#that posture got to be killing you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hannieehaee · 6 months

Text

TOO MUCH

18+ / mdi

summary: after a few weeks of constant overtime work slouching over a desk, you feel as if your back is about to give out on you. fortunately for you, your best friend seungcheol is a professional masseuse! unfortunately for you, you're unsure of how you'll keep your crush on your best friend at bay while on his massage bed, ass up and oiled up.

content: masseuse!seungcheol, friends to lovers, pining (act surprised), touch-starved reader, inexperienced reader, very uninformed view of what being a masseuse is like oops, afab reader, smut, fingering, oil is involved, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 7.9k

a/n: as someone who's had horrible back pain ever since i was a child, this is based on mostly real events </3 also not 100% proofread

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support me through a one-time tip! <3

Your back was killing you.

It had been weeks since you'd gotten some proper rest, having made the terrible decision to take on some overtime at work, not knowing that your supervisor would get so used to the extra help she would continue to schedule you more hours week after week, thus destroying your back in the process. You knew that you could simply say no, but the extra money was helpful. You had wanted to start saving up a little more so you could finally move out of your shitty neighborhood, so the situation kind of worked out. The money would also go to paying your student loans, meaning you really couldn't miss this chance for an increase in income. It was kind of a win-win situation, except your poor back was the sole loser.

Your job didn't involve too much movement, no. It was mostly office work, which required you to sit on your hunched back for 10 hours per day, only allotting yourself for three quick 15-minute breaks and a 30 lunch break in which you would still be hunched over as you ate. You knew it was a bad habit, but sitting there for so many hours, you'd forget to sit up straight as you looked into the computer screen, and even if you fixed your posture while working, your back was just not built for standing still for such long periods of time. There was really no saving your back from its stiff fate at this point. These work hours also didn't allow you time to even work out or stretch in order to keep your body at least a little active and maybe prevent your pain a tiny bit.

Your best friend Seungcheol constantly scolded you over your bad posture. It wasn't like you actually had bad posture, okay? You weren't constantly hunched over, nor were you carrying all your weight on your shoulders. This was a recent development resulting directly from your increased work hours. But Seungcheol, being a masseuse, always noticed the slightest changes in your physique, claiming he could spot a sore back from a mile away, with yours being a very obvious case. He could notice your head standing a little lower, digging into your shoulders more and more as the days went by. He also took notice of your constant wincing and your futile attempts at rubbing your own shoulders whenever the soreness got too annoying.

He pitied you, really. He hated seeing you in pain. Being your best friend, he felt it as his duty to try and relieve it in any way he could. On top of having most of your free time being taken over by work, he hated to think that you were also in pain during the few hours you spent away from the office. He had communicated all these concerns to you over the past few weeks, trying to convince you to let him give you a massage in order to relieve the pain, but you'd consistently refused. He was unsure as to why, and being denied a proper reason made him want to keep on insisting until you finally allowed him to rid you of your discomfort.

"One massage won't fix my issues," you'd argued over and over again. To which he simply responded by saying he could just give you a standing appointment every week! He was very insistent on helping you, wanting to relieve you of at least some of the pain. But you were even more insistent in denying him. You were too busy to use up the little bit of free time you had going to the spa Seungcheol worked at. You also didn't think a massage would really be the ultimate solution, despite how badly your sore shoulders begged for relief. Yeah, sure, a massage might alleviate the pain for a bit, but it would simply come back after another week at the office. That, and the fact that the spa Seungcheol worked at was only open during your work hours, meaning you'd have to either haul ass over there during your thirty minute lunch, or take time off. Both were huge no's to you. There were just far too many reasons as to why not take him up on his offer, you argued both to him and yourself. But you knew these were simply excuses. Your main reason had been something you'd kept deep within yourself. You were starving for his touch, but scared of how your body would react to it.

You were generally an averagely touchy person with friends and family. Not overly touchy, but arguably an appropriate amount. It had only been a little over a year or so since you'd begun to feel a bit strange at the lack of intimate touch you'd experienced thus far in your life. While all your friends had experimented and had fun during college, you were a little shier and more reserved, rendering you a bit behind the rest of the herd in that area. It wasn't very noticeable to all. It wasn't like your friends were aware about how sexually frustrated you'd grown over the years due to your lack of experience, but you'd still tried to keep it a secret how unaccustomed you were to more intimate forms of physical touch. Even something as innocent as a massage from a friend. You'd be as touchy as any friend would expect, but still felt a slightly strange sensation when it came to any mention of more intimate activities. You'd somehow grown used to a lack of touch, despite being best friends with the touchiest person alive. You usually avoided being too physically affectionate with Seuncheol anyways, having harbored a small crush on him when you'd first met and wanting to avoid any of your emotions getting in the way of a friendship you treasured so much. You'd known that a massage from the man would be a huge nono, all things considered, which was where all your denials stemmed from.

You had been friends with Seungcheol since college. You had both shared a major, meaning that you kept bumping into each other day after day, attending almost all the same classes freshman year. You had taken a quick liking to each other, befriending one another almost immediately. Despite having had a crush on the man at first sight, you were content with the friendship that had blossomed instead. You'd even ended up joining Seungcheol's little friend group, being friends with most of them even to this day. This unexpected closeness during your first year led you to coordinate your schedules the following three years, thus seeing each other literally every day you were on campus. Even now, having recently graduated college, you were still best friends, meeting up constantly. Despite sharing a major, you both had ended up in drastically different places after college. You had gone for the corporate route while Seungcheol suddenly developed a passion for physical therapy, eventually becoming a massage therapist. At the time, however, he worked at a luxury spa downtown, being known as one of their best masseuses and singlehandedly earning the establishment an increase from a four-star rating to five stars just from the quality of his work alone.

You had visited Seungcheol's work before, quickly deciding it just wasn't your vibe. The place was nice and perfectly polished, but upon seeing a few of the masseuses' skills in action, you realized it'd be better for your friendship if you avoided such intimate contact with one another. Yes, you knew massages were not inherently intimate, but being oiled up and felt up by someone who was as close to you as Seungcheol just didn't ring like a good idea to you. It also didn't help that the massive crush you had on the man in college seemed to be resurfacing as of late. You believed to have gotten over it a few months into senior year, but you didn't want to risk reviving it under any circumstances.

However, despite your constant rejections, Seungcheol continued to beg you to let him take care of your problem, and denying him was something that pained both you and your back. So you now found yourself with two issues; back pain, and a very pouty Seungcheol.

"Fuck, my back is killing me," you repeated for the millionth time in the past five hours since you had woken up. You had intended to enjoy your rare day off, even waking up a little earlier than intended so you could make plans with your roommates, but your plans quickly died on you as soon as you woke up, body stiff as a rock and your soreness worse than ever.

"We get it! You're in pain. So go do something about it!", whined your friend Seungkwan in return, not even bothering to look at you from his phone, "It's bad enough I had to cancel my plans to stay here and take care of you. Just go get oiled up by Cheol and stop making this my problem!"

If there was anything Seungkwan was, it was direct. He was right. Your pain was getting out of hand. And the longer you waited, the worse it would get. Except he didn't know about your calamity to its full extent.

"Listen, I don't even have the money to afford his fancy spa. Have you been there? One day is worth a whole day's pay!"

"Please. It's Seungcheol. He'll get you in for free. Hell, he'll even pay you to go."

"I don't have time to go!", another excuse. A few more and Seungkwan might even begin to crack the code behind your insistent refusal.

He suddenly straightened up from his laid-back position, staring directly in your direction, "All the solutions are there. You're the problem. It's like you want to be in pain! I could literally call him up right now and he'd drop work to come help you. Just get the damn massage!"

This is how a lot of your conversations went lately. Well, the very few conversations you could have nowadays due to your heavy workload. You'd occasionally even have to bring work home even after having been there for half the day. Your eight hours of sleep a night were not even pleasurable anymore, as you felt stiff as a rock the moment you attempted to lay down. The only comfortable stance, ironically, was hunched over in front of a computer. It was like you'd frozen into that pose, feeling immeasurable pain any time you attempted to move any other way. You'd tried pilates, stretches, yoga. Nothing worked. Maybe Cheol's massage really was the only solution, but it'd been so long since you began denying him you now felt a little silly going back on your word. That, and your other obvious issues.

"I'll be fine, Kwan! Just leave. You don't have to take care of me, I just need to lay for a bit."

"You'll lay there all day, I know you. Your life's become a constant state of sleep and work. Maybe you should just quit," he suggested, seemingly moving on from the Cheol topic. Finally.

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much debt I have to pay off? I don't wanna be paying this off for the rest of my life. I'd rather suffer for a few years now and just get it out of the way," you reasoned, although not sounding very reasonable even to yourself. What's the rush?, a voice in the back of your head would sometimes whisper, but you'd just ignore it.

"Fine," he tsk'd. "Rot in your own misery, I'm going out with Kyeom and Soonie. If I come back and you've morphed into a rock, don't say I didn't warn you," and with that, he announced his departure, going forward with the plans you had made with your friends before your back had gotten in the way.

You knew your friend was kidding, but the unbearable pain would sometimes have you wonder. Should you just go to Cheol? What was the worst that could happen of you just let him touch you? His touch would be purely platonic, you were sure of that. But you feared that it would rekindle your feelings even more, and maybe that your high-strung self would not be able to handle such touch from him without finally snapping.

You were weak. This wasn't much of a secret among your friend group, or anyone really. Which is why you now found yourself walking through the doors of Seungcheol's spa. You had spent about an hour rotting in your own misery, as Seungkwan had put it, before deciding to power through your pain and drive down to where you knew Seungcheol was currently working a shift. You hadn't called him, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. You weren't planning on booking a massage today, no. You couldn't have even if you wanted, knowing that the spa Seungcheol worked at was a bit renown in town and that their bookings went weeks back. You had just wanted to give it another try. Maybe visual learning would convince your stubborn self to accept Cheol's help for once.

You entered the establishment, already knowing exactly where to go to find out about Seungcheol's whereabouts. You walked to the receptionist, opening your mouth to ask for assistance before being rudely interrupted.

"Sorry. We're booked for the day. Our next open bookings begin in December. Try again then," the conversation had ended before it began, causing you to close your mouth right back up.

Once more, you opened your mouth to speak, maybe respond in equally passive aggressive tone as the girl had, but you were rudely interrupted once again, except this time it was by a warmer, more welcoming voice.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?", you could not see him from your angle, needing to turn around to face the source of the sound, but you could instantly hear the smile in his voice, clearly both happy and shocked to find you here of all people.

You turned around, now facing the boy. He was wearing his usual 'uniform', which really just consisted of some tight black slacks and a matching black short-sleeve top tucked into his pants. You'd forgotten how well his uniform fit him. It must've been one of the reasons why his massages were rated so high, you thought.

"Hey, Cheol ..." you smiled awkwardly, having been caught off guard by the man. You'd meant to surprise him, not the other way around.

"I wasn't expecting you. Did you call? Did you make an appointment?!", his eyes widened at the possibility, looking past you and at the receptionist as if to confirm his inquiry.

"No, Cheol. I told you I didn't want a massage. I came to see you, actually," well that was half true. You had wanted to see your friend in his element, maybe even convince yourself of finally taking him up on his offer. You had just wanted to see if you could handle that type of touch from your best friend considering your situation (re: a recovering case of touch starvation with a mixture of 'I might kind of maybe still have a bit of a crush on my bff').

To be completely honest, you were somewhat afraid. You'd hadn't felt any form of intimate touch in a long while or, well, ever. And to have it come from your best friend would only open up a can of worms you had wanted to keep under lock and key ever since meeting the man. Every excuse you'd given thus far to reject him bad been true, but had also been just that; an excuse. You knew that Seungcheol's treatment would help you lessen an issue that had now grown past your own personal ability to manage on your own. Which is why you were now here, willing to give it a try. You had self control, right? What was the worst that could happen if you let your best friend get his hands on you, your bare back as he rubbed it with oil? You'd deal with the logistics later, now you just wanted to see exactly what your friend was offering you.

"Me? What's up?", he had begun to walk you towards his rest area, away from the mean receptionist as he continued conversation with you.

"Well, I, uh, I was thinking about your offer ..."

"Really?! You wanna do it? I can clear up my schedule! Just let me talk to Stacy real quick and-"

"Cheol!", you had to physically hold him back from walking back to the reception to rearrange his day. He seemed way too excited to help you out.

"I haven't decided yet, Cheol. I was just thinking, well, wondering if it'd be okay for me to maybe shadow you for a while or something? Just to see what it'd be like?"

To any outsider you must've sounded like an idiot, somehow worrying over something that was arguably the most relaxing experience a person could possibly have. Ironically. What people didn't understand was the effect Seungcheol could have on a person. Specially a touch-starved, heavily emotionally invested, weak individual such as yourself. Denying your crush on Seungcheol was really the only defense you had left at this point. You could admit to your fears of being touched by Cheol, chalking it up to your lack of experience at being touched in general, but you could not even admit that your crush had maybe, perhaps, possibly, creeped back up a while back. It didn't help that no one you knew was aware of your sensitive state when it came to intimate contact. This was intel you hadn't even let your best friend in on. Maybe if it had been someone else, you would've accepted the massage already. You knew it didn't have to be an intimate interaction, it was just the fact that Cheol would be doing it that made it seem that way to you. But you knew his feelings would be hurt if you denied him and went to someone else. You'd dragged it out for far too long, making such a simple thing way too complicated.

Cheol easily agreed to your request, seemingly excited to even have you around his workplace at all. It was cute, really. He let you know that his next booking would start in ten minutes or so, so you waited with him during his break. Despite not receiving a massage for yourself, he provided you with a robe to change into due to the humidity most of their rooms tended to have during a session.

"Are you sure it's okay that I'm here? Won't the client mind?"

"Nah. She's a regular, she tends to forget her own name five minutes in," he winked at you. Well, that was reassuring ..

The massage began soon after. The woman, probably in her early 40's, walked in, gave Seungcheol a friendly greeting and proceeded to lay down, barely even acknowledging your presence in the back of the room. Cheol gave some weak excuse of 'she's in training, just showing her the ropes' to justify your presence, earning an uninterested hum in acknowledgment from the woman before she had begun taking off her robe and gotten on the bed in preparation for her awaited session. She was't fully naked but had very thin underwear on, meaning you could practically see every detail from her back. Her face-down position gave you a perfect angle to her almost-bare ass as Seungcheol prepared the oils he had set on the table beside him. There was also some incense burning in the room, along with some steam to help with ambience.

The massage began very slowly, allowing Seungcheol to deliver very soft touches as he spread the oil around her back. He even went as far as the back of her legs and ass, reaching as far as her feet. The first few minutes simply consisted of him spreading the oil around. You hadn't known Seungcheol gave full body massages til now. Before having started the session, Cheol had told you 'Pay close attention. This is what I'll do to you when you agree.' Had he meant he'd be running his hands up and down your entire body? The thought made you shudder, almost missing the show in front of you.

His next movements were harsher, but in a clearly pleasurable way. He began to knead roughly at the woman's shoulders, making her groan at the pleasurable pain. He did this for a while, clearly having found a point of tension in that area. His thumbs focused on specific areas of tension that you were familiar with; the same areas you'd known your back had knots in. Even just seeing it made the sore parts of your back beg for release of tension. When he moved on, he targeted the upper center of her back, just below where her breasts were located on the opposite side of her body. He rubbed at the sides, sliding his hands up and down the length of her back as he massaged expertly. He continually used the extra strength of his thumbs to pressure and rub at the sore spots. He didn't even have to ask where it hurt, it seemed like he could just detect it on his own. This was clearly exerting the woman, as she moaned and sighed at the feeling of Seungcheol's hands on her. It was clearly exerting Seungcheol too, who was letting out groans from his own efforts.

You imagined yourself in her position, wanting to be the sole receiver of his touches and sounds. You felt ashamed, but the act was making your body heat up. You knew it was purely innocent, and with the purpose of relaxation, but you couldn't help yourself. You wanted to blame the humidity in the room, or maybe the cozy material of your robe, but there was only one culprit; Choi Seungcheol. You had been right to believe that his touch would be your undoing. Simply hearing him was enough to make you lightheaded. You had lost track of where the massage had went, only thinking about the man in the room now. You cursed your vivid imagination for the images it was putting in your head just at the mere sounds coming from your friend.

The massage continued for a while, eventually sending the woman into a deep slumber. Cheol kept re-applying oil to her back throughout the session, even lowering his hands all the way to knead at her ass and the back of her legs during some points. That made you extra lightheaded. Not just at the thought of Seungcheol touching you in the same way, but knowing he'd have the magic touch able to release the tension trapped all over your back. You couldn't blame the woman for the sounds she made or the way she fell asleep due to the pleasure. You could only imagine your own reaction at Seungcheol doing the same to you. Even just seeing the way he rubbed at the skin had your back aching for the same release of pressure from the tightest spots on your back.

You were still slightly affected by the time the woman had woken up and left, leaving you and Cheol alone in the room, promising Seungcheol she'd be back soon as she exited. He approached you with a smile, clearly proud of having shown you his skills in action.

"So, what did you think?"

"I, uh, you're really good, Cheol. I'm surprised."

"Surprised? I've been telling you I'm the best for months! C'mon, there's no way you don't want a massage after seeing that," he rebutted, smirking with confidence.

You remained silent for a second, pondering as to whether or not you should move forward with this. He was right. He was clearly talented at it, and he really just wanted to help. Your aching back was begging for it, and so were the other aching parts of your body. But you didn't know if you could hold back without embarrassing yourself at your best friend's hands on you in such an intimate way.

Your best friend must've taken notice of your silence, speaking up again, but in a more serious yet sympathetic manner.

"Listen. I know you can be a bit .. shy about these things. If it helps, we can just set up at my apartment? I have a massage bed there too! It would just be the two of us. C'mon, what do you say?", he gave you puppy eyes as he usually did when asking for something.

He was always hard to deny. And in this vulnerable moment, with your back begging for relief and your body aching for his touch, you weren't surprised when you found yourself muttering a 'yes' in affirmation.

A few days passed. You and Cheol ended up having to coordinate your days off. It had actually been almost a full week until you were able to see each other again, which for you meant yet another week of grueling pain you had to put up with. You were really beginning to consider putting an end to the overtime you'd been working. Maybe after the massage you could begin to work less hours in order to lessen the pain. Maybe even take Cheol up on his offer of getting a standing appointment to lessen the pain more and more and prevent it from coming back again. It was something to think about. But now you had better things to worry about. Those things taking form in the man standing on the opposite side of the door in front of you.

You had agreed on today, a Saturday night, in order for you to come to his apartment and receive the dreaded massage. Cheol had worked all day today, which made you feel a bit bad about making him basically step back into his work duties but this time at home. He reassured you it was more than fine, reasoning that you'd worked all week and he had just wanted to work around your busy schedule. You appreciated his efforts to work with you, having always known Cheol to put your comfort before anything else. Which was yet another reason why you felt badly at receiving this favor from him. To anyone else it might've just been a massage, but you knew that to Cheol this was a service he was used to getting paid for, a talent which he put effort into. You felt like both like a leech and like a source of annoyance due to this whole ordeal.

You put all your thoughts aside and knocked on the door, knowing it was now time to forget about all your worries and just let Seungcheol take care of you. He opened the door almost immediately, almost as if he'd been waiting on the other side of it, ear against the door while your internal monologue went off in your head.

"You're here!", he smiled widely at you, ushering you in.

"You invited me, Cheol. I wasn't about to ditch you."

"But you thought about it, didn't you?", he kinda had you there. You did consider it, but you knew your best friend would've tracked you down sooner or later anyways.

"Listen, I know you're nervous, but there's nothing to be nervous about! I'll take care of you. It won't be awkward, I swear," despite having never told him of your lack of experience with touch, you always assumed he had some idea of it. He didn't know the full story, though. Not about the fact that your issue with the massage was being touched by him; the former source of your desires.

"It's .. it's fine, Cheol. I'm not nervous, I promise. Just don't know what to expect, that's all."

"I'll guide you through it. I set out the massage table for you in my room. I have the oils ready too. Oh! Did you bring a bikini to change into?"

Right. Last time you spoke he had asked you to bring either a bikini or some comfortable underwear. He's said something about needing your body as nude as possible ('within your comfort zone!', he'd quickly added) in order to give you a full massage. He also said the oils he used had a tendency of staining and leaving their strong fragrance on most fabrics. It was usually spa policy to provide customers with robes and such for their sessions, but being located in his home at the moment, he'd asked you to just bring your bikini directly.

You didn't feel any type of way about this, surprisingly. Having known Seungcheol for years, he'd seen you in a bikini as many times as you'd seen him shirtless and in very tiny swim trunks. The one thing, however, was the thought of him touching your bare skin, but it was too late to back out - not that you wanted to anyways.

"Y-yeah, it's in my bag. Did you wanna start right away or ..?"

"Yeah! Go get ready and I'll start preparing the oils for you. I'll also light some incense for ambience," and with that, he left you alone in the living room so that you could change without interruption. He went into his room to prepare things, closing the door to allow you some privacy.

You had chosen your skimpiest bikini. Not for any inferior motives! But because you knew Cheol needed access to your bare skin as much as possible. Your lower lower back had been killing you lately. Even more so than your shoulders, due to sitting all day every day. So you wanted to give him room to take care of that without any clothing getting in the way. You hastily got changed, deciding that you'd already waited long enough and that it was time to get this over with.

'Are you ready?", you heard Cheol ask from his room a few minutes later.

Ok, it was time. Anyone else would've been ecstatic at the thought of their crush rubbing all over their body, or at the idea of a free full-body massage. But you were too high-strung for your own good, which only increased your anxiety over the whole thing. However, you were now here, almost in the nude, only one door away from the man who would rid you of your pain and replace it with pleasure.

You stepped into the room without verbalizing a response, immediately meeting eyes with an expectant Cheol, who was organizing his oils as he awaited your arrival. He'd outdone himself, really. He had lowered the lighting in the room, lighting a few candles and some incense in order to turn up the spa ambience. The place smelled divine, and even the temperature was perfect. You could already feel yourself getting relaxed.

"Cheol, holy shit. This is too much. You didn't have to go so out of your way. This looks like an actual spa!"

"Only the best for my best friend," he gave his gummy smile in return, eyeing you as he directed you towards the massage table that was standing in the middle of the room. "You ready?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, accepting his stretched hand as he helped position you on the table.

He laid you face down on the table, but with your head turned to the side, as to not squish your features against the flat surface, "Try not to think too much, yeah? It'll feel so good, I promise. I'm gonna get rid of all tension in your body," the way he'd said it sounded promising, almost hinting at something more.

Without much warning, he began to softly run his hands up and down your body, going from your shoulders all the way down to your calves, almost as if sizing you up in order to come up with a game plan for your massage. Even that feather-like touch had you flinching a little. You'd never been caressed like this before.

"Shit, you're very high-strung. Even more than I thought," he chuckled in response to your body's reaction to such light touch.

"Cheol ..." you whined.

"Sorry. I'll start now, okay? You're gonna feel a little warm in a second. I'm gonna oil you up so it's easier for me to massage you, yeah? I picked my favorite scented oils for you."

You were thankful for the warning, because the warmth you felt immediately after made you swoon internally. You almost moaned out loud at the feeling of his hands lightly rubbing the oil all over your body. You were already affected and he hadn't even begun. It didn't take him long to actually start, however. He began with your neck, almost wrapping his hands all around it, but not closing them in on it. His thumbs were focusing on the lower part of the back of your neck, rubbing at spots you hadn't even realized were that sore.

"You're so tense, Jesus Christ," he was right. You could feel instant relief at his touch, pressing your body further into the soft material of the cushion of the table in pure relaxation.

He rubbed that area for a while, seemingly trying to target the knots located there. He then moved onto your shoulders, beginning to rub a little harder. He began to dig his thumbs into the problem areas, going extra hard at any points of tension. With this extra strength, also came his vocalization of his efforts. His groans of exertion began to fill the room, making you feel even more lightheaded than the massage itself.

"Shit, Baby. You're so fucking tight here."

The wording itself was killing you, but the way he touched you while doing it made you melt into the table, afraid you'd begin to vocalize your pleasure through the form of moans or whines. So far you'd been able to get away with soft breaths and maybe a gasp or two. But you knew that the moment you let go, you wouldn't be able to control the way your body would react to his touch. You were slightly terrified of what would come the lower he went down your body.

Then he threw you yet another curveball.

He leaned down, halting his movements for a moment, and put his mouth a few inches from your ear, "I can feel you tensing up. It's okay, I'll take care of you. You can relax for me."

You saw that as a green light to let go, whining a tiny 'uh huh' in response as he continued his movements.

He went lower and lower, now rubbing your lower back; the area right before the slope of your ass began, but he was quickly approaching it. Every area he had touched so far, he had undone. You felt like your back had been liberated of the huge weight it had been carrying for years. You were whining and moaning at the pleasure he was giving you, and also at the feel of his hands on your body. You felt yourself get wetter by the minute, having started to feel moisture down there from the moment he began massaging you. You were ashamed, but his touch so close to your biggest point of tension was driving you insane. You wanted him to forget about the massage and just flip you over.

"Okay, baby. Now I'm gonna do your ass, okay? Trust me, I know it sounds dumb, but a lot of people carry a lot of tension here"

He was right once again. As he massaged the muscle, you felt tension you didn't even know you had finally unwind. He repositioned you a bit, asking you to lift one of your legs to the side and let it hang a bit off of the side of the table. This angle lifted up your ass a bit, and disconnected your crotch from the table. You were slightly embarrassed, knowing that if he looked through a certain angle he'd be able to see you glisten with desire for him, but you chose to ignore it and hope for the best. Cheol was already helping you so much.

He continued for a few moments, occasionally going down and rubbing lightly at the back of your thighs and calves before coming back up to your lower back and butt. But he suddenly stopped at some point. You could've sworn you heard an intake of breath.

"Hey .. I'm gonna try a special technique. Is that okay?"

You were almost completely gone in pleasure by then, eyes becoming heavier by the minute. You didn't even have to think before saying yes.

You felt him lean his body more over the table, and also a bit over the lower half of your body. He was still just massaging your lower back with one hand, while making you bend your leg a little higher than before. You weren't sure what he meant by special technique, but you were down for anything had in mind. Except you hadn't expected what he would do next.

Having bent your leg forward, he had given himself the perfect angle of your pussy from behind, deciding to let his hand slip between your legs and run his fingers lightly over your folds. You gasped at this, repositioning yourself a bit to give him even more access. He took this as a welcoming sign, starting to run his hands up and down your pussy, stopping once in a while to rub at your swollen clit.

"Baby .. You're so tense here .. Let me help you? Yeah?" He said this as he continued to increase the intensity of his movements, rubbing more and more at your clit.

"Y-yes. Fuck. Please, Cheol ..." you whined, giving him permission to do whatever he wanted to you.

You yelped at his next movements. He had shoved his fingers inside with no warning, leaning down to kiss softly at your ass while he fingered you. The speed of his fingers wasn't too fast, but it was deep and calculated, dragging across all the places you needed him most. He was right, you did feel tense there, but his movements were relaxing you like nothing else could.

"Is it working, baby? Am I making you feel good?"

You'd buried your face into one of your arms, but still managed to squeak out a "yes!" in affirmation.

"Just 'yes', baby? We can do better than that, don't you think? I think I have something to rid you of all your tension ..." you could hear the smirk in his voice as he said this, feeling him finally remove the tiny piece of fabric between your legs.

He positioned his body a little further over the lower half of the table, lowering his face to the space between your cheeks in order to get his tongue on your pussy. He began to lick and suck softly, keeping a pace similar to that of his fingers just a few seconds ago. The pleasure was blinding you, causing you to lightly grind against his face, wanting as much pleasure as you could milk out of him. He seemed to like this, as he lifted his hands and placed them on your hips, guiding your grinding against him and taking on an even better angle.

All that could be heard were the moist sounds of his tongue on your heat and your cries of pleasure. The massage had been fully forgotten. All you could think about was your best friend's tongue and the way his groans against your pussy were making you lose your mind. It seemed like this was bringing him as much satisfaction as it did you.

"Ch-Cheollie! Right there! Fuck!", he'd begun to suckle at your clit, wanting you to finally reach your high and bring you as much pleasure as imaginable.

"Cum all ove' my face baby! wann' taste that pretty pussy," his words were muffled. He seemed physically incapable of separating himself from you.

You came almost immediately, loving the vibrations of his groans against you. You fell completely limp, being rendered a shell of yourself. The whole thing had felt like an out of body experience. From the massage to the life-changing orgasm. You were convinced there was no greater pleasure than what you'd felt in the past half hour. But Seungcheol seemed to disagree, instantly pulling you towards him and sitting you on the table, your body now facing his.

He had untied your bikini top earlier into the massage, which you hadn't minded since you were facing down and away from his view anyways, but now you were grateful he had. He was making direct eye contact with your tits, almost as if pondering as to what to do with them. He seemed to reach a decision, however, and attacked them with his lips with intense fervor, licking and biting at your swollen buds. He had you moaning out in pleasure again. It was as if he'd studied your body without you knowing, being an expert in all your weak spots.

He made out with your tits for a while, making your eyes roll back at the feeling of his tongue against your sensitive nipples. When he pulled away, he instantly began undressing himself at record speed. He had just been wearing shorts and a loose top, which made the process pretty quick. Immediately after getting himself nude, he positioned you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist from your position sitting on the table. He dragged you as close to him as possible by your legs, pressing your chests together.

He looked down at you while running his hands up and down your back, which was still slightly sticky with oil. He seemed to be in a trance, just looking at you with an endeared expression in his eyes, "You're so beautiful. Your body's so ... fuck. Can't believe you've been in pain for so long, baby. When I could've been taking care of you all this time," he had began to kiss along your neck and clavicles as he said this.

"Cheollie .." you breathed out, tilting your neck to the side to allow him extra space to kiss.

"Can I take care of you, baby? Let me get rid of all your tension?", he'd started grinding his bare hips against yours, having pushed open your legs in order to allow himself to drag his dick against your cunt.

Even just the weight of his cock against you had you whining, burying your face in his neck, not knowing how to react at the stimulation. You'd already felt the most pleasure when Cheol buried his tongue in your cunt, or so you'd thought. But that did not hold a candle to the feeling of his fat head as it nudged against your folds. You began to whine and writhe against him, hands digging into his arms as he ground against you. Until he nudged your head away from his neck, wanting to face you. He halted his movements altogether and looked into your eyes for a few moments, a small smile gracing his lips. His eyes began to lower, now staring directly at your lips. Your eyes mirrored his. It was a tender moment in the midst of what had just now been a mess of grinding bodies and oil. When he finally kissed you was when you truly felt relief. No massage could have compared to the bliss you felt with your best friend's lips against your own. The softness of the kiss didn't last much, however, as the movements of his hips picked back up and the kiss began to become more moist by the second.

Cheol took advantage of your soft gasps at the feeling of his cock against your cunt to slip his tongue in your mouth, expertly massaging yours with his. This went on for a bit, allowing for Cheol to stimulate you with some kissing and dry humping, further preparing you to take him free of pain. He was a little larger in size than average, and with the very limited experience he had asserted you to have, he wanted to prevent you from feeling any pain. He had wanted tonight to be nothing but pleasure for you, knowing how badly you've been needing some relaxation, and maybe with the slight ulterior motive of finally getting with his pretty bestie.

He unglued himself from your lips, chuckling at the way you whined as your lips followed his, "Baby, I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah? Wanna see you fully relaxed. That okay?"

"Mhm. Yes, Cheollie. Do anything you want. Trust you," you mumbled in response, head filled with air as you barely caught your breath from the overload of pleasure you'd felt tonight.

With that, he began to enter you, bulbous head showing a bit of a fight in entering your tight walls. You both let out a moan of relief when he finally bottomed out, almost as if you'd both been craving this for a while. He fucked you with a passion only someone who wanted you the way you wanted him would. You'd thought you'd reached the utmost pleasure when Cheol had you cumming against his tongue, but nothing could ever compare to being full of him as he praised you through every thrust, calling you every possible adjective to describe your beauty.

"B-baby! So fucking good. So pretty for me .. Gonna fuck you all night. Gonna fuck you to sleep. All mine now," he began canting in and out of you with even more intensity now, making sure to hit that spot with every thrust.

"Cheollie!"

"I know, baby. Gonna cum for me? Gonna let me fill that pussy up, aren't you, pretty?"

It didn't take long for you to cum, already feeling an overwhelming amount of emotions at every type of pleasure Seungcheol had delivered to you tonight. He followed soon after you, yelling out your name at the tightening of your walls around him. He breathed heavily as he leaned against you for a minute or two, only then moving away from you in order to get a towel and begin to clean you up.

"Sorry .. was that too much?", he smiled sheepishly as you seemed to wince when he attempted to clean you up between your thighs.

"No! It was perfect, just ... not really used to it, that's all."

"Okay, baby. If you say so. Now let me take you to bed!", with no warning, he picked you up and brought you over to his bed, completely ignoring the mess he'd caused on his massage table after having fucked you on it. He laid you down, cocooning you into his blankets before rushing to the other side of the bed and holding you in his arms.

He turned to look at you as he cradled your body against his, "Do you feel better now? Still sore?", the question seemed genuine.

"No, Cheollie. I feel amazing. I've never felt this good before, actually."

"That good, huh? I told you I was the best! But don't worry, baby. Gonna keep your appointment every week like I promised. Gonna keep you in my bed every time you're feeling sore, yeah, baby? Don't even have to ask, I'll be waiting for you," he chuckled at himself as he said this, but being completely serious.

"Will you give me your special treatment again?," you giggled against his lips.

"That's for you and you only, baby," he replied as he closed the gap between you once more.

a/n: ok i mightve made reader a lil extra overdramatic this time but u guys have to understand. my back hurts like hell. so pls sympathize w reader bc shes lowkey my soul sister in that area 😭

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagine #seungcheol smut #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol x reader #scoups fanfic #scoups smut #scoups x reader

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arminsumi · 7 months

Text

「 🔴 RECORDING 」

found footage of satoru's student years... recorded on the camcorder that he carried around everywhere.

warnings : heavy angst, fluff, implied death, not proofread

[ the first footage is one minute long. there's two blue eyes widening comedically on the screen. the resolution is low and the audio is tinny. ]

"Ooo it works... well hellooooooo there... i'm... GOJO!! SATORU!! and this is... suguuuuruu getooooo... oh look at that walk, you're such a model."

[ the camera is on suguru, who's walking with bad posture. he doesn't like the camera. ]

[ he has his old hairstyle; this was recorded before his hair was long enough to be in the bun style. he hides his face from the camera. ]

"... aw, he's a model that doesn't like cameras. anyways... this is the beautiful... STUNNING... hot... talented... playing-hard-to-get... (haha kidding)... y/n~"

[ the camera pans to you. you can hear the flirty tone in satoru's voice. ]

"... we are currently walking through the gates of hell..."

[ the camera pans to the school. the resolution clears for a second to show a blue sky with slowly drifting clouds. ]

"okay. we have arrived in hell; look there's satan himself—"

[ the camera pans to yaga. ]

[ the footage ends with yaga confiscating satoru's camera and scolding him. ]

[ a video starts off shaky. the camera is dropped on the train floor and suguru sighs. ]

"satoru...... did you just break it after having it for one day?"

[ satoru picks it up and gives a toothy smile to the screen. ]

"nah. she's all good. not even a scratch. ooh... suguru we look so hot. and look how hot y/n is... she's so scandalous — sittin' next to me on the train. this proximity's got me sweatin', baby... kidding kidding... don't gimme that look!"

[ suguru gives the middle finger to the camera and satoru's iconic laugh sounds beautiful even through the crap audio quality. ]

[ there's a 3 minute video that's half-corrupted of a party happening in your apartment... of just you, satoru, suguru and shoko. lykke li's "i follow rivers" is playing loudly, satoru is screaming the lyrics in broken english and suguru is recording you and him dancing like maniacs. shoko is offering her cigarette to the camera and blowing smoke into the lens. ]

[ there's a 25 second clip of satoru aggressively kissing you until you laugh. ]

[ there is a photo of satoru crouching to pet a cat. he's holding an umbrella. ]

[ there is corrupted footage of laughter and a flicker of the video shows a tiny pot on a stove with ramen cooking in it. ]

[ there's a photo of you, satoru, suguru and shoko. you and satoru are looking at each other like lovebirds. suguru is giving the finger to the camera. shoko is laughing with her eyes closed. ]

[ a long video of satoru waking up in a hotel bed. he looks like he just woke up. he blinks at the camera, bleary-eyed and cute with puffy lips and messy hair. ]

"goodmornin'."

[ his morning rasp is strong. ]

"i'm awake... but miss sleepy head and mister sleepy head are not, as you can see..."

[ he zooms in on your face. you're laid at his right, and suguru is laid at his left. ]

"here's the sleeping angel... and here's the sleeping dragon... anyways... WAKEY WAKEYYYYYYYYY!!! IT'S A BRIGHT NEW DAY!!!"

[ suguru's wakeful groan sounds groggy and disturbed by satoru's loud, piercing wake-up call. you scrunch your face as you wake up, seemingly out of a dream. ]

"satoru... what the hell is the matter with you..."

[ it's an ultra close-up shot of your nose as you mumble this. ]

"i was lonely being awake by myself, gosh. you're so mean!"

[ he experiences a voice crack. suguru gives a sleepy, murderous look at his best friend. ]

"satoru... i swear i'm gonna throw that camera into traffic one day."

[ suguru's mumbling into his pillow too softly to be taken seriously. ]

"wanna say that to the camera?"

[ suguru looks grouchy. ]

"i'll kill you."

"WOW... buddy, this is evidence if you ever do kill me... the police will find this footage... 'n put your FLAT ass in jail. aw... y/n fell back asleep look look... aw she's so fucking precious."

[ suguru and satoru admire you for a bit. there rest of the footage is corrupted. ]

[ footage of a breakfast in the same hotel. sunny side eggs are zoomed-in on. and there's only eggs. ]

"we're too broke to buy bacon, isn't that cool?"

[ satoru gets a nice view up his nose as he tilts the camera to himself. then he turns the camera to you, who's sleepily eating this miserable breakfast. ]

"... so we just have eggs to eat... heyyyy hot babe..."

[ satoru flirts with you and you roll your eyes in response, smiling and chewing on your egg, fork in one hand. ]

"wanna hear a joke?"

"mhm."

"if you ever broke up with me, what would you call me?"

"an idiot?"

"your eggs."

[ you groan and stop eating because his pun was so awful, but you've got a big smile on your face and satoru is laughing heartily. ]

[ the video ends with you and satoru leaning in for a big kiss and a sleepy suguru walking into the room, itching his tummy under his shirt. ]

[ there's a clip of you, satoru, suguru and shoko yelling happy new year and watching fireworks explode into blazing, brilliant colors. suguru winks at the camera as you hold it and you giggle flirtatiously back. there's clearly tension between you two that neither satoru nor shoko acknowledge in the moment, because the fireworks distract them. ]

[ there's footage of you, satoru and suguru kissing. it ends with satoru kissing the camera as a joke. ]

[ most of the footage is corrupted after this. in the next video, satoru seems a bit older. ]

[ there's footage of a solo satoru, who's been enlightened and and burdened with being the strongest. he's on a mission alone, keeping the camcorder on as he exorcises a curse. he trots over to the camera. he seems less enthusiastic compared to the other videos. ]

"aaand that's what the strongest looks like while he's at work."

[ satoru looks smug and goofy, but something is off. his features look worn and tired. ]

[ there is already that slightly disingenuous liveliness showing in his demeanor just in this small video; the version of satoru that his students would know as just normal gojo sensei. ]

[ his smile falters as he rambles about y/n and suguru. ]

"i'm gonna give y/n a big kiss when i get home. miss you, angel. haha... why am i talking to a camera all by myself... that's so sad. i'm gonna film myself gettin' that kiss at home, just to prove i'm not some lonely idiot. i have a hot fiancé..."

[ one of the last photos taken on this camera is dated; august 2009. it's of you and satoru sharing a big kiss... neither of you knew it at the time, but it was your last kiss. ]

[ the next piece of footage is from 2018. it's a 28 year old gojo, his features show his maturity and the weathering of all the years he's endured living without you and suguru.]

"i found this camera while cleaning up. if i look 'n sound funny it's 'cuz i've been crying haha......"

"...... i miss you two..... haha... i can't shove the camera in your faces like i used to, now can i?"

[ he awkwardly smiles at the camera but then his face trembles and contorts into an ugly-cry as if he just remembered every single memory of his youth. ]

[ the footage ends with a broken, barely audible "fuck..." falling from the teacher's lips as he starts to cry and drops the camera to the floor. the rest is corrupted footage... just heaving sobs of the man who has no more memories to record with suguru and y/n. ]

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

Text

Make Me Your God, I Can Give You Everything

Yandere! Scaramouche x Broken! Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, my lord Scaramouche,”

“How much?”

“More than anything, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you kill for me?”

“Happily, my lord Scaramouche,”

“Would you die for me?”

“If it would please you, my lord Scaramouche,”

Like a broken record repeating the same phrase over and over, you spoke your words with little emotion, hardly even a change in cadence. You looked at him, but your eyes had lost that familiar glimmer, that light that he'd come to rather enjoy, even if it was annoying. That light was perseverance, it was hope, it was your drive and will, but now it was gone and you often just looked more like a doll than he did.

“What’s something that would bring you joy?” He asked. Typically, he wasn't one to spoil you, but the last few weeks of you just being so docile and…empty. It had him worried. He wanted that spark back, that light in your eyes. He wanted you back.

“You, my lord Scaramouche,”

“No,” he spat back angrily, “What will really bring you joy? What will make you happy?”

“Anything you offer me is a gift enough, my lord Scaramouche,”

Annoyance caused him to stand swiftly from his chair and march over to where you sat, still as a board and posture straight, just like he'd drilled into you many times before. When he raised his hand to strike you, you didn't even flinch, making him lower it in surrender. You were still as beautiful as the day he got you, still as soft and your voice still as sweet. But you were hollow. Had he truly broken you down so?

He slumped back in his seat and sighed out longingly and you still barely moved. He made a motion with his hand for you to come closer and without a word, you did, “Sit. Join me,” he ordered. Promptly, you sat on his lap, the weight of your body comforting him. You were still in there, somewhere.

“I didn't want this,” he mumbled, his face pressed into you back, arms wrapped around your waist.

“You didn't wish for me to sit here?” You questioned, preparing to stand, but he pulled you back down with little resistance.

“No. I didn't want you to end up like this,” he squeezed your waist a bit tighter, making you let out a shallow breath, “Why couldn't you just love me as you were before. Why did it have to come to this?”

“I do love you, my lord,”

He pushed you from his lap and you crumbled to the floor, still, with little resistance. You didn't look scared or shocked, you didn't even look hurt from the way you'd fallen. Just there. He remembers the last time he'd done something similar to you. You spat at his feet in defiance. Mentally, he cringed at how hard he'd punished you that day. One of the many days of punishment that led to you becoming what you are now. Empty.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” he struggled to get the words out. Eyeing your face he saw something different, the slight raise of your eyebrows, before they fell again. But it was something. It was you, even for just a second, “Is that what you want? An apology?”

He kneeled before you and took one of your feet into his hands, his cold hands traced the soft skin of it. Scaramouche hadn't taken a knee for anyone in years. No one except his creator and the Tsaritsa herself. Both archons, but he put you on a similar pedestal. A kiss was pressed right against the toe of your foot and he felt your body jolt.

“Come back to me,” he pressed another kiss to your foot, “You'll be worshiped, not broken again.”

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #yandere

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sanguineterrain · 3 months

Note

Jason is definitely the type to go feral over his best friend he hasn't seen in years. Hear me out: he's alive again, and not only that, but he's huge. Strong. People are afraid of him. So the reader is in town, walking the streets, and they meet again, maybe when he protects them as Hood. And reader is ecstatic to see Jason again of course and he's the same but also, all he can think is minemineminemine and I WANT YOU. mans is down horrendous for his sweet best friend that he missed and he's been in love with them for so long and now that he has them, he's not giving them up

idk if this was a prompt but i got inspired <3 thanks for stopping by anon

jason todd x gn!reader. feral jason i guess, but really soft jason. jason who yearns to be yours. jason who'd do anything for it, even if it meant one sided devotion... and also, jason who is loved by you. 1.2k words

****

"I don't understand why you can't come to my apartment."

"I told you why." Jason's posture is rigid but his tone is gentle. Because he has told you why he won't enter your home. Multiple times. Doesn't mean you don't challenge it every time you meet him on a random rooftop.

"It would be fine, Jay," you say. "I trust you."

"I know. But I don't trust everybody else," he says, words crackling through his modulator. That had frightened you at first; in fact, everything about a newly-resurrected Jason Todd had frightened you. From his height to the guns, you'd been sure that night in Gotham would be your last.

But then it had become clear that cheated death aside, nothing could kill his heart.

"You haven't visited in a while," you say.

You don't mean for it to sound accusatory.

"I know," Jason says. "Been busy. The Bats..."

And you knew. You knew the second you found out that Jason was alive that it would be like this, that he wouldn't be completely yours. He wasn't yours when he was Robin either, perhaps even less so.

And what's wrong with that? You have no right to ask him to be yours. To give you more.

But the recent distance has frightened you. Maybe it's for safety's sake, but your selfish heart wishes that he'd drop that for once.

Then again, there's always that dread in your stomach that perhaps Jason Todd doesn't love you the way you love him. And perhaps he never will.

"Well, I wish you'd call," you say.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be picking fights. Jason doesn't go dark out of cruelty, only necessity.

Jason sighs. "I can't. 'M sorry."

You cross your arms. It's chilly tonight.

"Do you even want to see me?"

He tilts his head. Dangerous.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to intrude," you say. "You're busy and all the stuff with B, I don't—I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you—"

Jason takes two long strides and closes the distance. You swallow the rest of your sentence as he backs you up against the brick exterior of an abandoned apartment. Your heart picks up. You're not afraid; the fear went long ago. You're just... something. You're something about Jason.

The last time you two hugged was after Willis' death. You'd wanted to wrap him in his cape, thought maybe that would make everything feel as small as he'd been.

Now, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, Jason clearly does not need a cape. Right?

He takes off his helmet, lets it hang on his hand. His other hand is by your head. You lean back, let your neck go on display. Jason doesn't miss the movement.

"What're you doing, Jay?" you ask levelly.

Maybe he thinks you don't notice this distance but you do. You don't want to push him to talk about it, because as upsetting as it is, you're still strangers to each other.

You are and you're not. He died and he didn't. You grieved and you didn't. You burn and... you burn.

But you're tired of being and not being. You won't let him keep you in emotional purgatory. If he's done with you, he should just say so.

"If you don't want to meet anymore," you start, and let the words hang in the air.

"I—" he starts, then swallows. He tosses his helmet to the side. He doesn't touch you, just hovers inches away. Jason smells like lilac and gun smoke.

"I don't think you understand... my devotion," he says, voice low. "How much power you have over me."

Your eyes widen. "Wh—"

His green eyes reflect the streetlight like a cat's. The sight stops you short. Jason Todd is hot metal on a knife's edge, and it would do you well to remember that.

His hands curl into fists. He shakes his head.

"Sorry," he whispers like a prayer. "Not tryna scare you." His chest rises and falls rapidly. "'M I scarin' ya, sweetheart? Tell me and I'll go home, shake it off. Wait forever. I can be good. Won't want what I don't deserve."

"I'm not scared," you say, and it's the most sure you've ever been. "Not scared of you, Jay."

He breathes a laugh, like he can't quite believe you. His breath is warm on your neck.

"You'd be the first," he says. "The only one."

This, you believe. This, you have wondered some nights, knowing that even Batman isn't sure what to do with a son who lives with death on his shoulder.

"You don't have to devote yourself to me," you say, because that makes you pause. Who are you to be his god?

Jason laughs again, strong and sure. He sinks to his knees in front of you. His white streak glows in the light.

"You think it's a vice?" he asks. He rests a hand on your left thigh, testing. You lay your hand over his, so he holds your other thigh too.

He hums. "You do. You think you're holdin' me hostage."

Jason takes a shuddering breath and flattens his palms over your legs. Then he leans in and rests his cheek on your leg, nose near the apex of your thighs. Your belly flips.

"Let's make one thing clear. My devotion is my only redemption. 'S the only thing that makes me believe I'm not all rotted inside. Makes me behave. In this world and the next, I'm yours."

"I... Jason, you belong to yourself, not me. I don't—"

"You don't have to do anything. If it's too much, then I'll disappear. You can carry on."

You stroke the exposed side of his face. He looks up at you.

He is still. You have made him still.

"I'm yours too," you say.

He shakes his head. "You don't hafta—"

"Do you think being yours is a curse?" you ask, gaze sharp.

"Don't promise something for balance's sake," he rasps. "I'll be yours without you being mine."

Your heart is still. He has made it still.

"I'll keep coming back," Jason whispers, eyes wide. "If you're mine, I can't leave. Y'don't know what you're doing. Don't give yourself to me."

"I do. I'm yours."

His grip tightens around your legs. Jason shakes his head.

"Don't do it," he says into your thigh. "I shouldn't have anyone. I'm-I'm only meant to be yours. Nobody's mine."

But you know. You can slide your finger along his teeth and he'll wait with his mouth open. You can touch his edges and he'll turn his cheek so you won't nick your finger. He would sooner chew his own tongue.

"It's alright," you say, and kneel. You dirty your knees right alongside him. "It's okay, Jason. I know what I'm doing."

His breath hitches. Jason presses you into the brick, tucks his face into your neck. His arms wrap tightly around your waist.

"Sorry," he whispers frantically. "'M sorry. You can push me away. Sorry."

"I won't do that." You hold him and let him take you. "I know you're good. I thought—I thought you were pulling away, and I..."

"I was," he admits, muffled in your skin. "'M sorry. Was the only way I could think of to let you go. You deserve better. Couldn't think 'round you, honeylove. Knew it was a death sentence when I found out that you still lived in Gotham."

"It wasn't," you say. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."

Jason huffs. "You say that now, but..."

"No. I say it now and I'll say it again. Keep me, Jason. I'll keep you too."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #jason todd x yn #jason todd x gender neutral reader #inbox #blurb

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ghouljams · 6 months

Text

Let Me Keep You(Here's My Name, Burden Me) Rating: Explicit (MDNI) Word Count: 4k Tags: John Price x f!oc/reader, first time, fluff, virginity loss, dirty talk, oral (f!receiving), piv sex, minor breeding kink, confessions, fae au, witch!reader Summary: "When I fuck you," Price breathes, brushes his lips against yours, "and I will fuck you, Sweetheart," he assures you, "I want it to mean something.” That was months ago, months of wondering when he'd finally decide you meant something. Well, the dam can't hold forever, and when it breaks it's not courage that parts your lips.

“What was that perfume you were wearin’ when we first met?” Price asks you out of the blue. You glance up from your cauldron in time for a cloud of purple smoke to belch out of one of the oil slick bubbles.

“I don’t know,” You really don’t. You don’t even know if it was a perfume, or if it was a combination of herbs you’d been working with. You stir your potion thoughtfully. “If you could describe it,” You decide, “I might be able to tell you.”

Price hums, he does that when he thinks, it’s terribly charming. You like how he fills your space with noise. Both of you know that he’s as silent as fresh snow, but for you he’s as loud as an elephant. It’s comforting, in some strange little way, always being able to hear him near you. It’s harder to be alone. Clearly. You- Logically you know he’s there, but it’s- you shake the thought from your head, no sense tainting your potion with ill advised sorrows.

“Like dry grass on a warm day,” Vetiver you note, “and honey without the sweetness.” Citrus, potentially, wildflower likely. You tick mental boxes, sorting through your mental catalog. What were you shopping for that day? Were you killing time on a spell?

“Anything else?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Summer, but that was probably from-” you hear the rustle of fabric as he waves his hand behind you.

“From the garden,” you finish with a smile.

“Smelled expensive, dark, like that red dress you’ve got,” he leans back in his chair and you hear his heels tap against the wood of your kitchen table as he kicks them up, “Should wear that for me some time, hugs ya’ in the prettiest places.”

“The perfume, darling.” You remind him, and he clicks his tongue.

“Keep callin’ me that sweetheart, and you won’t remember either.” He smiles when you glance at him, arms crossed over his broad chest. The relaxed posture shows off his arms well, his sleeves wrapped tight around his thick biceps. Temptation in a man. You have to stop letting him in when you’re trying to work.

“Why are you asking about my perfume?” You redirect the conversation. You doubt Price has suddenly taken an interest in aromachology, and you doubt he’s looking to buy you a gift considering all his are magic related.

“I want you to wear it tonight,” He replies plainly.

“Are we doing something tonight?” You don’t think you’ve forgotten anything. No date night on your calendar for tonight, no holiday or witches gathering.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you.”

Your potion explodes. You cough and sputter against the smoke, the pink dazzle of failed intentions attempting to choke you as your entire body bursts with heat. Price snaps his fingers and the smoke is sucked out your garden door like a vacuum.The mixture is still bubbling in your pot, though now it simmers at a nice vibrant red. A love potion instead of a protection potion. You’ll have to start over.

“That’s hardly romantic,” You tell Price, because you have no idea how to respond in a way that doesn’t scream “I’m a virgin.” Price spins you to face him, silent in his movements, and draws up the apron around your waist to wipe off your face. You’re sure you’re a sight, covered in pink and barely able to look at him.

“I’m givin’ you time to say no,” He explains, patiently. You take your apron from him and finish scrubbing your cheeks.

“I can’t say no during?” You joke. Price settles his hand on the counter behind you and leans close.

“You can, but you won’t want to.” Another burst of heat courses through you at how serious he sounds. You swat him away to clean up your potion. You don’t think you’ll be able to get any magic done today.

Price monopolizes your day. Monopolizes your thoughts anyway. You can’t concentrate on any of your spells, your workspace tainted with him. He drips into every corner of your home, his smoke filling the cracks and crevices. You’ll have to cleanse the whole space the next time you want to do anything.

He’s quiet too, which is the worst part. It makes you nervous, like he might be rethinking. Yet each time you turn to look at him he’s staring at you, his eyes warm and full of open affection. You can’t look at him for long, and you always turn away with your cheeks burning. The way he looks at you, like you’re the missing piece he’s been looking for…

“You’re staring,” You tell him, after dinner, you mean it to be chastising.

“Am I?”

“It’s distracting.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He almost could pass as concerned, if it weren’t for the crooked smile, the slight smirk that says he wouldn’t even if you asked. Truthfully you don’t want him to stop, you like the way he looks at you.

“When are we going to-” You wave a hand, feigning nonchalance. He catches it and kisses your knuckles.

“Whenever you want,” He smiles more genuinely, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “Just say the word sweetheart.”

You shed your skirt on the way into the bedroom, his fingers tug down the zipper as you walk, and you’re more than happy just stepping out of it. Happier still when Price hauls you up and drops you on the bed. He crawls over you and you cup his face to kiss him. Each slick slide of his lips against yours makes heat pool in your stomach, something warm and anticipatory taking hold as he breaks away to slide down your body.

Price kisses your stomach, laves his tongue against the soft skin and sucks appreciatively. His beard tickles, and you squirm without meaning to. He explores the exposed skin with his mouth, his hands sliding your shirt up to give himself more room. There’s something reverent in the way he moves you, helps you tug your jumper off and smooths his rough hands over you. His hands knead your breasts through your bra, kissing them where they push against the fabric. His eyes meet yours as he does, and you bite down a smile.

“Take it off,” he orders, sitting back to give you room. You sit up and fiddle with the hooks in the back while he strips his shirt off. You get a little distracted by the broad well muscled expanse of his chest, the dark hair. He pushes you back down against the bed, a finger hooked in the front of your bra to pull it off as you fall. He’s rather good at this, you think before he’s kissing you again. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples. You press into his hold, feel his tongue slide against your lips, and open your mouth to suck on it. He pushes his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants making you feel all the more naked under him.

You want to feel him, really feel him.

His hand disappears, fabric rustles and Price lets out a breath. You glance down to see he’s taken his pants off, his hard cock standing proud against the swirls of hair that trail up his stomach. You snap your eyes back to his face, and his brows raise.

“See somethin’ you like?” He smiles, and you shrink down against the bed. Very much so, but you don’t want to stare. “Plenty of time for that later,” He tells you, “For now-” He sits back, tugs your panties down. He follows their journey down one leg, kissing your thigh, knee, your ankle, until he can toss them to the floor. Then his attention falls heavily onto you.

He presses your hips more firmly against the bed, holds them hard enough to bruise, and you watch the rise and fall of his chest as he stares between your legs. The usual ice of his eyes has been swallowed by the deep hungry black of his pupils. It makes you squirm to be under such a heady inspection. His brows twitch, his head tips, the slight movement making you twist your fingers in the bed sheets.

"Fuck," he groans, before snarling, "fuck." He falls into you, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling them up over his shoulders as he buries his face against your cunt. His tongue licks a broad stripe over you and you jerk against his hold, a nervous giggle falling unbidden from your lips. You've never done this before but you probably shouldn't be laughing.

"Wait, Price," you try, your fingers shake as you press them against his hairline, threading them through the short brown strands. He growls, glares at you, like a dog trying to protect its bone. Your breath hitches.

His tongue prods at your clit, rolling over it with firm strokes. It's wet, warm, and well practiced. It sparks in your stomach, making it jump as you shiver and tighten your grip on his hair. His fingers only hold you more firmly, anticipating every squirming movement of your hips as his tongue wiggles against you. You whine, press the back of your free hand against your lips and try to stifle the noises he draws from you. Though he doesn't seem to be doing the same.

Every low groan and slurp at your leaking cunt sends another shock of heat through you. You whimper when he sucks at your clit and he responds in kind.

"Good girl sweethear', taste so fuckin' good." Your cheeks burn, at the gravel in his voice. Your head feels hot and your body feels tight. His tongue presses into you, licks over you, like he's starving for it. He laughs when you buck your hips against his mouth, a deep throaty chuckle that doesn't help the heat in your face, "Knew you'd squirm."

You swallow, press your hand a little more firmly to your lips. Price lifts his head enough to let you watch his tongue flick against your clit, his eyes trained on the jump of your stomach, all the soft parts of you he likes best, absolutely burning for him. "Squirm for me baby," he tells you, amusement clear in his voice, "show me how much you like it."

You twist in his hold when he lowers his mouth back down to suck on your clit. You try to, at least. He's strong enough to keep you in place, almost like you hadn't moved at all. It's cruel really. You try a different approach, grinding your hips with the movement of his tongue. He allows it, guides your hips with firm hands, his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue presses into you.

You whine, short and high, your fingers tugging at his hair as you arch your back. Everything feels so tight between your legs, so slick and warm. Price’s tongue twists against your cunt, pushes in and out of you in a maddening dance. He presses sucking kisses to your folds, lapping up every drop of your slick with deep satisfied groans.

“God,” He growls against your cunt, drunk on you, “could eat you whole-” He hums, and you squirm as the sound vibrates around your clit, “-doing so good for me.” You nod, every inch of you blazing, you’re sure you must be a sight for him. “So good,” He mumbles. He sucks at your clit, the pressure tugging at the swollen nub released only to be started all over again. One of his thick fingers presses into you and your breath hitches.

“Price,” You tug at his hair to get his attention, your hips raising with tense tingly pleasure as he curls his finger against your gooey walls. He strokes inside your cunt firm and delicate, hardly listening to you. Your legs shake, on either side of his head.

“You gonna cum sweetheart?” The low timber of his voice makes goosebumps rush over you. You nod, mutely, and he wiggles a second finger in beside the first. “I know,” he coos, “I know baby, can feel it.” His fingers pump in and out of you, hitting something that makes your stomach jump and clench. “Go on,” He tells you, “cum on my tongue, give it to me, hard as you can.”

The tight heat breaks into desperate trembling, your stomach jumping as you squeeze his head between your thighs and try to wriggle away from the constant rolling pleasure of his tongue. You moan, rock your hips against his mouth, squeezing and pulling him as close as you can. Fuck do you want to get away or stay like this? You don’t know. It’s too much and not enough. You can feel your body fluttering, clenching on his fingers greedily. Price’s groans are desperate, hungry, indulgent, his eyes hot as they watch you fall apart.

Your cunt sucks at his fingers, trying to draw them in further, clench on them tighter. He keeps stroking that soft spot inside of you as his tongue laps up the slick that pools around them. His mouth is sinful, sweet torture that doesn’t stop even after you’ve cum. His beard scratches your thighs, smears your wetness over them as he kisses the soft skin. His fingers don’t leave you, even when his mouth does, they keep stretching you out, toying with your cunt. You shake and shiver for him, unsure what to do with yourself as he watches you.

“Could drive a man mad, lookin’ at ‘im like that,” He tells you, kissing your bent knee. You tug at the blankets, press your hips down against his fingers. Price hums, thinking, his eyes rake over you as he leans close. “Stick out your tongue baby,” He murmurs, and you do without fuss. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, closing your eyes when his tongue presses against it, licking over the wet muscle with firm strokes before sucking it into his mouth. You do your best to keep up. The way he kisses you, dips his tongue into your open mouth, feels dirty, makes your head spin.

You whine against his lips when his thumb rubs against your clit. The calloused digit pressing firm against your sensitive bud, as he pulls back to watch his spit drip into your mouth. You swallow it all too eagerly, and pant against his lips. You grip his shoulders as he dips down to suck at your neck, your voice soft and high, pleading, in his ear. You need something to hold onto as he sparks pleasure up your spine. You’re just starting to shake again when he pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt.

You grab for his wrist to put it back, you’re warm and throbbing, and you’re so close. He just stares at you, chuckles a little when he grabs your wrist and brings it to his lips. Price sits back, holds your hand with slick soaked fingers, and grabs his cock around the base. You suck in a breath at the size of it. It looks so long and thick, is that really going to fit inside of you? Did he stretch you enough?

“Look at that, mm,” Price sighs, rubbing the tip of his cock through your wet folds, “pretty little pussy.” He feels bigger than he looks, the head of his cock just catching at your entrance with each stroke. It bumps against your clit, mixing pre-cum with your slick. You watch him move, watch the way his cock drools against you, with libidinous eyes. You chew on the inside of your cheek, raising your hips to try and convince him to fuck you already. He hums, his smile, his eyes flicking to meet yours, all too hot for a man from Winter.

“Beg for it,” He tells you, “You want this cock, I wanna hear you beg.”

You want to, you want to beg so badly, but you feel like all the words have left you feeling him twitch against you. You let out a shaky breath and give him the only word you have left. “Please,” you shudder, “Please, plea-”

He presses against your entrance, the fat head of his cock slipping inside, and you gasp. Price murmurs something to you that you don’t catch, too focused on the roll of his hips as he eases his cock into you. Your eyes roll a little, breath uneven as his girthy cock stretches you out. The burn of it is sinful, absolute bliss, and you feel yourself run a little hotter with each thick inch. There’s so much of him, and you’re so full already.

He stops, his breaths ragged, releases your hand to grip the backs of your thighs and press them up against your chest. The new angle forces Price’s cock deeper, letting the veins of it drag against that squishy soft spot in you. You squeak, and he shushes you. “Needed a better-” Price groans, “fuck sweetheart, you’re so tight, such a good girl.” He eases another inch into you, you try to raise your hips and find yourself pinned under his weight. “Just a bit more baby,” He drags his lips against your gasping mouth, “you can take it, know you can.”

You don’t know if that’s true, when his hips finally settle against your ass you’re shaking with the effort of keeping still for him. He lets out a sigh, smoke dripping down over you, filling your lungs the way his cock fills your cunt. It makes you a little dizzy, dizzy enough you don’t notice he’s pulling out until he snaps his hips and fills you again in one clean motion. Then that’s all you feel.

The maddening drag of his cock against your gummy walls, all slick friction and heat that pulses through you, makes you gasp and whine. Pretty sounds just for him, just for the way his hips smack against you. He hits some impossibly deep part of you, and doesn’t stop hitting it. Each thrust winds you tighter and tighter, makes you clench and drip around his cock.

He releases his hold on your legs, lets you wrap them around his waist as he settles comfortably over you. His lips drag along your jaw, the scratch of his beard making you tip your head. He’s so warm, or maybe he’s reflecting your own heat back to you. Either way you feel wrapped up in him. His smoke, his mouth, his cock. Fuck, his cock.

"Be a good girl and play with that clit, rub it real nice for me," Price mumbles, you whine and reach between you to rub yourself, "there you go sweetheart, clenchin' on me so well." You can feel him thrusting into you like this, grazing your fingers against his cock as you rub tight circles. Everything is hot and wet. Your stomach clenches as he pushes in deep. Each drag of his thick cock is a delicious build on the already tight heat coiling in you.

"I- mm," You squeeze your eyes shut, tip your head back as your back arches. You've never felt anything this good.

"No, no, eyes open sweetheart," He coaxes, his hands hold your face, tip your head forward, "Want you to look at me."

You don't want to, it feels easier to keep them closed, but you want to be good for him. Every time he praises you it feels like your skin gets a little hotter, and it's so- you always thought you were good at taking compliments, but the way he says them, so low and filthy, makes you want to stutter like a nervous little girl. He doesn't stop fucking you, but he does slow down, gives you a small reprieve to open your eyes in. When you do, you're immediately treated to his smile.

"Don't look away, unless you're looking at-" he tips your head forwards so you can look between you at where his cock pushes into you, "-that." He groans as your breath hitches, eyes fixed on the fluid motion of his hips. You clench around the stretch of his thick cock. You can see the dark curls at the base wet with your slick, the muscles of his thighs moving, the bruises he's left on your hips.

Your legs curl towards your chest again, shaking, the feeling of his cock pounding into you suddenly too much all at once. You bite your lip to keep quiet, as your orgasm breaks over you. Wet heat slapping slick noise to the pump of Price's cock, and snapping over your spine as you arch your back. You've trained yourself so well you don't even notice you're biting down your moans.

"Speak," Price commands and you can't help the tumble of noise that falls from you as your mouth opens. Soft swears and pleas and his name like a prayer, over and over. He groans, catches your desperate mouth with his own and fucks you. His full balls knock against your ass as his hips piston into you.

"Price, God, Price," you whimper, clawing at his back. His cock hits you so deep at this angle, your toes pointing as he keeps you full of him.

"John," he whispers, kissing into your vernacular. John. You breathe his name in. You knew it. John the conqueror, the morning's glory, the Highest exalted, remover of obstacles, dominator of will. Yours to be known.

"John," you sigh. Yours to keep, but never use. A shiver racks through him, you wonder how many times in his long life he's heard his name. He puts himself in your hands without asking for the same in return, but you want to give it to him. You want his admission to mean something. You whisper your name between kisses, feel the twitch of his cock as he rolls his hips against yours, the stutter in his breath. You love him, you love him, you love him.

It's real and terrifying and it strings between you so heavily you can't ignore it. He says your name, whispers it, and it’s like you’ve never heard it before. You shake, shiver with sensitivity as you feel hot cum flood your cunt. Price’s hips don’t stop, fucking his thick seed deep into you with a low groan. Fuck you could cum again just feeling him wiggle his hips against your poor cunt, like he’s trying to make sure it all stays in.

He sighs, more smoke pouring from his lips before he can kiss you. Sweeter this time, but no cleaner. You push your tongue against his, arching your back to press up into his chest, feel the click of your teeth when you press a little too close. Desperate, you’re so desperate for him. How could you ever not be? You could go again, you want to go again. He chuckles against your lips, and you do your best to swallow the sound.

“Easy,” He tells you, the low timber of his voice rumbling through you, “we’ve got all night.”

You wake up heavy and warm. There’s a pleasant ache low in your back, and an arm slung over you. You close your eyes against the sunlight streaming in the window, and cuddle back against Price, put yourself in his hold without fear. There’s a weight in your chest that feels too important to touch, so you don’t. You can feel it though, as clearly as you feel Price stir behind you, feel him hook his leg over yours. It’s natural the way you fit together.

You wiggle, turn to face him. He doesn’t open his eyes, just waves his hand to make the curtains close and lets you cuddle close. You kiss his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You gave him your name, and you’re still here. Still breathing, still laying here with him. Easy as anything. This is real, you think, he’s real. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not using you for anything, he wanted this to mean something. It does mean something. He means something to you, something you didn’t have a word for until now. Funny how sex makes things so much clearer.

“I love you,” you whisper to him, sure he’s still sleeping.

“Marry me,” He whispers back, like he’d been hoping you’d say something.

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sunonyoreface · 2 years

Text

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

“Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

“What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

“Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

“Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

“Negative.”

“Are you sure beca-“

“Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

Fine. I won’t try to help.

I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

“What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

“Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

“If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

“Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

“Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

“That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

“I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

“C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

“Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

12K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

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pythoria · 7 months

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i don't think you can fully understand astarion until you do an origin run tbh, or at least watch a video of his dream and all the responses you can give. it's hinted at in the final dialogue with cazador with his "you've never forgiven anything", but astarion wasn't some indisciplined brat who "deserved" or "kinda asked for it". He would apologise and beg for forgiveness, he would mind cazador's wishes and schedule and be constantly anxious about it, and the only reason that he got the worst of his wrath wasn't because his personality is just abrasive and it angered cazador, it was purely for entertainment, because he begged the prettiest, he screamed the loudest, etc. You can make the argument that he was the most vulnerable of the spawn, the least powerful, the runt of the pack.

Sure, he wasn't a great person while he was alive what with all his magistrate bs, but he was young and a bit of a dick, not evil. When he was alive and kinda abused some of his privilege as a magistrate that was posturing, underneath it there was always weakness and self-doubt. And when he was stripped of that little power he had, he became his "truest" (or rather basest) self, which was a scared boy who wanted to make it big or impress his superiors. On some level I think he admired Cazador for all the power he had, and we know that at the ritual "he wanted to be just like him". I don't think he would ever purposefully anger someone he looked up to, even with all the shit he was forced to do. For 200 years he was an obedient puppet, and it was his shortcomings, not his defiance that earned him all the torture.

So when you meet him after the nautiloid crash, you aren't seeing a single genuine personality trait of his. Not until the love confession in act 2. All you're seeing for the majority of 2 acts is a mask, a character he created, as well as him in full survival mode. Of course he doesn't want you helping innocents, this might be his only chance to escape, he doesn't want that derailed. Honestly, you don't really see the "real" him until after you've killed cazador. For anyone who finished his quest, y'all know how different he acts in the graveyard scene. He's uncharacteristically soft, even nice, and yes he's angry and he can't undo centuries of suffering, but you've helped him come back to himself. By act 3 he already stops rlly dissaproving of helping people, and when talking to the gurs he's defensive because he doesn't want to get their hopes up and dissapoint them, not because he wouldn't give anything to help. Astarion at his core is sassy, sure, but he is undoubtedly *nice*. He's a good person, he feels so much guilt for what he's done and sympathy for his victims, and he *has* to push it all down lest the psychological pain alone kills him. He likes killing, sure, but more as a sport than a past time. And honestly i could go on and on but let's leave it at that for now.

#pythoria.txt #bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #i could analyse his character all day #i should write a character study fic lmao #this all is not to say he's some hero btw #he's deeply flawed #but aren't we all #bg3 spoilers

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pocket-watcher · 2 months

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“Ugh my back is killing me.” You contorted your arm to try and get some pressure on the ache in your upper back, but you couldn’t quite reach it.

It had been about two weeks of this ever-growing pain. You’d tried stretching, ice, heat, and nothing had worked!

“Why don’t you get a massage?” Your friend suggested, and that was how you found yourself ducking into a massage parlour later that day.

The receptionist had a blank smile on his face, gaze unfocused. You rang the bell. No response. You rang it again.

On the third bell he sleepily looked up at you, smiling still.

“Down the hall… and… down the hall… right? Yeah. To the right.”

You wondered how he even got this job.

Heading down the hall, and down the hall, and to the right, you came to a room dimly lit with candles. A woman stood behind a massage table.

“Ah, you must be my 6 o’clock.” The masseuse smiled at you.

You smiled awkwardly, and she gestured for you to sit.

“What seems to be the issue?” She asked, eyeing you up. You instinctively fixed your posture.

“It’s my back. Do you think you could take a look at it for me?” You explain.

She approaches you and pauses, and you realise why - you gingerly remove your shirt.

Her hands move slowly up your back. She pushes down and you feel your eyes roll back into your head as she rubs it. Relief.

“Yes. I can feel the tension. Lie down for me.”

You do as she says, lying face down, eager for more relief.

“Good.” She praises, and you feel your face flush involuntarily.

Her hands begin to knead your back rhythmically up and down, back and forth, occasionally hitting that sweet spot. You hold back a whine as she moves away from it.

Your eyes get heavy from the release of tension. It’s been an exhausting time having to carry it all with you. You let yourself begin to sink into the table, eyes fluttering close.

“This problem stems from poor posture. You really do need to take care of yourself more.” You hear her say as she works away, pushing deep circles around and around into your back, your shoulders.

“Mhmm…” is all you manage to reply.

“I know it’s difficult. Everyday life is so busy and stressful… Maybe you just need someone else to take care of you.”

“Mhmm…” you moan in agreement, your brain not fully processing what she’s saying until a moment or two later.

You think, as much as you can as she massages you into a state of bliss, that having someone to take care of you would be really nice. You think this is really nice. Her fingers moulding your back. You shiver as she lightly brushes your bare skin as she moves lower.

“Someone to tell you what to do, what to wear, you wouldn’t have so much tension then. You wouldn’t need to worry about anything.” She continues.

You sigh wistfully, imagining that. No worries, no thinking, just staying like this. Relaxed. Stress melting away. The pain from earlier is a distant memory compared to the contentment you feel down.

You feel your body get hot as she moves away from your back and down towards your legs.

But any embarrassment you may have felt simply dissipates with her soothing touch.

“You need to let me in. Let my words squeeze and stretch that brain. Let me massage every last bit of free will out of you.”

Alarm bells sounded at that last sentence, but your muscles were too relaxed for you to move.

“Shh…. Relax. Let me take care of you. It would feel so good to give in, wouldn’t it?”

It was less of a question and more of an order. You felt your body betray you. A moan slipped out as you slipped deeper. Her hands move between your legs.

“That’s it…” her hands worked you, body and mind, into submission.

“Now let’s make sure you release all of that building tension inside of you too…”

You couldn’t quite remember what had happened next. But you found yourself back at reception with a smile on your face, booking another appointment.

“Same time next week?” The receptionist asked in a daze.

“…yes… yes please.” You replied, breathless.

#finally #a story with a happy ending #I know I’m just pun-believable #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #mind control #mindfuck #brainwashing #hypnotized #massage #watcher’s stories #watcher writes

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igotanidea · 1 month

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Somebody's watching me : AK!Jason x reader

Request: AK! jason hears y/n’s name from his opponent and just goes nuts like he goes home looking for her.

A/N : the requests is a little twisted, as usual, but I hope you'll still like it anon :D

***

It was gone.

His old life was gone.

And with it, everyone he knew before.

All that was left was revenge, hate, rage. And this unstoppable need for killing someone, destroy something, wreck havoc on every single person who did him any wrong.

Bruce.

Fucking Batman.

He was the Arkham Knight now.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Focused on building his position so that no one, no fucking one, would ever hold any power over him.

And if that meant keeping tabs on everyone under his watchful gaze so be it.

And if that meant putting some pressure on everyone who dared to do as much as step a toe over the line, so be it.

And disturbances?

Defnitely not something he was about to allow.

And now he was holding a gun to one of his goons head.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his voice distorted by the helmet

"Sir, I --"

"What did you do?" Jason repeated pressing the metal more into man's head.

"I-- I disobeyed--"

"You disobeyed. And do you know what happens to people who disobey me?"

"Sir, please this is--"

Jason shot in the air and the man almost fell to his feet.

"It was-"

"I'm not going to give a warning shot again"

"I was-"

"I'm gonna count to three now. One."

"There's this girl."

"Two."

"Her name is Y/N."

"thr-- what?"

"She is very distant family, but --"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, his face twisted with rage, not that anyone could see his expression hidden under the metal. "Shut the fuck up you hear me!" it took him two steps to be in front of the man, yanking him up by the collar and pinning to the wall with brutal force, half-chocking him "you ever do as much as think her name again and I'll kill you and put your head on a stick as a warning to anyone who dare have a thought of himself. YOU HEAR ME!?"

"y-ye-yes..."

"now get the fuck out of here!" the man was violently thrown on the floor, getting up as fast as he could and rushing out the door. It was truly a miracle he lived to tell the tale, cause Arkham Knight was not known for his leniency.

But Y/N.

Someone from his past.

More than someone.

A girl, a woman, he was once in love with.

A woman, whose name he forgot in the pursuit after Batman.

Or rather - tried to forget.

She was the only one who ever got him. The only one to accept him fully, with all his flaws.

His Y/N.

His Y/N who betrayed him just like anyone else. Who forgot him. Who moved on without giving as much as a single thought to him when he was lost. Who was never looking for him.

His Y/N.

It;s been years since he heard anyone mention her. Years since he swore to never get manipulated again.

And then.

Just a few letters mixed together. Just a few sounds.

And she was right behind his eyes, just like he remembered her. Because even his dark side refused to let go of the rememberance of their time together.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes and freckles from the sun, as fleeting as the summer days they were spending together. Her calmness, care and tenderness when she was patching up his woudns, tiredlessly putting on bandaids and stitches.

Fuck!

He didn't need that.

Just another phase of brainwashing. If not from his capturers than from his own men.

Hell no.

He was going to say no to the past life once and for all.

Hunting her down, wherever she may be.

See her for the last time.

Pour hatred in his heart, destroying all the remaining piece of useless softness and caring he carried in his soul.

Burn the last link connecting him to the past down.

***

She was spending the night in her old apartment. Sitting by the same desk, with the same lamp, in the same posture she ever did.

One leg half bent and folded under her ass, the other hanging loose in the air.

"You're going to end up with numbness..." he muttered to himself, watching her from the opposite rooftop.

Obviously she couldn;t hear him, but something made her raise her head and look outside the window while simultaniously changing the position.

Jason smiled despite himself.

His heart skipped a beat and sudden warmth spread in his chest.

Only for a second though, since he rememembered why he was here in the first place.

Look at her.

So fucking good.

So fucking calm and happy, while he-

fuck!

traitorous bitch.

Maybe it was her plan from the very beggining. Conspiring with Batman only to get rid of him, so they could both be free of the burdening presence of a man once known as Jason Todd.

Y/N...

Regardless of how sweet her name may have tasted on his tongue he would rather cut it off than fall down that rabit hole again.

He was cold as ice. Brutal. Cruel. Ruthless.

And it was not going to change because he saw her.

Not in the million years.

She was the reason of his fallout. She should have stopped him from going on that stupid mission. She should have made him stay, showed him she cared enough to keep him grounded.

It was all her fault that that after being captured all he could think about was how she was going to survive without him. How her heart would break into million pieces, instead of figuring out a way to free himself.

It was all her fault that he became the Arkham Knight. Cause inhumanity was equal with survival. And survival meant living. And living meant keeping his legacy.

So yes, he hated her.

He hated her, because every single thing he did and every little thing done to him was because and thanks to her.

She was the reason of him getting on top, but also the person responsible for his failure as a person.

She was nothing.

She was everything.

And for the first time since capturing, torturing and tranformation Jason felt conflicted.

Y/N...

His Y/N...

Not his anymore...

***

When some force made her stand up and come to window all she saw was a blink of metal on the rooftop. And since she spend half of her life with vigilantes, it was easy to realise that this must have been one of them.

But the silhouette of a running man couldn;t have been Dick nor Tim nor any other hero she would recognise.

And despite herself, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

#jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #jason todd angst #arkham knight jason todd

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iluvmattsbeard · 16 days

Text

so high school (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: nothing but fluff

preview: Matt and his friends were seniors in high school, they decided to play a game of kiss, marry, kill in class. when it was Matt’s turn, his friend adds you in the mix. he never quite noticed you before and when he did, he was intrigued. you were two opposites. he ended up passing notes to you in class. you never expected the outcome from all of this.

a/n: this is a long one but, I loved writing it. I saw someone on here ask to write a fic based off so high school. which, I attempted to do! this is my take of how I pictured it in my head. I forgot who it was who posted about it but if you’re the person, here’s my version! - L 🤍

it was almost the end of the school day, Matt was sat down at a table full of his friends. it was technically a free period since testing was held today. "let's play a game." his close friend Nate suggests. "what kind of game?" Chris asks curiously. "kiss marry kill." Nate responds with a grin. it caught Matt's attention, speaking up, "that's a childish game." the group laughs before Nate speaks up again, "well we have nothing better to do." the group looks at Matt, "what do you say? you in?" Nate adds on. "I guess i'll participate." Matt says fixing his posture. "okay who will start?" Nick joins in.

after a few rounds, the boys were laughing from the answers that had passed. it was finally Matt's turn, Chris ended up giving him the options, "okay let's see..." he says looking around the class, "Chloe, Madison, and..." he continues looking and lands his eyes on a girl resting her head on her palm as she read a book, "her I guess." Chris adds on. Matt looks at the girl and tilts his head a bit, "what's her name?" he asks.

"I think it's Y/n." Nick responds looking at you. you lift your head a bit from the sound of your name being said, "Nick, you're too loud." Chris whispers. you just ignored it and continued to read the book in front of you. Matt starts to play the game as he chose you to kill, "I only put her in that spot because I don't know her." he explains. the bell rings and everyone started to get up, including you. you shut your book and placed it in your back pack. Matt got up taking glances at you. you were wearing a white cardigan with jeans. your hair was half way up and half way down. you zipped up your back pack and put it on one of your shoulders only.

before you walk out, you catch a glimpse of Matt's gaze and you smile a bit at him, which he does back, then you walk out. Matt then picked up his back pack and put it on heading out as well. he walked to his car with his brothers and got in buckling up. "you guys don't know anything else about that Y/n girl?" Matt asks causing Nick to raise an eyebrow, "no, why?" he questions while Chris looks at Matt curious as well. "nothing I was just wondering. I thought I knew everyone in that class." he says starting the car. "she just keeps to herself that's why. no one wants to bother her I guess." Nick says. Matt just nods and drives out from the school parking lot.

the next day, your eyes were focused on your computer as you did the assignment for today. Matt was still curious about you, from yesterday's small smiles at each other, he wanted to take the opportunity to get to know you. he took out his notebook and a pencil as he started to write. after he was done, he ripped it out from the notebook and folded it. "hey." he says tapping the girl in front of him, "can you pass it to her?" Matt says looking at you. the girl he asked was behind you. she nods and takes the note, tapping your shoulder. you turn around and look at the folded paper. "it's from Matt." she whispers using her thumb to point behind her. you take the note and turn back around to open it.

'hey, I know you don't know me but, I also don't know you so, I was wondering if you wanted to get to know each other? I found it odd that I know everyone else in here except for you.' - Matt

you smile a bit from the note and pick up your pencil writing back. you handed it back to the girl and she passed it back to Matt.

'hi i'm Y/n. that's really out of the blue but, sure. i'd like to get to know you. also, yeah I get that a lot.' - Y/n

Matt smiles and writes back explaining how he even found out about you. you guys were passing notes the whole class which, the girl in between you ended up switching seats with Matt so he could pass the notes himself.

'so I was apart of your kiss marry kill?' - Y/n

'yeah but don't worry, my choice for you was not personal.' - Matt

you giggle softly to yourself. the bell ended up ringing and you guys left it off at that. you packed your stuff and turned around to give him the same soft smile from yesterday before walking out. for the rest of the day, Matt could not stop thinking about you. "what's on your mind?" Nick asks him. "oh nothing." Matt responds smiling. Chris and Nick just look at each other in a weird way.

*time skip*

the weekend was finally over and Matt couldn't already wait to get to his last class. when the time comes, he was about to sit down behind you but the teacher stops him. "Matt." Mrs. Dean speaks up causing the boy to stop in his tracks and turn around, "yes?" he asks. "we need to talk about your grade in this class. I heard you aren't doing so well in other classes as well?" she says pulling up his grades. you couldn't help but have the conversation catch your attention as you unzipped your back pack. "Matt, you have to raise these grades or else you'll be suspended from the lacrosse game in a month." the teacher says making Matt's eyes widen, "what? how could I raise my grades that quickly?" he asks. "I don't know Matt but it's possible. you have to really put in the work." she says. Matt just sighs and nods, going to sit at his desk. as time goes by, you turn around and place a note in front of him which makes him look at you and smile a bit.

'I can help you raise your grades if you'd like.' - Y/n

he smiles even more reading it. he immediately writes back taking you on the offer.

'if it's not too much of a hassle, i'd gladly accept your help.' - Matt

'well I did come up with the idea so, it wont be a hassle.' - Y/n

'can I get your number?' - Matt

you ended up writing down your phone number and he thanks you in his actual voice. he started to realize, he hasn't heard your voice, so when you spoke up to say 'you're welcome', he felt his heart start to race a bit. your voice was soft and comforting in a way. even though you only said two words to him.

the next day, you and Matt meet up at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard. "hey." Matt says with a smile walking up to sit in front of you. you smile back, "hi Matt." you greet him. "I'm going to warn you right now, I have a bunch of missing assignments." he says opening his back pack. you let out a soft laugh, "that's fine. you have a month to get it all done. plus, you have extra hands to help you." you reassure him. he smiles and nods, "thank you again." he says pulling out the pile of papers he had inside his back pack. your eyes widen a bit and laugh a bit, "don't thank me yet. we haven't started." you respond while looking at the stack. you both laugh at the same time.

you two have been tackling his missing work for a few days now until one day, he tells you something, "Y/n?" you look up at him and respond, "yes?" "I still want to get to know you better." he says making you look at him with a smile, "well..." you start off, putting your pencil down, "what do you want to know?" he puts down his pencil as well before he speaks, "just tell me stuff that makes you, well you." you laugh a bit before nodding, "well I barely moved to Massachusetts the beginning of senior year, i'm an only child, I enjoy reading in my free time, and let's see..." you pause for a bit. Matt was just sitting there, very drawn to you as you speak. "I don't really know what else I could say." you say with a soft laugh. Matt joins in laughing before he speaks, "I guess I just have to spend more time with you to get more from you." you smile nervously and look away, "well, let's focus on getting this work done." Matt adds on which you agree to.

since you began to help Matt, his friends have been wondering why he's been distant. he was constantly with you and he never told his friends about you. as you guys sat there, his group of friends walk over and tease him, "what is this?" Nate asks with a foolish smile. Matt rolls his eyes and looks at the group, "what are you guys doing here?" he asks. "the question is, what are you doing here? with..." Nate looks at you, "Y/n right?" Nate asks. you nod in silence feeling awkward, "Y/n is helping me complete my missing assignments so I could raise my grades. if I don't raise them, I won't be able to play the lacrosse game coming up." Matt says. Chris widens his eyes, "what? why didn't you tell us?" he asks. "you guys weren't going to be able to help me so Y/n offered." Matt responds looking at you.

"you still could've told us." Nick says before looking at you, "I'm Nick by the way." you smile and greet him back, "nice to meet you." "are you sure you guys are only studying? I mean Matt talks about y-." Chris was cut off by Matt, "okay guys. me and Y/n still have lots to do." the group of boys nod and say their goodbyes, walking away. Matt shakes his head and focuses his eyes on the text book in front of him. you look at him and laugh, "you talk about me?" you ask. he looks up and takes a tiny gulp, "he was just teasing us." Matt tries to cover up from the truth. you just nod, "okay I believe you." you say looking back down with a smile.

*time skip*

you and Matt were at the usual picnic table at school as you both stood in front of the computer. it's been two weeks since you started to help him. you both stood there waiting for his grades to update. it took a lot of work but, hopefully it was worth it. you and Matt stare at the screen as he clicked refresh one more time. "Y/n!" he says standing up straight. you looked at the screen to see his grades now passing with A's and B's. you turn to look at him and your mouth was open a bit from shock, "you did it Matt!" you exclaim happily. "no, we did it Y/n." he says with a smile hugging you suddenly. your eyes widen a bit but you hugged back slowly, "thank you Y/n." he whispers still embracing you. "you're welcome Matt." you reply as you both pull away. you both stand there now nervously laughing. "let's go show Mrs. Dean." you suggest. the boy nods and you both pack your stuff and walk to her classroom.

the next day, Matt kept bugging you in class with the notes he's been writing.

'Y/n tell me how I can repay you. seriously!' - Matt

'I don't need to be repaid Matt. it was me who offered to help in the first place. i'm just glad I helped you.' - Y/n

'how about I take you to the drive in?' - Matt

your eyes widen a bit from the question. you’ve never been asked to go anywhere especially with a boy. alone. you hover your pencil over the paper as you think about what to say.

‘i’ve never been to the drive in.’ - Y/n

‘well then you’re about to :)’ - Matt

you look back at him and he smiles making you smile as well.

*time skip*

Y/n’s POV

“dad i’ll be back before 9 pm I promise.” I say putting on small hoop earrings. my dad has never been in this situation before, well neither have I, so this was all new for the both of us. “honey, let her finish getting ready.” my mom joins in with a small laugh. “who even is this boy Y/n?” my dad asks curiously. “he’s just a boy from school that I helped out. now, he said he wants to repay me that’s all.” I say putting on chapstick. “do you like this boy?” my mom asks. “yes.” I say bluntly but realize it came off the other way, “as a friend!” I add on. my mom laughs and nods, “okay sweet heart. I’ll get your dad out of your hair.” she says dragging my dad out the room with her.

I look at myself in the mirror and touch up anything that doesn’t look right. my phone suddenly buzzes. I pick it up to see a text from Matt. it was him letting me know he was outside. I get up and put on my shoes, heading out my bedroom and to the front door until I got stopped by my dad. “hold on Y/n.” he says getting up from the couch. “dad please. I have to go.” I say but he walks up to me and opens the door. he takes a look at Matt through his car window. Matt gets out the car and walks up to the door. “hello sir.” Matt says with a smile. “what’s up kid. where are you taking my daughter?” my dad asks. “i’m just taking her to the drive in. it’s to repay her for helping me play this weekend’s game.” Matt says. “you play a sport?” my dad asks now intrigued.

“I play lacrosse.” Matt says with a soft laugh. “that’s awesome. well, you two enjoy the movie. be safe most importantly.” my dad says patting Matt’s shoulder. “thank you dad. bye.” I say walking to Matt’s car. we both get inside and I look at him, “i’m so sorry about him.” I apologize. he laughs softly and starts the car, “why are you saying sorry? it went great.” he reassures me. “I just didn’t think you guys would meet. I mean, he’s never met anyone else before.” I say. he looks at me, “wait, i’m the first guy he’s ever met?” he asks with a slight shocked expression. “yeah…” I say quietly. “is that a problem?” I add on. he smiles and chuckles, “no! i’m just surprised.” he says as he starts to drive off. “what’s so surprising?” I question keeping my eyes on the road.

“I thought a bunch of guys would’ve taken you out by now.” he says. I stay silent for a bit, what is that supposed to mean? “I don’t talk to guys like that.” I utter. “looks like i’m special.” Matt smiles from his words. I just shake my head playfully, “I guess so.” I laugh a bit.

End of Y/n’s POV

later on, you both were sitting there in the car as the movie played on the big screen. Matt wasn’t paying attention that much because all he could focus on was how nervous he was being right next to you. to be completely honest, he hasn’t taken out a girl before. he only cared about his friends and sports so he didn’t think he would have anytime for a relationship but, he just shook off the thoughts. he was just repaying you right? towards the end of the movie, you notice him glancing at you and you caught his eyes. you both sat there as you stared at each other while the movie played through the radio. Matt started to move his eyes to your lips, making you gulp. you two started to lean in slowly but stopped once you guys heard the car next to you start its engine.

you both move away from each other and laugh nervously. the drive home was painfully awkward. when you got home, you laid in bed and buried your face in your pillow. all you could think about now was, what if you guys kissed?

*time skip*

a few days pass, you could not get Matt off your mind. you knew he was the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. you just didn’t know what to do with these feelings. besides that near kiss, nothing else happened after. he did invite you to his lacrosse practice later after school.

‘come on. you can watch me practice and try to understand the game.’ - Matt

you stared at the note and thought about what to say. you had the same hesitation from when he asked you to go to the drive in. you gulp and start to write a response.

‘okay fine. i’ll come.’ - Y/n

the bell rings and he stands up grabbing his stuff, shortly after he grabs your hand walking out the classroom. you follow him as you look at the way your fingers entwined. you felt your cheeks turn pink from the gesture. you soon made it out to the grass field. he lets go of your hand and looks at you, “I got to put on my uniform but look out for number four okay?” he says smiling. you nod and smile back as he walks away.

you make your way up onto the bleachers as you sit down away from some people. when all the boys head out on the field, you immediately spot Matt in his number four jersey. you smile and see him point his stick at you which makes you giggle quietly. “hey Y/n.” you turn to see Nick join right next to you. “hi. you don’t play?” you ask. he shakes his head, “absolutely not. I cried and quit the first time I played.” you both laugh at his words.

as the boys started to practice, Nick started to explain the game to you. you were starting to understand the concept and how points work. by the time they finished, Nick claimed you as a pro. “you learn quickly!” he exclaims with a smile. “well, I did help him study. only fair for me to study the game.” you say laughing.

when you arrived home that day, you couldn’t stop thinking about him still. you sat on your bed as you started to think of ways to support him at the game tomorrow. you had the perfect idea.

*time skip*

you look at yourself in the school bathroom mirror as you smile. today was the day Matt has been anticipating. he was still thanking you all day that he gets to play today. which you kept repeatedly telling him to stop.

Matt

wish me luck today! I hope to hear you in the stands.

you smile at the text and reply.

Y/n

good luck Matt. also, I don’t know about that.

you head out the bathroom and make your way out to the bleachers. you wanted to be close to the front so Nick saved you a seat. “thank you for giving me one of his jerseys.” you say to Nick. “of course! he’s going to love seeing you in it.” he responds. you and Nick engage in conversation as he tells you child hood stories about the three of them. you two were laughing and getting along. “i’m so glad Matt started talking to you. I feel like none of us wanted to reach out to you because we thought you didn’t want anybody bothering you.” Nick lets out making you laugh softly.

you hear a person through the speakers introduce the team and you instantly switch your attention towards the field. the team runs out onto the field and everybody starts to cheer, including you.

Matt’s POV

when me and my team run out onto the field, I instantly search for Y/n in the stands. when I finally see her, I couldn’t help but notice her shirt. it was my jersey. it looked a little big on her and I laughed to myself. she looked amazing. I pointed my lacrosse stick at her and she just gave thumbs up with a smile. I definitely need to do good for her.

End of Matt’s POV

during the game, you were so focused on Matt that you started to realize how good he was. he was absolutely crushing everyone on the opposite team. it was down to the final countdown. you were at the edge of your seat with Nick as you guys watch Matt with the ball, he starts to run and push past the opponents as he throws the ball straight to the net, making the final goal. everybody stands up and cheer as you and Nick jump up and down. “let’s go Matt!” you yell out. you were so caught up in the moment you didn’t realize you really put yourself out there cheering for him. Matt takes off his helmet and runs towards the stands. you walk down the bleachers as he drops the stick and helmet onto the ground. you embrace him in a hug as he wraps his arms around your waist, picking you up slightly.

“good job Matt!” you exclaim happily. “I couldn’t do it without you.” he says. it made your heart melt but you were also confused, “what do you mean?” you say pulling away smiling. “I was thinking about you the whole time. it was my motivation.” he says smiling. your heart started to beat fast. “Matt… that’s so sweet…” you say. he scratches the back of his neck shyly, “yeah…” he says. it was the same awkward feeling from the car ride home back from the drive in. “let me go change into my actual clothes and i’ll meet up with you in the parking lot okay?” he says. you nod and smile.

later on, you were standing in the parking lot as you waited. he eventually came out from the school building and greets you with a smile. you just stood there still feeling awkward. your feelings for him were growing stronger and you couldn’t take it anymore. “nice jersey by the way.” he says opening his trunk with a smile. “thank you very much.” you smile a bit. you watched him put his equipment in his trunk as he noticed your body language. “is something bothering you?” he asks shutting the trunk.

Y/n’s POV

my heart was racing. how do I tell him how I feel? “Y/n?” he speaks up looking at me with concern. “Matt… I don’t know how to put this into words.” I say quietly. he leans back on the car as he responds, “it’s okay. take your time.” I stand there and look away with a nervous laugh before looking back at him, “well… i’ve been feeling a certain way lately. ever since I met you, I knew there was something different about you. I mean you went out of your way to talk to me when no one else would.” I pause for a moment, I can’t believe i’m doing this, “remember when you said you’re special and I said I guess? well, it’s not I guess. it’s yes, you are special. i’m sorry if this is too much.” I stop myself. “no keep going.” he says with a reassuring smile. I let out a breath, “what i’m trying to say is…” I stop looking at my feet nervously before looking back up at him, “no one’s ever had me… not like you. like today, I didn’t even know I could cheer that loud. when we aren’t together, I constantly think about you and when I lay there, I can’t help but wonder if you feel the same.” I say.

he stands up straight getting off the car. “that’s actually crazy.” he says catching me off guard. “what?” I ask stunned. he laughs nervously before talking, “i’ve been feeling the same way Y/n. like I said earlier, you were my motivation the whole game. when we first started talking, I already felt like my heart was going to beat out my chest. when we went to the drive in, I should’ve just told you then. I was having these thoughts ever since. every day, I look forward to seeing you. that has never happened to me before. I feel the same way Y/n.” he says making me feel much more at ease. “you really mean that?” I ask with a slight smile. “of course I do Y/n.” he says grabbing my hands softly, interlocking them.

End of Y/n’s POV

“so what now Matt?” you ask looking into his eyes. “what do you think?” he asks with a smile. you stayed quiet for a bit before asking him a question, “are you gonna marry kiss or kill me?” he smiles at the familiar question, “for now, I think i’ll go with kiss.” he says pulling you in by your intertwined hands, unlocking them, placing his hands on your face kissing you softly. you place your arms around his neck as you tip toe yourself up to reach him better. he moves his hands down, wrapping his arms around your lower waist as he picks you up slightly, without breaking the kiss. you never would’ve imagined high school being like this. finally finding a boy who you knew you could give yourself to. you both continue to kiss, smiling in between kisses and eventually pulling away. you both had your foreheads touching as you both laughed softly in each other’s arms.

a/n: sorry if this is so long! likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated. - L 🤍

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