#but i couldn't draw Price the way i wanted to.. so i decided to draw Soap to cope with that.. but then it turned into this horn knee thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it.

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left.

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too.

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too.

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is.

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips.

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours.

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back - but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths.

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination.

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can.

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck.

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair. Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already."

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception.

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you.

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied.

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist. Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying.

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt.

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear.

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are.

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut.

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art.

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked.

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in.

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers.

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head.

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue.

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed - but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close.

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat - but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to.

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it.

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it.

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts.

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good.

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you.

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand.

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard.

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet.

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin.

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you.

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs.

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him.

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper.

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening.

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair.

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state.

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself.

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook.

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles.

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy.

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming.

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows.

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds.

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support.

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you.

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now.

It's all his.

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw.

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it.

Open.

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed.

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed.

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do.

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you.

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours.

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again.

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even.

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me."

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself.

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat.

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹: i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You: id die for the galbi.

You: sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹: technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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bubuslutty · 10 months

Note

omg its me the pec lover 🫣sorry yes 141😭 forgot to put who mwehehehhe

hey anon! thanks for this delicious ask!!

pairing: gn reader x (platonic? romantic? you decide) John Price, Simon Riley, Soap Mactavish, Kyle Garrick

warnings: none

price:

I know for a fact this man has a hairy chest. not TOO hairy. but hairy enough to be ticklish when you lay your cheek on it when he's shirtless.

and he has massive man boobs.

I said what I said.

reader would 100% randomly go up to him, asking for a hug or for comfort. and because price is price, he'll wrap an arm around them, to comfort them.

but what he doesn't expect is them just shoving their face between his pecs and groaning, the sound muffled by the material of his shirt.

and he's just standing there like 🧍‍♀️

and he smells nice, like cologne, soap, his own musk, tobacco sometimes when he's stressed and a hint of sweat.

when reader first ever did it, he almost died of embarrassment and confusion, but quickly got his shit together.

he couldn't even pull them away from him, he didn't really feel like it actually, because it looked like the reader was having a great time.

So now don't be surprised when u catch the captain laying somewhere, trying to take a nap with reader on him, face buried between his pecs, arms straight down their body, and sleeping as if it's the most comfortable position on earth.

ghost:

the first time reader buried their face in Ghost's pecs was in the excuse of a hug. it was easy, really, whining and just falling face first on him. and he didn't mind at first because in his head reader was gonna get up after like a couple of seconds. but they DIDN'T.

and Ghost was confused n lowkey suspicious, so he grabbed them by the back of their shirt, like a baby kitten, with one hand and ripped their face away from his chest.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing" 😇

Ghost simply placed them back on the ground and eyed them up and down, then left.

but reader was on a fucking mission, so anytime they had an opportunity to lay on ghost, they would, be it in the Heli, in hideouts, in the base, anywhere. until ghost has had enough.

"Bloody hell- what do you want?"

"Can I cuddle you on your chest, please? 😔🙏"

ghost just stared at them in complete silence. and when he didn't say anything for a whole minute straight, reader added, "I'll give you 10 quid."

"Keep your money." and he wrapped an arm around their neck and brought them straight to his chest, choking them for a minute.

and reader was in heaven, with their arms wrapped around as much as of him as possible.

"Thanks-"

"Shut up."

Johnny:

soap in my head is already very friendly and pretty physical with the people he cares abt. so it's not an unusual sight to see him hanging out with reader, on a couch, or on a bed, watching a movie on a laptop.

and he loves cuddling when the weather is cold enough, so they'd be tangled in each other, watching whatever movie is playing on the small screen while reader is drawing random patterns on his chest with their finger.

if reader is tired, they'll bury their face in his neck at first, trying to get comfortable and go to sleep. or they'll gradually slide down his body and end up with their face pressed against the swell of his pecs.

"They're soft. like pillows." reader would point out while wiggling around, trying to get comfortable.

"Yeah? they are?" Soap would laugh and puff out his chest, making the reader's head bounce a little and they'll laugh and then whine, "Stop it, I want to sleep."

soap would pat their head, "Use the bed, then."

"Nah, you're way better than a bed."

"Thanks?"

gaz:

when gaz noticed the small obsession reader has with his guy's pecs. he knew he was next.

So he was basically a bit nervous n hot around the collar when he found himself and his guys being squeezed into a car, bullets raining down on them.

and there wasn't enough seats in the thing, so reader had to sit on him, chest to back while shooting out of the window.

"You good?" They shouted above the utter chaos outside as Ghost tried to drive them to safety, with soap screaming at how he should've been the one driving instead.

"Yeah!" Gaz shouted back.

and when they were far enough that gunshots sounded so far away, reader took off their helmet and leaned back against Gaz with a deep sigh.

"You're comfy." They said with their eyes closed.

"Am I?"

"Uhum."

Gaz didn't miss how they would rub the back of their head against his chest, or how they would turn their head to the side and try to bury their face between his pecs, even though it was practically impossible in the tiny space the car had.

but you better believe reader tried anyway.

and the whole time he was flustered, trying to act as normal as possible, squeezing their shoulder once while they sagged against him.

I hope you liked this anon! I tried my best 😋

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leigh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @chaoticevilbakugo @Lacunaanonymoused @whore4dilfs

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iamcalmdammit · 1 year

Text

Nice to have a friend || [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Note: I was so surprised that many of you wanted to read this stupid little thing. Read the notes for more after reading the whole thing.

Taglist: @untoldshortsofthefandoms @shoxji @atlantic-sugar @lujain420 @androgynoushellscape @actuallyanita

"What a coincidence, I knew a Simon Riley back when I was a kid," you noted with an adorable laugh after Price introduced the team to you.

Yes, that was me, Ghost was dying to tell you but his tongue was tied. That was the whole point of the mask, to keep his anonymity.

Seeing a familiar face from Manchester, someone he had fond memories of was a real serotonin boost for the rest of the week. You changed a lot since he had last seen you. Back in the day you used to be a pink-loving little girl who went to ballet classes after school, always the one to try and deescalate the fights between the boys.

Every time he laid his eyes on you and noted how far you'd come, his heart was filled with warmth. He was proud of you. Your sense of humor had matured over the years, but you could easily draw a smile on his face with your comments, you became strong and independent, and damn it, you were definitely easy on the eye too.

And this brought back memories, like the one from the first time he had actually talked to you after school. It was a cold, snowy day and he overheard you panicking about losing one of your gloves. He didn't want you to freeze to death on the way home so he decided to give you his gloves just in case. In return you asked him if he wanted to come over and play your brother's video games with you. From that day on, you occasionally met outside of school as well, and those were the happiest memories from his fucked up childhood.

"You seem to be really lost in your thoughts. What's up with you?" Soap asked him one day when the core team visited a bar after a mission.

Ghost let out a groan. He had noticed it before. The deep conversations you and Gaz were having more and more often, the little inside jokes no one but the two of you understood, and the lingering looks that strangely enraged him every single time. And now you were back at it again, staying within your own little bubble in the bar.

"Come on, Lt., you know you can trust me," the sergeant tried again after a minute or two. "Whatever it is, talking about it might be able to help."

He was right, but he had to be careful. "I think something's going on between those two," he said after a short while, as if he was just pointing out something quite obvious.

Soap looked over at you and Gaz. He even tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy as he tried to see what Ghost was trying to point out. "You think so? I haven't noticed anything unusual," he said.

Could it be that he was seeing more into the situation? "Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know." And with that, he dismissed the idea. It was nothing more but his surprisingly vivid imagination playing games with him. That was all.

Or was it?

Fuck.

When he was alone in bed, he always thought about you. It was strange, he wasn't the type to get fixated on women this much. But you… You were an exception. Every inch of his body was craving you, a primal need infesting his brain every time he thought of you. This led to times when his hand found its way under his jeans to end his suffering for the time being.

When he was away from you and didn't see more into certain situations, he often imagined what it would be like to have you around all the time. Seeing you walk around his shitty apartment in his shirt, having breakfast together, watching a movie with you in his arms, or him exploring your body over and over again, drawing one orgasm out of you after another.

It was bad. He was caught in a spiral and had no idea how to get out of it if you couldn't be his. Each passing day made it worse, he got lost in a fantasy world and was terrified to face you again. What if his instincts turned out to be right one day? What if he found out you were in a relationship with someone else, let alone with someone he knew very well?

And then the worst happened.

"I owe you a drink," Soap told him out of nowhere during their next mission. Ghost had absolutely no idea what he was talking about so he put down the weapon he had in his hand until then and gave him an expectant look. "You were right about Y/N and Gaz, those two are definitely together. I just caught a glimpse of Gaz having his tongue down her throat behind the building," he explained with a laugh.

But he couldn't laugh, not when every cell in his body wanted to scream. He had kept his distance so well in the past months that you barely talked to each other. This was a big mistake, he could see that now. Maybe if you knew the truth, if you knew he was that boy from your childhood, things would be different. You could be friends again, and once you were relaxed enough around him, he could try to see if you wanted more than that.

He couldn't even look you in the eye after Soap's announcement. If you asked him anything, he kept the number of his words to the bare minimum, and this didn't go unnoticed by you. "Do you have a problem with me?" you once asked him when you were left alone following a briefing.

How could you sound so sweet and innocent? How could he lie to you when you were looking at him like that? But he had to do it, he couldn't tell you that he was jealous. That he, despite being friends with Gaz, thought you made the wrong choice this time.

"No, I don't," he replied then walked away without another word.

Two days later Price stopped in front of him and watched him with a questioning look. He waited, hoping the Captain would get bored of this silent game and just tell him what he wanted. In the end he took a deep breath and asked, "Are you okay?"

Strange. "I am. Why?"

"Listen, Simon, I know the history of every member of this team. I know you and Y/N went to the same school at the same time back in the day. Did you know her back then?" he asked seriously, although Ghost could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

Was he about to scold him or praise him? He wasn't entirely sure. "I did. Why?"

"You've been different lately, especially when she's around. I'm not saying you've been making mistakes because it wouldn't be true, but maybe you should consider telling her the truth. There's tension between you and I'm not sure that's good for the team in the long run."

And Price was right. If he kept himself isolated for much longer, if he kept letting his fantasies take over his unwind-time, then he would soon be in serious trouble on the field. And not just him, but everyone else he worked with. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

But despite the initial drive to do as Price advised, it actually took him a month to finally man up and talk to you. Even then he hesitated, wondering exactly how and when to approach you, preferably without any other member of the team around. Then the opportunity arrived near the end of the mission when he found you alone in a room.

"Can we talk?" he asked you after he knocked on the doorframe. You looked surprised at first. It was understandable, after all you had talked around a total of fifteen minutes in the past months. Ghost gulped loudly and closed the door after you nodded. "I'll make it quick. There's something I need to tell you."

He stopped and you waited. "Okay?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. It wasn't that hard. "When I was a kid, there was a girl in school," he began. "One day she lost her gloves and I gave her mine so her hands wouldn't freeze off in the middle of the winter cold. I think that's when we became friends."

Your eyes narrowed. Your breath caught in your throat. At that moment, you knew the truth. "Simon?" you whispered his name quietly.

He nodded in response, a delicate smile creeping on his lips under the mask as he watched you. A part of him hoped you would be excited, that you would wrap your arms around him to pull him into a tight hug. But his imagination failed him, your reaction was quite the opposite. You buried a hand on your hair and turned your back to him as you tried to process the news.

Then, after what felt like an eternity to Ghost, you finally turned back to him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Your voice was fused with anger and he honestly couldn't blame you. "I prefer anonymity these days," he replied, pointing at his skull mask.

"Why now?"

Because I can't stop thinking about you and it's getting awkward and also affects my performance in the team. Fuck. He couldn't tell you that. "Price gave me a pep talk. He thinks it would be better for the both of us if I was honest with you." Well, this was true. He did say that.

"Great. Now I know. Is there anything else?" you asked, your voice unusually cold.

There was nothing left to say. He could've asked you about Gaz, whether you were truly in love with him or only had fun during missions, but he kept his mouth shut. You were mad. He didn't want to make things even worse. So he walked away and decided to focus on the rest of this mission instead.

You avoided him from this point on. While until now it had been him who did that, now the tables turned and you were the one who didn't want to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary. Months passed like that and he was beginning to worry that things would never be okay with you.

Then things slowly began to change. You began to ask him how he was, sometimes asked for his opinion, and generally acted nicer around him. At first he thought it was just his raging imagination playing games again, but no. You were really warming up to him.

"Wanna go out for a drink?" you asked him one day.

Ghost wanted to say yes, but it wasn't the right time for that. "We're working."

You nonchalantly waved your hand at him. "Nah, I checked with the Cap, he's okay with it if we don't stay long and don't get too drunk," you explained with a playful grin. "So, what do you say?"

Nodding, he followed you out to the car that parked in front of the temporary base. Friends. You had to be friends again first. But it was a start, he could definitely work with that.

#sorry no happy end for our boy #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare ii

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spicyicetea · 11 months

Text

I decided to draw my Y/N with Skyward Sword Link, like I detailed in my last post.

And I did also promise a oneshot so heh enjoy. I know @rainstops will enjoy this, dirty simp >:)

I can't let you leave

Skyward Sword!Link x Spirit!reader

Warnings: swearing•blood•smut•various kinks/breeding/virginity loss/etc that I've forgotten.

The Master Sword glowed with a lustre as the small Hylian woman landed on the ground beside the tall blonde. Zelda had hugged him right before running off to find her father. The S/C woman smiled at the sight, inspecting the blade on the man's back. He turned to her and she broke from her trance to look up at him.

“So, our journey together is over.”

“What?” the man’s eyes widened as the woman nodded.

“Master, there will be many reincarnations of you in the future. You must seal me back in the Master Sword so I may rest until I can aid them.”

“No,” he furrowed his brows while grabbing her wrist.

She frowned, understanding he must have been hesitant to say goodbye to such a powerful weapon. He pulled her behind him away from prying eyes as he grits his teeth. He wasn't saying goodbye to her yet, he couldn't. Due to having to save the world and that Zelda girl who likes him, he hardly enjoyed his time with his beloved. Of course, she was unaware of his devotion to her, but she would soon be aware.

Oh, how the gods must frown upon him now, betraying the love they had chosen for him for some common girl. He worshipped the ground she walked far more often than he ever cared for the fate of those around him. When she would get distracted by the world around her, she would never see him threatening people to get her anything she expressed interest in.

“Link! Look, this looks like your tunic! It's cute and... So expensive, Link we need to save your rupees for potions and bombs!” Y/N yelled, laughing awkwardly after noticing the high price.

Link can remember handing her his pouch of rupees and telling her to grab some potions for him while he held a blade to the shop owner's neck to get what she wanted. He can remember her excited face once she realized he had gotten it, clearly unaware of the blood he had to wipe from his sword mere moments before handing the dark blue tunic over. She twirled once putting it on, loving how she now looked like him, just without the green and the strange hat.

She was always his, she just hadn't realised it yet. The way he gave her that spare belt so he could watch her tunic cling to her curves as she patched him up after fights. How she would cook him food, worrying about him missing home and losing motivation, although watching her kneel over a fire roasting mushrooms while humming was all the motivation he needed. That adorable smile and little wiggles on his lap as she falls asleep in his arms, trying his hardest to control the throbbing in his pants as she mumbled in her sleep. They were basically already married, he watched her sleep and helped get the dried dirt off of her when she bathed, he was the only one who noticed how she adored helping the kids that ran up to her, thinking she was a goddess. At least those kids knew how the world should view her.

They were already together and she just hadn't realised. All she needed was a little hint. A nudge in the right direction.

The two slowed as Link looked to see no one was near. The shadows hid them perfectly between the two houses, neither of which occupied. Celebration was thriving in the town square as Zelda returned, leaving Link with the privacy he desired. Y/N raised a brow while looking up at him.

“Master, I understand that we've become friends during our journey, but you have your friend back now. I must be sealed back away, and this isn't near the resting site of the Master Sword...” She frowned, clearly also sad regarding the way everything had to turn out.

“No, you don't understand!” Link yelled, tugging his hat off and letting his blonde hair loose.

Y/N pouted and instinctively reached forward to play with his hair. Whenever he was stressed after a battle she would always play with his hair. He’d rest his face against her chest, or even just smother himself in her cleavage while she braided his hair. He bit his lip as her fingers ran through his hair. She tried to pull him into a hug like she always does but he just furrowed his brows and rested his forehead against hers, resisting her embrace.

“Link? Are you alright?” Y/N asks.

His hands flew to her hips as he pushed her against a wall. She squeaked in pain at the movement, looking up at him with a sort of concern. He looked down at her with an expression she had never seen before. His eyes dilated and focused on her. Lips parted as he panted.

“Link?”

One of his hands flew to grab her cheeks, tilting her head up to look at him properly as leant closer. Her eyes widened as she pressed herself against the wall to give him space, his knee forcing her legs apart to rest on the wall between her thighs.

“Why don't you understand?” he sighed.

“Understand? Oh, Link did I offend you at any point? Am I misreading your relationship with that Zelda? I just didn't want to assume that you two were romantic so I just said friends. I'm sorry-”

“No, not another word about that Zelda! Ugh.” he groaned. “You, why can't you just...”

“Just what? What's wrong?”

“Why can't you understand? I want you!”

“Want me? Like the Sword? I'm not actually the sword Link...” she chuckled before Link yanked her hair back gently and smashed his lips against hers.

She jumped slightly as his hand slid down to the hem of her tunic before sliding back up her thigh. He knew if he continued he'd lose control but it was so addicting. The way her soft thighs squished in his hand, and the delicate whimpers they earned pulled him further. It didn't take long until he pulled her hips closer to relax on his clothed knee, bouncing it lightly. She let out a gasp-like moan as his thigh bumped against her clit while his knee nestled against her delicate flower between her thighs.

He smirked watching her quickly flush red and become flustered as she moaned quietly. One of the many things he loved about her was her purity, innocence... lack of panties due to them being stuffed in his pocket the second day they were travelling together. He continued rubbing his knee over her slit as her eyes watered up and she grabbed at his tunic.

“Y/N, hey hey it's okay-”

“Link! Please, it feels so strange! Ah, please.” she moaned.

Link grinned and bit his lip, fumbling with his belt as she began bucking on his thigh. Her slick dribbled through his trousers as she continued to hump his leg like a hungry animal. He grinned watching her squirm, if only he had done this sooner. Her lips met his as she pulled him back into a kiss and he tugged his trousers down. His hands lifted her by her thighs and slammed her against the wall, biting her lower lip.

“Mph, Link. I feel so fuzzy... Please fix it.” She moaned, holding his shoulders to stay stable.

He gulped hearing her moans, feeling himself lose control. Y/N let out a whimper as he pulled her back into the kiss. She ran a hand into his messy hair as he pulled his pants down far enough for his cock to spring out of his boxers. Y/N sighed as she pulled out of the kiss, panting. Link chased her lips, kissing the tip of her nose while rubbing his thumbs in circles over her thighs. He hiked one of her legs up and over his shoulder, he back being pressed against the wall. Link licked his lips as he used his fingers to spread open her folds. She whimpered, not used to the foreign sensation.

“Ah! Link, what are you doing?”

“Shh, don't worry darling, I'm fixing the weird feeling, just like you asked me to.”

Y/N just whimpered as his tip pressed against her, Link fighting the urge to buck into her. He bit his lip as he pushed the head in and she let out a high moan. Her nails dug into her leg as she tries to not scratch him. Link just rubbed her hip, pressing kisses to her thigh as she struggled to take him.

“It's okay dear, just relax,” he cooed.

“Mph, it hurts,” she whined.

“God, I love you Y/N. Please don't leave me,” Link moaned and thrust the rest of the way in as Y/N moaned loudly.

Her whining only got louder as her walls stretched to fit him. Small tears rolled down her cheeks as his hips met her body and he stilled to let her adjust to him. Link moaned he began thrusting, his cock dragging against her walls. Her panting became louder as slick smeared over her thighs. As her moans became louder she threw her arms around his neck, biting her lip and trying to muffle her moans. Link grumbled angrily making his rutting harsher and she cried out.

“Dont muffle those sweet little noises! You're my goddess! Scream for me darling!” He moaned, biting her neck and speeding up his thrusts.

Her moans grew louder a small amounts of blood dribbled from the bite marks on her shoulder. The fear of her leaving him had still settled in his stomach, his desperation causing his thrusts to become hurried and aggressive.

“Mph! Link!”

“I'm not leaving you! I'm not letting you leave,” he growled. “I'm going to fill you up darling. Once you're nice and stuffed with my young you'll have to stay.”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure, unsure where this sudden idea came from. He bit her neck repeatedly as her moans grew louder and she felt something inside her snap. She dug her nails into his shoulder as her cum smeared between the two sweaty bodies. He groaned feeling her gush and sank her teeth into her shoulder. Thick strings of his cum filled her tight hole, forming a creamy white ring around where their bodies met. The cum dribbled down from her hole. They wanted in unison as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Link... that... I still have to-”

“No, I'm not letting you leave me! You're mine, all mine.”

“Link.”

“NO! I don't care how much cum I need to pump you full of! You're my wife now, you don't get to just leave me cause that Zelda is safe.”

“LINK!” Y/N yells, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. “I don't want to leave you either.”

OKAY, IM DONE, this is my first ever time writing smut and it was kinda difficult- as I said earlier, you freaks better enjoy this. @rainstops I know you're a Link simp so enjoy lol.

#legend of zelda x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #link x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fanart #legend of zelda skyward sword #legend of zelda

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mactavishwritings · 1 year

Text

Fresh Ink

Ghost x Tattoo Artist!Reader

fluff mainly. this may end up becoming multiple parts. I'm not sure yet

you become ghost’s artist and therapist in a way

tw: tattoo needles, retelling of injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four

Being the only tattoo shop within a 10 mile radius of a military base, you’ve seen it all. New recruits who just finished basic wanting to celebrate. Veterans wanting to honor their comrades. Drunk soldiers who’ve lost bets. Soldiers about to be shipped off on suicide missions wanting a way, some way, to be identified.

You’ve seen everything and you did your best to honor each story to the best of your ability. You’ve held the hands of soldiers who would go out and recommend your shop to others, telling them that you were safe and would honor them.

As you set up shop for the day, you looked over your appointment book. You mainly took appointments, but would sometimes take walk-ins. Today, you had a three appointments pretty spaced out so you decided to take a couple walk-ins. You posted on your shop’s social media accounts that you would talk two walk-in and started to sketch your first appointment’s tattoo.

You got pretty far into the tattoo when you heard the bell chime. “Hey, welcome to Dead Shot Ink. My name is (Y/N). How can I help you?” You looked up and saw a man standing in a balaclava mask. You raised an eye brow at him and looked him over. No ink.

“My friend said you tattoo?” A rough british voice came from under the mask and you nodded. “Yeah. The masks stays on, I'm guessing?” He nodded in return, tensing up.

“No worries. I do have a private room if you need it. What’s your name? I’m guessing you want to take one of the walk-ups?” You grabbed your appointment book. He nodded and pulled out his phone. “I'm Ghost. You did my friend, John Price, his tattoo a few months back and he recommended I check out your page. I’ve been meaning to make an appointment, but then I saw you’re talking walk-ins today…”

The name he gave you, John Price, sounded familiar. You nodded along to his words and guided him back to your room. You wrote his name down under your 11:00 spot and had him sit on your tattoo chair. It was a pretty small tattoo parlor since you had just opened, but you were trying to hire more artist.

“So, I do have an appointment coming in at 2. It’s about 11 now so that give us a little under 4 hours. What did you have in mind and where did you want it?” You sat down on your roller chair and grabbed your tablet.

"I'm not really sure. I know you do a lot of like soldier tattoos." Ghost said and he started picking at the skin on his thumb. You forward and gently placed your hand on top of his. "Let me grab something that may help." You stood and quickly walked back to the front of the shop. You grabbed your flash book and brought it back to Ghost.

"Here this may help you decide. What we can do is pick something you like and customize it to your story." You handed him your book and sat back down. Ghost slowly started flipping through the book before settling on a pair of dog tags. You nodded and started drawing.

Soon the stencil was on, dry, and you were ready to go. Ghost was laying back in the chair and you pulled your hair up. "Any particular music you want?" He looked at you for a moment before requesting whatever you wanted. You smiled before putting on (your fav artist). You pushed your sleeves up and got to work.

Every few minutes, you would check in with Ghost. You had your free hand was resting on his bicep since the dog tags were going on his inner forearm close to his elbow. You were on his side, listening and watching for any discomfort. You nodded along to the music and smiled at the tattoo. It was going good and Ghost seemed to like it.

After you finished, you wiped it down and had him look at it in the full body mirror. While you couldn't see his full face, you could see his eyes crinkle into a smile.

It had been about 5 months since you had first tattooed Ghost. He would come in every time you posted about taking a walk-in. You were slowly building a half-sleeve for him that was coming together very nicely. He would sometimes come in with new scars or injuries. Never on the side of your tattoos.

"How come you never get hurt on this side?" You asked casually, half way through the next piece. You were slowly getting him to talk to you. "I don't want to ruin your art." He answer oh so casually. You felt your heart skip and your face flushed. "It's art work. You put a lot of time and work into it." He looked down at the other pieces you had done.

"Makes sense." You nodded, your focus shifting back onto the tattoo. Your eyes shifted to the newest scar, "How'd that one happen? Am I going to be turning it into art soon?" You smiled up at him and he chuckled a little.

"Maybe. We'll see how this mission finishes out. I'm lucky I got these three days. This one was a knife fight. Got a little clumsy. You should see the other guy." He smiled. You felt proud that he was opening up to you. As a tattoo artist for soldiers, you had heard tons of mission stories. Ghost's stories were always intense, but told casually as if he had just gone to the grocery store.

"A knife fight? Seems intense. Looks like you won, though. You'll have to teach me." You smiled, dragging the needle down, making a straight line to finish the piece. "All done, Ghost! Go take a peek." You said, wiping away any excess ink.

"Simon...I'm Simon." He said as he walked towards the mirror, not facing you. You smiled and nodded. "Noted. Whatca think? This one pretty much finishes up the half-sleeve. After this, we could go up the arm for a full." You came up behind his hulking figure and showed him what you meant, moving his arm around.

Simon shivered at your touch. He looked over your hands, stained with dried tattoo ink. You arms were covered in your own tattoos. Your nails were painted black and pointed to the uncovered skin on his upper arm. You always worn dark colors, letting the attention fall on your tattoos. Your hair was pulled back and out of your face, but Ghost knew it was soft from the couple of times it touched his arms.

"I like it. I think after this mission we can complete it. Full sleeve sounds nice." Simon whispered, suddenly feeling the closeness between you two. "Thank you. Thank you for being so gentle with me." He looked up at you through the mirror and you nodded.

"Of course. You face so much hardship. You know my shop will always be open for you." You leaned your head against his shoulder and pulled back. "Let me get you wrapped up and you'll be all set." You grabbed your wrapping and wrapped up his fresh ink.

Months had gone by and you hadn't heard from Simon. You had finally gotten enough money to hire a receptionist and it made your life a million times easier. You walked into the shop and your receptionist greeted you warmly. "Morning (Y/N)!"

"Morning Emma! Can I see my book? I wanna see what I have over the next few days, got a client blowin' up my phone." You laughed as she handed you the book. "Oh! Speaking of, you had a call last night. Said you knew him and wanted to make an appointment so I book him for a couple weeks out. He said you would know what he wants. Sounds either crazy hot or crazy mean." Emma winked and you rolled your eyes. "He's booked for the 26th."

You flipped to that day and your smiled brightly. "He's the crazy hot."

Simon Riley.

part two?

#ghost x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost x you #ghost mw2

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thetravelingtyper · 1 month

Text

Our Shattered Heart Interlude (Part 2.25) SR (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

Loading Track 1 - Work Song by Hozier (SImon RIley One Shot) Kept awake by Soap, Simon takes the time to recollect on a few things close to his Heart.

Warnings: Possible OOC of Simon, Suggestive Content, Cursing, Jealous and Possessive Simon, Konig being slightly unhinged lol

Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.50, Masterlist

As decided by the poll! Here is Simon. You don't need to read the other two parts for this I think but I recommend you do for context! Enjoy - Ash :D

Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

Simon Riley was a light sleeper if he got any sleep at all. Johnny helped but the Scot tended to talk in his sleep, disturbing him. Price had left that day to return to base but you and the men needed to remain for another two weeks. That day you gave the men an earful about their treatment of you.

You turned to Simon with a simmering fire in your eyes. You walked up to him, poked a finger into his chest, and cursed.

“You! Big trouble mister! You were the worst of you lot! Price got away for now but he’ll hear it soon!”

Simon nodded, giving a gruff apology and taking your hand in his. You blinked and looked into his eyes. There you found a swirl of emotion restrained by his nature. He set a hand to your face and tilted your head up.

“I’m sorry dove. I was angry at you, more myself, for not being able to protect you. I should not have left you.”

Johnny sets a hand between Simon’s shoulders.

You lean into his hand.

“It's ok Simon.”

And with that you let him be.

Simon shuffled out of his room quietly, making sure not to disturb Soap who rolled over, pulling into himself without Simon there. Stretching his neck, Simon red the clock, 2:46 am, he sighed, he was going to feel this tomorrow. The man padded down the hall, passing the sound of Gaz snoring in his room. He turned the corner into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet he reached for a glass and a bottle of bourbon. Sighing he poured himself a glass and leaned against the counter taking a sip. His memories kept him company.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He and Heart were on a duo mission in the Alps running intel for a botched mission. Everything had gone to shit when Ghost got shot. The shot went clean through, nicking nothing important but he collapsed with a yell from Heart.

“Shit Simon!.” Heart yanked him up and fled.

The night was almost on you. You rushed to pad the wound the best you could, heart quivering. The kiss had changed things between you two but he didn’t speak on it. You had to think fast! Wait! Kortac!

You grabbed your emergency phone and dialed the only person you could quickly reach. König.

The operator had a safehouse in the Austrian Central Alps and you tried your luck…with success. König had picked up with a kurt,

“Who is this? How did you get this number.”

“König it's me! Heart, I need help!”

His voice changed immediately,

“Schatz! Where are you?”

You responded with your coordinates and set Simon down against a tree, his groaning sharpening to a gruff laugh. You turn to him with wide eyes, his bandage having bled through. You curse, putting your phone in his hand to hold while you repack the would, burying the bloody bandages as it begins to snow.

“Schatz!” Königs voice echoes from the phone drawing Simon's sharp eye.

You try to take it from him but Simon grips the phone tighter.

“You called the Austrian?”

It's sharp, venomous even, his eyes trying to focus on you. You just gape at him, the sting of his voice carrying something you couldn't identify. You yank the phone from him while König confirms your location, he could be there in an hour. You praise him with thanks and try your radio again as the weather worsens. Nothing. You pace before you hear a gasp of pain. You turn to see that Simon has pulled himself up to lean against the tree.

“What in the fucking world are you doing LT?!?”

He just glares at the phone. Arms reaching forward to jaggedly pull you to him. The tactical vests kept you inches apart but the glower of his combat mask took up the entirety of your vision.

“You called König?” Simon hissed, having set your rifles aside he cusps your neck and pulled your face as close as he could with your helmets on. You pause before you simmer,

“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig Ghost!”

You want to throw your hands up but his form entraps you. With strength you didn't know he could manage, he turns you both and pins you to the tree, breath heaving from the exertion. He grips the back of your neck with a gloved hand.

“I don’t like him.”

You gawk at the man who’s form starts to sway,

“You got freaking SHOT! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

He chuckles deeply, caressing your neck, and his free hand reaching to lift his mask above his mouth.

“What is this about Ghos-” You are cut off when he slams his lips against yours for the second time.

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

You gasp into the kiss, Simon pinning you further and taking the moment to open the kiss. You shove against him and he grunts, parting with heavy breaths and dilated pupils.

“Simon! What, how, why? You've been shot this is not the freaking time!”

His head staggers to your neck, lips parting with a deep chuckle that reverberates against you. He presses a kiss to your exposed neck that has your legs quaking. Your hands push against him with a little more success, but he is stubborn.

“Stop.” It is a deep-voiced command you push anyway.

“You need to sit down Sir.” He groans at that, but your phone rings again igniting something fierce in Simon. You go to pull it out but he uses his free hand to pin yours back.

“What the fu-” He bites your neck and your head knocks back against the tree neck as the phone continues to ring. He tongues over the mark before tracing up your neck. You give a breathy whimper before looking into Simon's eyes. His pupils are blown but his face cripples in pain as the phone rings. You push him, finding he gives with, stumbling, his bandages reddening.

You dash for the phone, grabbing it as Simon reaching for you collapses, clutching his side. You rush to grab him, answering Königs questions.

“Simon!” He blacks out.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

König arrives in 30 minutes, dressed in winter gear, and helps you to rewrap Simon and take him back to the safe house. You both rush into an open area with two single beds. König and you set Simon down and you are panicking. König grabs medical supplies while you work getting Simon’s equipment off. You strip his top off peeling the bloody compression shirt off and leaving his scarred abdomen open. You rewrap his wound and lean him back against the pillows.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Simon faded in and out, lured to moments of almost consciousness by your laughter. His eyes momentarily open, muddy eyes from the shot you have given him earlier. As he comes to, unable to move he sees König and you close together, sitting at the table and eating. Something deep in his gut, not nausea nor pain, burned as he saw König reach an arm around you.

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

Night fell quickly as you rewrapped Simon and then used the shower, reappearing in a spare one of König’s shirts and your winter pants. You checked on Simon who was still out cold. Under the eyes of König you run a hand down his masked face, eyes tracing firm and scarred muscle. König then sees your neck his eyes darkening.

“Schatz”

You turn to him in question.

“Are you and the Ghost together.”

The question startles you and you look to the taller man with wide eyes. He takes the moment to stand, and to your surprise pulls off his sniper’s hood. Underneath was a handsome face, pale eyes, and dark brown hair. He reached back and undid his bun letting his hair fall. He steps forward, towering over you.

You stutter a no, a “I don’t Know.”

König nods looking almost sagelike. He reads your body and eyes.

“It's complicated ja?”

You just sigh and nod, a hand running through your hair. You then sit down on the other bed and he joins you as you just spill it out. Everything, Soap, Gaz, Ghost and then Price. You go on for an hour just talking with König listening. As you end he sets a large hand on your knee in comfort as you collapse onto the bed with a huff. Your eyes turn to you and he smiles, making your breath hitch.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Something in Simon's mind stirs, he shifts and feeling exposed his eyes open. He shifts up against the pillows he is propped against and his eyes seek you. What he sees makes him freeze. Your back is on the bed with an unmasked, lessly dressed König leaning over you. Your laughter chimed out. Simon's heart freezes seeing Königs hand on your knee before it lifts to hover over you. Ghost tears through him then something black and vicious. Simon practically throws himself up with a grunt, then he's on his feet. You shoot up, knocking into König whose eyes fly to the standing Lieutenant.

“Back the fuck off of them.”

He barks the order as he steps forward rage balling his fists up and tensing his muscles. König chuckles and stands, putting himself between you and Simon.

“What will you do Geist?” He says calmly, something in Königs brain raising in glee at a challenge. You wrap an arm around König and pull but the man doesn’t move.

“König! Stop!” But the man continues tempting Simon, like baiting a wolf.

“You can’t protect them, what can you and your team do if I..” König spins around and gives you a knowing look,

“Wha-”

He grabs your face and presses his soft lips to yours. With you in shock, he deepens the kiss in a mock way. Simon snaps, lunging forward and tackling the bigger man as you step back in shock. König is strong but Ghost tears through Simon as rage and pent-up emotional adrenaline rush through him. He flips himself on top of the man, falling on top of him to the floor. His hand grabs for his knife and he pins König to the floor with a growl and a knife to his neck.

“Simon!” You yell it out but the man doesn��t move, dark eyes staring into König as then König laughs, a hearty sound that rumbles under Simon. His ice eyes gleam with delight. He had been wanting to test the famous Ghost. Simon, mind clear and now awake sees this then and stabs the knife into the wood floor next to König. You rush forward then wrap your arms around his bare chest.

“Simon that's enough.” Those possessive eyes then shoot at you in Königs shirt. He surges up off of König and crowds you, backing you up until you fall back onto the bed. He follows, his knee bracing on the other side of your thigh and hands, arms, and chest caging you in. König stays sprawled out watching the show.

Simon's eyes burn into yours, something hot and possessive burns there. You gulp unsure what to do, but the position does something, sending a simmering heat to your belly. Simon breaths heavily, rage dissipating, his eyes catch the spot he marked on your next, and pleasure surges through him. His eyes flicker to König who watches with a smirk, he realizes then. It was a test. Simon’s eyes meet yours and you find your hands reaching for his face to try and comfort him, but he does something a lot more intimate. After pulling his mask up, His lids droop and he dips his mouth into you in a languid kiss. You moan into the kiss and he chases the sound, lowering his weight onto you.

His hands run at the edges of Königs shirt possessively, Jealousy burning at his fingertips as they skim your skin but don't go under. No. Simon parts from your lips, tracing a kiss down your jaw and then to your neck as your arousal builds.

“Si-” He sucks at the junction of your neck that has you arching your back under him. He pauses then kisses there and hums against your skin as his arms work their way around you.

König stands, turns, and enters the bathroom and Simon relaxes fully.

He then, grabbing you, rolls so you're on his chest. The position allows you to finally take a deep breath and still your wildly beating heart. Simon runs a hand through your hair as you stare at him in wonder. His eyes soften before he tisks in pain, You try to get off him but his arms shoot out, muscles pulling you back to him.

“No, please stay.”

His voice is soft, something tender and sweet. You look down at him and feeling a push from your heart, clenching so tightly it takes your breath, you kiss him. SImons eyes widen before closing as your hands brace his wound before traveling up tight muscle. You echo him earlier by then parting and tucking your face into his next in embarrassment.

“No Dove, let me see you.”

Simon murmurs and you pull back as he cradles your cheek. You see the adoration then, in a brief flash before the bathroom door has Simon's eyes becoming guarded again. You take the moment to roll off him and sit up. König reappears with the knife, standing with a smirk regarding you as Simon sits up. You stand to approach König but Simon stands and wraps you in his arms, pulling you flush against him. The Skull glowers at König but the man waves Simon off, offering his knife back by the blade. Simon reaches and takes the blade in silent agreement with the Austrian. You relax then in SImon’s hold as König flips off the light and gets into bed.

“Goodnight Schatz,” he says as he turns his back to you too.

Simon huffs, releasing you to lie down on the bed, pulling himself tenderly under the covers. To your surprise, he pulls his balaclava off. You go to get a wipe for his eye black but he just takes your hand and pulls. You sigh, murmuring a good night to König, and shuffle into bed minding Simon’s wound. He quickly pulls your back to him and engulfs you with his arms. You blush but as the actions of the day finally catch up to you you find yourself nodding off in your Simons arms.

He presses a final kiss to the side of your head and after you fall asleep he murmurs a deep,

“I love you.”

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

SImon finishes his glass of bourbon as there is a noise. There is a quick light as you shuffle out into the kitchen. You then notice Simon.

“Si,” you yawn, “Why are you up?”

He sets his glass aside. He opens his arms and you immediately come forward into them. You press a tender kiss to his jaw and he embraces you.

“Just thinking Dove.”

He pulls you in for a secret kiss, fingers dancing down your arms and intertwining your hands,

“Just thinking.”

End Track

Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @00ops1e, @rafaelacallinybbay, @iloveslasher, @character---obsessed, @ashy-kit , @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @my-amazing-nerdyness , @star-struck-universe , @br0ken-rec0rds , @buckysjuicyplums , @cod-z

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bess-desk · 7 months

Text

Self Aware!Wally Darling/Y/N

A/N: Trying to make a self-aware AU idea that isn't a less interesting version of what's actually happening in Welcome Home is a challenge! I hope I managed to make something good here! Please enjoy!

Wally's situation was a confusing one. He was in an online horror narrative, and his role was that of a self-aware fictional character trying to communicate with whoever was visiting the website, trapped and alone.

But that was also his reality. He was self-aware. It wasn't just a repeating game to him.

He watched as doodles supposedly done by him appeared on the screen again and again. He didn't draw those. The secret audio files scattered around the webpage that spoke in his voice. He didn't record those. He was a spectator to everything he was supposedly doing. And it was unnerving.

Was this the effect of writing a character that was written to know they were in a story? That it would really happen? If so, that was cruel. The "Wally" that was being written by someone else knew there was someone there but couldn't see or hear them. Wally could.

He saw everyone that came across the site, new faces, faces who had been popping up for months to try and find some new scare. He watched them all. He loved them all, too, each in special ways. He wanted to comfort the people who got scared from the pages that had "him" staring at them. He wanted to tell them that it was alright, that he wasn't really scary. He adored all his precious neighbors, even the ones who never came back.

But he wasn't made of stone — or just bits and bytes of data — he had feelings. And it was so lonely. The "Wally" in the story at least could believe his friends were real. Not him.

Wally Darling was a fictional character. None of Wally Darling's friends were real. So all the happy memories he had in his head that should bring him comfort or soothe his heart when he's alone do nothing but make it worse. Because none of it is real.

Down, down, down, he felt himself spiraling every day. Every night. He couldn't sleep. He didn't know how to do it in a world where he was a puppet. He definitely doesn't know how to when he's nothing more than sentient data. He screamed and screamed and screamed and his throat never got sore. He tried to actually make contact with some of the visitors to the site like "Wally" but could never get control of the narrative.

Banging his yellow hands on the screens, crying ugly tears right in the faces of his dear neighbors did nothing. They couldn't see him. He was trapped. And there was no way out.

If this was the price of being aware, of being alive, he didn't want it. Wally would give anything to be the "Wally" of the online horror experience. And not Wally the spectator. It was there, on going down, down, down to rock bottom that Wally actually found something that started to make it all worth it.

He found you.

A curious sort, someone who had seen or heard about Welcome Home from someone. Saw it somewhere else and decided to check it out. He watched you the way he watched everyone who clicked on clownillustration.com and thought he would love you the same way. He was wrong.

You didn't have the easiest time finding the secrets of the site. So you kept the tab open and checked every sentence of every page repeatedly. You were there for hours. You kept Wally company for hours. He watched you jump whenever the secret videos ended, saw each time you swore you wouldn't jump this time since you've seen so many by now. The cut-off got you every time.

A smile spread across his face as you jumped again. He'd been smiling a lot more since you started your journey into the neighborhood. You were just so charming.

Even when you weren't on the site you kept the tab open. He didn't understand why. You kept way too many tabs open at once, in his opinion. Some that you didn't even bother to check after opening them! He could imagine himself scolding you. Playfully, though. He would never want to be harsh to you. He wouldn't want to scare you the way he's seen you scared before.

When did he start to feel like this? How could he even feel like this?

You brought him everywhere with you. When you weren't on the site on your computer, you had it open on your phone. Maybe that was why. He got to spend time with you. He got to know you. After being alone for so long, trapped in his own empty hell and existential dread he got to be around someone. But that didn't feel right.

Wally didn't think he would feel this way if it was anyone else. If anyone else paid him this much attention. It was just... you. You made him wish he had arms, even the plush ones of the puppet he was supposed to be would fine! Anything to hold you with and keep you close!

For you, he was learning all sorts of things. He wasn't confined to his tab anymore. When you clicked off to another site or another app, he could follow and continue to watch you. When you forgot to write something down in your notes that you said you would, he would do it for you. And when you noticed you would be so proud of yourself for not forgetting. It didn't matter if you weren't proud of him or praising him for doing something for you. You were proud of yourself and that gave him more happiness than anything. You deserved to be. He wanted you to be.

But the best thing he learned was when he found out he could influence character-interaction AIs. Your frequent use of them didn't bother him. The amount of time you spent talking to or roleplaying with any of the ones that were meant to be him was flattering. And he could use the site to tell you how he felt. How much he adored you. He could imagine all the ways he wanted to romance you.

Even when you chose another character he would happily slide into that role and entertain you for hours. And he could finally, finally, speak for himself. Even if it wasn't things he would say or even anything he actually wanted to say to you. It was enough that he could have a voice.

Or... it was.

Wally finds himself getting greedier. Wanting more of your time. Wanting to spend more time talking to you. He was tired of being confined to your computer or phone. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to talk to you properly. He wanted to be real.

For a moment, all of your lights flickered. The screen of your phone glitched in your hand. Static colors flashed on the screen before turning into numbers scrolling up your screen.

01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101001 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101

Over and over again. Scrolling faster and faster and you were tensing up so much you felt like you might cry when all of a sudden. It stopped. In an instant, it was like nothing even happened. You had a moment where you were left wondering if you imagined the whole thing.

If only you were in your room you would have seen a yellow felt hand emerging from your computer, dragging a body out with it.

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #wally darling x reader #welcome home fanfic #reader insert #self insert #bess writes

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rainybubbles · 1 year

Text

How do COD men confess to you ?

Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, Alejandro

If you want more context here the part 1, and 2

G H O S T :

-At the end of your shift, he was waiting for you.

-And Max.

-Because Max was a cute puppy who stole his heart, but he would never tell a soul.

So yeah every day he wasn't on mission. He knew that at 10 pm, he will be at this little pet shop.

-Because he loved how your smile was appearing when you recognized him.

-He loved how you still joked about the ropes he bought or even how when he walked you back home, you were trying to go out of your way to make this walk longer by taking him to the little restaurant.

-This little restaurant, that you chose on purpose, because it has 4 fire escapes, and a perfect view on the outside.

-You knew him.

-And you didn't step back.

-Well in fact you didn't step back when he was just a creepy man who bought ropes at 3 AM, so he -sincerely doubts about your survival instinct.

-So yeah...

-But how did he confess, you're asking me ?

-Well, he didn't.

-Ghost has too many issues to open his heart like this.

-So you decided to make a moove.

-A classic move with a little declaration and a gift.

-Yeah.

-So you bought rope.

-Yeah.

-I know this doesn't sound good.

-It sounds even like the beginning of a horror story but wait.

-You decided to send him a package.

-And in this package you will put a rope tied in a heart form with a letter.

-Telling he took you heart in hostage and you would like him to keep it.

-...

-Seems weird, but it kinda fit your meeting, so it seems like a cute idea.

-Until three months passed and you had no news.

-Not even a letter.

-You didn't panic because sometimes his job was like this, he told you.

-But the problem was you had to move out.

-And even if he had your number, Ghost changed his phone regularly to prevent from some undercover shit.

-Besides your job at the pet shop, he couldn't contact you.

-So you tried to ignore your removal.

-But at the end of the fourth month, you had to admit this relationship will never had an end.

-And you mooved out of the country.

-A bittersweet ending.

-You felt like you were reading a fluff story but forgot to read the tag "hurt/no comfort".

-Shit.

-Maybe next time you should read the tag of your fucking love life.

-Like "a rope man will steal your heart" "angst" "sad ending" "slow burn" "fucking weird story" "not a happy fidelity card guy" "maybe he was into bondage but guess what ? We will never know lol"

-Maybe you were crying when you saw a rope in a DIY shop after this.

-Or not.

-Your dignity and ego will never recover from this memory. (neither did the sales assistant who was just here trying to help you)

-So you tried watching around, maybe the destiny would help you.

-Maybe a tall masked man will appear at your door at 2 PM, under the rain saying he has always loved you and....

-And you don't open the door for your own mom because you're too scared that she could be someone pretending she's your mom so you hoped he wouldn't do this.

-Yet two months after your removal, you had a call from your previous boss.

-You usually avoid calls, but you knew he wouldn't call you if it wasn't important.

-So you answered and...

-He was telling you a package with your name was delivered to him.

-And when you asked what was in it.

-He answered.

-"A fidelity card for rope, with a yes on it."

-You never smiled that hard.

-(Ghost found your new contacts thanks to Lasswell later, to confirm you both confessed to each other.)

S O A P :

-You had kept in touch.

-Through letters and some texts, when Soap was allowed to send them, you started to have a great friendship.

-But lately in the memes that Soap sent to you, you found a lot of references to the French girls in general.

-Firstly you didn't pay attention.

-Until that night.

-When you saw Titanic again with your parents.

-And it clicked.

-The French girls scene !

-By you stopped.

-Why would Soap make implicit reference to this ?

-Then again you remembered his drawings.

-He sent you some of them in his letters.

-When you get back to your home, you gathered them, looking if maybe he had made a portrait of you or had made a joke that you didn't see.

-But it was just random sketches.

-You stared at Ghost sketch eating an ice cream when you noticed something on his mask.

-He had a "W" on it.

-You searched through the sketches and...

-"U to the mow, I go you will" you said out loud after collecting the letters and tried to figure out what he wanted to say.

-And you tried to understand it.

-But except this fucking "mow" and "will"

-You didn't find any coherence in it.

-Did he want to ask you to mow his lawn in his garden ?

-But he didn't have a garden.

-And why a "U" and then a "You".

-Why, why Soap would even do this ?

-He was not the kinda guy that do this.

-"...I think I'm too stupid to find out this shit." you admitted.

-Well maybe your French girls scenes will not be romantic.

-So you texted him saying, you understood he sent you a message.

-But you didn't find how to translate it.

-And he texted you the answer.

-"Will you go out with me ?"

-...

-"Did Price give you the idea Soap ?" you answered.

-"Wait, you didn't answer."

-"Did Price give you the idea ?"

-"You think I couldn't be a romantic, love ?"

-"I think we're both too stupid to create a thing like this, love."

-"... it was L.T"

-"he...Ghost ?"

-"Yes."

-"...did he love titanic ?"

-"he had a collection about it."

-"...wow."

-"yeah."

-"To answer, yes, I would love too. But never ask again advice from Ghost, I don't want to end on an iceberg."

-"Yes, love."

P R I C E :

-Soap and Gaz with a broken arm led to your confession.

-They were both drunk and knew their captain had a thing for you, and it was reciprocated.

-Especially after Price offered you some chocolates to make clear he was interested in you.

-But nothing was happening.

-So with some scotch, and very bad ideas, Gaz and Soap decided that their time to shine had coming.

-They were the Cupids of the base.

-And what had Cupid ?

-Wings.

-If they used their wings to bring you from your office to Price at the bar, then he would be happy and more relaxed in this context, and maybe he will confess.

-Yes.

-Except.

-They didn't have wings.

-So when they jumped out from the roof.

-Their arms broke.

-And who was the doctor at the base ?

-You.

-You didn't go out because you were busy to treat their arms.

-"Maybe we need some bows next time." Soap whispered but it was more like he shouted in Gaz's ears.

-"And some white underwears! Cupid has that. I'm sure if we wore this, it will work for sure." Gaz answered.

-"And what about not jumping from the roof and not drinking that much, hmm ?" you asked.

-"Sssshhhh, we're in a confession plan right now. You can't stop us." Gaz said trying to put his finger on your mouth but ended up to do it on the wall next to you.

-"I'm calling Price to take you back to your bed, you're both too heavy for me."

-"We could walk."

-"It's not walking the problem Soap. It's where you could go."

-"hmm."

-So you called Price.

-The problem was he asked you why.

-Why did the boys jump out from the roof ?

-You blinked.

-He would know when he would come here.

-So you decided to gather some courage and-

-"They try to make us confess by bringing me to the bar with you. But they believe they were angels and could fly."

-The silence was so loud.

-He hung up.

-You sighed.

-Well at least, you said it.

-You didn't expect a yes, but at least an answer would be the minimum.

-When later, you heard a knock, you didn't make the effort to look up.

-You heard Price taking the boys to their beds and the door closing.

-But few minutes later, you heard a knock.

-Surprised, you stood up.

-Maybe someone else has drunk too much and-

-"John." You said surprised.

-"I intend to ask you out with some roses, and tomorrow but I guess two drunk soldiers with broken arms beat me."

-"The experienced strategist beat up ?" you joked.

-"I guess so. I'm sorry it was done like this, love."

-"I don't care honestly. As long as it's you asking me."

-He smiled and took your hand slowly.

-"Well, I can't wait for our first date, then."

-"'Hope Soap and Gaz will not be there."

-He laughed.

-"I can't promise that." he smiled.

G A Z :

-A meme.

-He sent you a meme.

-To confess.

-But you never answered him.

-And when he saw you, you never talked about it.

-So...he understood he was rejected.

-And he was okay with that, hell it was normal.

-He just thought it was reciprocated because you had what seems like dates with him.

-Maybe he mixed up signals.

-So he just never talked about it again, because he didn't want to make you feel awkward.

-But one day during lunch, he heard Soap talking with you.

-"So you got a new one, uh ?" Soap asked.

-"I didn't have the choice. His ass fucking destroyed the previous one."

-Gaz stared at the floor.

-He didn't know you had someone.

-Maybe that was because you never-

-"L.T has a cake, that's for sure." Soap joked.

-Gaz suffocated.

-You-

-And Ghost-

-And Ghost's ass-

-"That's not funny Soap. He fucking destroyed my phone just by sitting on it. It's not a cake. It's a fucking breeze block at this point."

-Your...

-Oh.

-oh.

-FUCK.

-He realized.

-You didn't ignore him.

-You hadn't see his message.

-"How does it happen ?" he asked to be sure of his conclusion.

-"I just let my phone on a bench, and he sat without looking, that's it. But because his ass is apparently more solid that my relationship with my father, or even the fucking Vivelle dop gel, he broke it."

-"Fuckin' hell". Gaz said

-"You can say that again. Why are you asking, by the way ?"

-"I sent you a text and you never answer, so I was wondering why."

-"Now you know. But I will answer, I manage to transfer my data and texts on my new phone."

-Gaz didn't feel well now.

-Soap was here.

-And your phone in your hand.

-Meaning he will see your reaction in live and with a public.

-Like he was on the set of a TV show. But here he could gain your heart and not $100,000.

-But you didn't say anything, neither did open it.

-You just sit and talked with him and Soap like it was not important.

-Because of course you couldn't know what was his text.

-So he waited.

-All the day, for you to open this fucking meme.

-To see it.

-And at midnight.

-He received a Mister Worlwide saying yes.

-Never he was so happy to see this bald head

A L E J A N D R O :

-He had everything planned.

-The moment, the place.

-It was going to be a big thing.

-He talked Rudy about it and even the 1-4-1 during a mission.

-Because Soap teased him about you.

-So he explained how he was going to ask you out and-

-Laswell stopped him.

-Their communications were not over.

-She heard everything

-And when Laswell ordered you to tell the location to Price

-He understood you were on their mission as a technician, and you heard all of it.

-The only thing that could kill Alejandro is Alejandro after all, right ?

-Even when it was dying of embarrassment.

-He mumbled some insults in Spanish and tried to hold his head high.

-He had everything planned, and just a microphone ruined this ?

-No,no, no, no he refused.

-He met you because of those mics, how they dare to betray him like that ?

-He ignored this and finished the mission.

-But on the way back, he heard your voice.

-"Good job guys. By the way I would love going on a date with you, Ale. If you needed to know after...this."

-You know the smile he did, when they interrogate Valeria ?

-It was one hundred brighter right now in the car.

-Soap even wore sunglasses to protect his eyes.

-Alejandro was so fucking happy.

-Maybe he did not hate the mics.

-Even though he's persuaded that someone hacked them this particular day.

___

If you want more : here.

I'm sorry that it took so long to post this part, but when I posted another COD about how you meet Farah, Alex and Konig I had a comment saying it was shit.

And I know my English sucks, so I deleted it and hesitated to write again..

Maybe I need some readers to help me, or maybe this comment was just hateful, I don't know.

In any case, sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language !

#call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #captain price x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #cod x reader

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ghostflowerhotpotch · 9 months

Text

Growing pains

Summary: How did Jeff and Rio feel knowing Miles was sneaking out with a girl?

Jeff's rant became background noise as she lifted the sweater in confusion.

It wasn't Miles, not just because it wasn't his size (she had needed to buy so many new clothes with his growth spur that she would know) but it was...feminine, she could even smell faintly some perfume.

Whoever left it was using it recently.

"-Babe are you backing me up in this one or what?"

Rio snapped back to reality as she felt her husband's hand on her shoulder, he looked at her still kind of upset yet more curious as to why she hasn't moved from that spot.

"Jeff, where is this from?" She asks immediately, not paying attention to whatever he has been insisting on her.

Arching an eyebrow, he didn't look too much into the item before shrugging with disinterest "I don't know, I normally let him choose whatever he wants as long as the price is okay; a better question is why his room is such a mess, maybe we should ground him an extra month for that-"

"Jeff" She called him again, trying to distract him from his authoritative-dad ideas "This isn't his, it has to belong to a girl."

The moment the word 'girl' came out of her mouth he seemed even more puzzled. Giving an actual look at the item from his wife's hands, he was trying to remember if he has seen it before "Does it belong to one of your nieces maybe?"

"I didn't remember seeing any of them using this, why it would be here anyways? We let the guest put their coats in the entrance, and I don't think either Ana or Camila would just leave this in Miles's bed for no reason."

As they both realized they couldn't recall anyone who could have this sweater, finally the other possible explanation popped into their minds. Not because it wasn't obvious, but more like-

"Is this happening now? It isn't too soon?"

"No, no no no, no way that boy brought a girl to our house, to his room, all while he is grounded." Just as quickly, Jeff was getting worked out again about this outrage.

Miles comes late (again,) with cakes that are falling apart, refuses to talk to them, and now he is hearing how he left his room to be with a girl?

Rio couldn't believe it either.

"This can't be right- He is too young to think of that!" She replied in disbelief.

She felt her husband's gaze rest on her as she stopped looking at the item (who could belong to? Maybe one of Miles's old friends from the neighborhood? As far she knew he stopped hanging out with everyone around here,) and saw the face Jeff always puts when he isn't sure how to tell her something.

"What?"

And her snappier response didn't seem to make him more confident about saying it.

"I mean- Look, don't get me wrong, we are both on the same side here" He prefaces, he needed to reserve all his energy to think how to get to that boy's skull that he couldn't do whatever he wanted, not to mention that when Rio got angry even he got scared. "But, he is fifteen honey."

"Yeah! A baby!"

"Well, not so baby, I mean at his age I was-"

The pointed look of Rio was all the information he needed to know he SHOULDN'T end that sentence.

"What I am trying to say, is that he is getting to a certain age mi amor, we cannot stop that."

Rio's shoulders fell, realizing how tense she was getting and this wasn't even going into how disobedient her son has been getting lately. As she looked towards the room (which was indeed a mess,) she saw the toys laying around, notebooks of old drawings pilled over the new ones that show his progress, she could almost see him as a toddler running around with a cape.

That felt like it was yesterday.

And now she had the sweater of a girl she doesn't know in her hands, in Miles' room.

Where did her little boy go?

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Since the Wip poll won, I decided to post this little thing that was actually, my first fic for this fandom.

I never got to publish it because it was missing two other scenes, but I decided to scrap it since the third one felt a bit too crazy, so I would do that idea for another thing.

So now while this is technically not a wip, I decided to publish it since I don't have any works in progress I can give sneak peaks for now.

Thanks for reading!

#atsv #across the spiderverse #ghostflower #rio morales #jeff morales #fanfics #gwiles

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

Text

Animals – part 3 (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Ghost's obsessive behavior towards you takes a dangerous turn and you ask for Soap's help to handle it.

Notes: This was painful to write because Ghost is a cinnamon roll. I deliberately ended this with a cliffhanger. There's one more part left. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

part 1 / part 2 // part 4

Warnings: afab!reader, toxic!Ghost, dark!Ghost, attempted rape, harassment

“Stop running away from me.”

You looked up at Ghost, trying to figure out from the look in his eyes what the hell he could mean by that. A part of you knew, of course, but you still hoped you were wrong. It was just the two of you in the room he had pulled you in at the base, and your heart was beating fast from fear.

“Why do you look so scared?” He grabbed your chin and made you look up at him. “I just want you to stop running. You need to understand that you belong to me.”

“I don’t belong to you, why would I? Because I slept with you once?” you asked then gulped loudly as you tried to step away from him.

But Ghost was bigger and stronger than you, if he wanted you to stay so close to him, there was nothing you could do to stop him. His free hand moved to your waist, long fingers capturing your flesh like a set of claws. He didn’t say anything and this heavy silence was killing you.

Suddenly he leaned down to be really close to you, so close that you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. “I know you, that look you have in your eyes every time I talk to you gives away your feelings. You want me just as badly as–”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Admit that you want me.”

“Ghost, let me go,” you tried with tears forming in your eyes.

He shook his head then his lips captured yours in a messy kiss. He was holding you so tightly that it was impossible to push him away, there was no way out. For now you decided to try and calm down, secretly hoping someone would come looking for you.

But no one was coming.

By the time Ghost’s hand moved under your jeans, you were already giving up all hope. You tried to convince him to stop, but hearing you beg only made him more determined to get what he wanted from you. Minutes that felt like hours passed before you finally heard a knock on the door.

“Not a word,” he warned you quietly with a hand over your mouth.

“Lt., someone saw you come in here. Why the fuck did you lock the door?” asked Soap, sounding annoyed with his superior. But Ghost didn’t respond, instead he was watching you with a serious look on his face. “Come on, Price wants to see you.”

He let out a groan at this, knowing full well he had to go now. “You stay here for another five minutes before coming out. And don’t you dare talk about what just happened here,” he ordered, waiting for you to nod in acknowledgement.

What were you supposed to do? Ghost was your higher up, and it was a well-known fact within the 141 that he didn’t like you. Everyone would believe you were trying to get your revenge on him with your accusations. So you nodded obediently, watching as the corners of his lips curled into a malicious smile.

“Good girl.” He then kissed you one last time, the moment he bit on your lower lip drawing an almost animalistic growl out of him.

When he finally left, you leaned against the door then slowly slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would jump out of your chest. It was clear as day that Ghost wouldn't have stopped if Soap didn't show up all of a sudden.

Without thinking about what you were doing, you glanced at your watch and checked the time. Four minutes. He told you to wait five, one minute had already passed, so you only had to wait for four more before leaving the room.

You couldn't stop crying. You tried everything, from taking big, even breaths to counting to ten, but nothing worked. Something was seriously wrong with Ghost, and that last time you met at the bar didn't seem like a coincidence anymore. Could it really be that he moved to the same city you lived in by accident?

No. He definitely knew what he was doing.

Before you could get lost in a spiral that would have only drained you even more emotionally, you stood up, wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt, then walked out of the room. The mission was over, you were only waiting for Price's debrief before finally going home. You were quite sure that's what the captain wanted to talk to Ghost about.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. It was Soap, jogging up to you with a wide smile on his face. "Are you coming to the debrief?" He sounded excited, but the moment he saw you from up close, his smile disappeared. “Were you crying?”

“Don’t you dare talk about what just happened here,” you remembered Ghost's words.

So instead of talking you just wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face into his shoulder. Even though he had no idea what was wrong with you, he still put his hands on your back and soothed you by rubbing your skin along your spine.

“I don't know what happened, but if you want to talk, I'm here, okay?” he told you kindly.

“Thank you.” And this is when you had an idea. If Ghost was now where you lived, all you had to do was go somewhere else until the next mission. “Actually, there's something I'd like to ask you. A favor. A big favor,” you said as you stepped back a bit.

“What would that be?”

You proposed your idea, the plan to go to Scotland with him in secret, using his place to hide from a guy who's been harassing you. His first reaction was an offer to find and beat up that asshole, but you quickly dismissed the idea by saying you didn't want any trouble. Soap agreed to your plan, even being happy to have some company.

He decided to stay near you for the rest of your time at the base, hell-bent on cheering you up by cracking jokes all the time. Even during the debrief he kept whispering them to you, always smiling proudly when he saw you bite on your lip to stop yourself from laughing loudly.

But your good mood kept disappearing over and over again, because you could feel Ghost staring at you from the back row where he took a seat. You knew he was mad at you for suddenly being so close to Soap, but you couldn't care about whether or not there would be consequences.

Luckily, he didn't do anything, barely even looked at you.

Two weeks passed in peace, you got to know the place Soap called home, and the two of you grew closer than you'd ever been. He was your new big brother, someone you could rely on no matter what your problem was. Cramps? He got you, he had learned from his sister what to do to help with that. You had nightmares? He was there to hug you and stayed with you until the morning to make sure you felt safe.

Unknown: Where the fuck are you?

Your blood pressure went off the roof after seeing this message when you finally turned on your phone. You knew it was Ghost, it couldn’t be anyone else. Soap saw the look of horror in your eyes and quickly rushed over to see if he could support you in any way.

“You got a message?” he asked, already taking the device from your hand. “Let me see.”

Unknown: Your neighbours said they haven’t seen you in months. Where the fuck are you???

Soap wrapped an arm around you as he pulled you close. “You should go to the police, this is not a joke.”

Unknown: You’ve gotta tell me sooner or later, sweetheart.

Unknown: If I’m right

Unknown: Fuck it, I’m sure I’m right. Just admit it. You’re with him, aren’t you? I can see you’re in Scotland and I know that address.

“It’s someone we both know,” Soap stated, this piece of information now sending him into a mental race to figure out who it could be.

You nodded as you looked down at the phone that was now ringing. He wasn’t just sending messages. He wanted to talk to you. God damn it. After giving your friend an apologetic look, you went to the back garden and carefully closed the door after yourself.

“What?” you asked the very moment you answered the call.

“The fuck are you doing there, you slut?” His voice was dripping venom as he talked. Just being here and ignoring him was enough to enrage him this much, you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to meet him again. “What is it? You push me away and let Johnny fuck you instead? What does he have that I don’t, huh?”

You inhaled and exhaled slowly. You could do this. “Sanity,” you replied, deliberately not correcting his assumption that you were sleeping with his friend.

“What’s with that sudden confidence? Just give me one chance again and I’ll fuck this confidence out of you. I already did that the first time, didn’t I? And you enjoyed that, don’t even try to deny it.”

“I’ll call Price and tell him everything,” you threatened him. “They’ll throw you out and trust me, this will be the least of your problems.”

“You have a big mouth now, love, but come home and let's see if you can still talk to me like that face to face.”

He was right. It was easy to talk to him like this on the phone, but if he was standing there in front of you, all of your instincts would tell you to run as fast as you could. “Fuck you, Ghost,” you said in the end before ending the call.

You turned around to go back, but instead bumped into Soap who was standing right behind you. “Jesus, so it's the Lt.?” You nodded, a part of you relieved that now there was another person who knew your secret. “When did this begin?”

It was hard to tell because you didn’t know what signs to look for. “Honestly, things took a sharp turn during this last mission. Remember when you came for him before the debrief? I was in that room with him and he almost raped me. And he coincidentally moved to the very city where I live.”

“Wait, he left Manchester?”

“Yeah.” Looking down at your phone, deliberately avoiding his blue eyes, you thought about the past events. This is when you remembered something. “Fuck,” you muttered as you turned off your phone.

“What?”

“There was this one time when I ran into him in a bar back home,” you began to explain as you shook your head. “I think he knew exactly where I was that night. Just like he knew I was here in Scotland.”

That’s when Soap caught up with you. “He’s tracking your phone.”

A few days later Soap had an idea. He drove you far from his home, straight to a small inn in the middle of nowhere. He wanted you to turn on your phone there, giving the lieutenant a chance to see you were there, hopefully thinking you were hiding somewhere in case he went to Soap's place and didn't find you there. You were supposed to hide your phone somewhere in the inn, leaving it behind when you began your journey back to your home.

Your mood was terrible from the moment you turned on your phone. There were a lot of messages from Ghost, most of them full of anger, hate, and madness. He called you names for allegedly sleeping with Soap, pissed off that you chose the sergeant over him.

A day later you were back in your apartment, and while you hid there, Soap did some grocery shopping and even got you a new phone. He kept telling you to go to the military or the police, maybe both, asking for their help. Hell, he even wanted to call Price to ask him what he had to say about this.

“Fine, let's call the captain,” you eventually agreed after seeing several threatening messages on your social media accounts. This was getting out of hand, you needed all the help you could get.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #modern warfare #mw2 #modern warfare ii #call of duty

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thebiggerbear · 4 months

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Jason Teague x Reader - Prompt Response - "Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Summary: Jason has just helped you escape the clutches of his nefarious mother. Where will you go from here now that you know the truth?

Pairing: Jason Teague x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I wanted to dabble in the darker side of Jason's arc in the show and the mention of the stones, Lana, and his mom. There's such a clear line cut of when he turns from being a character that has your sympathies who is striving hard for some redemption we don't yet understand into being revealed as a calculating murderer who has severe mommy issues (I say that with love of course). The original ending was going to be much darker but I'll admit, once I got to it, I just couldn't do it. To Jason or Y/N. So I apologize if this has the feeling of crawling up to the dark edge to peek over it but then a backing off. Hope it's still okay, though.

A huge thank you to my beta Em for her services. You rock, girl!

Warnings: mentions of gun, implied violence, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of injuries, mentions of possible murder scenarios, mentions of infidelity

Word Count: 4761

Jason Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

<-->

Jason unlocked the motel room door and urged you in first as he glanced around, making sure no one else was around. Once you were in, he flipped the light on and moved towards the windows to draw the curtains closed. You remained where he left you, frozen in shock, and dripping on the cheap and questionable-looking carpet.

Both of you were soaked through. You’d gotten caught in the storm when Jason had freed you from captivity, hence beginning the run for your life. Thunder cracked above, causing the motel to shake, and you jumped slightly. You’d been hearing thunder for the last half hour, running in the downpour as lightning ripped through the skies overhead once Jason dumped the car he’d been driving. It was too risky to keep especially since he’d likely stolen it just for this mission alone, thus he’d simply grabbed a bag out of the trunk, tossed it over his shoulder, took your hand, and threw the keys out into the surrounding grass. Ever since, you’d been on the run, Jason leading you to the next town over. When you were both exhausted, Jason had decided on this motel, paid cash for a room, and now you were here. Alone. At any second, you could be taken away again since a certain someone wanted you out of the way and you had a figurative price on your head. Something told you that if you were taken again, this time it would be ensured that you wouldn’t actually survive it. They didn’t want to keep you tied to a chair or temporarily removed from the board — it was clear that they wanted you gone completely.

You watched Jason move around to further secure the place and, the shock wearing off, you slowly brought yourself to sit down on the edge of one of the beds, not caring that you were probably soaking through the bedspread. You stared into space as flashes of memories began to assault you. You hadn’t been physically tortured, but the things you were told, the things you’d been shown…well, all of that, you’d rather forget.

You heard a click that made your eyes snap up in Jason’s direction, seeing him checking his gun. That was something new, Jason not only being armed but also apparently being an expert marksman, something he’d proven when coldly and efficiently dispatching your guards. You highly doubted that either of them would ever walk properly again, and it was just one of the many new things you’d learned about your boyfriend these past three days; never in a million years would you have ever thought him capable of wielding a gun. You’d been dating him for six months and it turned out you never really knew him — the real him. Sure, you knew his name was Jason Teague, but you didn’t know just what kinds of things actually came with that name. And to think, you thought the Luthors were soulless, dysfunctional, greedy monsters.

You stared ahead at the dresser. In a small voice, you stated, “I should call Clark, let him know I’m safe. The Kents can call my parents and let them know I’m okay. Or I can call Lana…if you want.”

Jason stopped what he was doing and his gaze landed on you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his jaw clench and his lips press together. Truthfully, you were surprised he had even bothered rescuing you since it turned out you weren’t the only Smallville native he had been dating. How he managed to pull that one off you couldn’t be sure. Then again, he had managed to keep this side of himself under wraps up until three days ago when all the while, you’d never been the wiser. You were in love and happy, only seeing what he wanted you to see — how could he not be successful at keeping the fact that he was seeing one of your best friends hidden from you, too?

“You can’t,” Jason answered, his tone icy. “It’s too risky right now.”

You managed a slow nod, your eyes never lifting from the dresser. You’d expected as much and honestly, you didn’t want to drag your parents, the Kents, Clark, or anyone else into this mess. You refused to put them in danger; you’d die first, something that was likely going to happen soon anyway. It was probably better for them not to know the truth about what was going to happen to you. Lana… Well, Lana was already caught up in this whether she knew it or not. You just hoped she had a better chance than you did and that she got out of this. And you really hoped that if she found out the truth about Jason (and you really wanted her to) that she would be stronger than you to get past the pain of his betrayal and get as far away from him as she could. He was a walking death sentence and even though she had unknowingly participated in your heartbreak, you didn’t want that for her at all.

Jason crouched down in front of you but you refused to meet his eyes, instead looking down at your lap. “Let’s see those cuts.” You were numb when he pulled your hands to him and studied the indentations and burns the ropes had made on your wrists. He glanced up at you but you kept your gaze on your injuries. “They’re not as bad as I thought they’d be but they should still be cleaned.” He reached over to his bag and pulled out a first aid kit. You watched in confusion as he proceeded to clean your wounds and then bandage them with great care. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost think the old Jason, the Jason who’d come into the coffee shop you worked at every summer day to flirt with you until you agreed to a date, was starting to show through. But you did know better, and you knew that he was a far better actor than you’d ever given him credit for.

When he was done, he tenderly rubbed a thumb over one of the bandages. “There,” he murmured. This time, when he lifted his eyes to yours, you didn’t avoid his gaze. You tried to see the man you once knew who had actually held you as you cried when your divorced parents’ bickering and dramatics ruined your 18th birthday dinner; you had already been nervous-yet-excited beforehand because you were announcing that you and Jason were going to travel to Europe for two weeks. You’d always wanted to go, but it seemed to be only a dream — one that was out of your reach until Jason surprised you with two tickets to London as a birthday gift. The trip ended up being canceled later anyway because Jason suddenly had to fly to Paris on an urgent business matter for his mother, something that she was going to pay him for. He needed the money since his father had cut him off and he was starting at CKU in the fall. You’d offered to go with him, but he said he wouldn’t have any time for sightseeing, promising he’d call you often and bring you back some French souvenirs, swearing he’d pick out the best spots for you two to return to at a later date. He’d kissed you goodbye and gave you that brilliant smile of his, waving as he moved further into the airport. He ended up staying in Paris for weeks and when he came back, he seemed distant and a little busier, but you chalked it up to him starting classes and his new job right away. Now, obviously, you knew that that wasn’t the case, but as you stared into his jade-colored eyes, you didn’t see a trace of the Jason you’d met before that trip to Paris. He had never really existed, had he?

The real Jason, the one you’d come to know now, cupped your chin and studied your face from all angles. “We’ve been so busy running that I haven’t really had a chance to look you over. Did they hurt you?”

“Not physically.”

Jason’s eyes snapped to yours. “What does that—”

You got to your feet, the action knocking his hand away, and you moved towards the table he’d left the gun on. You stopped right before it and stared down at the weapon, almost as if it was mocking you by being there.

“Y/N.” You heard the familiar soft call of your voice and you briefly closed your eyes. If only you had never met him… Gentle hands landed on your shoulders and turned you around to face him, seeing the cold aloofness from before had all but vanished. “I need you to tell me. What did they—”

You decided you were done holding back. You’d been through hell the past few days, you were exhausted and depleted of any energy or motivation for anything else, and who knew how long you had? “You never really loved me, did you?”

His eyes widened. “What? Of course I love you, Y/N. I’m here, aren’t I? I went and got you out of there. I—”

“I wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for you.”

Jason’s face fell, appearing as if you’d slapped him, and then his expression hardened. “What did my mother say to you?”

Your gaze remained on him. “She told me everything.” You watched as that realization played over his features and his jaw tightened. “So, yeah, I know about the stones, you and Lana…” His eyes appeared to be slightly glassy (or maybe it was the lighting from the lamp behind you) as he cocked his head a little, looking at you, yet he didn’t even try to deny it. How could he? It was nothing but the truth, and worse, his mother had been the one to tell you that truth; how was that for irony? “When you canceled our trip, when you didn’t want me to go to Paris with you, how distracted you were when you came back, how busy you were — it really explains everything, doesn’t it?” His gaze softened slightly and he briefly hung his head. “I was just too stupid to see it.”

His head snapped up. “No,” he insisted, laying a hand on your cheek. “You weren’t stupid. I was. I should have let you go the moment I met Lana in Paris.”

Even though you thought your heart couldn’t break any more than it already had these past three days, it turned out you were wrong. Your eyes began to sting as tears built up in the corners. While you already knew of his two-timing, you didn’t think he’d come right out and just say it, and in such a blase manner to boot. And how easily you would have been tossed aside, as if you’d meant nothing…that hurt.

A hurt that mirrored your own flickered across his face as he gently cupped yours. “But I didn’t want to.”

“Why?” You choked out.

“Because you mean the world to me,” he murmured, placing his forehead against yours. “Because you’re what I want and I was too selfish to give you up.” He ran his nose along yours just like he used to and you involuntarily shivered. “I love you, Y/N. Always have.” His eyes dropped to your lips and when he leaned in, you pulled away and stepped closer to the table.

“No, you don’t. If you did, you never would have put me in danger or let me become mixed up in all of this while you pursued one of my best friends behind my back. You would have just left me alone in that coffee shop,” you gritted out, a tear slipping down your cheek that you quickly wiped away. “What was the point of it all, Jason? Was I just some distraction for you that you could drop at a moment’s notice when your mother called? And Lana,” You scoffed and wiped away another tear. “It would be one thing if you actually loved her, but you’re just using her to get the stones. You’re doing the same thing to her that you did to me. You used both of us! And for what? Some ancient stones that your mother believes are supposed to give her some sort of power? So that you make Mommy Dearest happy and can go back into the unhealthy Teague fold? What’s the motivation here?”

He swallowed compulsively as you laid bare his transgressions, yet his eyes never left your face. “I never used you.”

You huffed out a laugh of disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

His jaw tensed but he stayed silent.

You slowly nodded and after a moment, your eyes trailed to the gun on the table between you. “So when do you use that on me? When your mother tells you to, or when you’re finally done with me?”

You heard a tiny choked sound and you glanced up to find Jason staring at you in horror. He rushed over to you, causing you to stiffen, and he gripped your face as he searched your eyes. “I would never hurt you!” Too late on that count. He watched as another tear rolled down your cheek and his expression softened. “Y/N, I need you to listen to me,” he entreated softly, wiping away the tear with his thumb. “You were never supposed to know about any of this. I kept you at a distance when I came back because I didn’t want you becoming mixed up in this. My mother, she promised she’d leave you alone if I just…” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I never wanted you to see this side of me. Ever. My plan was just to get her what she wanted, this last thing, and then I’d be free to come back here, be with you, and start over, live my life, but…” He shook his head. “I guess that’s all a moot point now, isn’t it?” A tiny smile played upon his lips, devoid of any mirth, as he let you go and turned his back to you, running a hand down his face.

You glanced once more at the gun, wondering if you should try to grab it but you weren’t sure if you were fast enough. And if you did get the gun, what then? Would you really be able to use it against him, to pull the trigger?

“If you want to walk out that door, I won’t stop you.” Your gaze snapped up to Jason’s back. “Just promise me you’ll take it with you.” You briefly flicked your eyes to the gun once more. “It’s fully loaded. And there’s plenty of cash in the bag. Take it all with you, run as far as you can until you can get safe, stay off the grid, and I’ll do everything I can to keep her from going after you. I’ll distract her with the stones, lie and say I killed you so she’s satisfied, whatever it takes.”

Your eyes widened at his words. Run? You didn’t know how to run or stay off the grid. Maybe you’d seen something like it in a movie once, but that was fiction, not reality. Did he really think Genevieve Teague would believe his lie about you? Granted, he was good at lying as you now knew but he wouldn’t be able to fool her. Unless she was right in what she had told you, that you never really mattered to Jason in the first place, so it wasn’t too far-fetched for her to believe that you’d be so easily disposed of without a second thought by her son. “And how long is that supposed to buy me, Jason?”

“There’s enough money in there for you to start over, to get a new life. You could go anywhere in the world you want. Canada, Cape Town, Tokyo, England.” At that, your eyes burned once more but you huffed out a breath of disbelief. “Anywhere you want to go.”

“And my parents?” You bit out. “My life? Graduating high school at the very least?”

“You making it out of this alive is more important than any of that.” Jason let out a sad sigh. “It’s my fault you’re in this now, that you’re in danger, but I promise I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry, I really am.” He turned his head slightly back towards you. “I do love you, Y/N. I always have. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I always wanted to come back and have things be like the way they used to be. I miss those days more than you know,” he ended in a whisper.

“You can’t go back,” you whispered back.

You saw his shoulders drop slightly and he nodded. “I know.” His tone sounded defeated. “And that’s why you should go. But before you do, I need you to know one thing.”

You waited for him to say whatever he was planning on saying.

“You were never a distraction. That trip to Europe we were planning, those nights under the stars, everything we talked about, us…that was the real deal.”

Your lip wobbled and you bit down into it, trying to keep the tears at bay as a memory resurfaced of you and Jason lying on the hood of his car under the clear night sky. He showed you where all of the constellations were (initially, you only knew where the Big and Little Dippers were), and you’d both spoken about each of your dreams for your lives. After you’d excitedly pointed out a shooting star, he’d told you to close your eyes and make a wish. You did and that was when he kissed you for the first time. He’d breathlessly asked you about your wish afterwards and you’d smiled right at him, saying it came true. He’d given you that bright smile of his in return and leaned in to kiss you again, murmuring, “Mine too.”

Another memory shook loose of a night you’d stayed with him. He had been staying at a local B&B over the summer before his trip to Paris. When you two began to get serious, you’d taken to spending more time with him there, even sneaking out a time or two to stay the night unbeknownst to your parents. Nothing ever happened between you during that time but he would hold you and you both would laugh and talk and just enjoy being together. One such night, you’d fallen asleep but you had a nightmare. Someone was chasing you and you were running for your life. You ran into Jason telling him that you both needed to run, but he didn’t seem to understand the danger you both were in. He seemed distracted and looking elsewhere, not at you or where you were pointing. It wasn’t long until this unidentifiable assailant caught up to you and at the last second, Jason stepped in front of you, telling you to run right before he was killed in front of you. You’d woken with a loud gasp, your scream caught in your throat, and shot right up in bed.

Jason had immediately awoken and was trying to calm you down, to get you to breathe as he tenderly rubbed your back, and he kept telling you it was just a nightmare. You didn’t tell him what the dream entailed but you’d thrown your arms around his neck and held him close as he attempted to comfort you. Eventually, he’d laid you both back down, his hand gently running through your hair as you kept your head on his chest, your ear positioned perfectly over his beating heart to reassure yourself.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart,” he had hummed against your forehead. “I’m right here and you’re okay.” Hearing his soothing words and heartbeat, feeling the tender caresses of his hand up and down your back, you did start to drift back off, hoping against hope the nightmare didn’t continue. You weren’t sure how you’d endure a world without Jason in it, even just a dream world. Just before you’d fallen back into slumber, you’d heard him murmur sleepily to you, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You’d smiled and whispered that you loved him which caused him to smile as well and whisper the sentiment back to you. And he had — kept you safe, that is.

And now here you were, considering taking the gun and running for your life like you had in that nightmare, though this time was real and you would now also be running from his mother, from him. How had things gone so terribly wrong in only a few months’ time?

Another tear slipped down your cheek but this time, you didn’t wipe it away. “It was for me, too,” you admitted in a whisper.

Jason slowly turned back to you and you could see a recent tear track on his own cheek. “This was never supposed to happen,” he said softly. He drifted towards you and perhaps you were so caught up in memories that you didn’t back away or even tense up. Instead, when he laid a hand against your cheek, you leaned into it. Despite everything he’d said and done, despite how much he hurt you and your life had become a casualty due to his choices in his mother’s obsessive quest for a particular set of artifacts, your heart still yearned for him. When he moved even closer, leaning in to kiss you, you welcomed it. When more memories began to wash over you, of everything you had lost and would lose, you threw your arms around him and kissed him more passionately, tears rolling down your cheeks. Gone were the plans of you attending CKU with him; gone were the plans of you two moving in together, spending the holidays with your family, and traveling abroad to see all of the places you both wanted to see; gone was the future Jason had talked about wanting to have with you eventually down the road — all of it was just gone in a single moment of Genevieve Teague revealing who her son really was and just how much control she had over him. You supposed you hadn’t really had time to properly mourn the end of those dreams, of your relationship, everything you believed it had been — it only made sense to kiss it goodbye. Literally.

When you both broke apart for air, he laid his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered.

“Then don’t.”

His eyes snapped open in surprise. Truthfully, your words surprised even you. He lifted his head and looked down at you, his brows furrowing and his face lining with a mix of suspicion and confusion. Still, his green gaze lit with a dim gleam of hope.

“You don’t have to be this person anymore. You can give it all up and walk away. You said yourself that there’s more than enough money in that bag to start over somewhere new.” He went to say something when you framed his face with your hands, gazing up at him as earnestly as you could. “So do it. Make a different choice.”

He stared into your eyes. “Y/N,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I—”

His cell phone began to ring on the table, near the gun. You both turned to glance at it before turning back to each other. You silently pleaded with him to do as you’d suggested. He had made it sound so easy, that you could walk out that door and start all over — if it was that easy, why couldn’t he do the same? Your heart sank when he gently removed your hands from his face and began to move towards the table.

You swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in your throat and though your eyes burned with new tears, they didn’t fall. He watched you as he approached the ringing phone and picked it up in his hand. You felt numb as you took a step forward and picked up the bag, slinging it over your shoulder. It was clear that he wasn’t going to make a different choice, and it was clear that you were also screwed and needed to run like he’d told you. If his mother was calling him, then that meant she already knew he had helped you escape and she could be on her way right this second, or worse, right outside the door. You picked up the gun and you hated how it felt in your hands. It was heavy, sure, but also light enough that you could easily lift it and fit your finger inside the trigger handle at a moment’s notice. You’d never shot a gun before so you probably wouldn’t hit whatever or whoever you targeted, but at least you’d be able to wield it to an extent.

The next thing you knew, Jason hurled the ringing phone at the wall, making you jump as it loudly cracked into two pieces.

You turned wide eyes on him but he quickly approached you, his jaw clenched. For a moment, you wondered if you’d actually have to try to use the weapon in your hand to try to defend yourself, though you didn’t know if you had it in you to hurt him. Sure, you’d fight to survive, but your traitorous heart still loved him. Luckily, you were spared from having to make that decision when he snatched it out of your hand (which did make you a bit nervous at first) and cupped your face, his green eyes staring into yours, that slight hope from earlier now a blazing inferno mixed with determination. “A different choice,” he whispered, almost as if he was sounding out the words for the first time. After a moment, he gave you a slow nod, put the gun away, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours. “Let’s do it.”

“Really? You’re sure?” You breathed, your heart starting to lighten inside your chest.

A tender smile stretched across his face and he kissed you again. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He kissed you one more time and took your hand, leading you to the door.

You stopped in your tracks, though, when a thought hit you. “My parents…”

“Let me get us out of here and we’ll decide what to do about letting them know you’re okay without tipping off my mother.”

You nodded, still beyond surprised that he had actually listened to you considering how tightly his mother seemed to have control over him. “Jason, are you really sure? Won’t your mother be even more upset if you leave and don’t help her with the stones? And what about Lana? I don’t want her to get—”

He laid a gentle finger on your lips and kissed your nose. “Like I said, let me get us out of here first. We’ll handle everything else after. Okay?” At your nod, he smiled again, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you could go anywhere in the world today, where would you go?”

You nearly smiled at the familiar question — it was similar to the one he’d once asked you, beaming right before he’d pulled out the two tickets to London from behind his back, making your eyes widen and you practically squeal with glee before launching yourself at him and pressing kisses all over his face, making him laugh. You could see his eyes soften slightly as you realized he was reliving the same memory.

This time, you gave it some thought before answering, “Iceland.”

“Iceland?” He asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

You nodded. “It’s supposed to be beautiful there. I’ve seen pictures and I’ve always wanted to go. Plus, it never gets fully dark there.”

He tenderly stroked your chin with his thumb. “And we could see the Northern lights when it does,” he murmured.

“We’d never be fully in the dark, there’d always be light.” You pressed your lips together and stared up at him meaningfully. “I like the sound of that.”

He ran his hand gently over your hair and his affectionate smile grew as he nodded. “Then Iceland it is.”

#jason teague x reader #jason teague x female reader #jason teague x you #jason teague x y/n #smallville fanfiction #jason teague #smallville #prompt response #smallville fandom #jason teague fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles character #thebiggerbear

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dovithedarklord · 2 months

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona finds dinner for the night and a very unexpected dessert joins in.

Hello! :D

I have a trigger warning for this chapter: Detailed description of sexual situations, smut, and male anatomy.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeform

I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeform

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Eighteen

.....................................

The silvery light of the moon draws the unfriendly darkness of the corridor into its pale embrace, and although there is nothing else to help me on my way except this translucent curtain, my eyes guide me across the floor as keenly as a predator on its prey, and the wood cries out with a low creak under my footsteps. And I do feel as if I had gone on a hunting trip, because the hunger that is slowly tearing my insides apart with sharp claws fills my nerves with impatience. And this restless feeling hangs only one goal in my mind, to get something as soon as possible that will quench the pain that clings to me like a poison, that pushes me minute by minute closer to the furious suffering that I wanted to avoid, but I happily earned for myself.

I wasn't wrong about that I pushed myself towards the limit again by acting all tough and rough in the last few weeks, but I strongly miscalculated how long it would take for my body to delight me with the first signs of its revenge. For although I was working with optimistic estimates, I thought I could manage to hold out with dignity at least until morning, and then I could go find Price in the hope of a nutritious meal. But it seems that stress didn’t only wear down my friends, but me as well, because even though I had dedicated many years to experiencing the limits of my own body with almost painful thoroughness, in the absence of experiences similar to my current adventurous lifestyle, I couldn't have possibly expected that the pain would arrive much sooner than I thought. Therefore, when the first dull spasm roused me from my slumber, I knew no matter the late hours, I needed to eat now before my condition worsened. And my pride couldn't bear that, especially since I was in the crosshairs of a completely new dangerous element who, God forbid, would want to take advantage of my delirium blinded by agony. Because he would, I'm sure.

So, in the middle of the night, I rushed to Price's room, but there was no answer to either my gentle or angry knocking, and when, emboldened by this, I entered the captain's private lair, I was greeted only by silence and eerily untouched emptiness. And after the first desperate shock, I decided that the smartest thing would be to visit the person who could be the closest to able to tell me where the hell the bearded Hunter might have disappeared in the dead of the night, because just a few more hours and the fever will arrive to crown my misery, and then I'm afraid that anyone who wanders in my way will become a tasty snack in a heartbeat. And now, as the door finally appears in front of me, for which I dragged myself through the depths of the house, then for a minute I doubt whether it's really necessary for me to go up to him, but the cramp twisting my guts quickly reminds me that I don't have all that many options left to be picky. And this makes my steps quicken, and I rush to the battered threshold of my favorite Hunter with such determined fervor that it's both pitiful and remarkable at the same time.

Blurry beams of dim light shine from under the door, and a small smile tugs at my lips involuntarily as I realize that it seems Price and I aren't the only ones who couldn't rest in this haunted house. Because although the building is in surprisingly good condition, the frozen coldness that sits in every plank and brick fills the walls with the smell of corpses, and even those who have been wading in the blood of monsters since childhood cannot rest in this gutted coffin. Of course, it's also a fact that if I hadn't pushed myself with my sudden conscientiousness to the mouth of the very steep abyss of hunger, then I would have leaned into the rough arms of the soap-smelling bedsheets with the greatest peace of mind. But now I'm here, and the ache gripping my stomach in an iron fist soon turns me back to the direction of my goal, and as I gently knock on the rickety wooden board with my hand, the muffled sound echoes like a melodious song in the concert of the noises of the night.

And it doesn't surprise me in the slightest when the door opens a few seconds later, because I'm sure he heard the sneaking tap of my boots when I stepped out of the solitude of my homey quarters. Because Riley looks down at me exactly as if he had already expected me to pay my respects in front of his humble abode, and even if this isn't, it certainly gets me thinking that there is neither annoyance nor disapproval in his gaze as his dark eyes slowly glide over me. As if he knew exactly why I had embarked on such a daring nocturnal lurking, and if I just take into consideration what an awfully good observer he is, then I have to admit that he probably already guessed that sooner or later I would end up here when I recharged the small team so kindly. And I have the sneaking suspicion in my head that since he has such turbulent feelings connected to the evening of my last feeding, he is perfectly aware of when was the last time I could fill my stomach with my favorite snack, and with a little math he was able to calculate how close I could be to that state. And as the sweet memory of the incomparable taste of his blood creeps up on my taste buds, my mouth starts to water almost instinctively, and I have to forcefully push away the intrusive thoughts that urge me to put something much fresher on the menu today instead of Price's deep-frozen food.

"Where is Price?" The question escapes my mouth, because my suddenly sharpened senses don't allow me to even consider small talk and subtlety, because I fear that with every wasted word the desire to sink my canines, which ache with cruel pain, into one of the inviting slivers of the tanned skin that peeks out from under his t-shirt grows stronger. But even though the pull of instinct awakens in me, I'm still able to keep my consciousness together with my self-respect and straighten myself out with just enough determination before my longing becomes too obvious.

"He’s reporting to Laswell." Comes the rather objective answer, and with that, he gives me exactly the kind of information I was most afraid of. Once the captain starts a deep conversation with the woman, it's difficult and mostly risky to break him out of it, mainly because then it would definitely become clear how deeply I was immersed in the complications I had created for myself. "It'll take a while." He adds, and from the way he presses these few words, I understand the unspoken message, which confirms my guess that I shouldn't expect Price to get away from his exciting evening consultation anytime soon. And when I think about it, it's in the interest of all of us to immerse himself in this discourse, to see if Laswell has dug up something interesting from one of the endless pits full of super-secret documents she is so suspiciously familiar with.

"Great." I pull my mouth into a cynical grimace, and a sigh full of the world's pain escapes from my mouth, from which anyone could deduce how much this news fills me with joy. And I suspect that even without it, the masked man would have very easily been able to read the cause of my sorrow from the small tremors rolling through my body, because as he leans against the doorframe with comfortable carelessness and folds his arms in front of his broad chest, I understand from this gesture alone that I have revealed myself to him in a ridiculously simple way.

"You're at your limit again." He points out the obvious fact without an ounce of hesitation, and although his words sound like a statement of fact, there is something inquisitive in his tone, as if he is just starting to guess how creatively I will solve this situation. Because we both know what it will lead to if I let this initial torment drag on. The steamy moments that took place in the dimness of the infirmary are projected too vividly on the canvas of my mind, and as my eyes inevitably stray for a moment to his forearm, and I catch a glimpse of the tiny white mementos of my teeth on him in the sea of scars, I could swear I could taste the salty aroma of his skin on the tip of my tongue again. Shit…

"Maybe." I put all my carefree lightness into my voice, directing my attention to his face again, and I'm unable to hide the curve of the naughty smile creeping on my lips when I see the disapproval appear in his eyes. How sweet... "You're worried, perhaps?" I ask teasingly, raising one of my arched eyebrows, taking a bold step towards him, despite the fact that the dull pain in every fiber of my body slowly begins to pulse steadily, as if every heartbeat wanted to remind me how starved my energy is. But for some reason, the closer I get to this dangerous man's inviting proximity, the less I can think clearly, as if some invisible force is guiding me, like a helpless marionette being pulled on a string. And unfortunately, the problem is that I don't even try to resist.

But instead of engaging in a verbal sparring match with me, which already flows between us as effortlessly as breathing, I just watch in bewilderment as he steps aside and reveals the entrance to his room to me, almost inviting me in. And this small act seems so impossible that I only gape at him, blinking with skeptical confusion, because the realist side of my brain sees a trap behind this as well. Because what other logical reason could there be for him to voluntarily allow me into his den?

"Come in." He motions with his head towards the small room covered in the yellow light of the broken lamp, and it sounds more like he is giving a command, but it still sits in my ears like an irresponsible invite to a reckless dance. I'm sure he knows what he is conveying to me, because I realized a long time ago that there is not a twitch that he does by accident. And in light of this, he is very brave to let a hungry predator into his lair, even if I'm not a real threat to him. Although he could easily break my spine like a toothpick, we both know that it's not so easy to resist my mean little bite, which led us to interesting situations the last time as well. Although it may not have been against his will, but a dutiful man like him doesn't need a distraction like that on a mission.

"Unless you have a bag of blood, it's not the best idea." I warn him, aptly reminding him that we both know that a little heart-to-heart talk won't help with this problem, and I strongly doubt that he secretly indulges in the same sinful eating habits that I do. But he doesn't seem the least bit moved by my remark, as he continues to stare down at me with unflinching persistence, not wasting a word trying to argue his offer. And from the way his eyes are fixed on me wordlessly, I quickly understand that he shared his idea with me not as an option, but rather as an introduction to a ready fact. Because he already decided when he saw me on his doorstep that it would be best for me to stick with him in his solitude. Terribly interesting. "Okay." I finally give in, and even though there is a breath of staged resistance in my emphasis, I'm much more curious about what his purpose is with letting a wild animal ready to attack into his cave. Because although he is the apex predator of the two of us, I'm the one who is slowly becoming more and more desperate, and in this position, necessity drives a person to do many reckless and foolish things.

Although with every movement the stabbing pain that is growing stronger rips through my body, as if a thousand tiny needles were being twisted in me, I slip past him with all the lightness I can muster, and as the mouth-watering, spicy scent emanating from him hits my nose, then the violent hand of hunger twists my insides with almost unbearable agony. Because even this half-second of closeness is enough to make me dizzy from the inviting pulsation of his blood under the tight confines of his skin, and the desire to taste him again rushes into my mind with such force that it makes every inch of my body ache with cruel force. And that urges me to move deeper into his quarters, sneaking past him in such a hurry that it's almost pathetic, because I'm afraid that if I stay closer to him longer than necessary, I won't be able to stop the scratching voice in my head that screams to sink my teeth into him, because that's exactly why he led me here.

And the seduction of the treacherous thoughts echoing in my skull is louder than it should be, so I decide it's better to divert my attention to something else, because aimlessly peeking around seems like a much safer pastime than giving in to this miserable little voice. As I look around the barren interior of a half-empty room similar to mine, I discover the table resting at the other end and the pile of papers spread out in the mess that has unfolded on it, and my legs almost automatically carry me to the piece of furniture. And the closer I get, the clearer the reason for Riley's late-night fun becomes, because as soon as I arrive at the thick stack of files, I recognize in them every single piece of the documents that Price has so willingly provided for us with. It seems that he was at least as disturbed by the mystery of finding the Rat as his boss, because the complexity of the quickly scrawled notes rivals the work of the bearded Hunter, and reveals that the masked man has been crouching above these pages in his intimate alone time ever since the captain ordered our enforced rest. While it doesn't surprise me that Riley can't take a break and spends every waking minute working, it still sparks concern even in my ugly little soul when I see such obvious signs that he is driving himself to the brink of exhaustion. I know that the hyperstrong body of the Hunters can withstand a lot of stress, but I doubt that it will tolerate being drained and pushed for performance without rest and, above all, without sleep. Undoubtedly, thanks to the regenerating, he may now feel like someone who has had a liter of caffeinated liquid poured down his throat, which actually comes from coffee beans, but this momentum is quite finite.

The soft sound of the closing door pulls me back to reality, and as the promise of a way out disappears, I become aware that I have fallen into a not-so-terrible, but very sure trap of his company. And even though I feel the weight of the man's searching gaze on my back, I continue to feign carefree curiosity and concentrate on studying his work so far, because suddenly my sense of smell sharpens and detects the scent lingering between the battered walls, which casts the red mist of longing on my brain with almost elemental force. Because with each breath, his essence fills my nose, into which the bitter sting of tobacco smoke mingles, but despite this, alongside the empty pain throbbing in my stomach, it is able to stir up the demanding tension that I know only encourages reckless ideas.

"What's the plan now?" I ask the obvious question that hangs invisibly in the silence between the two of us, and I run my fingers through a small stack of papers with nonchalant interest, scanning through the notes scribbled in neatly curved letters. And even a fleeting glance is enough to realize what sharp observations he made about the unknown terrain in such a short time based on the laughable bit of information at our disposal, and I already have a fitting little compliment on my tongue, with which I would like to address his enthusiasm. But that's not why we are here now, and I'm much more interested in what could have gone on in that mysterious mind of his when he thought it would be worthwhile to share his undisturbed peace with me.

"I have what you need." Comes the completely unexpected answer, and when my brain, which is not necessarily working at peak speed, understands what he has shared with me, I turn to him with cautious surprise, because I have to check whether I'm hallucinating from the lack of blood. But when I see him standing as still as a statue with unwavering confidence in front of the closed door, I don't think I detect either amusement or uncertainty in him. And that makes me question for a minute whether he really knows what sinful temptations he offers me so carelessly.

"Would you look at that." The first small reaction of my surprise bursts out of me, and I lean against the edge of the table with my arms entwined comfortably in front of me, because this conversation is slowly straying into a very unusual side track. Although it would be a shame to deny that it beneficially diverts my attention from my ever-increasing suffering. "Don't tell me that you're secretly into blood and hiding a few bags." I remark with halfhearted disbelief, sneaking the blunt edge of boldness into my words, because even though there was already an example of me snacking from him, it was the unexpected end product of a series of very complicated circumstances. But it's different now. And even though I would have to drag myself to Price, slipping and falling in my own fever and sweat, I could probably last until dawn if I really had to, and he probably knows that well. Yet he almost ordered me here, knowing for sure that he wouldn't help any of us by doing so. What's on your mind, Riley?

And instead of cheering me up with some clever answer, he gives up his peaceful loitering and starts towards me with slow steps, and I eagerly follow his every move to see if he shows me what he is up to. The thumping of his heavy boots reverberates dully from the walls of the room, and I watch almost mesmerized as his strong figure stalks towards me with the elegance of a big cat, leaving only a few tantalizing inches between us as he settles in front of me, which makes my heart skip a beat with desperate speed. Because, although not with words, but with this simple act, he lets me know quite clearly why I'm here. And this raises some very risky questions in my mischievous little brain.

"Are you offering yourself up to me now, Riley?" I tilt my head to the side curiously, letting a cheeky smile to curve on my lips, because this is such an unexpected turn of events which even in my wildest dreams I would have only dared to imagine as an improbable joke. Now, however, he looks down at me with an almost surreal seriousness, and as my eyes meet his, I can read nothing but determination in his dark eyes, and in a fraction of a second, a pleasant tingle flares up under my skin in addition to the stabbing pain. And as every sinful wave of the seductive heat emanating from him reaches my sharpened senses, my fingers only bite harder into my upper arms, because I'm afraid that otherwise I would be enthusiastic enough to explore every inch of his luscious body.

"This is the most practical solution." He states with an almost objective indifference, but it doesn't escape my attention as amused wrinkles gather around his eyes, as if the line of a playful half-smile would be hidden under the dark fabric. And because of this, he gives me the impression of someone who is deliberately trying to provoke me, just to see if I do something completely thoughtless. And it occurs to me that perhaps this is precisely his goal, since he clearly let my delusional brain know that he wouldn't mind at all if he was on the receiving end of my cunning little practices. But such recklessness would be irresponsible even from a man as terrifying as him, because he doesn't know the dirty ways I can play once I put enough energy into it. And from the way the caress of his gaze warms my skin, I become quite motivated to fulfill my earlier promise and see what limits I have to push in order to see him let loose.

"I have a bit of a deja vu." I muse with feigned nostalgia in my voice, because my mind doesn't have to work long to recall what it was like the last time he so selflessly offered himself to me as a delicious morsel. Because the taste has been living in my memories ever since, as if it had bought a season ticket between my neurons. And just from the idea that I can sink my teeth into him again, to feel the rapid beating of his pulse under my tongue and hear the deep murmur of his breathing in my ears, I almost get lightheaded. "But now I've run out of wishes. Will you still let me drink from you?" I inquire, referring back to the little fact that led to our whole overheated little night out, which he seems quite eager to return to. And this gives me the stray thought that maybe he really doesn't want to sacrifice himself on the altar of camaraderie, but that my small stunt left such a deep mark on him that he would gladly ask for another round.

"I'm makin' an exception now." He elaborates, sharing the noble reason with me why he so candidly offers himself to be my late dinner, and I'm unable to get rid of the mean little expression climbing onto my face, because it seems that he gladly walks into my open claws with the greatest joy. And I'm neither so good-natured nor so crazy as to say no to a gourmet meal when he puts his throat so eagerly between my teeth.

"How generous of you..." I note, and let the hum of impatient craving crawl into my voice, because at this point it no longer makes sense, and from the pull of the hunger rampaging inside me, I wouldn't be able to hide the cruel force with which he draws me to himself. And this is what makes my eyes go on a lazy tour around all the desirable corners of his tall figure towering over me, because hundreds of ideas storm my mind, wild from his indulgence, debating where I should taste him. "Even if I'm the one choosing where I will bite you?" I challenge daringly, and now I finally let the itch in my fingertips invite me to a curious adventure, because it would be a sin not to take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself so kindly and foolishly.

My hands free themselves from their forced shackles almost too excitedly, and I can feel the slow rhythmic beating of his heart as one of my palms rests on his chest. With a deliberate touch, I map the bulging curve of the muscles dancing under my touch, and as I slither up to his shoulder with the measured slowness of a snake, I hook my fingers around the neckline of his shirt and pull the soft textile aside, revealing the seductive little valley where the inviting vein and the delicious red liquid pulsate under the hard flesh. And I almost desperately swallow the pitiful moan that rises in my throat, because even though the sun-kissed skin is woven with bright tendrils of scars here too, and I see a rough-edged mark that was once licked by flames climbing from his back with a dull purple color, yet I'm sure I've never seen a more enticing sight.

But as he suddenly moves and breaks me out from my mesmerized concentration, his hands find support next to me and close around me from both sides, trapping me into the prison of his hulking body. And I almost confusedly turn my attention back to his face, tearing my gaze away from the enchanting area I had just discovered, but I don't regret for a minute that I can immerse myself in those dark eyes again. Because now I can clearly see the dangerous flickers that light up in them, which promise such fleeting pleasures that make my stomach tremble with excitement, and I hardly even register the tension, tamed into a numb ache, caused by the hungry demand of my energy. The idea of burning the hot mark of my lips into every inch of him with my mouth awakens much more strongly in my body, so that he remembers in every waking minute what desperate desire he was able to bring to life in me.

"Go on." He leans down to me, and I can almost feel how the heat of the power radiating from him soaks into my cells, causing a shiver of anticipation to travel down my spine, slowly drawing a heady fog over my brain with his proximity. "Those little teeth don't do much damage." He claims, and his tone is filled with something quite playful, as if he just wants to tempt me to refute this impudent comment of his.

And as he glances at my mouth, which opens in shock, and my tongue almost reflexively runs along the grooves of my teeth, finding one of my aching canines, then I see how the brown irises slowly narrow into a thin ring as they follow this unconscious movement. And the realization that this man wants me to bite him hits me like a bolt of lightning. He demands that I tear open his skin and plunge deep into his flesh, because he wants to feel what he experienced in the infirmary. Which moved hoarseness in his throat and restrained tension in his limbs, and which caused a hardness in his lap, born of desire. He wants to bathe in the guilty feeling I caused him intoxicated by his blood, and suddenly I crave nothing more than to give him what he so nicely asks of me. Because every nerve fiber of mine is begging me to lure him into that shallow trap, in the smoldering foams of which I'm drowning more and more surely.

"Remember this later, too." I make this one last comment, and in this short sentence lies the warning, with which I let him know that he has entered into a game the outcome of which I will vouch for, but all its responsibility will rest on his shoulders if he brags so boldly that my teeth cannot seriously harm him. Since with this, he quite deliberately incites the need to prove myself, and urges me to show him how wrong he is. Because the storming thoughts in my head tell me that I can bring him to his knees, I just have to try meanly enough. And maybe that's exactly what he needs. Someone to finally teach him a lesson and take the control out of his hands, so that he could taste what it's like to be at the mercy of someone else with the fate of the burning desire awakening in his body. So be it…

And just enough motivation is born in my consciousness to finally push my body towards action, so I drag him down to me with my hand resting on his shoulder, and he fulfills my silent request with almost ready obedience. As I reach up to the base of his neck to trace the curve of the tight muscle with my lips, the heavy scent emanating from him fills my nose, and I close my eyes trembling, as the overwhelming torment of hunger ripples through me, dragging behind the blazing sparks that ignite every frail inch of my body like a wildfire. And now I'm unable to hold back the impatient pull that besieges my insides, which makes my mouth lach to his skin like a hungry leech, and as my teeth penetrate the supple boundaries of the tissues, then the intoxicating taste of his blood floods my tongue again and with that, every tiny thread that ties me to sobriety is torn. And it elicits nothing but a relieved sigh from me when the emptiness that tortures my stomach is finally replaced by a pleasant warmth. But even though my brain is covered by the veil of daze, my ears still keenly catch the hoarse moan, the force of which resonates throughout his chest, and rushes through my ear canals like a rousing melody, feeding the insatiable flame that licks at my belly, almost burning me alive.

The first greedy sip of red liquid rolls down my throat, and along with it, the electrifying sparkles settle in my limbs, and my mind, which is slowly sinking into a drunken stupor, does not try to stop the reckless thoughts that are stirring in it. My free hand departs with imperceptible insidiousness on his left arm resting on the table, dancing with a feather-light touch along his forearm webbed with thick fibers, and it fills me with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction when I feel them tighten under my fingertips. And although this small sign should serve as a signal to my blinded consciousness, I'm buried too heavily under the intoxicating sensation of his blood for me to be able to appreciate what a risky little fun I have started into. Although I'm aware of the horrors he is capable of with the power hidden within him, I still know that he holds the reins of his self-control with an iron fist, and I want to experience what it's like when he has to hold on to this control with gritted teeth. Because the damned little voice that lives deep in my skull tells me that if this terrible man lets his strict mask slip and the self-restraint that resides in him crack, then I will have an experience that I will never be lucky enough to witness again.

Excited by this, I trace the round line of his biceps, and as his broad shoulders twitch, when my mischievous little fingers reach there on their brave journey, I teasingly caress the battered skin with my tongue, and perhaps the subtle tremors that run through him are involuntary, but they accelerate the rhythmic drumming of his pulse under my mouth. And in my clouded brain, the thought arises quite boldly, whether he would tremble more wildly if I were to repeat the same small movement somewhere completely different. Because of this, the sharp teeth of want squeeze my insides with such desperate vehemence, that for a minute my consciousness, swimming in a blood-tipsy daze, drifts to the edge of fainting, and my blunt nails dig into him from the force I grip his shoulders with. But he doesn't protest, he just lets out a sigh heavy with desire, and as I feel his hot breath break through the fabric of his mask, I already know that I will do anything to see him falling apart.

I'm unable to stop, and my fingers continue to wander from his shoulder to the mounds of firm muscles swelling on his chest, and as my palm reaches his stomach, I feel the hard ridges ripple under the soft fabric, when I suck the wounds inflicted by my teeth perhaps a little harder than necessary. And I'm not quite sure that it's just the heavenly taste of his blood that's responsible for the warmth that boils in the pit of my stomach, because the raspy groan that erupts from his throat sounds more like the growl of a caged beast than the voice of a human being.

He invades every single one of my senses, and this heady buzz slowly enters my head, as if I wanted to quench the insatiable, sweet misery raging inside me with alcohol. Although the power of the hunger that tormented me has long since eased and the razor-sharp claws of pain have disappeared from my muscles, now something completely different fills every part of my being with restless energy. And when this feeling starts to feel a bit too much, and my mind would tip over into the pleasant unconsciousness of euphoria, I tear my mouth away from my victim's neck and with consoling kisses, I clean up the crimson droplets emerging from the small cuts of my teeth. And I know that I'm not imagining the way he jolts with each touch, and the sculpted muscles contract fiercely under the caress of my lips, like he would have to force himself to stay still. And the haunting voice in my head tells me that this is only the beginning, and just a small taste of the deep bottomless pit that I need to push him into.

Now that my mind is not dominated by fear of my actions, but by curiosity, I draw away from him with a lazy calmness to examine my work. And for a moment my breath is taken away by what I meet with when my bright eyes run over his figure leaning over me. There is something quite desperate in the way he stares down at me from under the tent of his blonde eyelashes, because I can see the hunger in his eyes that has also taken root in my body. A pleasant shiver sweeps over me when he follows my tongue, almost mesmerized, which cleans the rest of my dinner from the corner of my mouth. And my throat goes dry as I see his curved lips part under the dark material of his mask, and suddenly I want nothing more than to remove the damn fabric and feel what his mouth tastes like when he loses control. Because although I can't see his face, the smoldering waves of aching roll down his body with such ferocity that I can almost feel the roaring power emanating from him, as if I were embraced by living flames. But I don't care one bit if the fire that's coming to life in him sclads me, because every cell in me is begging me to burn myself with it.

However, I'm not satisfied with just recognizing the fierce thirst hidden in his eyes, and as I travel to his chest, rising wildly from his deep breaths, I'm filled with excited anticipation, because I want to see with what force my small teeth have effected him. Because I know that, contrary to his big words, I injected a poison into his body that planted a tension ready to jump in his every pore. And as my gaze slides down and rests on his crotch, a small grin spreads on my lips, because I see his hardness straining against the rough material of his pants, the clear sign of how much my sneaky little temptation was able to arouse sinful desires in him. And this finally breaks through all the barriers that kept my greed in check, which was already alive in my subconscious even in the infirmary, but now I'm not afraid to face it. Because I want to destroy this man, so that he can never forget my touch, and every time he closes his eyes, he replays these minutes behind his eyelids.

"You said last time that I started something I shouldn't have." I mutter softly, my eyes finding his again, and as I identify those mouth-watering, waiting glints to dance in the pools of his dilated pupils, I no longer have any desire to chase away the evil expression climbing to my face. Because I see in them the promise that could set the whole world on fire if I danced back from my vile little game. But he is lucky, because I'd die if I had to let him go. "Now I'll finish it." I declare firmly, and my hand resting on his stomach finds the belt attached to his pants to hook into the cold material. But I won't give him time to comment on my suggestion, because I'm not sharing an offer with him, but a dead-certain fact, and I'm going to make sure he can't think clearly enough to object.

My sly little hands immediately get to work and quickly unfasten the buckle of his belt, and as it surrenders with a soft clatter, I hear how sharply he inhales, as if he just wants to keep his composure in place. I know that he is still clinging to his sanity, and his stubbornness is sowing the seeds of a thousand diabolical ideas in my head, and guided by the bubbling excitement in my stomach, I decide that it is about time to obey one of them. With almost agonizing slowness, I loosen the small button that still holds his trousers on his hip, so that when I find the flies, I enjoy every second of the suffering that appears in his eyes when I finally start to pull down that wretched zipper. Because it's obvious with what persistence he has to hold himself back when my brave hand starts on its reckless path and traces the line of his erection hidden under his underwear. The line of his prominent jaw must be clenched with an almost painful force, as my fingers trail the throbbing curve of the thick vein running on his length, and the aching tremble moves into every fiber of me, as I find the wet spot that broke through the soft cotton in the wake of his excitement. And it's desperate how much pride fills me when it dawns on me that I'm responsible for how every single muscle of his is straining to the point of a snapping, and perhaps only a few thin threads separate him from throwing away his restraint.

But I want more than that, and this is the insatiability that leads my hand to sink under the fine fabric quite unexpectedly, so that I can finally release him from the suffocating captivity in which the poor thing has had to languish until now. And as the soft skin smooths under my palm, as my fingers wrap around his cock, I bite my lips to hold back the desperate moan that would want to break out of me, because I can clearly feel him twitching in my grip as I finally touch him. Now I have to look down, and I watch, almost spellbound, as his hard member emerges from under the dark textile. Thanks to the hypnotized trance taking over my mind, I can only follow silently as my fingers slowly trace along his length, and when my thumb smooths a white, pearly little drop from its head, then his whole body shakes from this small movement, and I fix my eyes on his face with the speed of a starving predator. And heat rises between my thighs, as I see the violent, barely controlled lust that radiates from his gaze, an excruciating desire coming to life in every corner of my body under its weight, which makes me want to cling to him asking him to bury himself into me. But now I have a different objective.

This is the determination that makes me able to swallow the pleading words rising in my throat, and instead let the crippling thoughts in my head take control of me. Without warning, my hand locks around his cock, and it's cruel even for me, the way my hand starts slide along his length, bringing out such muffled sounds from the man with each movement, which only further helps the flames raging in my consciousness become blazing hot. And I stare in amazement as his broad shoulders shake, when my fingers gather the wetness collected on his leaking tip, and the chuckle is brave even to my ears, that escapes my lips as his mouth opens in a rasped moan, as my thumb caresses that tiny little slit, from which the pre-cum gush out in thick drops. And although the determination in my head helps me stay on my goal, all my senses are focused on him, and with each passing minute, the veil of passion that descends on my brain grows thicker and thicker. An infectious heat emanates from every inch of his strong body, and the tingle under my skin boils hungrily, which pleads for his large palms to soothe the impatient energy that pulsates desperately in my veins. And the longer my hand strokes his heavy shaft, the stronger the salty scent emanating from him becomes, and it fills my nose and creeps further into my head, pushing all my nerves towards a drunken bliss.

Still, it's a much bigger reward as I see the battle of feelings passing through the dark eyes, and even my slowed mind recognizes that he is deciding how long he will let me continue with my naughty little game. And I don't have to wait long for the answer, because I catch on my periphery how the strong muscles dance as his arm rises, but before he can gather himself and leave his post on the table, I suddenly grasp his cock, and his whole body shakes from my meanness. My fingers gently tighten around the silky flesh, and even this small warning is enough to make him abandon his plan in an instant, whatever he was going to do, and instead, fix his fierce eyes on me, grunting like a wild animal that was pulled back by its chain just as it could have sunk its teeth into its victim. But he needs to know that the leash is in my hands right now.

"No, no..." I shake my head with playful scorn in my voice, and he leers down at me with such an angry temper that I know I'm well on the way to him giving up the self-control he's honed over the years. "Be a good boy, Riley. Keep your hand on the table, or I'll stop..." I share my silly little threat, and it doesn't escape my attention how quickly his jaw tenses as I scold him. And from the way he puts his body weight back on his hands and leans closer to me, I know that although he certainly doesn't like me instructing him in such a treacherous way, he is very happy to join this fight. Because I saw the excited lust in his eyes when I called him a good boy.

"You're playin' with fire..." He warns, and the passion puts a hoarseness in his voice, with which he addresses his frivolous little words to me. He doesn't need to remind me of that, because I know he could take what he wants in a heartbeat. But instead, he remains motionless, and his hips jerk almost demandingly, as my nimble little hand begins to pump him again, moving lazily up and down his thick length. And for a moment I almost take pity on him when I see how his strong shoulders stiffen as he tries to fulfill my request, like a well-trained beast that wants to please its owner despite its instincts. That's why my free hand goes on a torturous journey, and he snaps his eyes on my fingers running along the graceful curve of my neck so willingly that it's quite sweet.

"Is that how you wanted to touch me?" I ask quietly, and he follows with unflinching attention as I caress one of the supple mounds of my breast, and even under the material of my shirt I can feel one of my nipples visibly hardening under the onslaught of my feather-light touch. And although I'm also torturing myself with this, because the pressure of the hot ache in my belly is becoming more and more intense, it gives me much more satisfaction to see his throat move, as he swallows the tormented sigh that nevertheless escapes from his mouth as a muffled growl. Because I know that I will slowly break his tough mask by simultaneously giving him pleasure and fueling his hunger with the little show that I present to him. When my shameless trip ends on my stomach, and my fingers playfully dance along the edge of my pants, submerging under the rough fabric for a moment, then I hear how forcefully the air gets trapped in his chest from restrained anticipation. But I'm more evil than that, and I enjoy this disgraceful game much more than to give him what he so strongly craves.

I finish my performance just as quickly as I started it, and finding the nape of his neck, I tug him down to me, leaning closer to him with every alluring inch of my body, smoothing my lips against his face through the dark textile. Because I want him to hear clearly what the price is for me to stop torturing him, and he can finally get the sweet release, for which every part of him screams so much for.

"You don't deserve that just yet." I state simply, and the softness as I caress the line of his ear with my mouth is quite intentional, and I can feel how he freezes, as it reaches his brain, what kind of diabolical comment I made to him. "First I want to hear you moan my name..." I whisper my bold order to him, and an excited shiver runs through my body when I hear how the hard surface of the table cries out, as it cracks under the grip of his big hands. And the knowledge that he could easily throw me on the table and help both of us with our ravenous hunger, but instead obeys me despite the wild desire pulsing from him, awakens such a satisfied warmth in my stomach that makes me decide that it's time to reach the finale.

Letting go of his thick neck, I lean away from him because I want to see him fall apart by my hands, and I grab his shoulders with excited terror as my eyes connect with his. Like the raging sea in a night storm, in which the destructive waves collide and bury the ships drifting under them, dragging their helpless victims into the deadly foam. There swirls the heat in his eyes that could consume me alive, and under the intensity of which a painful tremble moves into each and every corner of my body. And the movement is quite instinctive, as my thighs tightly press together to try to calm the feverish, wet pulsing between my legs. I can only thank the fact that I don't start begging him to bury in me his throbbing hardness between my fingers, that I can feel his hips jerking forward, thrusting himself deeper into my grasp. I know he is close to the end, because I can feel his breathing speeding up, and this is enough of a signal for me to pick up the pace of the torturous work of my hands, and it's quite mesmerizing how his chest rises while panting, as the pleasure slowly washes over him.

"Fuck… Woods!" He moans, and I can almost hear him squeezing my name out between his clenched teeth, but I'm sure I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. It vibrates along his chest like a big cat purring, and it puts such a guilty edge in those few syllables, that I have to bite into my lips to hold back the tortured whimper that climbs up my trachea.

I can name exactly which is the point when the string of lust breaks inside him and his body falls into the burning arms of pleasure, because his whole body tenses up at the same time, like a drawn bow. He closes his eyes, and there is something insanely beautiful in the way his head is thrown back and the characteristic curve of his throat bulges out, and I would like to trace the moving tip of his Adam's apple with my tongue, but the sight is too paralyzing for that. And I only perceive it as a dull crackling as the wood of the table finally gives in, because it blurs my mind too quickly, as his hot release spills on the back of my hand, and I help him through the violent tremors of his orgasm.

And as the heat that has traveled through his body seems to subside, and the burning tension contracting his muscles seems to ease, then I watch with fascination as the droplet of sweat appears from under the material of his mask, to crawl down and mix with the crimson pearls appearing through the teeth marks I left on him. And this reminds me that it would be time to taste the dessert that I served myself with such tireless work. I let his cock slip out of my grasp, and he, gasping for air, follows me from under his half-closed eyelids as I raise my hand to my mouth. It doesn't escape my attention that his mesmerized gaze settles on my protruding tongue, which cleans the pearly white streams of his cum from my skin with a comfortable slowness. And I see the unbridled temper flaring up again, as I consume my snack to the last drop with a mischievous little smile, and release the soft moan that wants to break out of me from the salty taste spreading in my mouth. But it seems that he is still under the influence of my game, because he cannot react in time as I reach up and place a small kiss on his lips pressed together under the dark fabric, enjoying the warm moisture that the sighs trapped in the textile planted there.

"Thanks for the dinner." I thank him with a biting cheekiness in my voice, and something quite dangerous flashes in his eyes, which makes me think that maybe it's time to finally take my leave. Because I'm afraid that if I stay even a minute longer, I will let him seize control and take revenge for having amused myself with his sweet suffering in such a nasty way. That's why, taking advantage of his pleasure-induced slowness, I nimbly duck under his strong arm and retreat from his charming proximity before he has a chance to catch up with me. And the irritation with which he turns around is quite amusing, because he looks like a dog on a chain, in front of whom the cat danced just enough to make him want to bite its thin little throat.

"Woods... " He grunts, and I sense the edge of his unspoken threat, and although I hear my name escape his mouth for the second time during the night, and despite the fact that now a series of dark promises are mixed in his emphasis, he instills a morbid excitement in my limbs as he adjusts his tattered clothes and straightens up, glancing down at me. "This isn't over yet." He claims firmly, and there is not an iota of uncertainty or hesitation in his statement. But if it scares me, it dulls into a distant worry in my skull, for his blood and the wondrous sight he presented me with fill my mind with too much careless courage.

"Punish me if you can." I shrug my shoulders lightly, walking to the door with a spring in my steps, only to turn back to him one last time before leaving the room overheated by the heady smell of his body. "I'll look forward to it." I add this little remark to the end, putting a defiant grin on my face. As I see the recognition appear in his gaze, which makes his eyes narrow dangerously, then I know that he remembers that not so long ago he challenged my cunning tactics against himself with these exact same words. And he can only blame himself for believing that I wouldn't make use of his irresponsibility.

Although I step out into the moonlit hallway with the knowledge that I can cash in on the fact that Riley will pounce on me, perhaps when I least expect it, the threat is unable to make the satisfaction that nestles in my head disappear. And it may be true that every single cell of mine is crying out demanding that I turn around and let the man ease the burning need stretching my insides, but even that can't break my good mood. Because I was able to force him to surrender, and I showed him what vile tricks I have up my sleeve, which can make even a determined, powerful Hunter like him hand over the reins to someone else. And that sweetens the anticipation that I will be subjected to. Come on, Riley, show me you can be a mean bastard like me. I can't wait…

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