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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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older! eddie x fem! reader

summary: when your bf skips town /‘s you can’t pay your rent, you put on your best outfit and knock on your landlord’s door begging for forgiveness

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the Eddie edit

w/c: 3.8k

t/w: 18+ ONLY —heavy smut, degrading, hair pulling, mouth fucking, choking, edging, switch!, daddy!kink

He was an asshole to extraordinary proportions. A life full of mold covered lemons would do that to a person. You were nervous, to approach him. But something told you he’d hear you out— listen to you. Maybe even be sympathetic to your pleads.

Yeah right.

As if he were made of anything but pure hatred. Toxicity swirled in his veins, his poisoned skin covered by decades worth of tattoos; all dark and sharp edged.

His peppered scruff balanced out his naturally soft eyes. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A scowl that would make any resident of Forest Hills Trailer Park think twice about crossing. But you were left with no choice. When Trey had ditched town with the human bicycle Chrissy Cunningham, you were short on rent. Bills were tight, and you often ate in the dark, or by candle light. Anything to save a bit of money.

And that’s what led you here. Standing at your landlord’s door. Putting on an extra swipe of lipgloss, making sure to curl your hair, and wear a low cut tank top, the only push up bra you owned, and some cheap lashes from the mall— you knocked politely on the sun faded door. Hoping for some sort of a miracle that Mr. Munson would take pity on you.

One knock. Nothing.

Another. Still nothing.

It’s not until you are slapping your hand into the door that a voice behind you startles you nearly out of your too short skirt.

“What’d’ya need?” He’s covered in motor oil and grease, standing below you on the dirt and sparse grass covered ground, wiping his hands on a once red rag, a ring of sweat around his white tank top, bandana wrapped around his head, cigarette hanging gingerly from his slack lips.

He remembers the day you had moved in, it was freezing cold in early February. All by yourself, moving things one at a time in a shitty old Buick he hadn’t seen around since his high school days. He wanted to offer his help, something he didn’t give to anyone. But something about the way you smiled as he showed you around the dingy shithole of a trailer, voicing your opinions on what could be spruced up, made him hate you a little bit less.

Everyone in the park knew not to bother Eddie. He was a grumpy, mean son of a bitch and his patience was rail fucking thin. The Johnson’s dog went missing? No shit, he was the one who called animal control to come and pick it up, fucker had fleas and probably rabies. Can I paint the kitchen? Fuck no. The sink isn’t working at lot 8. Call a mechanic. And just for the annoyance he upped their rent $100.

Seeing you on his steps, dressed like that, sparkly tits, and your bra showing through your tank top had his dick twitching in his pants. Of course you were a smoke show, and he was honestly surprised to hear that ol’ what’s his face ran out on you with Chrissy Cuntingham. Her shit had been rode hard and put away wet more times that could be accounted for. Bitch still wore her homecoming tiara and had her green and orange pom poms in the back window of her car— despite the fact that graduation was more than 25 years ago. Worse than an alleycat, and smelling like one, Chrissy mostly kept herself busy by buying the minors alcohol or showing her many “party tricks” to the bachelors of the park. Sitting on his porch, smoking a joint like he did every night, Eddie took note of the black jeep that showed up every Thursday outside trailer 6, a graying head of suave douche boy hair could only be one person, Jason Carver.

He took note that your trailer, right next to his, was full of screaming and yelling when your boyfriend was home. A noise all too familiar in the trailer park, bouncing off Eddie’s ears like birds chirping.

But when he was gone? The window to your bedroom would be cracked open ever so slightly, propped open with the soft cover of Stephen King’s IT. The kitten purr of a vibrator and your delicate moans sang out to him. A siren amongst lonely fishermen, calling out to them in song of entrapment only to eat their souls, bodies never found amongst the dark sea bed. At first he thought it was wrong to listen, wrong to hear your pleasuring yourself, but he had sworn he heard his name on your lips, more than once. Fisting his cock angrily to your voice, your wet mouth, swollen lips from him sucking on them, pretty little pussy aching for him. He didn’t need playboys anymore when he had your face to imagine. And imagine he had.

What would your sweet pussy look like wrapped around his cock? Would you swallow his load down your throat if he asked, demanded you to? Sweet thing like you wouldn’t have to worry about anything if you were his. The choked laugh after he finishes all over his hand makes him shake his head at the idea. He didn’t know your age, old enough to be on your own but definitely not 45 like he was. Visions of your sugar plum tits bouncing in his face as you rode him on the itchy couch in his living room, lulled him to sleep most nights.

He saw a peek of a tattoo on your side when you were hanging clothes on the line. Your body drove him in, his eyes melting around your curves, the swell of your ass in the jean cut off shorts you wore. When you saw him staring you waved him over, a devilish grin on your lips, a wanting sparkle in your eye.

He knew your type, trouble. And oh fuck the trouble he would love to be in. He’d never volunteered to fix anyone's appliances. But your silky saccharine voice had him calling a mechanic in a few days time, would have been sooner if he could have tore his eyes away from your tanned legs, but he kept those extra days all to himself, whimpering at night with a sore cock your name on his breath. It had been seven months of you living next door, your vibrator turned on like clockwork every day your boyfriend left for work.

And now here you are. Looking at him with “fuck me” eyes and a glossy smile on your lips. Those same lips purring out pleasantries about how fuck face left you and you were needing an extension on rent. The swell of the summer sun hit your cheeks, making you glow like some love sick angel on his steps. He was fucked. And soon— you would be too.

“So what?” He tried to gamble, tried to keep his hard facade, “an extension and then what’s next? You’re gonna tell all your little friends that I give hand outs to the needy? Oh no doll, not today.”

He pushes his way around you and into his trailer, the pungent smell of too strong incense burns your nostrils as you hold the door from him shutting it.

“Please, Mr. Muns—.”

“Eddie,” he grumbles.

“Eddie, please— I’m begging you,” the glimmer of a tear welling in your eyes, your voice dipping low into an almost whisper as you made your way inside, shutting the door behind your back and feeling around for the lock, “I’ll do anything.”

Eyes dripping of sex appeal and lust, you tip your tongue to the center of your top lip, eyeing his tightened jeans and you swear you see his dick twitch beneath the stretched denim.

Cock at full alert he shakes his head, his head dipped low and eyeing you up and down, lip bit between his teeth. A low groan in his throat, he talks in a gritting whisper, “Don’t start something you can’t finish sweetheart.”

“Oh I plan on finishing, big boy,” you hum walking towards him, devilish grin planted on your lips, “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that, will we daddy?”

Fuck. Not even touching you yet and Eddie is rock hard, he could probably cum if you asked him to. Thanking a higher power that he wasn’t twenty anymore, he’s got years of stamina built under his worn leather belt. “You’re about to write a check your ass can’t cash doll, you sure this is what you want?”

“stop talking,” you breath, inches from his lips, he can taste the peach flavored lipgloss on his tongue, “and fuck me.”

Not needing any more of an okay than that, Eddie turns you around in a swift motion, a gasp escapes your lungs and he catches you before you stumble over your heels. He drags your hips down into him, your ass round and luscious on his stiffened length. He rips the neck of your tank top open exposing the mountainous swell of your chest and your cheap K-Mart bra. Pinching your laced nipples between his rough fingers, he rolls them like joints as his hot mouth assaults your neck, painting you, he sucks bruises into your neck, licking them better with tiny flicks of his satanic tongue and ending in a bite, marking you as his.

Pushing your ass into him you can feel his cock. His achingly girthy length has you soaking your panties, dripping wet just for him. His smokey smell is mixed with sweat as you angle your neck back against his shoulder, moaning into him as he sucks like a vampire into your neck. His stubble rubbing against your skin.

“Eddie,” you moan breathless into the humid air of his trailer.

He groans, your body pushed tight against him has his head spinning, drunk off your touch. Grabbing your skirt and yanking upward. Dripping in anticipation, your panties could be wrung out, your arousal pooling from the center and beading slowly to the ground. He hisses and hums when his finger first skates along the slick of your panties with a schlick, “fuck, all this for me doll?” He’s playing now, his thick fingers moving in lazy circles around your clit, your creamy pussy clenching desperately on nothing, you nod with a whimper.

“You gonna make all those pretty little noises I hear from your window once that dumbass you let fuck you leaves the house every day? Hmm? Didn’t think I could hear did you?” His cocky bravado kicks his cock up on your ass, sending a moan through your body as you rub deeper into him.

Quite the opposite actually

Purring into his neck you lick the expanse of skin he’s showcasing. Blowing hot on the slicked spit from your tongue, you rotate your hips to angle his fingers better on your clit, the sensitivity rolling like an electric current through your veins.

“I did it on purpose,” you confess breathlessly as Eddie’s fingers stop. “Watching you stare at me for months, I knew you’d touch yourself over me.”

Eddie groans gutturally twisting your body into the front door, back hitting the broken shades with a thud. In milliseconds he is on you, hot tongue lapping up your neck and biting with enough force to break skin. No time to be patient to have you undress for him, he shoves your skirt up tipping your panties clean off. Your exposed pussy shuddering with his blown breath on your slick core. His devilish eager tongue expertly licks and teases your clit. Humming with each jerk of your body as the sensitivity makes you squirm. Tongue wiggling inside of you like an eel, your hands are gripping his hair for dear life, yanking at the roots like you’re pulling weeds. Your thigh is on his shoulder, the leg on the ground begins to shake as your first orgasm rips like a tidal wave through you. Head thrown back against the door, moaning loud enough for the entire park to hear— you don’t care.

Your noises stir Eddie’s arousal even more. Whimpering as he grip him impossibly tighter he a broken, “fuck,” into your folds as he goes back for seconds, “you’re gonna get me into trouble, pussy so fucking sweet.” His lips are wet, your arrival shining like pretty lipgloss allover hos chin and lips. Already spent from the teasing and the damn breaking, Eddie hikes you up over his shoulder, your bare volumtuous ass bouncing with every step. He throws you onto a king sized bed, unmade and reeking of weed. Rolling papers on the night stand along with several lighters you aren’t given much time before Eddie kicks his jeans off, boxer briefs do him justice as his cock jumps to his belly when he unthreads his legs from them. Pearly beads of pre cup drip from the thick head.

Eddie leans forward and places a thick hand on your neck, your vision blurs and returns with each grip he threatens and releases his teeth biting your lips, slow drops of blood seep from his bites, he licks the wounds clean.

“Havent used rubbers since the 80’s and I won’t, so are you on the pill or are we ending this right now?”

“Pill,” you warble, chords of your neck strained against his hand.

“Thatta girl,” he praises, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I’m gonna fill you up full with my cum you’ll be leaking it out for hours.. maybe days.”

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of his glorious pearly cum deep in your walls painting them pretty, “please daddy, I need it.”

Eddie grins, “so needy baby, you want this cock?” he asks, flicking it through your folds, a noise resembling macaroni and cheese is blasts from your core, he groans deep, “so fucking wet,” his lip is almost bit in half with how he’s trying to hide his excitement, “I’m gonna wreck this sweet pussy so you won’t be able to walk home.”

Whimpering like a bitch in heat, Eddie flips you over, angles your ass up, slapping each cheek hard enough a red hand print sized welt develops almost immediately, he pushes all of himself into you, bottoming out as you moan and cry thanking God in your head as you’re split open, a welcomed pain. Spit soaks his sheets from your mouth when he pulls out, “oh you can take it, honey, don’t fucking quit on me.”

“I’m n—,” gasping loudly when he spits harshly on your ass. Rubbing his thumb against the pink button. The new sensation brings color to your closed eyes, stars and shapes of all size float in your closed mind, your pussy clenched harder around Eddie as you whine his name.

“Yeah?” Eddie moans, “told you daddy would take care of you, that needle dick can’t make you feel like this can he?”

you try to choke out a ‘no’ but no noise comes out, your head is thrown back violently as Eddie grabs your hair in one hand and pounds mercilessly into you.

Eddie is grunting with each slap of his heavy sack against your clit, “this is what you came here for right? Bad girl can’t pay her rent so she came to fuck the owner in exchange?” His taunting only makes you wetter, makes you clench his harder as you come undone for the second time. Screaming his name until you’re breathless. Panting and sweating like you ran a marathon. He gives you one more deep thrust of his hips and watches you fall forward.

“Look at the mess you made you little whore,” Eddie spits, venom laced words on that glory filled tongue, as he drags you by your hair to look at his soaked cock, “lick it up, want you to know how fucking sweet you taste.”

Eddie flips you over like a rag doll, positioning you the way he wants. Head dangling off the mattress, Eddie groans as he jams his cock into your throat, holding it there and choking you simultaneously. He reached to the night stand and grabs a black small vibrator placing it on your clit. The vibrations make you moan and choke around his length and against his hand. Eyelids fluttering shut you’re positive you can’t breathe, just when you’re about to pass out he brings you back, letting you breathe for a few seconds, chuckling to himself as you enter the hazy bliss of intoxicating euphoria. Your body convulses under his. Begging for a third orgasm, you can taste the earthy tang of your release and Eddie’s pre cum mix on your tongue.

His girth fills your throat completely, barely leaving room for your own tongue in your mouth. He’s dripping sweat onto your own body you can feel it slip from your belly button down into the curve of your neck. Eddie's hair is swaying in conjuncture with his hips slamming home against your face. Using your mouth like his own fist has you soaking the sheets, clit over stimulated, a deep bruise settling inside the soft silk of your velvet folds. A bruise you’d wear proudly for weeks to come.

Slapping your face as you gag lightly, mind steadily focusing on the jerking of your legs and the vibrating pulse of your cunt. Eddie shushes you reassuring you, tauntingly “someone too big for their britches huh? Work through it, sweetheart— that’s it, fuck good girl,” he chokes a whimper down his own throat as your tongue swirls around him. “Christ, swallowing what I give you, such a good girl for daddy.” Eddie thrusts one more deep cant of his hips into your mouth groaning deeply when you hollow your cheeks. Letting you breathe freely.

“You like that? Like me using you like a worthless fucking toy?” Eddie lifts you up to his face by your hair, kissing your lips delicately, you nod and whimper as he harshly sucks and nips at your neck leaving purpling marks in his wake.

Unabashedly you scratch your long nails into his chest, leaving your own mark on him as he groans against your skin. “My turn,” you whisper as you crawl into a standing position in front of him. Kissing him sweetly and pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, he whimpers at your touch. A tantalizing smile radiates across your lips. Eddie Munson a switch? Who knew? Pushing his shoulders backwards he falls on the bed, curtains of curls cascade around him and his face is turned up in shock then to a satanic grin.

Wiggling your tight skirt down your body you stand in only your heels.

“Fuck, you are a goddess.” Eddie groans, stroking his thick length in slow rhythmic motions as he stares at your body shamelessly, you climb towards him on his messy sheets between his legs your poor abused throat sore and bruised from his animalistic fucking.

His chest is littered with tattoos both old and new, faded and blown out lines mixed amongst sharp edged fresh ones stark against his pale skin. Blistering red lines decorate him from your nails earlier. Knees on either side of his hips you slot your pussy lips against his needy thick cock, sliding forward and back again, your hands on his chest for leverage. Leaning up on his elbows and moving you both backwards so he can rest his back against the headboard, he scants forward to kiss you but you push his forehead away dumbly.

Tsking and using few words to speak with a hoarse voice you whisper, “no touching.” Grinding your hips down into him, pocketing his cock in your slick folds like a sword in a sheath, you lick a stripe up his neck and land at this ear, your pretty moans singing to him like a demon seeking a naive victim. His hips jump with each roll of your own, desperate for relief he whimpers and whines as he’s close and you retreat. Starting all over again. After the third go around his bangs are stuck to his forehead, cheeks warm with a frustrated, worked up blush as you edge him again and again.

“Mmm’ fuck that’s a good cock daddy,” you moan as you come hard on his cock again making a mess yet again, he groans as you milk him for all he’s worth, your creamy pussy clenching against him, and your denial of his release is too much for him. “you wanna come for me?”

Eddie nods in spent anticipation, practically tearing up from being so worked up and being able to release himself. “Please— I can’t,” he groans, as you start grinding on him again, only this time you give in, hugging him in a pinky sheath of gummy walls and slick floors. “Christ,” he melts as you bounce atop his cock, dragging your hips backward and forward helping him hit the spot you so desperately craved from him. His thick hands are on your hips moving you to his liking, a pebbled nipple in his mouth makes you cry out his name as he pumps into you holding you still.

He slaps your ass, “I’m gonna come, shit, fuck!” He hums your name as hot ropes of his thick release coats your walls and floods out you don’t stop riding him, coaxing every last drop out of him until he’s hissing through his teeth as his softened length falls out of you, hot, reddened and aching.

Eddie pulls you to him, kissing your neck and scooting you both down the bed. “Think you’re my favorite tenant,” he laughs as you lay motionless on top of him, both breathing heavily.

“Jesus, I’d hope so, but maybe Miss Richard’s comes over here to get some money knocked off her rent,” you tease, tracing circles into his spotty chest hair, “heard she’s real pretty in her nightgown, just gotta be careful of her poligrip.”

He laughs again, smacking your ass, “you’re a fuckin’ brat y’know that?”

“And you’re a filthy fucker, quite the pair I’d say,” you spit before biting his chest.

Eddie yanks you by your hair to look you in the eyes, “not every day a pretty baby like you comes knocking on my door to rattle my cage and get free rent. But I’d like if you came over more often, that attitude needs adjusting.”

“oh really?” you question, hand under your chin like you’re bored as you roll your eyes, “and your old ass is gonna be the one to tame me huh?”

You spend a greater part of the night bent over Eddie’s knee, his studded belt in his hand as he whips you again and again. Tears spill from your eyes, and coat his thighs. Eddie’s sadistic ass only grins, a joint hanging limply from his lips, shushing you softly, “don’t cry honey, I told you your ass wouldn’t be able to cash that check.”

👅 I’m gonna go touch grass now

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #older!eddie #mean!eddie munson #daddy!eddie munson #landlord! eddie

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pholla-jm · 1 month

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Colors

IMAGINE: COLORS - ZORO X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: soulmate au. a bit ooc? ****************

The world was rather drab in your opinion. Just black, white and grays. And to see color you have to meet a certain person, your soulmate to be more specific.

You hated that idea. If you want to see the world at its fullest you have to depend on a single person? You cursed the deity that created it. You wanted to be an independent person, and falling in love only sounded like it was going to slow you down.

So you continued to live life in monochrome, accepting to live like this. That doesn’t mean you hated every second of it. To make the best of it, you traveled to different islands, exploring different cultures and trying different foods.

It was a good life.

The island you were currently at was quite busy. People constantly bump into each other, shoving, just trying to get to their destination. You wouldn’t be surprised if there were any pickpockets in the area. You didn’t really like it, too many people. So you decided to head to the docks to find your little boat.

However, it was gone. Someone had stolen it. Your day literally couldn’t get any worse.

Your eyes gaze at all the other ships, trying to find one that you deemed worthy enough to get help. A ship with a sheep figurehead caught your eyes. It was rather… cute.

You could see some people walking around on the deck. With a deep sigh, you mentally prepare yourself to play the damsel in distress. Forcing tears to sheen over your eyes, you climb up the ship.

“Excuse me,” You softly say, tears becoming more fresh in your eyes as you try to catch someone's attention.

“Hey! What are you doing on my ship?” You hear a boy call out to you. You look at him, seeing that he was wearing a straw hat and an open vest. You could tell he had his guard up, and you don’t blame him. It is his ship anyway. However, you could tell that it would be rather easy to convince.

“Someone stole my ship… and now I’m stuck here. Can you help me?” “Huh, are you a pirate too?”

What, a pirate?

You didn’t really consider yourself to be a pirate but if it pleased the boy in front of you, then you would say that you were.

“Because if you are, then you’re a terrible pirate.” He says and you almost choke on your spit.

“No,” you whisper while wiping away some tears, “I’m not a pirate. I’m sailing by myself.”

The boy was about to say something until another woman appeared.

“Luffy, who is this person?” A taller woman now stood behind the boy, a slight scowl present on her face.

“I’m (y/n), and my ship has been stolen. I just need passage to the next island… I have berri to pay you with.” You say holding up a small bag of berri, since the rest of it was on your ship. Something that irked you even more.

As soon as the woman heard berri, her scowl lifted away and a bright smile graced her face. “Of course!” She says immediately grabbing the small pouch of money that you had. She walks off, not saying anything else. Leaving you with the boy named Luffy.

“Welcome to the crew!” He excitedly says. You quirked an eyebrow, “uh. Not part of the crew. Just to the next island.”

Luffy ignores you, “I’ll show you to the rest of the crew. That was Nami, she’s our navigator,” he grabs your hand and starts to drag you around the ship. He opens one of the doors, which led to a kitchen. A man stood over the stove, stirring something.

The man sighs hearing the door open. “Luffy, how many times do I have to tell you-” He turns around, ready to scold the boy. However, he stops once he sees you.

“Well, who do I have the honor meeting?” He walks over to you, with a suave smile. “This is (y/n), she’s going to be a part of the crew now. This is Sanji, he’s the cook” Sanji grabs onto your hand, and you just slightly shake your head, “oh no. Just to the next island.” Sanji brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on it. “Well, I do hope you change your mind.” You nervously laugh at him while pulling your hand back, “thanks.”

Luffy grabs onto your other hand, dragging you out of the kitchen.

“This is Usopp!” He shouts pointing to someone with curly hair and quite a long nose. “He’s a-” “I’m the Captain!” He cuts off Luffy. “No! I’m the Captain!”

The two start to bicker, causing you to sweat drop at their antics.

While they are bickering, you decide to look around the ship. Your eyes caught a man that was sleeping on the side of the wall. He had three swords right next to him, and you wondered, who uses three swords?

Leaving the two bickering boys, you walked up to the sleeping man. Wanting to get a closer look at the three swords. However, when you are standing right infront of him, his eyes snapped open, looking straight into your eyes.

Suddenly, you could see this green hair. Something that greatly stood out to you.

Wait.

You could see the color of his hair. You could see every color around you.

It was all too much. The sudden rush of colors causes your head to spin and hurt. There were too many colors that you’ve never seen or heard before. You didn't have time to process the fact that you were now face to face with your soulmate. You rush past the man, and lean yourself over the railing. It wasn’t long until you were puking your guts out.

“Huh, I guess my first impression isn’t that great.” You hear the man speak and you inwardly cringe. He must think you’re disgusting now.

You groan, pushing yourself up to face your soulmate. Now that your headache has calmed down a little, you were able to take a better look at the man. He was tall, and had a few muscles on him. The thing that stood out to you was his green hair. You weren’t expecting to meet your soulmate on a pirate ship, and an actual pirate nonetheless.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t expecting to meet my soulmate. And the colors… and it was just too much.” You explain. The man hums in response, “I wasn’t expecting my soulmate to sneak up on me.” You purse your lips, “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you… I was just interested in your swords.”

The corner of his lips twitched, and he was about to say something until Luffy jumped in between the two of you.

“(y/n)! There you are! You met Zoro!” He excitedly says. “Yeah, we met. They’re a part of our crew now, right?” Zoro says and your eyes widen.

It seems like Luffy wasn’t the only one who decided that you were going to be a part of the crew.

“Shhiiishiiishii, yeah!”

Zoro shoots you a look, one of amusement and just a little bit of smugness. “Welcome, I can’t wait to show you more about my swords.”Zoro walks away leaving you speechless and Luffy just a little bit confused. “What was that about?” He asks. “Uh, don’t worry about it.” You answer, “I just found my soulmate…”

#one piece #one piece x reader #oneshot #zoro x you #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #one piece fluff #zoro fluff #zoro x y/n

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whorediaries-09 · 5 months

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million dollar man;

pairing- sirius black x camgirl!reader warning(s)- drinking, 18+ content, slightly dark themes. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- shit's porn with no plot fr.

ps- 🎵i don't have to pretend i like acid rock🎵

masterlist

and I don't know how you get over, get over someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you

the plastic dildo stretches your pussy open, your hand fondling your breast as you continue you ram the dildo into yourself. you bite your lip, moans leaving your mouth as your device starts tuning endlessly, your viewers sending you money for the show you put on for them.

'fuck fuck, am so close,' you whimper, your walls clamping down around the dildo. your fingers entangle with silk sheets under you and you arch your back, cumming around the dildo.

'shit,' you scream, your orgasm taking you from within, consuming the shit out of you. you fondle with your clit trying to calm yourself, breathing heavy,

'yeah, thank you guys for the money and shit, i've gotta leave.' you suck your fingers audibly before turning off the stream.

'god,' you mutter to yourself, falling back on your bed, scrolling through your phone, going through your reminders. the metal of your ring sat cold on the hot skin of your forehead, sending shivers down your spine.

your phone rings. it's lily, and with some hesitation, you pick the phone up.

'hey,'

'hello,'

'why do you sound so breathless? are you okay?'

shit.

'yeah i'm okay. just burned a few eggs,'

stupid.

the sound of her slapping her hand against her forehead is audible through the line and you chuckle,

'seriously, woman you need to hire a chef or something to make you some simple eggs,'

'eh, i was just you know distracted,'

'hmm....so you remember the plan right?'

silence.

'plan?' you mutter.

'oh yeah you totally forgot. anyways i'm introducing you to my boyfriend and his friends at the local pub today...but you already know them,'

'yeah i know them, but i also know you,'

'yep... so nine thirty?'

'i'll see you there,' you confirm before she cuts off the line.

you had half an hour to get ready.

*****

while the place is not unfamiliar to you, and neither are the people around you, you feel out of place within the bounds of sitting in the group of people. everyone seemed to really know each other, and you felt like the black sheep of them group. and that was true, somewhat.

you only really knew lily properly, as you grew up as the shy and quiet kid in school. while james and his group were known throughout the school, you obviously had heard of them, but somewhere along the lines, you never engaged in much conversations with them. except for perhaps peter and remus, who seemed to be fairly quieter than the other two but not to be mistaken as the 'innocent fellas'. remus and peter seemed to be the masterminds of all the shenanigans the group caused within the walls of the school, but rarely engaging in the plans they curated themselves.

'so what do you do for the money?'

the question directed at you pulls you out of the stance and you stare blankly for a few moments before answering,

'nothing much right now, just working at a toyshop, what about you?'

you're not sure who had asked the question, but just to make it seem like you had been paying attention, you had asked back the question. but when the gray eyed, raven haired man had answered your voiced question, you felt a spark of heat lightening you up,

'i work at as a tattoo artist, but trying for a modelling career to be honest,' sirius answers, his voice similar to how you remembered it, yet so different. he pops an olive in his mouth, swirling his teeth over his front row of teeth. you feel his eyes gleam and scan you. you're not sure whether he's judging you or checking you out with the smirk on his pretty lips.

but there's something about his unbroken gaze that speaks to you, that makes you think that he knows something you don't. there's something about it that makes you feel hot from within, and a like a solemn chant, it echoes into your head. your lips curve around the glass of alcohol, the liquid unnervingly warm down your throat. you let the ice cube sit atop your tongue, the coldness numbing down the nerves of your senses.

'lily,'

'hmm?'

'i'm excusing myself.'

'yeah, yeah sure,'

******

'always wanted to feel this pretty pussy gripping my cock tight,' he groans into your ear, pushing your face into the dirty mirror of the washroom. how he got into the ladies washroom without offending anyone wasn't your lookout.

not when he was filling you up so much better than your stupid plastic dildo ever could.

you moan out in severe pleasure, feeling the coil of orgasm hit you again, build up in your nerves. his finger runs complicated figure eights on your sensitive clit and you throw your ass back, trying to get more of him inside your gushing hole.

'more, more, please sirius,' you beg. in a swift move, he's got you turned around, plunging himself into you even deeper, wrapping your legs around his hips. he smacks your ass, pushing three of his wet fingers into your mouth. he feels his the mixture of his warm cum and your saliva in your mouth. he brings your mouth down to his, and forming a pellet of spit on his tongue, he drops it into your mouth, and your groan.

'swallow it you filthy little thing,'

you obey, swallowing away the wrecked mixture of cum and spit. he splits you open, devouring the insides of your hole. his pubic hair teases with your stimulated clit. his cock hits your g-spot so perfectly, it makes you tear up, your mascara rolling down your heated cheeks.

he bites the skin of your neck, leaving spots, marking you all over. you feel trepid, the way he makes you see stars with every push of his cock inside you, filling you up with his treacherous, dirty words.

'f-fuck,' you scream, as you clench your walls around his cock, squirting open his torso. your eyes roll back, toes twisted against the sole of your slippers. you slack your mouth open, with the pleasure that his touch drives you into, and you're high, cock-drunk with the way he's filling you up, using you.

'thought i wouldn't recognize you?' he shudders, thrusting upto you, grabbing your bare nipple between his teeth.

'exposing all of this pretty cunt to the world, getting money with your pretty moans and words. how does it feel to let a real cock fill you up? hmm?' he asks, mockingly.

'so, so good,' you cry the walls of your overstimulated pussy. you cry it in a benevolent lust as he fucks you stupid, chasing his high.

'come on, come on, look at me,' he growls, grabbing your chin to make you look into his lust drowned eyes. you feel him empty himself into you, filling to till your guts, the warmth of his seed feeling you up. he circles around your sensitive clit, groaning and moaning into your ear, feeling the warm walls of your cunt flutter around him.

'now this pretty pussy is mine. j-just fucking mine.'

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #marauders era #sirius black imagine #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

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cold heart, warm hands (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/2

First off, I haven’t played a Call of Duty game in years. But, I remember crushing on Ghost back in idk?? 2010? Anyway, glad to see he’s getting the white boy of the month treatment. Glad we’re all totally NORMAL about him. Feedback is definitely encouraged and appreciated :)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader!Assassin

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Fic warnings: angst, injury/bodily harm to reader + some hypothermia, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing/explicit language, knives as metaphors for sexual tension, reader is lowkey feral (I am channeling my inner Princess Monoke), slowburn, the inherent eroticism of catching feelings while running for your life, touchstarved!ghost, bonding, (there will be smut/porn in part 2) i needed a light plot because I cannot function without it, all the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person.

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, though no other descriptors are used. Author isn’t well-versed in other languages, they’re just a sucker for Slavic mythology. Reader’s undercover code-name is “volchitsa” which translates to she-wolf (or bitch-wolf) in Russian.

Summary: Lt. Ghost is tasked with the extreme mission to extract code name “volchista” from her undercover mission in St. Petersburg. They briefed him on what little they knew of you, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality.

READ ON AO3 || 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is how it begins. You are a girl made of snow. You carve a pretty smile from the ice. You flatter the diplomats. You trick them. They believe you can be melted and molded. You impress the headmistress of the school. You trick her, too. A man from America comes. They replace your ballet with ballistics. You suspect they offer money to your family, your school. They roll your tongue until you can call upon any accent and shape around any language. When you’ve impressed them or pleased them, they give you tasks, and you carry them out with little question of who at the top of the pyramid pulls the strings. You are better with bullets than you ever were at ballet.

You thaw, in pieces, until the girl from the snow is a shadow, a puddle, a glistening drip of an icicle from the rooftop. They give you a name. A point of contact. A promise of extraction once intel is gathered. You don’t merely go “undercover.” You go underground. You enmesh yourself. They call you a wolf and release you among the pretty, bronze-polished sheep. After all, this is what your training was for.

Only now it’s finally time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Three years undercover?” Ghost says, reviewing your file, “you sure we can trust her?” He glances at your old photo. Pretty thing. He suspects that’s why they assigned you to rub elbows with high-ranking military officials and defense contractors. Three years is a hell of a long time to be someone else.

Price says, “I know you’ll make the right call if you think she’s compromised.”

“Naturally.” Ghost replies gruffly. He checks the intel for your rendezvous spot. A cemetery at the edge of the Vyborgsky District. At the stroke of midnight. How morosely dramatic. He’ll be a ghost in a graveyard. Is this Price’s attempt at humor? He considers asking Price why he’s not sending someone else out. Someone who shows their face in case some nosy do-gooder comes up asking questions. He shakes the thought from his head. It’s a stupid question that he already has the answer to.

Price selected him because the target, codename volchista, is one of the most dangerous operatives in the country. If anyone can take you down–if things get nasty–it’s him.

“You’ll be going in dark on this one until you reach the border,” says Price.

“Not a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s gray everywhere you look. Storm clouds loom over St. Petersburg and block the starlight. Gray and dark gray tombstones. The barren trees appear like black skeletons in the night, like echoes of lightning. Your breath mists gray in front of your lips. A family of gray moths dance around the ground-level lamps. The air tastes like impending snowfall, brisk and sharp on your tongue.

You check your watch. Three minutes until midnight. There is no one here but you. You are alone, with the gray ghosts, and the gray tombstones, and your gray, foggy breath.

The hair at the nape of your neck prickles.

Your knife flashes silver in the gray. Your blood roars in your ears. And you pivot like a dancer, like an acrobat, lethal and light on your feet. The resounding clang of your knife meeting another reverberates through the silent, empty cemetery. You lurch your body forward. You assume your cover is blown and they’ve sent this masked man to kill you. He matches your momentum and avoids your strike. You snarl. He is big but not as clumsy as you hoped.

A gloved, strong hand grabs your wrist, “steady on, volchista.” Their accent deepens their voice to a rough and pleasant burr. It’s like drinking whiskey. You stare at him. Only your contacts know your code name.

You say, “Lev sent you.” You pause. “You’re early.”

“If I'd known you’d try to skewer me, I’d have been punctual.” He slowly releases your wrist, though what little you can see of his gaze is dark and wary. Lev told you nothing beyond the meeting spot and where he stashed your equipment. It was safer (or so he said). He could’ve at least mentioned your point of contact would be wearing a costume so you wouldn’t assume it was an assassination attempt. Your eyes scan the graveyard, unable to shake the sense of paranoia that slithers around your spine. Whenever something felt too easy, you got anxious.

“Sorry.” You respond without expression. “Let’s go.”

You’ve walked these pathways hundreds of times. You know them in the dark, you would know them blindfolded. None of Petrovich’s men bothered you when you went to the cemetery. Though, they were never far. You incline your head faintly toward the familiar tombstones, to the names you’ve memorized as a game to keep yourself sane during these past three years of espionage.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder. Skull-man is walking eerily quietly behind you despite the bulk of body armor you can tell he’s wearing beneath his white, camo coat. His hood is drawn up over his head. Probably to hide the mask.

“What do I call you?” You ask once you’re close to the church.

“Ghost.”

You laugh softly. Although you will never see Lev again, you wish you could. You wanted to praise him for such a stupid, funny joke - setting up your extraction in a cemetery with a man named Ghost. You come to the church door where Lev has stashed your supplies. He’s left the key for you beneath a snow-capped rock. You kiss its cold, metal teeth in farewell before sliding it into the lock. The old, oak door creaks beneath your palm.

Ghost watches your back, checking behind you before you both go inside. The air smells of incense and candle smoke. The effigies on the altar glow with ethereal, flickering light. You crouch onto the ground and start tapping your knuckles to find the hollow floorboard. Lev said it would be about ten paces from the entrance.

Rap, rap, rap, rap. A flurry of snowflakes drifts across the mosaic, stained glass windows. You knew you tasted snow in the air. You idly wonder if the snow will feel different once you’re home again. You wonder if everything will be different considering the intel you gathered about Petrovich and all his followers.

Ghost asks, “why’d they give you the name she-wolf?”

Your smile is a knife.

You say while looking up at him; “I used to bite a lot during my training.”

Your knuckles find their treasured spot. You jam your knife into the edge of the floorboard, wiggling it, and it gives underneath your pressure. You tug on the backpack, holster your pistol and knife and hide your face in a scarf. You pull the rest of Ghosts' equipment out with a small gruff. The keys to the snowmobile parked in the shed outside bite into the soft flesh of your palm. You and Ghost will ride to the next point. And God willing, you’d make it over the border before anyone noticed you were gone.

Ghost, silent beside you, stiffens.

“Shit.” You hiss. You duck sideways, throwing yourself into the space between the worship pews. Ghost crouches into the one next to yours. The door to the church swings open. There is a burst of cold air and snowflakes and bright, roaming flashlights. With your back pressed against the hardwood and knife in hand, you glance across the aisle to Ghost and wait for his lead.

He signals the number three with his fingers. You nod. You track the lights as they move through the church, elongating shadows, and bouncing from the pews and pillars. Two have moved to the side of the church. A single target is walking down the main aisle. They’re trying to pincher you. Could it be Petrovich? Or were you betrayed internally? Or were they police officers? You hadn’t gotten a good look before hiding. Ghost’s entire body is taught like a loaded weapon. You feel it in your own spine and shoulders. The familiar, tense coiling. The single and narrow simplicity of setting a task and then completing it. You are going home. And nothing and no one will stop you.

A voice calls out in Russian. “Petrovich is looking for you. It’s too late for prayer. It’s time to come home.” It sounds close to the doorway. You roll onto your stomach and signal to Ghost: ‘Enemy’. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to assume he doesn’t know Russian after being assigned to a Russian-Evac Mission. You make a mental note to ask him what he knows (if you both survive). He tells you to ambush right, then signals the go-ahead.

You wiggle beneath the pews, getting behind your target, and crouch-walk toward him. You stay low and silent. From this vantage point, you can see they’re Petrovich’s bodyguards. They aren’t wearing tactical gear or body armor. They’ve got flashlights and pistols holstered at their hips. They aren’t expecting any sort of fight. You almost feel bad for them. Almost.

You are a deadly viper hidden in the grass, a wolf stalking her prey, an arrow finding its mark. Your knuckles tighten around the grip of your knife. The church is dark, save for the flickering candlelight, and the blue-white shine of their flashlights. You slam your boot into the back of your target’s knee, causing him to crumple. He grunts, in surprise and pain, and that is the last sound he creates because your knife lodges into his carotid artery. A warm gush of blood covers your glove, and it arcs upward, splattering and spraying onto the fine stonework when you dislodge the weapon. You kick the rolling flashlight aside and run on quick, crouched feet toward the door. You don’t even bother to check if Ghost is alright. You assume he is. If not…well…you’ll claw your way out of Russia yourself. There is no returning to this place.

The man at the doorway is panicking. He wildly waves his flashlight around the church while holding his cellphone to his ear. You snatch his wrist in a bruising grip and drag him toward you. He shouts. Your forehead smashes into his nose. His cellphone clatters to the ground. Your knife finds purchase through the thick fabric of his turtleneck. The gray sweater blooms deep, dark crimson–nearly black in the low light. He moans, you shove him aside and pick up his phone. He’s calling Petrovich, but the line hasn’t connected yet.

Ghost is suddenly before you. You meet his eyes. There’s a splatter of blood on his white camo hood. Your chest heaves with exertion, and the adrenaline of combat floods your senses until you are woven within it. If you don’t shake off Petrovich, then your extraction becomes thousand times more difficult.

You grab the bodyguard by the root of his hair, jerking his head back, and snarl into his face. “Tell Petrovich you’ve found me. Tell him I’m coming home.” You say in Russian.

“Traitor.” He spits blood at you. You haven’t removed your knife from the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You twist the blade a little. He grits his jaw from screaming. Prideful to the end. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, hulking shape of Ghost with his knife in his hand.

“Last chance.” You warn. “I will feed you to the wolves.”

“I am dead either way.” His eyes flick to Ghost behind you. “He will kill you.”

You are uncertain if he is talking about Ghost, Petrovich, or someone else. You don’t care to ask. You click the bright red ‘end’ button on the call screen before it connects. Wordlessly, coldly, you yank your knife from his shoulder and spear him below his jaw. A torrent of blood gushes over his sweater, and your wrist and hand, and onto the shiny wood. He slumps, on his knees like a man in prayer, and you shut your eyes briefly. You take no pleasure in the killing. It was either them or you. Wolf versus sheep. It was survival. A singular question tightened around your neck like a noose. Who betrayed you?

Ghosts’ voice is low from somewhere over your shoulder. “What’d he say?”

“That I’m a dead woman.”

He shrugs his massive, bulky shoulders. You can’t ascertain how much of it is him and how much is his gear.

You sheath your knife. “Petrovich will come looking for me.” You nudge the fallen bodyguard with your boot. “No use hiding them. We need to leave. Now.”

He extends his hand, “keys.”

“Who said you were driving?” You scoff.

“I’m the one taking point.” He says. “You’re the escort. I drive.”

You drop the keys into his waiting palm. You simply don’t have the time to argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get an impression of his true size when you’re perched behind him on the snowmobile. Your arms encircle him (as best you can), your cheek is pressed against his broad and muscled back, and the cold wind cuts through your scarf and bites your ears and nose. It’s dangerous to drive in the dark, but you have no choice. No alternative. You must take a risk with the dark forest full of birch trees and lonely pines to avoid the checkpoints at the borders.

Ghost is, at the very least, efficient. Your stomach swoops each time the snowmobile crests over a small hill and the vibration of the motor purrs beneath your legs. The world is a blur of grayish-white. Snowflakes and branches whip past your field of vision. You force your eyes to remain open, as snowflakes crystalize on your eyelashes, and try to keep watch of your surroundings.

You release a soft “oof,” when the snowmobile jolts over a hill and freshly fallen snow crashes over you and Ghost like a wave. The trees start to thin. Your fingers tingle inside your gloves from your lack of circulation due to how tightly you're holding onto him and the overall icy chill in the air. You suspect you’re about an hour from the second point. Possibly less, you hope, with how fast Ghost is driving.

A whirring sound, like a beast waking from its slumber, rises above the rushing wind. You twist your spine to look behind you.

You yell above the engine and the wind, “fuck me.” Above the treetops, a helicopter is risking the storm, its searchlight roaming through the forest. Only one man is hunting you. Only one man is desperate enough to send a helicopter in the middle of the night with little visibility.

“Ghost! We’ve got company.” You shout.

“That was quick.”

The snowmobile banks with a hard left turn. You bury your face in his shoulder blades to protect yourself from the sharp wind. You recall the map Lev showed you. You memorized the route to the second point. Something tugged at the corner of your mind. The helicopter’s searchlight scanned the thick, snowy landscape. It will catch up to you soon. Ghost weaves through the trees, but they provide little cover.

It’s dark. It’s snowing. The helicopter is faster than you. These are the facts.

If you stop, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding you. He sent a helicopter; you have no doubt in your mind that he also sent out snowmobiles and ATVs. The darkness is your best cover.

If you continue, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding the safe house. The only silver lining is that Petrovich doesn’t know who you work for. He doesn’t know you have help. He might assume you’ve been kidnapped. But, what if Petrovich thought you were dead? He wouldn’t chase after a dead woman.

You say, “Ghost, I have an idea. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

He grunts.

“We need to crash the snowmobile.”

“You’re mad.” Is it the wind filling your ears, or does he sound a little…impressed?

You squeeze your fingers around your wrist when Ghost takes another sharp turn. You suspect he’s double-backing and confusing your trail while avoiding the oncoming helicopter.

“My other plan involved a sniper rifle and blowing out the searchlight. However, seeing as we don’t have a sniper, I’m going to plan B.”

“Crashing our only means of transportation sounds more like Plan-fucking-Z to me.”

“You have a better idea?!” You snap.

You continue, impassioned, “the storm will cover our tracks. We can walk the rest of the way. Petrivoch’s men won’t follow us if they think I’m dead.”

He mutters something under his breath. It’s too quiet for you to hear.

“Find a good place to stop with tree coverage and I’ll do the rest.”

“Jesus.” He grumbles.

You wait for the inevitable argument. The discussion about how the snowmobile could outrun the helicopter and whoever else might be pursuing you. You brace yourself, drawing counterarguments inside your head, preparing yourself as you have your whole life. The pine trees thicken, and the snowmobile gradually slows. His back is tense. You wiggle your tingly fingers inside your gloves. You slide your arms away from his solid, firm midsection and scoot to the edge of the seat when the snowmobile finally stops.

Ghost twists around, looking at you, his eyes fathomless beneath the mask.

“Your plan. What is it?”

You tell him. It involves tipping over (or crashing) the snowmobile, lighting it on fire, ripping pieces of your clothing and burning other remnants to imply that whatever was left was eaten by wildlife.

You peel off your bloodied gloves, “it’s not a perfect plan.”

“It’s bloody insane is what it is.”

You shrug, “and yet you agreed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the picture of mental stability, now am I?” He tears one of your shirts between his hands. You work quickly and silently in tandem. The helicopter is searching the less forested areas. It’s loud enough to hear, though you can’t see it or its spotlight through the thick evergreens. You tie together several pieces of fabric and shove them into the gas tank. After it detonates, although the helicopter won’t be able to land nearby, Petrivoch’s men will likely find the remains before dawn.

You reach under your shirt, toward your collar, and your fingers encircle the charm on your necklace. You tug. The thin golden chain snaps. It was your first gift from Petrovich. A symbol of your loyalty - false as it was. You hold it aloft and the tiny eagle charm glitters above the flickering flame of your lighter.

“I hope I am there the day they burn you.” You whisper with the trees, and the cold snow, and your silent Ghostly companion as your witness. You drop the broken necklace. You light the edge of the fabric. The smoke singes your nostrils and your eyes water. You run toward the trees and don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Ghost put as much distance between yourself and the snowmobile before its explosion. Your muscles strain, your skin glistens with sweat, and you are hot and stuffy beneath your warm clothes. The pace he sets is brutal. You push yourself to keep up, never complaining, though your mouth tastes of copper from how many times you’ve bitten your lower lip. The storm rages and covers your tracks.

“The storm’s getting worse.” You say. You’ve never endured in silence for this long before. Not since your youth, you think. The howling wind cuts between you and him, dragging snowflakes in their wake.

Ghost barely glances at you. “Hadn’t noticed.”

If you squint, he blends into the world. A white-and-gray Grim Reaper here to collect your soul.

“Were you going to kill me in the church?” You ask. You remember how he approached you and the bodyguard. His cold lethality. The silence that shrouds him. His eyes were dark, too far to discern what emotion lay within. He doesn’t answer, but he does look over at you. You are mirrors of another. His face is covered by his strange, macabre mask. Your face is covered, in a heavy scarf, your eyes visible through the slit in the fabric. You speak through your eyes. Nonverbal. Expressive. Weighted.

You tilt your head slightly to the side as if to say ‘well?’

You wonder if he smiles beneath the mask. You wonder if he smiles at all. He turns away and checks his compass. For several minutes only your crunching footsteps and the wind screaming through the branches keeps you company. You don’t think Ghost (and by proxy the US government has betrayed you) but you aren't certain. Not until you have some type of proof or motive. The only people who knew about your meeting location were Lev, yourself, and Ghost. You know you didn’t slip up. And you’ve been in this field for too long to chalk Petrivoch’s appearance to coincidence and dumb luck. Someone is compromised.

You glance sidelong at Ghost through your snow-covered lashes. He’s big, he’s strong and efficient. You’re not a person who doubts their abilities and you’re not an idiot. You know a losing fight when you see one. In close-quarter combat, his reach is longer, and if he pins you then it’s over. If you plan to incapacitate him–it’ll need to be an ambush. It’ll need to be quick. You store the thought away for later. You’re not going to ambush him in the storm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snowstorm starts to ease, and he’s forced to admit that your plan to torch the snowmobile might’ve saved them. There’s a chance that the weather made it impossible for the helicopter to keep pursuing. However, he won’t know until sunrise. Either he’ll have Petrivoch’s men on his ass or it’ll be smooth from the safe house to the border. He prepares himself for the worst. Petrovich isn’t a man who gives up easily. Price’s file on him was stacked. Although most of the intel you gathered undercover was on a need-to-know basis, he knew the man was powerful, controlling, and deranged. A dangerous cocktail. It gives him all the more reason to wonder if you’ve been broken and brainwashed by Petrovich. But the thought holds little water. Your behavior has been motivated by survival. You handled yourself with extreme grace and brutality in the church. Price said you were good. He didn’t realize you were that good. The takedown of your target was effortless and clean. A thing of beauty, really. You function well under pressure. And you smile often for a woman trained to be a covert assassin. You’re nothing like he expected.

He announces, “we’ll take a break here.”

He watches you drink from your canteen. Your face glistens with sweat before you wrap yourself back up in your scarf and hat. You pack your canteen with snow and store it away, but he notices your hand flinch near your knife, the brief tenseness of your shoulders. He scans the darkness for threats. He meets your eyes with an unspoken question.

Your breath fogs in front of your mouth, hazy, obscuring your gaze from his for a moment. When the mist passes, your eyes are cold and narrowed, and you look like you want to skin him alive.

“I didn’t give Lev everything.”

His brow furrows, “what’re you telling me for? I’m not your superior officer.”

Your gaze softens imperceptibly.

“Someone ought to know in case Petrovich is still hunting me.”

“You don’t need to bargain your worth to me, she-wolf.” He says plainly. “I’ve got my orders.” He’s not sure what game you’re playing. And he doesn’t rightly care. Once you’re across the border, you’re someone else’s problem. Whatever intel you have, or don’t have, it doesn’t concern him. His only concern is making it out of this tundra with you alive. You adjust the straps on your backpack and nod, signaling with your hand that you’re ready to move.

The blue-black sky lightens, and stars fade from view. Tiny, blackbirds flit through the air. The terrain flattens. He recognizes this location from the map. The safe house is over the hill. It was a less straightforward route than if he had the snowmobile, but at least you’ve made it. He keeps checking your six–part of his job–and scanning the open sky for threats. The snow crunches underfoot.

He says, “we’re almost there. Come on.” He jogs ahead.

Something cracks under his foot. He spins, looking for you, and discovers you’re a few paces behind. Your arms and legs are spread akimbo and when you meet his eyes, there is controlled panic, and he can practically hear the gears turning within your mind.

“We’re on the lake.” You exclaim like it’s a brilliant revelation. “I remember seeing it on the map!”

The storm must’ve covered it. Fucking hell!

“There’s a USB in here.” You strip your backpack from your body and slide it easily across the hidden ice. “It’s more important than I am.”

Another crack reverberates beneath him. He’s hyper-aware of his size and the dangerous risk of getting wet at this temperature.

“What’re you doing?” He beckons with his hand while lowering his body, “this way!”

“Yeah, yeah, working on it.” You take a tentative step forward. Despite the logical distance, it feels like a chasm has split you from him.

“You need to get low.” He’s on his stomach on the ice and the next crack vibrates beneath his gut. “Spread out your weight.”

You nod. You start to crouch, but lady luck isn’t on your side. The ice ruptures. The crash, your yelp of alarm, and the splash of cold water are like a pike driving through his eardrums. He army-crawls toward your flailing arms. Your gloves scramble for purchase on the flat, slick ice as your head disappears underwater. Ghost unintentionally shouts your name.

He grabs you, pulling you up. You sputter and gasp, water saturating your scarf that’s peeled partially away from your face, and revealing your wild, stricken eyes.

“I’ve got ya.” He says, “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him and kick your legs underwater while he lifts you out of the ice trap. Your shivering body crawls across the ice alongside him, though he tracks your sluggish movements and rapid breath. He needs to get you to shelter immediately. The second you’re clear of the lake, he crowds you into his arms and lifts you in a fireman's carry.

You protest weakly through chattering teeth, “I can walk.”

“This is faster.”

He trudges up the short, small hill while carrying you and both backpacks. The sight of the safe house is like fucking salvation. It’s a squat, modest little wooden cabin. He can spot a chimney sticking up from the roof. If it doesn’t have wood, then he’ll start burning furniture. He needs to get you warm before you drop into severe hypothermia. The cold wind cuts across the air like a cruel cosmic joke. Draped across his shoulders, he can practically feel your desperate, galloping heart against his back.

“Stay awake.” He commands, voice brusque and sharp.

“Aye, sir.” You mumble.

“That doesn’t sound awake to me.”

“Fuck you.” You say this time, with more emphasis, more feeling.

He grumbles. “Atta girl.”

He shoves open the front door with his shoulder, kicking it closed, and deposits you in front of the cold, empty fireplace. You’re trembling worse than earlier, but you’re lucid. You tug your wet scarf off of your face and struggle to unlace your boots. Unfortunately, there are no logs beside the fireplace. He huffs. Plan B then. The cabin is a single, large room with the kitchen and sitting area sharing the space and a door that presumably leads to the bedroom or bathroom.

Ghost grabs one of the wooden stools and uses his tactical knife to hack a small divot in the wood so he can snap it with his foot. He breaks the stool into pieces, shoves them into the mouth of the fireplace, and starts the fire with his emergency fire starter kit. He shoots a glance over his shoulder to you. You’ve managed to get your boots and socks off, though the rest of your clothing appears to be a challenge.

Ghost shoves your trembling hands out of the way. He yanks your zipper down.

“O-oy!” You shout with surprise and indignation.

He says, “arms.”

You relax your shoulders, and he tugs the heavy coat off your body. Wordlessly, you lift your shaking arms, and he pulls the drenched mess of your sweater over your head. Your shirt and tank top comes next, then your sports bra, until you're naked from the waist up in front of him.

Your toned stomach muscles clench. A mapping of scars decorates your skin like battle trophies. If this was any other moment–he might’ve taken a second to appreciate the solidness of your form, the shape of your tits, the honed lethality of your biceps and forearms and stomach. There’s nothing waifish or delicate about you. You’re a weapon of flesh and muscle and hot blood. Your eyes focus on some spot behind him, and the firelight reflects and shifts in the depths of your dark pupils.

You lift your hips and (with his help) drag your soaked pants and underwear off your body. He does not think about your thighs or your calves. He removes a blanket from his bag and drapes it across your legs. The key to overcoming hypothermia is gradually warming the body. He strips himself of everything but his mask and underwear and sits behind you–bracing his knees around your legs and caging you with his body heat. He shucks his gloves off and gently rubs his palms along your freezing arms. The fire crackles before you. The knobs of your spine and the curve of your shoulder blades press lightly into the planes of his naked, muscled chest. You’re weirdly quiet.

“No cheeky comment?” says Ghost.

You blurt, “Lev’s the traitor.”

Ghost blinks.

“Enlighten me.”

“You saved me, not the USB.”

“USB means fuck-all to me. I don’t want you dead, she-wolf.”

You laugh weakly. A full-body tremor wrecks through you. He can feel it across his entire chest and straight to his groin with how he’s got you melded into him. His hands slow. He can feel each individual ridge of the scars on your arms. He can feel the fine, thin hair along your forearms. Your wrist bones and knuckles are the only fine-boned, delicate piece of you that he can touch. He glances down at the sleek musculature of where your neck meets your shoulder.

Unless he chops more furniture, the fire isn’t going to last long, but it should be enough to get you stable. That’s all that matters.

~~~~~~~

Between the fire raging in front of you and Ghosts’ solid heat at your back–your skin tingles as it regulates temperature and your circulation returns. Your eyes drink in the muscles of his thick thighs, braced on each side of you, and the peek you get of his black-and-white tattoo when his arms move. He hasn’t stopped touching you. His hands travel up and down your arms, to your wrists, and shoulders. How come you never noticed how big his hands were? A flush of warmth burns at the nape of your neck. You feel like you’re being surrounded by a large, jungle cat. And it’s tempting to close your eyes and melt into his warmth. You’re at the safe house. You’re almost home. It wouldn’t be so terrible to sleep, would it? Ghost would keep watch. He’d look out for you.

“Talk.” Ghost orders. “You’ve gotta stay awake.”

“About what?”

“I don’t care.” He huffs. His voice is warmer, as close as you are, and it drips like honey and vibrates across your back.

“I memorized names in the graveyard to keep sane.” You say, surprising yourself with the confession, your secret little game. “I can recite those.”

“Do it then.”

You stare into the flames until your eyes start to water and repeat their names. They were your first ghosts before you met this one. You numbly scratch at one of your scars. You repeat the names again. Ghost isn’t rubbing your arms, but he’s still touching you. His large, calloused palms have settled. One is on your hip, the other is clutching your shoulder and that arm squishes into your breasts. Your back is snug against the hard, muscled planes of his chest. He’s holding you?! You’re not sure why this realization comes as such a surprise. He’s sharing his body heat. There’s nothing tender or romantic about it. You’re his mission. Yet, this is the first time in three years that you’ve allowed non-transactional physical contact. Usually, if someone touched you, it was because they wanted something (or you were manipulating them to get what you wanted). Ghost’s motive isn’t ulterior. It’s transparent. He wants your continued survival. That’s it.

“You got quiet again, she-wolf.” He says with a breathy edge to his tone. “Better not have fallen asleep on me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m awake.”

To add to your point, you wiggle your toes beneath the blanket. At least, you no longer feel like an ice popsicle, but you selfishly want to stay here–in the warmth, muscled solidness of Ghosts’ body. You close your eyes momentarily and try to absorb this moment into the fibers of your being, your essence, and your bloodstream so you can remember it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. Ghost’s breathing deepens. You only notice because of the proximity of his ribs to yours. His thumb glides along the raised bumpy edge of a scar near the end of your clavicle bone.

You say slowly, “that one was from Petrovich.”

If he wasn’t wearing the mask, you would feel his breath on your skin. His touch withdraws. He rests his palm on your forehead, checking your temperature before his hand glides below your jaw and registers your pulse with two fingers. Everything he’s doing is clinical and tied to survival. Yet, that doesn’t explain the slowness of his movements. It doesn’t explain why his touch lingers below your chin. Your pulse jolts and your breath hitches. His chest rumbles against your back in a low, deep hum.

“We need to change our route.” You say with Ghost’s thumb and two forefingers loosely wrapped around your throat. “Lev betrayed me. And he knows my exit plan. We need to find an alternative to the border.”

Ghost says, “then we better move before we waste any more daylight.”

His hand recedes from your jaw, and you are bereft of its soft pressure and warmth. Ghost stands up. And you twist your spine, drawing the blanket over your chest, and allow yourself the very selfish and human privilege to see him half-naked. As expected, he’s a fucking massive specimen of virility. You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of his broad muscled chest, his strong biceps, veiny forearms, and capable hands, the cut of his v-line into his waistband, and the trail of dark hair that travels down from his belly button. Your eyebrows lift in surprise and appreciation. You don’t mind the mask hiding his face because his body is fucking spectacular.

He pulls his shirt over his head. You watch unashamedly at the play of muscles as they ripple across his chest and flex. The low-burning fire snaps loudly and sends a flurry of sparks up the chimney.

“Careful,” His eyes spark behind the mask, “you’ll drool on my nice blanket.” His tone brightens with gentle teasing. Somehow, the sound of his voice like that, deep and teasing, is hotter than the sight of his abs.

You smirk. “See, I thought you were cute until you got cocky about it.”

He scoffs. “Cute?”

Ohh, you found a little nerve. How delicious.

“Cute.” You affirm and say no more. You dig through your backpack and procure your last set of clothes. There’s no room for shyness or modesty in an active combat situation. Sure, no one is shooting at you. But that reality can change real fast. You shimmy your underwear and pants over your hips and quickly pull your bra over your head like the house is on fire. You feel Ghosts’ gaze on you. And it blazes like a hot brand across your skin. Forget the fire, the shared body heat, the blanket, all you need is a few seconds of Ghosts’ undivided attention, and you are burning up.

“Here, take this.” You underhand toss the USB to Ghost. He catches it effortlessly.

“Why?”

“In case you fail your mission, I don’t want to fail mine.” You open the closet door and pull a mothball, musty-smelling coat from the hanger. Your clothes drying in front of the fire need a few more hours before they’re wearable. Those are hours you don’t have.

“Lost faith in me already, have you?” says Ghost.

It’s your turn to scoff. “Hardly.” You level him with a serious gaze, “I’m trusting you with it, Ghost.”

He says, “Riley.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon Riley.”

Your heart stutters inside your chest. You weren’t expecting him to give you anything in return, let alone his name.

“Okay, Simon.” You smile tentatively, “let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #reader insert #simon ghost riley reader insert #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x reader #fic: cold hands warm heart

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monoclesnapple · 19 days

Text

Wan Kindergarten!Chuuya

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara & Gender Neutral + Osamu Dazai X Reader

Beginning Note: Initially, I wanted to include all the scenarios that were thought of, but I decided to make them separate. So, there will be a continuation of this. @kiwibeanv helped a lot with the scenarios, especially the future ones I’ll do.

Word Count: 2191

(Fluff/Little Crack)

Background:

At some point, you had decided you wanted to take care of a human child, but you didn’t have a significant other and you didn’t really want to go through all the trouble of the process in making it.

So, you went to an adoption center and looked around at all the children there. All different ages, appearances, personalities, etc.

One child caught your eye, a ginger haired boy with big, blue eyes. He was so adorable, and he didn’t seem to be troublesome.

You did all the paperwork and whatever else needed to be done and now had an adopted son whose name was Chuuya.

Initially, he didn’t want anything to do with you, just locking himself up in his room that you’d prepared. He only left it for necessities, but sped back as soon as possible.

You didn’t have much hope in the beginning, but he eventually started to trust you. He would start eating at the dinner table, say good morning to you, sit in the living room for a while.

As more time passed, he was comfortable with you. Chuuya finally saw you as a parental figure, and you couldn’t be happier. All the waiting for him had paid off.

He was such a good kid. If he ever had to say hi to someone, he would greet them politely and introduce himself. He cleaned up after himself, he wasn’t always too loud, sometimes he would yell out, but he quickly calmed down.

Chuuya then reached the age of attending school, so before the year started, you took him shopping for clothes. The ones he had were a little worn and he could use a wardrobe change.

“How’s this one?” You held up a blue shirt with a sheep on it. He took a quick glance before shaking his head.

“I don’t like that one.”

You sighed and placed it back. Of all the options there were, he didn’t like any of them. You turned to him and asked, “Well, do you have an idea of what you’d like? We can look for it.”

Chuuya thought about it before looking up at you. “Something dark. I don’t like bright colors.” He looked at another shelf and pointed at it. “Like those!”

You looked where he pointed at and saw that the clothing were mainly black, gray, white, navy blue, and other dark neutral colors. You raised an eyebrow. “Those are church clothes.”

Chuuya pouted, “But those are the only good ones.” He turned back to you with puppy eyes. “Now you don’t want me to get what I like?”

You decided to check them out so you walked over to the shelves. “I suppose it can’t hurt. But don’t blame me if you don’t like them anymore.” You browsed through them all, asking him what he thought, and he finally made his decision.

When you two returned home, you told him to try it on to make sure it fit. He walked out of his room wearing the new clothes and showed you his outfit.

You were silent for a few seconds before muttering, “You look like a Christian. Like you’re going to the church summer camp.”

Hearing your words, his jaw fell a bit and his eyebrows furrowed. He looked offended at what you said. “I do not!” He screeched. He fell silent and looked down at himself, beginning to quietly mutter to no one in particular.

You let out an airy chuckle and crouched down to his level and pet his head. “I didn’t necessarily say it was terrible.” You didn’t actually know what to think. It was goofy, but you’re not going to hurt his feelings.

He felt a little better and smiled at you. “Can we go get some ice cream? I was good today, right?” He bounced on the balls of his feet.

You couldn’t resist him, so you agreed.

Kindergarten:

The first day of school finally arrived, so you ensured that Chuuya had anything needed and that he wasn’t going to misbehave. The two of you got to the building and you escorted him to the front.

“I trust that you won’t cause trouble while you’re here?” You crouched down.

He sighed, “I’ll be good, I promise.” He was quiet for a few seconds before hesitantly taking a step closer to you and slowly raised his arms. He was asking for a hug.

You smiled and embraced him, caressing his head before planting a kiss on his temple. “Good boy. If you behave today, we’ll have whatever you want for dinner.” You pulled away, but kept your hands on his shoulders. “Sound good?”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah! That’s good!” His smile grew and he quickly hugged you again before skipping to the door. Before entering, he turned and waved to you, then went inside. You returned the gesture and stood up to make your way home.

Once the day ended, you went to pick him up. He was waiting at the front, looking around before his eyes landed on you and lit up at the sight. He ran to you and hugged your legs.

He told you all about his day and that he made a few friends. But he didn’t like his teacher and didn’t really tell you exactly why.

As the year went on, he seemed to have fun. He did complain about a few things, but it didn’t sound too terrible. You had met some of the staff and thought they were lovely.

Dazai, who seemed to be the main teacher, had come up to you at some point to whine about being threatened with bombs. And any time parents and teachers met up, he just says to you that Chuuya wasn’t nice with him.

He just complained about anything and everything, no matter how minor the “offense” was.

At the news of the bomb threats, you didn’t know how to react. You just stood there, thinking why a nice kid like Chuuya would throw out some bomb threats, to his teacher especially.

“I’ll talk to him when we get home,” you told Dazai before leading Chuuya away. And talk to him you did. He wasn’t happy about the lecture.

In general, Chuuya’s a very good child except for when he’s around Dazai, for some reason. He tries to be all mature, but you know that he loves all the children stuff.

He loves Odasaku Man and always plays the episodes when he gets home from school. At this point, you know the whole script of the show.

Doesn’t matter what meal he’s having, he wants milk as his drink. “I want to grow taller!” (Throughout all the years, he didn’t grow as much as he wanted)

The books he reads, he wants to read all the adult books (You never let him), but for bedtime stories, he goes with the picture books and fun plots.

You’ve also seen the other kids in his class, and you’re a little hesitant on the ones he’s best friends with. They might not be the best influence for later in life, but you’ll let him choose his friends. You’ll just make sure he knows how to take care of himself, but he’s still your little baby boy.

One of them is also wearing a strange outfit. He looks like a pilgrim and you feel like him and Chuuya could relate with the odd clothing. He seems cute. [Talking about Akutagawa]

You’re not even sure if Dazai is the best teacher. He’s gone onto his knees and pleaded with you to join him in a double suicide, and you’re skeptical. How was he approved to be teaching the class?

(Bonus) Romance with Dazai:

Despite your doubt concerning Dazai, you’ve somehow gained feelings for him. You never really acted upon them, just letting them exist. Sure, he may flutter your heart once or twice, but you’re not going to ask him out. If he were to somehow reciprocate, you’ll leave the confession to him.

And he did ask you out. Albeit, in a weird way. You still accepted, agreeing to go out with him. You had also befriended Yosano and Kouyou, so you left Chuuya under Kouyou’s care while you were out.

The two of you hit it off, so now you’re both in a relationship. You didn’t tell Chuuya because you knew he would throw a fit whenever Dazai was mentioned. You kinda regret not telling him, but oh well.

He noticed you and Dazai beginning to get closer, and he thought it was weird but shrugged it off as weird adult things. Then Dazai kissed your hand, which he’s kinda done before, but Chuuya was never used to it, so he just loudly gagged at the sight, letting his thoughts be known.

One time, you told Chuuya to wait for you at a specific spot because you wanted to talk with Dazai. He obeyed and started idly playing with the dirt for a while before looking in your direction, wondering why you were taking a bit. You seemed to be saying goodbye to his teacher, but Dazai planted a kiss? On your cheek?

His face morphed into a horrified expression as he let out a shocked sound. He ran up to you, tugging on your clothes and begging you to get away from Dazai.

Really, all he did was throw a tantrum. You excused yourself and took him home, where he locked himself in his room for the rest of the night.

You decided to let him do his thing for tonight, peeking into his room at midnight to see him sleeping in an awkward position on his bed. At least he put on his sleepwear before laying on the mattress.

You repositioned him, gently kissing his head, then left to your own room.

The next morning, he said good morning to you and apologized for his behavior. You forgave him, of course. It’s not his fault that his teacher and guardian got together and didn’t let him know.

Whenever he sees you and Dazai do anything that could be classified as romantic, he just gags and says “Disgusting!” Or “Ew!”

You had asked him to be as respectful as he could towards Dazai, but you didn’t really expect much from him. You just wanted them to at the very least tolerate each other.

He indeed did not act as nice as you wanted. Chuuya would still be the little rebellious kid he apparently was in the class, even more so with Dazai as his parental figure’s boyfriend.

Now, the brunette had two advantages in the power dynamic. Not only could he have the upperhand as Chuuya’s teacher, but also as his future dad. He poked fun at the boy and if Chuuya tried to retaliate in some way, Dazai would just complain to you.

With you, Chuuya is an absolute angel, always smiling at you, cuddling up to you, doing whatever you say, bringing you little gifts, and the like. With Dazai, he was the opposite.

That little demon, he would be louder, cause more trouble than usual, throw little fits, give Dazai weird looks, and more. It’s like Chuuya’s only goal when around Dazai was to make his life hell. And it kinda was.

One time, you had to run some errands, but couldn’t bring Chuuya along. Luckily, there was no school that day, so Dazai came over to babysit. It should be easy, right? Chuuya wouldn’t want to cause any trouble in his parent’s house, would he?

When you opened the door to your home, it was a mess. Furniture was out of place, the TV was on, there was food on the floor, and in the middle of it all, Dazai and Chuuya froze. The former holding the child away from him while Chuuya was biting Dazai’s wrist. They both looked roughed up.

“What happened here?” You slowly asked, closing the door behind you. You placed down whatever was in your arms and removed any articles of clothing, putting them in their proper place.

“Oh, my lovely significant other who I deeply cherish and wish to spend the rest of my life with! I was just handling your little demon!” Dazai’s smile was tight as he placed Chuuya onto the floor. The latter removed his teeth from where they were. “I know it looks terrible, but we were just bonding! Right, Chuuya?”

The boy flinched at his tone before running to you and jumping onto you. You held onto him as he buried his face in your neck. “Mom/Dad! Dazai was a big meanie! Why are you even with him? He tried to hurt me!”

Dazai scoffed, “I did not! You were biting me! And you saw it, (Name).” He sighed, going into the kitchen and wetting a paper towel. “I’ll start cleaning...”

Although the two of them were troublesome at times, you loved them both. You knew Chuuya would grow into a strong gentleman. It doesn’t matter what he will do for the rest of his life, he will always be your baby.

Honestly, when you first felt like taking care of someone, it was an impulsive decision. But you’re glad that you went through with it, otherwise you wouldn’t be with Chuuya.

End Note: When KiwiBean first watched Wan, they thought Chuuya had a Christian fit, while Akutagawa had a pilgrim one. So, thanks to them!

Honestly, it took a few months to convince them to watch BSD, and they watched a few out of context before seeing the first episode. A few days to continue watching, and now they’re hooked. [I kept repeating BSD until random thoughts of Dazai and Chuuya’s name just ran through their head. :)]

#bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #~writing~#~headcanons~#dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader

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gatitties · 1 year

Text

Not that bad

─Tenjiku x fem!reader

─Summary: you were choking on your own thoughts, luckily a gang of idiots come to save you from yourself

─Warnings: mention of ways of dying, some dark thoughts about life¿

Part one / Part two / Part three

Saturday, penultimate day of the week, if someone ask you, your favorite day, a Saturday for you is the best combination of procrastinating and enjoying solitude without anyone being able to say anything to you, your parents have the night shift at their jobs so you can stay up all night, but unfortunately you're responsible enough not to break your sleep schedule when you have highschool the following week, at least most of the time you didn't.

In the not so distant past you would cry asking your parents not to leave you alone at night, right now, you prepare everything for them and throw them out of the house so they don't arrive late, you love them very much, but you appreciate the alone time you have for yourself, meditation time, self-care time and time to do embarrassing things without anyone being able to see you.

So like another one of your Saturdays, you brushed off all the to-dos on your list, lying on your bed as you selected that playlist of the same seven songs you'd been obsessed with lately, you turned your mind off to auto mode, you closed your eyes moving your head slightly to the music, from time to time humming the melody or lyrics of the songs.

Although all this had a negative side, you tended to overthink past and future situations about your life, having the most existential conversations of your life with yourself, but you could not keep forever how overwhelmed you felt when thinking about certain aspects of life.

Were you weird? You had never felt any kind of desire with another person beyond a simple friendship, you were not that great with public relations in person and you felt like the black sheep in every possible area, this line of thoughts introduced you to another, what were your qualities as a person? You never felt actively attracted to any hobbies, you had practiced many things, nothing seemed to be your specialty to stand out so you just accepted your commonness, you didn't feel bad about it either, more for not achieving that ambition to become better at a certain hobby.

You began to take your thoughts further, embracing your apathy towards life and its supposed achievements, why were you here? You don't have any goals in your life and you never cared about marking small achievements, everything at a certain point became monotonous at some point in your life that you can't remember, as if you live in a gray world that sometimes has tints of color thanks to certain situations or people generating serotonin.

The music from your headphones began to drown out until you pushed it away in the back of your mind to give way to your thoughts in a more intense way, you could detect that it was better to stop with the train of thoughts about life and death if you didn't want to have to pay more psychologists, luckily, someone did you the favor of getting you out of your dissociative state.

Some persistent knocking made you jump up, you frowned checking the hour, it was quite late at night, late enough that no neighbors came to ask for some spice or something like that. You tiptoed over, clicking your tongue as you heard the pounding on the door not stop, grabbed the bat hidden in the cleaning room and headed for the door.

You wanted to look through the peephole but that person seemed to have covered the vision with the palm of their hand, you raised the bat, letting it rest on your shoulder, quickly moving through the contacts of your mobile leaving your father's number at a touch.

"Get out of here! I'm armed, I'll call the police if you don't leave my property."

"I expected something more threatening and related to death being you."

"What the…?"

You rubbed the bridge of your nose at the voice, you undid the locks on the door with a frown, you tossed the bat aside, crossing your arms at the small group of guys standing there with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"Good night!"

"No good night or shit, may I know, what are you doing at the door of my house at two in the morning? I thought you were thieves although there is not much difference…"

"That is offensive, honey, we are much better than simple thieves."

"Fuck you Hanma," you kicked his butt with your foot as he walked past to enter your house "and the next time you call me honey you'll end up in a barrel full of acid in the middle of the ocean with rocks in your intestines."

"Ah, there are the normal threats."

You rolled your eyes at Izana's words, who settled on your sofa just like Kakucho, the Haitani brothers, Hanma and Kokonoi, occupied every possible free space so you had to sit on the individual chair. You looked at them with a raised eyebrow hoping for a good answer for their strange visit, Ran being the one who answered you with a wink.

"We came to visit you because we knew that you missed us since the last time we saw each other, I know it has been hard to be without me, don't worry."

You nodded with a blank expression, pretending to grab a notebook and point in it with full concentration, writing in the air with your imaginary pen.

"Okay, that's officially on the 'I don't give a shit' list, what worries me the most is how you know I was alone today."

"Oh, you mentioned it in the group chat once."

You sighed listening to Izana, of course you would have commented something, you should stop sharing data like this so easily, although you already had a degree of trust in these guys so it would be fine for now, however you still wanted to know why they were here so late, you asked again but only received vague answers from Rin and Hanma who seemed to mock you while their leader just watched the exchange amused.

"Today's meeting ended late and your house was the closest point of rest."

"Thanks Kokonoi, thank goodness that two of you are not complete idiots."

"Wait, two?"

You smiled when Izana narrowed his eyes at your words, everyone looked at each other and in just a second they started throwing out reasons why or who was the second best on your list, Kokonoi smiled with pride at being above the others in your rank of preference without needing to fight with the commoners of their friends.

All your pessimistic thoughts were overshadowed by the murmurs of discussion between the boys, well, sometimes you enjoyed creating a bit of chaos between them, despite the fact that it was all for the simple joke of knowing who was your favorite, they had insisted so much on knowing and you refused to say.

Unintentionally your little smile became wider, ending in a laugh because they started to say the most absurd things like that your favorite was Hanma because he was the one you threatened the most, or that Rin was above the others for being the adorable little brother of the Haitani, or that Izana should be in your top 1 just for being the leader.

"Well, this is not something we see every day."

Ran smiled genuinely as you choked on your own saliva, trying not to die as you coughed desperately because you laughed too hard at them and karma had to hit you back somehow, all talk stopped when they heard you laugh, admiring you. Even though you weren't exactly attractive when you had a fit of giggles, they felt special to be able to share this little moment with you, because they've never seen you so stupidly happy about their nonsense.

The subject was forgotten when Kokonoi commented something about the gangs, some things that you didn't fully understand, but you didn't care much, since sometimes you prefer to be a spectator in the talks more than anything, the fact is that you completely raved of the main discussion and just started bringing up other random topics of conversation for the rest of the night.

They all had to leave at some point because they couldn't just stay until dawn at your place, even though before you closed the door, after you'd said goodbye, you took a deep breath, a sly smile on your face.

"By the way, the other one was Kakucho."

"Wha- but he barely spoke!"

"Kaku!?"

"It seems that someone is quietly making advances, very cunning…"

You slammed the door, stifling more complaints towards your friend, you laughed when you heard Kaku's defense attempt, but at least you hadn't lied to them, for the moment he was one of the ones you appreciated the most as a friend just like Koko as much as you liked to joke around with the other idiots, you also appreciated the quiet.

You sighed going back to the beginning of everything, lying on your bed with the music at a considerable volume while thoughts flood your mind, only this time, they took on a different hue, maybe life is not as bad as you think despite not having a purpose, after all, you are also proud to be next to your loved ones and see them grow.

#tenjiku #tenjiku x reader #reader insert #fem reader #tokyo revenger x reader #tokyo revengers #Izana #Kakucho #x reader #Kokonoi #Ran haitani #Rin haitani #haitani x reader #one shot #sfw

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