified into a woman. you motioned for him to sit but he didn’t budge, dumbly standing behind you, practically looming over you ominously. you rolled your eyes, irritated before you directed your attention back towards him like he wanted so badly. “yeees?~” you dragged on, shifting your weight onto your left leg before placing your hand on your hip. “not movin’ till you actually say hello to me, i know you missed me..” he replied, training his eyes onto your lips—he must’ve forgotten how kissable they were. you tutted, shaking your head as he smoothed a hand through his unkept hair. “i missed you baby, you know that.. now please take a seat, i’m trying to help you out here.” you sighed out, observing as he sat down, adjusting in his seat to get comfortable.
you couldn’t help but notice how worn he looked. eyes heavy, the skin barrier of his lips violated by the relentless gnawing at it. he made note of you studying his face, growing a bit insecure, not wanting you to stare and eventually notice something that made you want to leave. “i know, i’m all beat up but at least i’m home, yeah?” he alleviates your concern, your brows furrowing up as you felt your stomach finally settle after the constant churning in it. “i’m glad you’re home, leon… i’ll take care of you. you know i will.” you reminded him, beginning to wipe away the grime from his face, countless hours of slaughter. the rag was covered in filth and dried blood, it told a story. one of courage, you knew his job absolutely was not for the faint of heart. you watched as it took its toll on even him. you noticed a scar cleverly sliced across his left cheek, tracing your fingertips over it.
he flinched. eyes darting towards you as you watched his pupils dilate instinctively. your breath wavered, like a flame of a candle threatened by the harsh winds of a storm. his body was taut, breath laboring as he sat there, attempting to calibrate himself within the comfort of his own home. he grabbed at your hand, pressing it firmly against his cheek with earnest, welcoming your sweet contact as your the two of your’s warmth became adjoin. he missed this, he missed you. each lasting moment he spends with you, it makes it even more difficult to depart from you once he had to be deployed on a mission. he was starved of your attention, and he craved it. he yearned for your acknowledgment, he’d give just about anything for it, intangible or not, he’ll find a fucking way. he leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him.
“handsome..” you gave his cheek a tender yet reassuring tug, watching a smile stretch across his face. “i hardly recognized you with all that muck on your fa— mh?!” lips eagerly collided with your own, grasping your wrists, guiding them to his neck where he demanded for them to be rested at, old habits die hard. he slipped his tongue past the gates that were your lips, tongue delving into your mouth, as he hoisted you up, allowing your legs to inevitably lock around his waist. he pulled away briefly, only to witness your dazed expression, lips plump and lathered in his saliva. his lips moved feverishly along your neck, adorning it with chaste kisses, ironic to how you two stood with one another.
you let out a strained moan, nimble fingers finding the back of his head, your fingers lacing within the hair present, grabbing at it arbitrarily. his kisses bruised your skin like a vulture tearing at a corpse as it sprawled out motionlessly on the pavement, accepting the inevitability of its fate. he pushed passed the door that lead to your bedroom, left vacant and untouched by him for several hours. it beckoned him with the sounds of floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he staggered heavily through the room, your body flushed against his chest.
he glanced down at his side of the bed, unmade with his clothes discarded carelessly underneath the covers. you refused to sleep elsewhere, finding solace within the sheets as they laid inanimately beneath you as you brooded underneath the light of the moon at nights, even as the sun shone through the curtains. they smelt of him, the textiles smelt of him, not permitting you to ever forget it. he tossed you gently onto the bed as your body clashed against the softness of the foamy mattress, bedding engulfing you, leaving you to carefully watch as leon began taking off his shirt, revealing that very body you spent countless nights musing upon. he assisted you with your own top, discarding of it somewhere you’d probably discover it at days later.
“missed this body.. missed the way it felt in my hands.” he averred, approaching where you laid in an almost predatory gesture. “say you’ll let me take you, baby, please..” he pleaded, thumbing at the waistband of your bottoms. you nodded, further encouraging his downright impulsive behavior. he incapsulated your lips in a kiss backed with passion as he fiddled with his belt, the clanking of the buckle sounding in the confines of your bedroom. he made quick work of it before tugging down his pants, ushering your body to rest against the pillows as he crawled between your legs. he broke the kiss, a string of saliva keeping your lips tethered together. “beautiful,” he echoed you from earlier, eyeing your bra and overall disheveled aesthetic. “shit, did i do that?” he remarks, huffing out a breath, a foxy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
he watched as you fumbled with your pants, swatting your hands away, he shook his head with disapproval, unsatisfied with the idea of you doing any of the work. “god, already tasking yourself with more work? let me, i’ll forever be indebted to you.” he assured, sliding your pants down the fat of your thighs and ultimately the entirety of your legs. he folded them with care beside you, turning his attention to your panties. he hummed, endorsing the presence of your arousal seeping through. “looks like i’m not the only one who’s needed this, huh?” he commented snidely, watching you puff out a breath impatiently.
“hey, hey.. i’m right here,” he cooed, working at your panties as he removed those as well, leaving you bare and ready for what’s to come. he allowed his boxers to pool around his ankles as he pulled you by your hips towards him, closing the gap between you two. he wasted no time as he pushed into you, your pussy greedily claiming the base of his cock, coating it with your fluids. he groaned as he thrusted his head back, gritting his teeth. you whimpered, adjusting to him as he slowly but surely bottomed out inside you. “gonna start movin, mkay? i hear you, baby, i know..” he soothed the ache inside you without fail, staying true to his words as he commenced. the sounds of skin slapping lewdly filled the room, his arm stretching out to grip onto the headboard as he looked down at his cock splitting you open in smitten. you craned your neck to the side, drinking up everything he offered you.
he wasn’t having that, cradling your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, turning your head towards direction. “look at me, wanna see that gorgeous face of yours. feels good, hm? i know, hon…” he fawned over you, disgustingly enamored. he picked up the pace as sweat collected along his brow line. not only did he miss this he needed it. badly. to relinquish his self restraint, for it to topple over on top of you. “missed you s’much, leon.. missed you—hh’missed you..” you babbled on, eyes involuntarily rolling into the back of your head as he slammed his hips against your own. in a fleeting moment, you were one with bliss.
with each thrust, he reminded you of how much he loved you. with each thrust, he drilled it into your skull of how much he yearned for you. “fuck, i wanna cum inside you… wanna give myself a reason not to even think of leaving your side again—mmfh!~” he grunted manically, his hips jerked and convulsed as he embellished the sight, the utter beauty of you beneath him. your bodies moved in a frenzied tandem, your limbs tangling together as he approached sheer ecstasy. “pussy feels so good, ‘t’s so warm.. fuck, don’t stop..” he says mindlessly, as if he wasn’t the one rocking his hips against the flesh of your ass. with one pitched whine, he spilled himself inside you, crushing your face into his chest, heaving as he collected the stray strands of your hair, tucking them behind your hair.
he pressed a kiss to your forehead, panting with purpose. “take me one more time, promise ‘ll take care of you.. always.” he stilled his hips inside you, plugging you up, ensuring that nothing will slip out. the night was still young, and your boyfriend was just getting started. he breathed out a hushed confession of love before sitting upright, slinging both of your legs over his shoulders in a routinely fashion.
#HWNDLALELTMYMR#SORRU WVERYONE I DIED WRITING THIS#there’s more story than smut here actually! sorry for that#lonely night today..#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil x you#resident evil 4#cweampier
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windfall
summary: boat life never felt so good
notes: alcohol use in this one! i realize all of my rafe stuff has some substance use and that is probably because if rafe motherfucking cameron is gonna do something it's gonna be get fucked up. hints of choking kink and exhibitionism and perhaps boat kink beware my readers (and also enjoy!)
tags: rafe cameron x reader
word count: 2685
The bottle in your hand drops to the carpet when you step into the cabin, and you curse with a giggle.
“Fuck,” Rafe exhales, and stoops to grab it with unsteady legs.
“Thank you,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ears and take the nearly-gone bottle of Bacardi from him. He collapses onto the couch, fingers in his hair, and sighs heavily. You follow him, falling into the pillows, and nearly dissolve into the luxurious cushions. It’s so comfortable you’re afraid you’ll just fall asleep.
“Come here,” Rafe says, voice gravelly and only slightly whiny. His legs spread. His eyes are nearly closed when his head rolls over to look at you with those blue eyes. You swallow and summon the strength to swing your leg over his, falling into his lap. You both sigh at the familiar sensation, heads buzzing with the feel of each other. And with alcohol.
You get comfortable in his lap, the hem of your dress sliding up your bare thighs. His hands follow it.
You’re struck by a thought, and you seize the side of his neck in one hand and grip the neck of the bottle tighter in the other.
“One last shot,” you breathe down at him, hair obscuring your face slightly, and he swallows.
His mouth opens wide, and you grin down at him as you push onto your knees to get closer.
The bottle tips, liquid sloshing, and you watch the spout gurgle and pour a shot's worth of liquor into his mouth. You drop the bottle right side up onto the carpet behind you and watch him swallow it.
His glistening lips close and open again and you chase them with your own. He immediately hums when your mouth finds his own, pleased. You taste so good. His neck is slack and relaxed into the pillows, just enjoying the feeling, but your body curves over him and draws a groan from his lips when your thighs squeeze his legs.
He’s suddenly awake then, keen to feel your skin on his, and he rises from the pillows and pushes a hand up your thigh. He feels the material of your underwear, something smooth and soft, and his dick twitches in his pants.
You gasp when his fingers push right back the waistband of your underwear and into your slick, blunt fingers in your folds making your cheeks immediately flush red. His mouth works at yours, clearly trying to overstimulate you, and your hips move in tandem with his wrist when two fingers push past the tightness of your pussy and rub up into your velvet walls. You’re desperate, and he knows it.
“You feel so good,” you say, hands in his hair, and his open mouth pants into yours. Your voices and noises are hushed, somehow afraid of being caught hundreds of yards from his parent’s house.
It is their boat, after all.
“So fucking wet.” His fingers curl inside of you and you surge closer to him, hips rocking. His eyes close in the feeling. Your throat is hot from the noises you’re making into his ear, all breathy and needy, and he feels his dick twitch again.
You roll your hips along with his fingers, chasing the feeling that curls tight in your abdomen, and claw a hand at his chest.
“Rafe,” you cry. You slap a hand over your mouth, too loud, and squeeze your eyes shut when he adds another finger. “Fuck, Rafe,” you chant, chest rutting against his as you push yourself down onto him.
He feels like a God, having you like this, and he wishes he could get the face you’re making tattooed into his brain. Your hips move faster, chasing your orgasm, and you bring a hand down to rub at your clit. Your fingers and his fumble for a second, but then you get back into the rhythm.
He nearly creams his pants when you dig your fingernails into his shoulder, back arching, and cum onto his hand.
“Shit,” you gasp, looking down at where his hand pumps still, and your abdomen moves jerkily as you catch your breath.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he exhales up at you, eyes wide and in love, and pulls his fingers from you. You watch him push them into his mouth, and you huff out a shocked laugh when he sucks them clean.
“I have to fuck you on this boat,” you say, hands tight around him, and lean to kiss him when his fingers are free from his mouth. He tastes sweet and tangy, distinctly you, and it turns him on knowing you like to taste yourself.
“Not if I fuck you first.” He breathes hard and fumbles with the belt on his pants, cheeks ruddy, and you clamber off of his lap to discard your dress and ruined underwear. He watches you undress, heart pounding in his chest, and licks his lips when he sees your fully nude body. He stands and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you to him with a hand gripping your asscheek. He kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll do.
You two stumble out onto the deck, lead by his steady feet, and feel the breeze perk your nipples.
“Jump,” he mumbles into your lips. You obey and grip his shoulders tight, fearful that he’ll drop you. He moves forward further into the deck until a cool material presses into your back, and he pushes your ass onto the ridge to steady you. It’s some sort of platform that stabilizes the boat in the wind, and your back arches against the temperature.
He rustles to get his pants unzipped and underwear pushed out of the way, chest heaving with excitement, and he strokes himself a couple times just at the view of you of you spread out naked for him. He imagines you being sore tomorrow with a smile on his face.
He pushes your legs wider, fitting himself in between them, and grabs the slope of your waist. You arch into his palm and your head falls onto the hard surface when he pushes in. Instant relief floods your body, satisfied at being used for something mutual, and your eyebrows furrow as his body starts to move in perfect rhythm with the heaving of your chest. Your legs slide up to hook around his waist, and your hand finds his on your waist. You just squeeze it, exhaling as he bottoms out, and your eyes close.
“So good, so good, so good,” you mumble, head lolling to the side, and you don’t even have the strength to open your eyes and see the look on his face. His plump lips hang open in a mix of awe and surprise, and he has to ball the hand pressed beside you into a fist to stop himself from fucking into you so hard you bruise.
The thing about him is that he can’t give himself fully to anyone. Emotionally, no shit, but even physically. He finds himself holding back in favor of not breaking his one night stand in half, trading pounding you into oblivion for something half as painful and just as fun.
But you grab at his wrist when you feel him slow, and your eyes open to stare up at him. The breeze picks your hair up and sweeps it across your face, and he sees your nipples harden and a layer of goosebumps erupt across your soft stomach.
“I’m not going to break,” you say against the wind, looking squarely into his stormy eyes, and squeeze around him. “I can take it.”
He chews at his bottom lip, forehead wrinkled in something like worry, and he smoothes a palm across your stomach. It’s suddenly sober between you two, and his heart pounds into his chest at that. “Okay,” he breathes, and drags you forward with two hands on your hips. He pulls you down onto him in one swift move, seating himself deeper inside of you than you could ever imagine, and his teeth worry his lip again. Your back tingles with the strength it takes to sit up and take it, but your face relaxes. He does it again, fingers tight on your flesh, and his shoulders jerk with the effort. He stares into your eyes all the while.
“More.” Your eyes don’t move, challenging, and he licks at his bottom lip. His hips jut you forward half an inch, pelvis bruising yours, and your mouth drops into an O.
He hunches forward, taking your face in his hand and bringing you in for a kiss— but his lips just hover over yours. The moonlit breeze whips between you two and you shiver, shaking under his touch, and he watches your face contort when his hips force into yours with reckless abandon, back straining at the angle.
Your eyelids flutter, only centimeters from his, but he stares into your eyes all the same. You reach a hand to grab at his wrist, needing some form of balance on this slippery ridge, and he feels your pulse quicken under his thumb.
“Fuck me,” you whisper through wind-bitten lips, and his mouth presses into a line. He lets go of your face and hauls you further up in his lap. His strong, warm body pushes you into the icy ledge, flattening you, and he properly fucks you. You just hold on for the ride, fingernails scratching at his shirt for purchase, and you barely feel it when his fingers come up and press into the base of your neck harshly.
He holds your body between a hand at your neck and one at your thigh, carving the imprint of his body into yours.
You’re sure his name will be stuck in your throat deep into the morning. It floats away from your lips in a whisper, raspy in the wind, and your eyes close in the feeling of his lips on your cool face.
A scramble of voices cut through the air of the previously-empty dock, and you dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades.
“Rafe,” you whisper, eyes suddenly wide open, and you stiffen.
“Shut up.” His palm comes over your mouth, pressing you back into the ridge, and his hips chase yours faster. He looks up from his place in the crook of your neck, clear eyes scanning the dock. It’s a group of younger-looking men with flashlights, and his blood surges at the idea— at just the idea of being caught.
You rock with the rhythm of his hips, entranced, and your hand snakes down between your legs secretly. Your fingers find your clit, and your lower body flushes with warmth.
“Yeah,” Rafe pants. “Touch yourself for me.” He looks down at where you’re connected, watching you pulse and glisten in the moonlight, and you feel disgusting and beautiful at the same time. They’re the same thing with him. “Just a little more, baby,” he nearly prays.
“Too much—too—too… Fuck, Rafe.” Your head bangs against the ridge as it falls and you curl painfully up into him. “Please.”
“Only ‘cause you said please,” he grits out between his teeth, palm slamming on the white fiberglass of what keeps you under him. The flashlights scatter when the men find the dock, their boots pounding, but he can’t hear them when you cry out and finally squeeze around his dick like a vice.
He suddenly drags you from the ridge with strong arms around your torso, pulling you out and hauling you into the cabin. You struggle, protesting, but his hand slaps over your mouth.
“Shut up for a second,” he mutters, and drops you onto the couch. He throws an article of your clothing at you, eyes still on the men on the dock, and he fits himself back into his pants and pulls a his shirt straighter onto his abdomen.
“Anybody on this boat? Mr. Cameron?” A man with a gravelly voice calls out from the dock, and you clutch your dress to your abdomen. A flashlight floods the cabin, and you bristle.
“I’m out here,” Rafe calls, emerging from the cabin with a rustled shirt and red cheeks.
“Oh—we got a call from the Alexander’s that there was shouting from The Druthers. Everybody alright out here?” A different man speaks, voice pitched higher than the other’s. The flashlight moves from the window into the cabin and towards Rafe, and he squints in the light.
“Just me, sir.”
“What happened to your pants?” A third man randomly asks..
“Uh, my drink spilled.” Rafe glances to the crotch of his pants, and he chews at his lip when he sees the stains. “I was about to go back inside. Just cleaning some gear out here.”
“Just like your father, Rafe. I’ll, uh—I’ll tell the Alexander’s everything’s alright. Have a good night, yeah?” Their shoes start towards the shore, stopping to hear him answer, and at Rafe’s “yes, sir” they continue on.
Rafe watches them go, hands on his hips, and closes his eyes. Fuck.
You’re fully dressed when he comes back into the cabin, albeit crumpled, but you’re looking up at him with this very specific look on your face. Almost teasing.
“Spilled your drink?” You ask, standing on shaky legs, and he fixes you in a kiss that makes you grapple for purchase with a hand tight on his shirt.
“That’s your fault,” he murmurs, having a look at your face, and his eyes trace down your collar. A red mark distinctly similar to a hand print peeks from your shirt, but he hardly has time to smile at that before you’re digging a hand into his pants. Fuck. He grabs a handful of your hair and looks down.
“You’re filthy,” he says with some effort, weakening as your warm hand strokes him just right. You look up, chewing at the inside of your lip, and nod. His chest heaves as you pick up the pace, eyelids fluttering, and you grin up at him.
“I’m not the one about to bust in my pants.”
His hand squeezes at your hair, head tilting back, and his mouth hangs open at the feeling of your hand.
“Shut the fuck up,” he pushes out, sounding like he’s in pain, and you feel him cum into your hand with a jerk of his hips. “Fuck.”
He pants, trying to catch his breath, and comes back into consciousness. You bring your fingers to your lips, pushing them into your mouth, and clean them off. He watches you do it with a hand braced at your neck. He just watches.
“My dad’s security team almost caught us.” He rubs a thumb at your cheek, fondly feeling the hot skin. “You’re loud.” A smile tugs the corners of his mouth up, and you shrug.
“I know. You want me to be quiet?” You tilt your head.
“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, close to your face, and presses you with a kiss.
(“I heard you were making a ruckus on The Druthers last night,” is the first thing that Ward Cameron says when he comes into the kitchen the next morning. Rafe groans from his spot at the breakfast nook, face pressed to the table. “Something about cleaning some gear.” Ward sets his coffee cup onto the island, stark blue eyes fixed on his hungover son with a half empty gatorade on its side on the table beside him.
“Not right now, Dad.” Rafe hears his father’s shoes near him, and a gentle series of clicks ring in his ears. He cracks open an eye, sitting up slightly. Two Advil are next to his gatorade, and Ward ruffles his son’s hair.
“Stop messing with that neighbor girl.” He says it like he’s tired of saying it.
Rafe makes a face.
“What neighbor girl?”
“The one that left her underwear on the floor of the cabin of The Druthers.” Ward disappears back into the hallway. “And wash those damn pants!” The door of his study slams shut. Rafe winces at the sound, hands bracing his ears, and he deflates in a sigh.)
(A/N: alternative title: dick dock)
#obx#obx smut#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x fem!reader
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do you have any headcannons about nadja of antipaxos with a shy girlfriend?? do you think she would tease them alot(especially during sex), would she be really soft around them, or how would she try to help them come out of their shell?
𝐍𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐬/𝐨:
⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, 🔞18+ talk so no minors please!
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ
𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞
thank you for your question!
ENTJ
Slytherin
Chaotic Neutral
Scorpio Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Scorpio Rising
・What your question reminds me of is Jenna back in season 1 where Nadja sees her being bullied and goes 'She's gonna make those motherfuckers pay' (obviously not in those exact words as I cannot remember)
・And then without thinking she makes Jenna into a vampire so she can get her revenge
・But I think Nadja has a part of her that's soft for girls that are outsiders, or forgotten about or deemed unworthy.
・She would definitely help the girl/young woman come out of her shell. Either by changing them into a vampire (if they so desire), because that would definitely be her first option in helping you
・Then she would bring a piece of parchment, an inkpot and quill - and ask about what scares you. After writing it down, she would go and experience your fears with you
・I don't think she would tease you, not until you have spent a lot of time together. I'm talking like a couple months to years. Because she knows it would be cruel to tease someone who isn't confident give tit for tat.
・But when you have sex, she does like to tease you, to make you beg for what you want. She likes to hear it.
・Nadja would flirt with you here and there throughout your time together
・But when she keeps on seeing you, there's this tension that would start building
・And her playfulness starts to dissipate and transform into lust
・She would try to keep it from you but it would be way too obvious with her comments about how good you look or how nice you smell
・And obviously you ... have the same feelings ... so you give the same comments. And for a while, it's a sort of cat and mouse game.
・And then one day, she just ... pounced on you. And with as much vigor, you reciprocated.
・Being around Nadja just gives you this extra confidence.
・If you stayed human, then she would be into blood play - sucking a little of your blood from your neck and kissing you
・She's obsessed with your smell and the way your body moves when you're together
・She could smell you from a mile away
・Oh and she would LOVE public sex. She has absolutely no shame. Because she can get away with anything and everything.
・There are no limits with Nadja; she can help you to transform into the person you want to be easily
𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔
Curious and Wide-Eyed x Has Seen Everything, Thinks It’s Cute
Literal Angel (You) x Smooth Devil (Nadja)
Cold Hearted (Nadja) x The One Who Makes Them Soft (You)
𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆
Older Woman Woos Younger Woman
𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈
Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie
#witchthewriter#headcanons#nadja smut#nadja x you#nadja headcanons#nadja x reader#nadja of antipaxos#nadja wwdits#guillermo#nandor#wwdits fx#what we do in the shadows#what we do in the shadows headcanons#witch the writer's headcanons
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Explain which fucked up character is more of a twink; Jason or Bruce. Elaborate on why you think this. (12 marks)
Alright So,
Jason is a hunk
He's not a twink, I believe if anyone ever called him a twink he would be so shocked he would forget how to punch them. He's a hunk. A twunk even. He's built, strong looks as big as a fucking closet.
I mean look at this mf
Now his father???
This is what twink death looks like:
And for the definition.
You know those gradients people do with actors and other celebrities when they go from Twink to Daddy? As much as Bruce Wayne isn't my cup of tea.
This is him.
Like– It's literally him
He's the Twink -> Daddy Gotham edition.
And before someone comes in here and says " Oh He's still a twink–" Do not lie to yourself, he can be whatever you want him to be in your heart, but that man is huge, he's a CLOSET. His son is 6,0 and he managed to be BROADER. He's humongous. He can carry bane on his fucking back that's not a twink deed that's a brawny motherfucker he could break our arms like a twig.
I, in fact. I could argue that Bruce Wayne could actually be a bear depending on the artist that draw him (which also makes debatable the argument that Bruce Wayne in fact shaves his chest and I would say that's probably with laser because no razor makes a man chest and abs that smooth.) but I don't think the fandom is ready for that.
On an unrelated note, Jason Todd from Wayne Family adventures is a twink and I will fight people on that–
So in conclusion,
Jason Todd, is a twunk he was never a twink in his life. His father on the other hand was a Twink that evolved to a Daddy, which leads us to the end of my dissertation where measuring which fucked up character is more of a Twink... Bruce Wayne wins the crown, congrats Bruce Wayne you will always be famous.
Thanks for coming to my Ted talk where I say things with enough confidence that makes it seem like I am right. Because I am.
#Now if we're talking of the entire Batfamily Dick Grayson takes the award#and you know what? Good for him. GOOD FOR HIM#I spend too much time on this as someone just take me out#on a date?#I don't know guys be creative#twink Bruce Wayne#can't believe I'm using this tag#this is where my life lead to?#yeah#I suppose it is#And I don't know how to feel about it#thanks for the ask babe I love the opportunity to be more deranged on this site than I was on this past few months#q asks#long post#🦇🐦
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Ghost hcs mostly him having autism
Has compression socks and gloves bc they help keep him regulated, but he HATES tight clothing anywhere else. He strictly wears loose and baggy clothing, like oversized hoodies
Hates flavored water unless it's tea. Green tea? Sure. Any kind of sparkling water? Nuh uh
Likes mud and rain puddles. Don't ask me why
Can't stand the smell of coffee in the morning, it overwhelms him. He can and will leave the room if someone just made coffee
Doesn't like hugs, or really just being touched in general. (Mostly due to trauma, but the autism isn't helping either)
That being said, when he does get hugged, he prefers it to be firm. Heavy knuckles running up and down his back is the quickest way to make him melt in your arms. Soap is the only one allowed to do this, but Price and Gaz will very occasionally be offered one of those awkward one-armed half hugs if they need one.
He masks most of the time (literally and figuratively) so it's not very obvious that he's autistic from first glance. If he's comfortable with the people around him, or if he's alone, he might stim
He does jazz hands as a stim, and can occasionally be found tiptoe walking
He also knocks his knuckles together and rasps them on desks. He likes the noise.
He prefers rough or smooth textures over soft/fluffy ones. Denim, mesh, leather, linen, and polyester are the only fabric types he'll be comfortable in.
He keeps his hair buzzed, not just because he's in the military, but because he pulls on it and ends up tearing it out of his head when he gets sensory overload from it touching his face (me too bro, me too)
He listens to metal songs on max volume when he's sensory seeking (you can hear that shit through his headphones)
He doesn't like having things in his ears, so he prefers headphones over earbuds. He won't complain if he has to use earbuds though.
Surprisingly enough, he can't stand weighted blankets. Unless that weighted blanket is Soap 😏
He gets aggressive when he's excited, so he'll often go to the gym to blow off some steam. Rookies see him going to town on a punching bag and assume he's pissed, but really he just doesn't know how else to express his feelings.
He hyperfixated on komodo dragons for a while (he now has several random facts in his arsenal)
His special interest is weapons. Any kind, he just thinks they're interesting. Especially crossbows. (He knows just about every weapon under the sun, ask him literally anything)
He steals Soap's phone to play neko atsume (he has become emotionally attached to the cats, but you didn't hear me say that)
He prefers to sleep with blankets under him instead of on top because it makes his skin crawl if they're not the right texture.
He's always cold but radiates heat like a motherfucker, definitely has an electric blanket at his place
He has a favorite pen that he carries everywhere, refuses to use anything else.
He eats the most random food combinations. Tomatoes with sour cream? Delicious. Avocados with cream cheese? Absolutely divine. A normal fucking sandwich? Hell no.
He struggles with hygiene but hates feeling dirty. He'll often force himself to shower even when he knows it'll drain his energy.
He has to buy a specific type of eyeblack because of the texture. He doesn't like any kind that feels too greasy. Not that it'll stop him from wearing it if that's all that's available, but he won't be happy about it.
He used to bite his hands as a kid. Hard. He has a few small scars because of it
He enjoys heavy bass. He likes low rumbling/knocking noises. He may or may not be considering buying a bass drum...
Alternates between sleeping in a hammock and a bed at his place
Loves chairs that spin, though you'd never catch him spinning 😔
Everything he says sounds sarcastic, even when he's being genuine. This has caused many people to get annoyed with him.
He tends to grind his teeth, so he chews on tree bark to keep his mouth busy
He used to climb trees as a kid because he liked the way the wind felt from up high in the leaves
He isn't a fan of the way paper feels. That being said, He loves old books. He spends most of his downtime at the library since it's quiet and peaceful, plus it gives him a way to get out of the house and busy himself.
He still wears a mask off duty for many reasons. For starters, he's never been the best at facial reactions. He thinks it's easier to just hide it altogether than to try and contort his face into the "appropriate" reaction. Secondly, he has stims and occasional tics where his mouth moves, and he doesn't want people to stare. (Snapping his mouth like a shark... so real to me) Also, he just thinks it should be common practice. He's never understood why people don't cover their mouth and nose, or at the very least cover it when they cough/sneeze.
He will actually fan the air in front of him if someone he doesn't like just walked by. He doesn't want to breathe "their air". (Graves was very confused as to why Ghost kept waving the air every time he walked by)
He wears sunglasses in public, regardless of whether or not it's sunny out. He just doesn't want to have to make eye contact with people if he doesn't have to. He can make eye contact, but he much prefers not to.
He punches his legs or the walls when overstimulated.
He has dromophobia (fear of crossing streets) and tends to speedwalk across roads
Has the biggest vocabulary known to man because he used to read dictionaries as a kid. (He can and will abuse this power when someone is annoying him)
Prefers non-fiction. That's it.
He cleans doorknobs daily. He specifically keeps a pack of wipes with him to clean doorknobs- who the fuck knows when they were cleaned last. He can't stand the idea of touching something that dozens, if not hundreds of people (who may or may not have washed their hands) have touched prior.
His favorite color is orange. He always avoids touching anything orange because he's worried he'll ruin it somehow.
He washes his hands before and after everything he does (when he can)
He has a crowbar. He keeps it beside his bed, and he's very fond of it.
He can stay completely still for concerningly long amounts of time. Useful for missions, unnerving the rest of the time. Can and will be seen in the corner of a room staring at people.
@waiting-so-long I'm so glad someone wanted to hear my nonsense lmao
#Wdym I'm projecting... no I'm not#(I am)#Half of these are just things I do#Not even gonna lie tomatoes with sour cream fucking slaps#I also think Ghost was hyper empathetic as a child#He lost that pretty quickly#Hmmm I'm gonna monch and cronch on this man#I also don't think he likes kissing#Soap doesn't mind#cod#simon ghost riley#ghost headcanons#ghost#ghost cod#simon riley#Forgive any mistakes I missed#I looked over this very quickly lol
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