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makoodles · 6 months

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ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!

part one | part two

🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.

With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.

You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.

The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.

It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers.

It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.

You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.

“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap.

Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.

“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.

You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.

“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.

You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.

“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.

You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.

When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.

“What the hell were you—”

“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.

Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.

You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.

There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.

But tonight, you’re distracted.

The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.

The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.

You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove.

You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.

You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.

And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.

You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.

“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You say quickly.

He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.

Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.

A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.

“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.

It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.

“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.

“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.

It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.

And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.

You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.

Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline.

You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars.

Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.

You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.

“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”

“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.

Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.

“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”

Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”

Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.

“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”

Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.

You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.

And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.

But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.

“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.

The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.

You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.

By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.

Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.

But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid.

It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.

It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.

You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.

But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.

You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.

You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.

You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.

Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.

You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan.

You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.

You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his.

You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.

Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.

“Kid, you–”

Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.

“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off.

You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.

And then, finally, silence.

Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.

You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.

At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”

He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.

“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.

Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator.

“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”

Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.

“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely.

Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.

“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”

It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.

“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.

“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.

Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets.

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.

“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”

But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.

You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave.

But you don’t.

“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.

Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.

But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.

“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”

In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– sir–”

“Let me see, sergeant.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.

You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion.

Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.

Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.

This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.

Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant.

At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.

At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.

“You’re still wet, sergeant.”

Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual?

Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.

You swallow. “It’s just– I–”

“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you.

You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.

“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”

You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.

“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said.

It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.

Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.

“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”

You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?

Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.

His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.

“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”

For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before.

He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.

And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him.

You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.

You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.

The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.

His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.

“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it.

You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.

It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show.

You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?

“This how you usually do it?” He asks.

You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”

Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.

“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.

You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.

“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”

That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.

“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl.

Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.

“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”

His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.

You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.

“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.

You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes.

“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee.

You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.

Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.

“Never messed around with anybody?”

“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”

“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.

His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.

“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.

How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.

“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”

You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.

Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.

He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.

It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit.

When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.

His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.

You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–

His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”

You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.

Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.

It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.

The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.

“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.

It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.

“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.

Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—

“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”

“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself.

The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.

“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.

He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.

“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”

“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.

He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.

You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.

“D’you always get this wet?”

You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.

It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.

But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit.

When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.

You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.

You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.

Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.

He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.

And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.

You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.

You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.

The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.

Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.

It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.

Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass.

“Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.

“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.

“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”

His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.

Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”

He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.

He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.

You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”

The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.

“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.

“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.

Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.

It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.

His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.

Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.

“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.

Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.

Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.

Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.

You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky.

“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.

You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.

But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.

“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”

“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip.

You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.

God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.

“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”

You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit.

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.

“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”

“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”

Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.

“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”

You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.

There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.

But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.

When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.

“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”

The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.

“Oh god–”

“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.

Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.

It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”

“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.

His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.

“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.

The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight.

Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.

Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo.

He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.

It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.

He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.

Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”

He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”

Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.

“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”

There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?

Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”

Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway.

“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying.

“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.

Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.

He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.

Good fucking lord.

“You’ll find out.” He says.

And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.

He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.

His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.

“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.

You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”

“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.

“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”

You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.

“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”

Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.

“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”

Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.

Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.

He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.

He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”

“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”

“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”

You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.

Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.

“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.

You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.

Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery.

The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside.

“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.

God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.

“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”

“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”

“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”

“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”

You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.

“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”

The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.

When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic.

Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.

He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.

“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”

“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”

That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.

“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen.

Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in.

“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go.

All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.

You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.

Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.

All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you.

He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours.

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”

“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.

“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him.

“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”

You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage.

With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.

“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”

Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.

“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”

You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud.

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.

“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit.

He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.

It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly.

“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”

No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.

You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.

“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.

It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.

Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean.

You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.

You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.

“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”

His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.

Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.

There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.

Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.

He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot.

You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt.

The minutes afterwards are a blur.

You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.

For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought.

God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.

It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.

You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed. “Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.

Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.

“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.

Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.

“No.” He says simply.

The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.

When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.

When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.

You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.

Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.

You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.

Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.

“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.

He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.

“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”

Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.

“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”

You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.

Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.

“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”

You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.

As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”

He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.

“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.

“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”

You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.

“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”

#ahem... hello 🥺👉👈#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod mw2 smut #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley smut

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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friday, i'm in love (eddie munson x reader)

summary: one of these days, you'll talk to the cute boy at your coffee shop. just... not today. (wc: 6.3k+)

order up! i've got one cup of sunshine for @munson-blurbs ♡

Today’s the day.

You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your bag as it digs into your shoulder.

Today’s the day.

You pull the door open for your local Starbucks, your preferred study date destination.

Today’s the day.

You smile at one of the other regulars, a kind and older gentleman named Jim. If you focus on Jim, your eyes won’t avert to him.

Today’s the day.

You already know he’s here. You delude yourself into believing you can specifically hear the scratch of his pencil on paper, that every click of a mouse or clack of a keyboard is coming from his laptop. Hell, maybe if you closed your eyes, you’d convince yourself the music humming over the shop’s speakers is actually the muffled tone warbling out of his headphones.

Today’s the day.

You order one of your normal drinks, one brimming with caffeine and drowning in enough sweet caramel drizzle to give you instantaneous cavities. It doesn’t matter – today’s meant to be a sweet day. The weather’s nice, nothing like it was last week when you’d been ordering a hot Earl Grey tea sweetened with honey each day, and you tell the young man taking your order that it’ll be iced.

He’s new. You have no doubt in your mind, because he wasn’t here last week, and one of the baristas you do recognize is hovering to the side as he rings you out.

You’re a creature of habit. All the baristas know you well, other regulars (see: Jim) even recognize you these days. You used to only come in once or twice a week, either to cram for tests or play a morbid game of catchup with all your homework, but something changed in the last two months.

He showed up in the last two months.

Today’s… not the day.

You turn with your overly sweet drink in hand only to be met with sore disappointment. You were right, he is here, already seated at his usual table.

And he’s joined by a girl and boy you’ve never seen before, but he surely has, by the way he’s all smiles and laughter focused directly at the pair.

You try to not let your stomach drop too low, to catch it before it hits the ground and gathers any unwanted attention your way. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s good – today wasn’t the day, but maybe tomorrow will be. Maybe tomorrow can finally be the day you speak to the boy from the coffee shop who’s overrun your thoughts one day at a time, the boy you see every day like clockwork, the boy you’ve never exchanged a single word with.

“Dingus, you can’t just say that to a girl!” the girl seated in front of him, her back to you, yells as she smacks Dingus on the chest.

Your coffeeshop boy only cackles in delight, and you feel as if the sunshine that has broken through the cloud cover outside has wormed its way into your veins. His laugh is brilliant and warming as it echoes in your chest, and you try to remind your beating heart that it isn’t yours to keep. That doesn’t stop your arteries and veins from wrapping their way around the sound and thrumming to match its pace. It doesn’t stop your ribs from trying to hopelessly capture the sunshine. Maybe one day you’ll make him laugh like that, maybe one day you’ll find the nerve to strike a conversation with him.

Tomorrow has to be the day, since this sunny Monday hasn’t been.

—

Tuesday also isn’t the day.

You don’t even have a good excuse this time. He’s alone today, just as he usually is. His headphones are already in once you’ve arrived and you can hear tinny guitar solos blaring out of them from across the room. You almost convince yourself that that’s a good reason to approach him, to tap his shoulder and let him know how listening to music that loudly can permanently damage your eardrums, y’know?

But then you realized how prissy that made you sound. If you did that, you’re sure Chrissy, one of your favorite baristas here, would absolutely taunt you for days on end, probably making jabs about you being a grandma, going the full mile and offering you a senior discount just for shit and giggles.

So you stay seated. And you meet the peculiar look of Chrissy as she watches you and Eddie, the only two customers in the lobby this time of afternoon, as if she’s waiting for something to happen. Anything. The raise of her eyebrows serves as a painful prodding in your side as if to say “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on.”

You don’t go on. And that’s the issue – for the last two months, you have let the idea of some stranger completely occupy every thought you have to spare without even knowing his name. He was just always here; two months ago, your once quaint and nice study spot was infiltrated by wild curls and drumming fingers, plush pink lips that could make the older ladies that pass through absolutely swoon with a simple smirk and hello. You’d talked the ear off of all your friends for nearly an hour the day he’d worn grey sweatpants in rather than his normal ripped jeans. You’d caught yourself staring intently at the various rings that decorate his left hand on more than one occasion, trying to make out what the various symbols of silver were.

“This is getting painful to watch.”

You hadn’t even noticed Chrissy round the counter and head over to your table with a cloth in hand until she was looking down at you with a soft, childish pout and her big blue eyes framed with furrowed brows.

“What?” you question, putting down the pen you’d been clicking on and off for the last ten minutes, making no move to properly revise and submit the essay lighting up the screen of your laptop.

Chrissy keeps her voice low, moving to lean down closer to you under the guise of wiping the table beside yours, “The two of you. It’s painful, babe. One of you has to stop making eyes and make the first real move eventually.”

Real. A word you had cursed over a glass of wine with your roommate last night.

She’d pointed out the way you only liked the idea of your coffee shop boy thus far, how you had yet to introduce yourself to the real him. Which, she was right, of course. It was easiest this way; from a distance, he can be anything you want. He could be your easy Sunday mornings, sleepy smiles over toast and coffee made at home. He could be your tired Thursday evenings, coming straight home from whatever class or shift had wreaked havoc on your mind and right into his arms, popcorn and a movie already waiting for you to decompress over as you told him about your day. He could be a source of comfort on cold nights, a breath of fresh air on warmer mornings. He could be anything, as long as he continued to be just your coffee shop boy. A fruitless crush you’d always observe from across a bustling lobby. Keeping him at an arm’s length kept both of you safe: from disappointment, from complications, from reality.

“Just because we both come in everyday to use your free wifi and drink your mediocre coffee, doesn’t mean you get to play match-maker when you’re bored,” you try to keep a straight face as you say this, forcing a look of disinterest as Chrissy stares you down.

Normally, this would be the part where you’d snap at Chrissy that if she was so piqued in her interest with your coffeeshop boy, she could ask him out herself. But he wasn’t Chrissy’s type – the round enamel pin on her apron with a faded, baby pink background, multiple cats stacked on top of one another in different shades of pink, orange, and white, told you as much. The heart eyes she’d made at the girl that had been here with him the day before confirmed it.

“Don’t be so pissy,” Chrissy teases, “Or I’ll revoke wifi privileges.”

“You don’t scare me, Chris.”

“I should.”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” you scoff, a bit louder than before, and don’t even notice your boy subtly taking one of his earbuds out, fighting to keep his eyes down to the page he’s scribbling on rather than glancing up at your interaction, “And I use bark sparingly, considering your bubblegum pink aesthetic doesn’t exactly scream scary dog.”

Chrissy grins wider at your words – you’ve never backed down from being brazen with your humor against her. You don’t treat her grossly delicate or thickly lay on fake niceties. You’re genuine. It’s probably a contributing factor to you being her favorite regular.

He snorts, and you just barely catch the echo of the sound, making both you and Chrissy glance in his direction.

His eyes are glued on his notebook as a blush begins to spread up his neck. You can’t help the shy smile that urges the corners of your mouth upwards.

Talk to him, Chrissy mouths obnoxiously as she grabs her rag, taking slow and exaggerated steps backwards before she spins, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she speed-walks back behind the counter.

One day, you’ll talk to him. Soon.

—

Soon comes too soon. Far too soon and far too embarrassing of circumstances.

One moment, your eyes are glued to the statistics textbook in front of you, laptop set off to the side with your headphones connected in and a study playlist queued up on Spotify. The next, someone’s frappucino is spilling across the pages of numbers and percentages, making you gasp and jump back to no avail. The damage is done – your book is ruined, the front of your shirt is soaked, and all of your handwritten notes are now soggy and unreadable.

“Oh, shit!” the poor kid who had been the culprit stands before you, stunned and red with embarrassment as his friends quiet their cackling from behind him. It’s clear the group had been rough-housing, and that’s what led to this accident.

You zero in on a melting glob of whipped cream that settles into the open spine of the textbook, mouth falling agape as tears fill your eyes immediately.

Shit. No. No, no, no. This was a rental.

None of the younger boys are the one to make a move to help you. The baristas don’t stand a chance, delayed in even noticing the commotion. You’re a statue of bleary vision and panicking breaths as you realize the sticky mess is everywhere, including your laptop.

Your coffeeshop boy notices immediately. He’d noticed the moment the young boy had lost his balance beside you, was already scooting out his chair and jumping up before the blended coffee had even made contact with your table.

You come to your senses right around the time he’s at your side, a fistful of napkins, uselessly attempting to save your textbook that was already clearly ruined.

“Ah, fuck,” he whispers as he uses up all the napkins he’d managed to snag, looking up wildly at you, eyes zeroing in on the mess on the front of your shirt. You can’t even relish in the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice so closely; you’re mortified and trembling, still unsure of whether you’re more angry about your textbook, your laptop, or your shirt, “Hey, you okay?”

Tears. There’s tears streaming down your face, hot with embarrassment and anger and defeat. You think the kid whose drink is now in your lap has been apologizing, but you pay him no mind.

“Go get cleaned up,” the coffeeshop boy immediately moves out of the way, motioning you out of your seat, towards the bathrooms, “I’ll watch your stuff, try to clean it up some, too.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You’re up in an instant, ignoring the stares of the baristas and the other boys, racing to the back corner of the shop where the two single-person bathrooms reside. You rush into one blindly, trying to calm your erratic heart and the impending panic attack.

It takes you twelve minutes to do so. Three splashes of cool water to the face, two pep talks about how it “wasn’t that bad”, and another whole minute of blankly staring into the mirror at the baby-hairs that frame your face that are now wet and plastered to your cheeks and forehead alike, just wondering where you’ll come up with the money for your damaged textbook.

And laptop. It also got on your laptop, son of a bitch.

You also have to come to terms with the fact that you’d burst into silent tears in the middle of your favorite coffee shop. In front of your coffee shop fantasy crush. You may never recover from that embarrassment, if you’re being honest with yourself.

A small knock comes from the door of the bathroom, forcing you to sigh deeply before gathering up all your composure and broken pride.

“Yeah?” you ask through the crack, hardly opening the door.

It’s Chrissy, standing wide-eyed and hopelessly holding two pieces of clothing in her hand, “Okay, so uh, we don’t have any spare shirts here. But… But I have a spare apron? And a spare jacket? I’m sorry, these are awful options.”

“I…” I’d rather die than wear that apron, or ruin someone’s jacket. “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll probably get going anyways.”

“But your shirt is all-” she pauses, and you could burst into tears all over again at the way she scrunches her nose so adorably, “-sticky.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“It’ll get all over your car.”

“It’s already all over my stuff. Might as well go big or go home.”

“I owe you a free coffee now, you know that?” Chrissy’s shoulders finally deflate in defeat, accepting your stubbornness as the winning contender, “Next time you come in, probably tomorrow. Whatever you want. It’s on the house, I sw-”

“Damn, now I wish some twerp spilled their mocha cookie whatever all over me,” it’s him – your coffee shop boy. A boy who came to your rescue, a boy who lives in all your bedtime fantasies, and a boy whose name you still don’t know. Chrissy turns and the two of you both look at him, you opening the bathroom door wider despite your embarrassment. He immediately throws up a hand in surrender, “Sorry, I’m, uh- shit, I’m interrupting. But I just… Uh, well. Okay, this is weird. Really weird. You can ban me if this is too weird,” he turns to Chrissy with wide brown eyes, making her immediately cross her arms across her chest defensively, “Seriously, okay? Say the word, I’ll accept my banishment. I just-”

“What’s behind your back?” Chrissy narrows her eyes. You hadn’t even noticed the boy hiding something, too busy being enamored by his stumbling words and adorable blush. Fuck. You hated it; you hated the fact that everyone was right, and the real him was even more adorable than you could have anticipated.

He brings his arm out from behind him, and when you see what’s in his clutches, you nearly scream in frustration.

He’s not just more adorable than the fantasized versions of him you’ve created – he’s more thoughtful, too. It spells out trouble for you and your restless, irrevocably romantic heart.

“I keep spare shirts in my van,” he explains sheepishly, “I swear it’s clean. It’s for- well, I… It’s for ‘just in case’ situations. Sort of like this one, I guess.”

Chrissy is quick to take it from him, passing it along to you as she keeps staring him down, “How convenient.”

“Very,” he nearly cowers under her stare, swallowing hard before turning to you, “You don’t have to give it back or anything. You can even burn it, for all I care. It’s just some shirt for… for, uh, some shitty band.”

You don’t think too much about the comment, just shut the door and leave Chris alone with the coffeeshop boy, silently praying she doesn’t tear into him unnecessarily after the act of kindness. You change shirts, dabbing at your chest with wet paper towels between peeling off your coffee-stained blouse and switching it for your coffeeshop boy’s shirt.

Corroded Coffin. It’s not a band you recognize, as you read out the jagged writing of the logo across the front of the black t-shirt. The white font pops and you’re already trying to think of an easy segue into maybe discussing whoever this ‘shitty band’ is with coffeeshop boy rather than the mortifying disaster you’d just endured from a group of young teenage boys who knew no better.

But when you leave the bathroom, that group of scoundrels is gone, along with coffeeshop boy. Chrissy wears an apologetic look over the shoulder of a customer she’s taking the order of at the front counter. It does nothing to wear on the sinking feeling of disappointment in your gut, that deflation at realizing he didn’t wait around for you. The customer pays and leaves the counter, and Chrissy almost looks to be expecting you to stop and say something, but you don’t.

You don’t say a single word. Only rush and gather your things off the table, which are surprisingly clean. Coffeeshop boy did a good job.

Too bad you don’t have the chance to tell him.

Reality, you decide, has something in common with the coffee; it’s always going to end with a bitter bite, no matter how much sweetness you suffocate it with.

—

You don’t return for several days after Wednesday’s incident. Thursday turns to Friday, Friday bleeds into Saturday, and by the time Sunday rears its ugly head, you’re still wallowing in self-pity. Embarrassment has a way of sinking deep into your bones, and no amount of curling up in the center of your bed will make it fade. You try to sit up at your desk and finish some of the revisions you’d been working on that awful day before wearing some kid’s frappucino, but you can’t focus. The pages of your rental textbook are still sticky, your S and K keys now only work half the time, and you can’t find the right study playlist. The atmosphere is wrong, the vibe is wrong, everything is just wrong.

At least you hadn’t resorted to wearing Coffeshop Boy’s shirt. You’d thought about it, of course, but you hadn’t hit that low of a point. Not yet, at least.

Your roommate can’t take it. She insists you get out of the house, simply because your moping is “too fucking sad” to witness. To which you obviously had to retort, “how do you think I feel?”.

So now you’ve been standing outside of your usual Starbucks for five minutes. Squinting like a weirdo through the large, front windows, trying to make out if he was there. Or maybe the ‘twerp’ who had spilled the frappucino. You weren’t looking for a fight – you just needed to avoid every individual who had witnessed the most embarrassing day of your life to date.

“He’s not here,” a voice suddenly says from behind you. You jump a fraction before spinning and catching sight of one of those damn witnesses: Chrissy, “He never comes in on Sundays. You don’t, either, by the way. What gives?”

“I’ve come in on Sundays before,” you deflect.

Chrissy laughs, shaking her head, brushing past you with her green apron rolled up into one of her fists, “No, you haven’t. So I’ll ask again,” she pauses, opening one of the front doors and motioning for you to enter first, “What gives?”

Your feet drag as you walk past her, the lobby eerily quiet. At the very least, she’s right – there’s no sign of your coffeeshop boy. Just some old dude with a newspaper in your usual corner, and a girl with a laptop, seemingly in some sort of video meeting, in coffeeshop boy’s usual spot.

“No hidden romance there, unfortunately,” Chrissy notices your staring and waves between the patrons. Neither so much as look up, “You and Eddie are our store’s only modern Romeo and Juliet.”

“Who?”

“Eddie,” she repeats, watching the realization spread across your face. A smirk appears on her glossy lips as she clarifies anyways, “Your knight-in-shining-armor. The boy you’ve been making heart eyes at for weeks. The dude of your dreams-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut her off, cheeks already warming as you glance again to the girl and the old man. Still no reaction. Your mortification today, it seems, has no audience.

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

The name thrums through your chest, excitement and a twinge of guilt racing through your veins.

Your coffeeshop boy’s name is Eddie.

“I never knew his name,” you whisper quietly, catching yourself staring in the occupied seat that is usually his. “I… Have you known it this entire time?”

Chrissy shakes her head, “No, I asked him Thursday. You know, the first day of your disappearance.”

You can’t even process her slight jab at you, or the way she tilts her chin as she waits for a reaction. You’re too busy thinking about Eddie. Eddie, who doesn’t come here on Sundays. Eddie, who keeps spare t-shirts in his van– Eddie, who drives a goddamn van.

He’s suddenly tangible. It’s dizzying.

“He asked about you, y’know,” Chrissy’s voice is low and you finally glance back to her, “On Thursday. And Friday. He asked about you.”

Eddie, who you’ve been waiting for the day to introduce yourself to. Eddie, who asked about you.

“What’d he ask? Specifically?” you question, taking a deep breath and trying to clear your thoughts.

“If you’d been in, if I’d seen you. He even asked for your name.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Nope,” she grins, blue eyes sparkling, “I figured I’d give you the honor.”

It’s on Sunday that you decide the next day you see coffeshop boy, that you see Eddie, it will be the day. It’s only fair that he knows your name now that you know his, after all.

—

Monday isn’t the day, and neither is Tuesday. You show up to the Starbucks, you take your usual spot, you spend hours studying – Eddie never shows up. Wednesday and Thursday aren’t the days either, filled with finals and celebratory dinners at twenty-four hour diners with friends.

By Friday, you’re missing your coffeeshop romance terribly.

But Friday, as it turns out, isn’t quite as unlucky as the rest of the week. You wake up that morning, and you can feel it in your bones; today’s the day. You’ll see Eddie today. You’ll introduce yourself to Eddie today, without a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappucino soaking your shirt. It’s an acknowledge truth in your bones, maybe even in the stars. Everything is aligning, and you were going to stop spending your days with your head in the clouds. Maybe it would fizz out, and the crush that had kept you on the edge of your seat, that had kept you mildly entertained for months would lead to nothing. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a beginning. A leap of faith into reality that could turn into something real.

When you first show up, you don’t see him. It’s during the tail-end of the morning rush that you make your way in, ordering your usual iced coffee and taking your usual seat with the perfect view of Eddie’s usual seat. Customers filter in and out, a line occasionally forming before the baristas take care of it quickly, but not a single person is the one you’re looking for.

You distract yourself. You busy yourself with pulling out your laptop, glancing over whichever grades have been finalized, pondering over the ones that have yet to be set in stone. Once you’ve beat that horse to death and have nothing left but scholarly anxiety bubbling up, you’ve moved on to making a spreadsheet of all the books you want to read during the summer, with all the free hours you definitely weren’t going to waste, and would totally make use of. You even color code by genre.

You think you have more fun making the spreadsheet than you will enjoy the actual reading over the novels you listed.

Just as you’ve finished your iced coffee, ready to move onto looking at goddamn Yahoo news to entertain yourself, a cup is sat down in front of you. A hot grande cup.

You read the sticker turned towards you before you even spare a glance to the person who’d sat down the drink: a grande Earl Grey tea, sweetened with one packet of honey.

“Chrissy, I only get this when it’s rain-” you start, assuming the barista would be the one standing over your table. It isn’t. It’s coffeeshop boy – it’s Eddie. You can’t help the curse that falls from your lips, “Oh, shit.”

“Sorry,” he bites his lip as if holding back a life, hands nervously shoved into the front pockets of his jeans as he rocks on his heels, “I just… I honestly don’t know what you usually get. But your cup was empty when I walked in, and the one time I got here before you, this was the drink you got, but now that I think about it, it was raining that day and that didn’t even cross my mind-”

Your smile is slow as it uncurls, so saccharine and so enamored as you finally cut off his rambling, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t look reassured in the slightest, paling as he stutters out, “Oh, God. I- I’m a creep for remembering that, aren’t I? Fuck, I’m sorry. I just wanted to do something nice because I know Thursday was so rough-” he cuts off at your subtle wince at the reminder of that entire tragedy, “Sorry. God, how many times can I say sorry, am I right?”

Eddie, who is absolutely fumbling over rambles like a fool when he approaches you to talk to you first. Eddie, who is quickly shaping up to be better than even your wildest dreams.

“First of all,” you start, nervously making eye contact, trying to calm your nerves by reminding yourself he’s an even bigger mess than you right now, “You’re not a creep for remembering that. That’s… it’s really thoughtful, actually,” he breaks out into a restrained smile, the smallest glimpse of relief on his face, so you continue, “And second of all… I mean, who knows? Maybe it’ll rain and you saved me some trouble.”

He lets out a bark of laughter at that, and immediately, all frozen awkwardness around the moment shatters. Whatever pedestal you’d set the boy on the last several weeks has crumbled with ease. Reality comes crashing down, and you relish in it.

You relish in the golden streaks through his messy curls, and you drown in the richness of his brown eyes, entrancing this close up. You relish in that dimple in his right cheek, deep enough to swallow you whole as he recollects himself. You relish in the fact that he’s here, it’s Friday, and today is the day.

“There is absolutely rain on the forecast, and you should absolutely just take my word for that and not fact check me,” he jokingly replies, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“I know,” you blurt out with thinking, and immediately regret it. You can’t tell if the shock on his face is laced with amusement or not and you panic, desperate to defend yourself, “I- Chrissy told me, I swear. I’m sorry, that was weird, I just-”

He’s the one interrupting apologies now, “It’s okay. Can’t be weirder than knowing a stranger’s rainy day coffee order.”

Grinning. God, you can’t stop grinning, even as you breathe out your name.

“Sorry?” he asks with furrowed brows, hardly catching on to the whispered reveal.

“That’s my name,” you explain before repeating yourself. His cheeks undoubtedly ache the same way yours do, “Now I’m not a stranger. Makes it less weird.”

His smile is downright radiant, and oh, God what you’d given to hear him murmur your name under his breath again in that odd, peculiar manner he just did. As if he’s trying it out, tasting it on his tongue and deciding if it’s worth repeating.

His eyes shine; you have a feeling you will be hearing it again.

“Say, is this seat taken?”

You assume he’s meaning the chair across from you, tucked neatly into the table covered in your belongings, and you immediately shake your head to tell him it’s not, motioning for him to join you.

He wasn’t meaning the chair. He flops himself down beside you on the bench seating, settling into the plastic plush as his thighs brush against yours.

“So,” he starts, propping his elbow up on the table beside your laptop, resting his chin on his fist,“Tell me about yourself, not-stranger.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he answers, making your heart clench, “But maybe, let’s just start with your coffee order for days that aren’t rainy.”

Hours. You and Eddie spend hours talking. The baristas behind the counter rotate, the sun eventually sets, and you don’t even notice when clouds form and light spatters of rain spit out onto the sidewalk outside. You dive headfirst into reality with Eddie, and it’s like the first breath of Spring.

He wakes you up in a way no shot of espresso ever could. It’s as if something deep inside of you had been sleeping for so long, you’d forgotten it existed until he magically awoke it. Something shining, something wonderful, something new. Something real.

Everyone was right. The tangible Eddie is infinitely better than the idea of coffeeshop boy.

“You know,” you’ve drained your earl grey, laptop long since closed as your body mirrors Eddie’s and twists until your kneecaps press against each other. His arm rests casually along the back of the seat just over your right shoulder, “I’m still curious who Corroded Coffin is. I know you said they’re shitty, but-”

“Oh, God,” Eddie throws his head back in laughter, running his free hand over his face, “So, uh, funny story.”

You quirk an eyebrow, “Funny story?”

“Yes. Hilarious, actually,” he affirms, “Corroded Coffin is… uh, well… Corroded Coffin is my band.”

You can’t stop the snort, realization dawning on you. That’s why Eddie had the spare shirt in his van – it’s his own damn merch.

“I’m going to pretend you’re laughing with me, not at me,” he hums, leaning back and watching your giggles continue to hit you in waves.

“I am-” you start to reassure, broken off by another gasping laugh that even has him chuckling along, “I am, I swear! I just… Why would you tell me you guys are shitty?”

“A bad joke,” he hums, waving his free hand, chuckles still lingering at the edge of his tone, “I tend to tell a lot of those around pretty people.”

Pretty people. He thinks you’re pretty.

“Yeah?” you choke out, laughter abruptly fading as the realization hits you.

He thinks you’re pretty.

“Yeah.”

Oh, God. He thinks you’re pretty. He’s in a band. He remembered the drink you got on a rainy day ages ago (him forgetting the rainy detail can be forgiven because he remembered without even knowing your name). He smells like spice, like everything kind and gentle and warm. It mixes so well with the smell of the coffee already in the air, you wouldn’t have noticed it was his cologne unless you hadn’t spent a better part of the hour leaning in closer and closer to him, the scent getting stronger and stronger.

Maybe reality can be sweet. Maybe it’s not always bitter.

“You know, we have a show coming up,” he continues on, tilting his head at you curiously, “Tomorrow night, actually.”

“You do?” you ask dumbly, not catching on, not yet.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up, “Yeah. It’s at this venue not far from here, a small bar. It’s not much but it’s an upgrade from where we started…” he trails off, eyes diverting to the wall behind you and across the store, “Uh, you obviously don’t have to… but, I mean, if you’re not busy, I could always add your name to the guest list. It’s no pressure, obviously! I mean, you don’t have to go, it’s just an id-”

“I’d love to,” you stop him with a hand on his knee, grounding him from the returning rambling, “Tell me when and where tomorrow night, and I’ll be there.”

Your heart might just burst.

“Right,” he seems to still entirely beneath your touch, eyes darting down to where your hand rests, “Yeah. I can write it down for you-”

“Or I could give you my number.”

“Or you could give me your number.”

You’re both grinning, blushing fools. He takes a second, just staring at you, seemingly in awe, before you have to remove your hand from his knee and put your palm up as a signal for him to hand over his phone.

He nearly drops it in his flurry to get it into your waiting hand, bouncing his knee the entire time it takes you to put in your contact information. You make a point to add a coffee cup emoji after your name.

“Hey, guys,” the two of you are suddenly interrupted just as you’re giving his phone back. It’s the barista from last Monday – the new one, the one who’d taken your order when you’d been convinced that would be the day you were going to speak to Eddie. Funny how clueless you had been at the time, “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to let you guys know that we close in about ten minutes.”

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps, sitting up straight as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, “Sorry, man. We’re heading out.”

The new guy’s eyes light up ever so slightly, shrugging off the apology and just nodding with a polite smile.

You wonder if you’ll even get the chance to break the news to Chrissy. Something tells you she’ll be finding out before you see her again.

The boy retreats, and you’re quick to grab your laptop and move to shove it into your bag. Eddie stands and waits, unbothered and encouraging you to take your time before you swing the heavy bag over your shoulder.

Eddie, the boy who’s show you’ll be going to. Eddie, the boy who now has your number.

You don’t think you’ll ever get sick of his name echoing through your mind.

“Thank you again,by the way,” you say as you pick up that empty grande cup, turning for the trash, “The tea was good, even though-”

It’s raining. It’s steadily sprinkling outside, trees shifting with a gentle and stormy breeze. You can tell easily, even with the darkness of the evening having fallen. There’s rogue raindrops racing their ways down the window in front of you. Your reflection stares back faintly, and over your shoulder, you can see Eddie smile shyly.

“It’s raining,” you murmur.

“I told you,” Eddie says softly, “It was on the forecast. Also, I might have noticed the clouds building up on the drive over.”

You turn to face him slowly, heart thumping against your ribs, “Did you… You knew it was my rainy day drink, didn’t you?”

He blinks once, twice, before swallowing hard and nodding, “I did.”

“How?”

“I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did hear them call it out that one time. Also, you always have a hot drink especially when it’s raining.”

He looks like he might pass out from embarrassment, but you just let a grin overtake your features, “Oh?”

“Like I said, it’s creepy. Do I need to apologize again? I can apologize again.”

Oh, your grin grows.

“What else did you notice?”

“Excuse me?”

You shrug, “What else did you notice about me? For example, I’ve always noticed your rings. Also, you listen to your music far too loudly. You’re gonna go deaf one of these days, you know.”

He melts, color returning back to his features as he realizes you’re not upset or creeped out, “You noticed me before the other day?”

“I did,” you try to downplay it, keep an even tone as your heart screams, “And it sounds like you noticed me too.”

A boyish grin and two steps forward, he’s approaching you and evading your space with that warm smell of spice once more.

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, ears and bridge of his nose alike tinged in a spackling of pink, “I noticed the faces you made whenever you’d work on math homework. And the way you’d cringe every time I turned up my music. And the way Chrissy never stopped teasing you, the same way she’d tease me on the days you weren’t here.”

“Wow,” you sigh, looking back down at that empty cup. That goddamn empty cup that just revealed to you that he thought of you just as you’d thought of him, “We’re idiots.”

That feeling that still rings in your bones. No longer just the feeling that today is the day, but that there’s more good things to come. There are lazy Sunday mornings to be had, relaxing Thursday nights to enjoy. There are tangible things to have and to hold in your future, materializing right out of nonsensical ideas you’d clung to just days before.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs in agreement as you toss the cup into the trash, “Yeah, we’re fuckin’ idiots. Don’t tell Chrissy, capiche?”

Today was the day. Today was just the beginning.

“Capiche.”

It’s not until a month later, when you and Eddie come in together on one of your slow Sunday mornings, that Chrissy gets her I told you so moment. After the shock of seeing her two favorite customers on a Sunday, of course.

#3k celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #see? i still write!#proof i'm literate

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snowsinterlude · 3 months

Text

summary: snow was always ready to help you with your 'boy problems'. however, you didn't knew it would be with his fingers inside of you.

c.w: cheating, modern au, cuck!sejanus, fingering, squirting, coriolanus x reader, massage (hips, thighs, ass.), tear licking, forced kissing.

putting your phone to the side, you anxiously started to shake your leg, something you did ever since you were a child.

you were at your mom's best friend house, on the room of your long time best friend, coriolanus.

now, for more context: your boyfriend sejanus plinth was getting on your nerves. it isn't so hard to be a good boyfriend. was he cheating on you? god. that's the only plausible reason for him to be acting like a douchebag.

"cory," you called, and he hummed back in response, having him just left the bath, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants only. as he passed deodorant and you closed your eyes shut as you inhaled on the marvellous smell that you silently wished was of your boyfriend, you spoke again. "my thighs are hurting."

"stop shaking your leg then, maybe it will stop."

"or you can give me a massage? please. please please please, swear i'll do anything you want later." you said.

"okay." he sighed, sitting on the side of his bath as his hands started to work. "where does it hurt?" he asked, already massaging both your thighs.

"the right one, from the hip to the knee."

"you feel more pain than my grandma, god." he hummed, massaging your hips.

"fuck you" you answered, recieving a surprised look and a slap on the ass. "ouch! what the-"

"i'm giving you a massage, you can't 'fuck you' me." he said, massaging the place he slapped.

god, was he really massaging your ass?

he was. ah, he was! and it felt so good, his hands grabbing on your thighs and your ass, on your hips too. how could someone's hand feel so good?

the moment he massaged your inner thighs, you had to bite your lip back from moaning or laughing- you wish your boyfriend did those things like coryo did. you wish.

"sorry." you said, in a beeathy moan.

"ok. how's it going with the plinth boy?" he asked.

"what?"

"for you to be looking like a sad worm, he must've done something."

"he's a douchebag. he can be so dumb sometimes! seriously how can you prefer to play footbal than spend time with your girlfriend?" you said. "but i dont want to talk about it."

"you teased e lucky you know."

coryo let out a shaky breath. his cock felt tight on his pants as he massaged your hips and butt. so soft and — somehow — giggly. how could it be any better?

"wanna talk about how soft your ass is?" he asked, grabbing it into his whole hand.

you laughed, heartbeating fast as you looked at him.

you want to suck him so badly.

"i know my ass is soft." you hummed, as he kissed your shoulder and made you shiver. "don't need you to tell me."

"do i need to tell you your panties are drenched?" he whispered, a grin on his face. you shoved your head on the pillows as you hugged it.

"shut up. just do what you're doing now." you hummed back.

and he did. fingers pressing on your flesh, from the hips to your thighs. and then, his fingers teasing your pussy through your wet panties made you look at him as if begging him to stop- stop before you started acting like a bitch.

you were already acting like one, melting as his digit teased you.

"cory, stop-" you pleaded, tearing up. "sej is your friend. he adores you-"

"not my fault he can't be a good boyfriend for you. i'm just helping you, dear." he said. you sobbed quietly.

"but you're his best friend, i can't do that to him-"

"i'm just the only person he can call a friend. not my fault no one likes him."

"i like him."

"charity doesn't count."

"it isn't charity!"

"yeah, keep telling yourself that. dating the loser boy who doesn't know how to eat a pussy out and never had a girlfriend doesn't give you a good person pass, babe."

you pouted, feeling guilty. you knew he was right. yoy started hanging out with sejanus cause you knew he didn’t had any friends. then, you didn't know how to say "no" when he asked you on a date. nor when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

snow's free hand went to your face, holding it firmly as he licked your tear, kissing your shut closed lips- somehow you thought that kissing someone else just made the cheating worse.

then his finger entered you, and you had to open your mouth to gasp for air, enough for his tongue to enter your lips and for him to kiss you. it was so perverted, you just had to kiss him back.

telling yourself it was not your fault, you couldn't help but clench around his fingers when his thumb rubbed against your clit and his middle finger entered you. with your skirt rolled up for him to massage you, and your panties pulled aside for him to finger you, he was more than happy to say it wasn't your fault even if it was.

"i know it feels good, dear. you don't have to pretend it doesn't." he said, kissing your neck, sucking on your skin.

"s..shut up, snow."

"as you wish." he chuckled, fastening his fingers just enough for you to moan against his mattress.

"cory!" his mom called, it wasn't enough for him to stop fingering you though. "your friend is here!"

"who?" he asked, kissing your ass cheek. it felt tingly.

"the plinth's son!" if you could see the way snow grinned, you wouldn't be scared. god, with the way you were right now you would be on his dick in the bat of an eye.

snow smiled devilishly as he thought of being caught red-handed. with his eyes travelling your whole body, he knew what to do.

"tell him to come here." he yelled back, fastening his fingers and kissing you as he heard the wet sounds of your pussy.

"snow!" you cried out, your pussy clenching tight on his fingers. deep inside you, you were excited from the same thought of being caught.

it didn't took much for you to cum on his hand. unfortunately for you, you weren't as quiet as you should be, moaning against his lips as your cunt clenched tight on his fingers, squirting enough to let a stain in his sheets.

then, you heard the door opening, and the sight of your legs open for snow's hand as he tongue kissed you was enough for your poor, virgin, excuse of an boyfriend to have an erection.

then you looked at him, teary eyes from the orgasm and lips red from the kiss. god, it was the funniest sight for coriolanus.

who would know sejanus plinth would have an erection for being cheated on?

"hello, sejanus." he said. finally, he took his fingers out of you, only to taste them on his mouth. you cried out in humiliation and excitement. finally you had an excuse to break up with sejanus.

"hello."

#young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #young president snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tbosas smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x you #x reader

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sweet-fading-summer-love · 2 months

Text

Liar Liar

Just a little Protective!Austin Butler x Wife!Reader blurb

Summary - After a rather unpleasant encounter with a familiar neighbor at your local supermarket, you come home to your husband, Austin, teary-eyed and shaken up. He handles it, and afterward, he handles you.

Warnings - Mid-Late 60s AU, vague mention of unspecified sexual harassment/assault, swearing, hinted at violence, protective Austin crying, angst, Austin is a bit insensitive here, Austin is set to be a morally grey person outside of his love for you

WC - 2k

Author's Note - So I haven't used this account in forever mostly because I haven't felt like writing much lately, I've been lacking inspiration, but I was scrolling through pinterest and saw that picture of Austin, and good god. Anyways now we're here, enjoy. This was also supposed to have a very smutty ending but it felt too random the way I was formatting it so I tossed it, so this ending is random and abrupt, but again it's just a blurb

The sound of Austin's tongue clicking at the two orange cats that wormed their way through his legs and around his feet was cut off by a wince as he knicked his thumb on the ridged edge of the cat food can.

Normally you'd feed the cats just before starting dinner, but you'd gone to the grocery store over half an hour before to grab a few ingredients. Austin didn't mind feeding the cats. Although he pretended to think they were a menace to the home, truth be told he didn't mind the cats as long as you weren't around, when you were around he'd get jealous of the love you showed the cats, almost like a child.

"Damnit…"

He mumbled softly before bringing the knick up to his mouth to suck the blood up. He could hear you already nagging him about using soap and water, you were very passionate about hygiene and health. He could also hear you nagging him about using a knife to open the can instead of the state-of-the-art electric can opener you bought at a Home Show. He hated when you went to those things, he feared you would realize the poor quality of life that his job provided the two of you with, seeing all that gorgeous furniture while your own was hand-me-down from his parents and going on 13 years old this June.

The cats let out a choir of meows that were beginning to overpower the tune that Austin had playing on the record player, Bring It On Home to Me, Sam Cooke. Austin still wasn't quite over his death, so Cooke had kept the both of you company many mornings and nights as Austin's way to honor him. Austin sighed softly,

"Alright alright, it's coming you glutinous bastards"

He used his uncut hand to peel back the rest of the can's top, then after walking to the cat bowls, he, in a very unceremonious manner began beating and battering the open end of the can into the poor plastic bowls. After a dozen or so pounds (one of which may have been from the angry neighbors in the apartment below), the food was dished out and the cats were happy as clams.

He tossed the can into the sink, confident you would sort through it later as you'd been getting quite involved in some sort of environmental shenanigans with those hippies which involved reusing cans for art or other projects. Austin didn't like you around them truthfully.

As Austin took a quick swig of a bottle of brandy he heard the front door open and close. Not an unusual occurrence. If you went out the door, of course, you'd come back in the door. What was unusual was the lack of that sing-song voice of yours. There was no, "I'm home!!", no "Baby guess what?!", no "Where are my pretty kitties?" in reference to both Austin and the actual cats, there was nothing. And it was eerie, making Austin for a moment furrow his brows and crane his neck to see if it was you.

He smiled softly at the sight of your figure, you were turned away from him, a bag in each arm, trying to lock the door, it's something you'd done many times before, but this time your arms were too shaky to keep it all together, and with a clatter and crash of glass one of the bags fell from your arms, landing on the floor, making you jump back in shock.

The noise had surprised Austin as he flinched at the sudden ruckus, quickly rounding the counter, letting your pet name "Babydoll", slip through his lips in worry as he did so. Thankfully he noticed whatever glass jar or bottle you'd bought at the market had broken in the bag so there weren't shards strewn about, his rough hand landed on your wrist to turn you around, but you'd jumped and turned at the sensation, not expecting him to touch you, or be so close to you.

"Woah, woah, babydoll what's the matter?"

At his concerned tone and furrowed eyebrows of confusion your face had crumpled and you let out a child-like cry, ugly in all its manner, but as raw as can be. Your arms stretched out to him as your face continued to contort in a way Austin had not yet seen. Now it wasn't unusual for you to cry, you had always been a bit of a crybaby truthfully, but you hadn't cried so helplessly for as long as Austin could remember.

"Baby? Honey, what's wrong?"

He kept trying to push you away far enough to make eye contact with you, but before he could you kept curling your head back into his chest or shoulder. "What happened?" His voice was stern but there were hints of sympathy that only you could detect as you continued to cry into his chest.

"T-thomas…"

Austin's forehead wrinkled at the name in confusion. Thomas was a tenant in the same apartment building, you and Austin had met him a few times before and he had confided in Austin about his issues regarding how unsteady his job was, how much he'd been spending on alcohol, and the kind of dark conflicting thoughts he'd had. All those things combined and the fact that Thomas' wife often sported a bruise after the entire apartment building was subjected to listening to their arguments had given Austin enough reason to tell you to stay away from him.

"What's he got to do with this Baby?"

With your silence and sniffles being his only current answer, Austin's imagination goes wild, and those soft pillowy lips thin into a line of concentration. His rough hands which have only handled your body carefully, begin to forcefully latch onto the sides of your head, pulling your head back to finally look him in the eye. It felt like your skull might soon cave in and you weren't sure if it was the overwhelming feelings of the moment or if he was just using that much force. You knew very well it could've been the latter.

Your lip quivers as you look up at his blank face. He let out a shudder of a breath and asked with a jittery, almost sinisterly excitable look in his eye, "Did Tommy touch you? Did he lay a hand on you like he does his wife? He hit you?"

You attempted to shake your head only to feel his hold on your head grow tighter as he edged his face closer to yours. As he stared at you through those blank glassy eyes, like he didn't have a clear, coherent thought behind them, he asked another question.

"What did he do?"

The eye contact was getting to be too much, you felt like too much of a wreck to answer, so you closed your eyes, and with the closing of your lids, tears slid down your cheeks simultaneously. And that was enough of an answer for Austin. His voice was gravelly, as he mumbled, "That fucking-"

Before he could finish his statement, he'd paced back into the kitchen, pulling a drawer open roughly, you could hear by the clatter it made that it was either the silverware drawer or the knife drawer. It didn't matter which, in Austin's state he could do a decent amount of damage with either.

Finally, you regained your voice, "Austin…" but it was too late, he was already about to pace right by you. But you grabbed his wrist with both hands, "Austin..!" He turned to look at you and had easily released himself from your grip, instead now he held your wrist and pulled you over to the couch.

By now your tears were from both your experience with Thomas but also your worry for Austin. You didn't want him doing something that would land him in jail. You knew that he had been the kind of man in the past to run with the wrong crowd and he already did have a criminal record, which is part of the reason his job has such shitty pay. They say old habits die hard but you didn't want another man to die with it.

Your voice was quivery and weeping as you put two shaky hands on his free hand, pleading rather than asking, "Y-you're not gonna kill him, are you? You're not gonna touch him right? Oh please Austin it's not a big deal, I don't want you to-"

"Stay here. I don't want you to go off and get yourself into more fucking trouble"

Austin paced to the hook holding his brown jacket and quickly shrugged it over his white tank, zipping it before making his way out the door. He didn't even spare you a look before slamming the door to the apartment shut.

You felt hurt by the statement, it wasn't something he'd normally say, and he didn't tend to speak to you like that. But you could reassure yourself that it's just because he's so worried about you. Austin tended to be a little mean when he was overwhelmed, angry, sad, or worried. But you knew to listen to his command in this state.

For the next hour or so you had calmed yourself down and had tucked yourself into the corner of the worn, plush sofa. Your cats Marlon and Kick were cuddled up to you with Marlon by your feet and Kick on your lap. And just as you were beginning to nod off you heard the lock click and door open. The apartment was quite small so your living room and kitchen happened to also be your apartment entry. You turned your head and saw Austin looking cautious as he entered the apartment.

Whenever he yelled at you he had that cautious look before approaching you, it was cute and boyish. It made you forget he ever yelled. As he walked closer the dim, yellow lighting of the living room lamp gave you a sight of a reddish, brownish color stained onto the fabric of his brown jacket, it wasn't in large splashes, it was more so a little spatter on the two the sleeves and over the front center. Your stomach dropped as you questioned, "Aus, is that.."

"It's my own Honey, it was a fair fight, fists only"

He said that as if it would make you feel better, well it did a little, knowing it was less likely for him to have killed the guy and get put away for life. Austin shrugged off the jacket and tossed it into the laundry room which was more of a closet really, before walking over to sit on the sofa next to you. His white tank was completely unharmed, still a pristine white.

You looked him over with a bit of worry, he spoke lowly, "Thomas isn't gonna bother you again, it- It's all handled, Baby". You hummed appreciatively and maneuvered your body to cuddle into his side. "Thank you, Honey…" He hummed in response while staring at the pictures on the wall in front of the two of you, he leaned his head onto yours which rested on his shoulder.

You then asked,

"What happened to the knife?"

He answered while continuing to look straight ahead,

"Ah, I dropped it, don't know why I took it. I think I lost it somewhere in the stairwell, I'll go looking for it tomorrow."

Your eyes fell to his lap, the way his calloused hands lay so limply. You didn't believe him. You knew when your husband was lying. And you knew when he said that the blood was his that he was lying, after all his face looked clean and smooth aside from his 5-o'clock shadow. Didn't have a bruise, some sort of swelling, or a scratch on him.

His voice had pulled you out of the storm that your thoughts were developing as he mumbled, "I love you."

You grabbed his hand and smiled, "I love you."

As you held it you noticed a little itty bitty cut on his thumb, not any sort of cut from a fight.

"What happened to your thumb?"

Austin peered down at it and shrugged, "Cut it opening a can"

Your eyebrow quirked as you looked up at him, shoulders going limp in defeat as you nagged, "I told you to stop using knives to open the cat food, why do you think I bought that electric can opener-"

"Why can't we just have a hand-held can opener??"

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fluff #austin butler smut

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finelinevogue · 2 months

Text

love isn’t weakness

summary - paul helps you see that love isn’t a weakness

pairing - paul atreides x caladan!reader

word count - +1k

🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨

You wake to the Paul sleeping soundly beside you.

For once.

So often now does Paul wake up in a cold sweat from his dreams. You can’t imagine how terrifying seeing the possible future must be, but as long as he has you beside him to hold his hand he assures you he’ll be okay.

You wipe the sleep away from your eyes and sit up to let the blanket fall from your body.

Some days you wish you had been allowed to stay on Caladan. Days like today, where you mourn the loss of your parents who died in a war long ago.

Now, you were lost to the deserts of Arakkis.

Paul was slowly becoming a God here and soon you were afraid you’d lose him to the desert too.

You watched him for a few moments, his chest rising slowly and falling again. There was something so overwhelming about watching him just exist.

Watching him grow up as your best friend had never been like this. You’d only grown in feelings for Paul when he was sent to Arakkis before you. The loss of not having him near all the time was horrible, and when reunited Paul made that clear to you by kissing you as more than a best friend.

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly so not to disturb him, before getting ready to go outside to greet the waking sun.

No one else on camp was awake.

You were away from Worm territory and clear of any Harkonnen’s for now.

Trudging up the steep sand bank, you crested to the top and was greeted by the expanse lands of the dunes.

Nothing for miles. Far as your eyes could see, there was nothing but peaks and troughs of mountainous dunes.

You sat down carefully, watching some sand slide down the dune beside you.

Opening the small piece if dirtied white - now grey - cloth in your hand you found your small locket. The circular shaped pendant necklace opened to the treasure inside - a small picture of your parents on their wedding day.

You gulped back the phantom stone in the back of your throat and squeezed the pendant in your hand tightly.

“I miss you.” You whispered to the desert.

Silence returned.

“You would never guess where I am now!” You laughed to yourself, wiping your tears away quickly with the back of your hand.

It was advised to never cry in the desert, lest you want to lose all your bodies water reserves.

You blew out a big breath, trying to remind calm. “Could do with a nightmare of a family dinner right now.”

‘Nightmare’ because there would always be an argument of some sort about what you were going to have. It was never actually a nightmare, you just liked to refer to them as that.

Soft footsteps could be heard behind you, climbing the dune not so subtly. Although, you suspected they wanted you to hear them so you knew someone was coming.

Only when he sat next to you, did you realise it was Paul.

He sat tight beside you, not leaving much room.

He looked out towards the vast landscape and said nothing. He was good at knowing when or it you wanted him to speak, or when you just wanted the company.

For now, company was all you needed.

He softly slunk his calloused hand into yours, interlinking your fingers and squeezing to show you he was there for you.

He knew what this day was to you.

“I don’t want to be weak when I think about them anymore.” You whispered, hoping Paul would understand.

“It’s not weak to miss them, Y/N.”

“I feel it.” You dipped your head, opening your other hand to reveal the pendant.

“Love isn’t a weakness. That’s what you feel; love. You’re loving them even after they’ve gone.” He explained in a way a true leader could only.

“That was a very wise thing to have come from you.” You turned to look at him and he was already smiling at you, both of your glowing in the morning sun now.

“Love has made me wise.”

He looked at your lips. You looked from his eyes to his own.

“Then you would know, love isn’t wise at all.” You responded with something Lady Jessica had told him when he had declared that you were together.

Literally, declared in front of a whole camp of Fremens. It was simultaneously both the most embarrassing and happiest moment you’d felt on this planet.

Paul decided to shut you up by kissing you, not too harshly otherwise you’d both go falling off the top of the dunes - which, yes, had happened before.

He cupped your cheek softly and kissed just as much. His lips were warm with the wake of the sun and your insides started to glow just as brightly.

Love.

“You make me feel less weak.” You pulled back to tell him, whispering the words only a breaths touch away from his lips.

“That’s because you love me.” He teased, kissing you with a smile.

You pushed his shoulder ever-so-lightly, to get him back for the teasing.

“Do you not?” He questioned, pretending to be offended. He touched your cheek furthest from him and tugged it so you would face him again. “Hmm?”

“You’re so dependent on what my feelings are for you?”

“Yes.”

The light conversations between you never failed to outshine any dark moments you way be having.

“That makes you a weak man. Maybe you aren’t Lisan Al-Gaib after all.” You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.

“Maybe. Love still doesn’t make me a weak man though and it doesn’t make you weak either.” He kissed the tip of your nose softly.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him.

“They’re still there, watching over you.” He nodded to the sky where the last of the stars were twinkling still. Soon they’d be gone and the sky would be lit in cerulean blue.

“I know.”

“And they’re here too.” He touched over your heart and then over his. Your parents had been as close to him as his own father, so he knows what the loss feels like even after all this time.

He now knows the kind of whole a loved one can leave on your heart. It’s learning to know not how to re-fill it, but live with it that’s the difficult part.

He was learning how to do that from you, just as you learnt from him.

You kissed him again, just because you needed to let him know that you appreciated him - more than words could ever explain.

Paul gave you a small smile when be broke away from your lips quietly.

“I love you. To forever.”

“To forever.”

#dune part two #dune part 2 #dune fic #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothée x reader #timothé chalamet x reader #paul atreides #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides fic #timothée chalamet fic #dune x reader

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lazyneonrabbitt · 3 months

Text

Forbidden

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT 🔞

Strickt parents and werewolves don't mix, so you run.

The gates opened with that familiar creak that had you stumble out of your bed and stare out of your window.

Like clockwork you watched the community's hunter return from his trip. The beast man's steps were heavy as he carried in a large deer and a boar that hung over his back, together with a bunch of squirrels he'd strung up.

Almost ceremoniously the smaller hunted animals were taken from him as he slowly walked past your window.

You followed the movements of his large paws, wishing to be able to hold them in your hands on day and just rub at the pads. His tail wrapped up in that red rag that identified him from further away since his human form also carried it. You loved how his fur was the exact color of his hair and even the greying beard he sported carried over to his beast shape.

His tail swished from side to side with each step and it almost hypnotized you. So much that you hadn't noticed your father waltzing into your room and catching you staring at the one thing he hated most.

Like a disobedient child he grabbed you by the back of your shirt dragging you away as you let out a shriek at the initial contact.

Out of your view the hunter perked up at the sound, staring at your empty window. He found it curious to not see your familiar face there, now that he for once did fully look up. Your admiring from afar had him intrigued but he had never seen you outside to talk.

As your father dragged you out of your room you cried but your mother only shook her head with a saddened look in her eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell you that ..thing! is the devil!" His shouts went right through you, your mother still not speaking and just standing by and watch.

Not that it surprised you. It had been like this ever since the group came to the community and the beast had saved many people.

Ever since the dead started walking your father had been insanely protective of you and to your luck he was one of the folks in charge of this housing area and held a high rank in the community.

You were his precious little girl and even now as an adult he still saw you like that and never let go of that need to protect you.

"Let me go!" You screamed at him, watching as your mom stood there in the door opening, doing nothing.

You managed to worm your way out of his grasp and sprint out of the front door.

Daryl had heard a shriek and paused his trek to the supply room. As he listened in he heard the yelling and stood at the ready in case someone needed to interfere.

He wasn't going to just rush in due to the opinion these specific people already had of him, so only of really needed he'd go in.

Not that it was, as the woman he had caught glimpses of now came stumbling down the porch steps, clearly in panic.

Running onto the street you collapsed yourself against the beast you knew your father wouldn't get near. You grabbed handfuls of his fur and cried your heart out. Crocodile tears, but the bystanders didn't have to know that.

A large paw came to rest on your back as your father rushed onto the street.

Daryl watched him holding a rifle, ready to shoot as he was calling him all kinds of nonsense names. After looking back and seeing the rifle you clung to his fur just a little tighter.

You felt the rumble through your entire body when Daryl let out a warning growl.

You dared to sneak a peek at your house, where you spotted your mother, again backed ip in the doorway and crying.

All you wanted to do was scream at her to speak up, but the rifle currently pointed in your direction silenced you. And then the familiar sound of a round loading into the chamber caught your ear and Daryl ducked further behind you. He knew your father wasn't gonna shoot you.

The scene was interrupted as your mother jumped forward to grab her husband's shoulders. "You can't! You'll hit her!" She cried as her hands were roughly shaken off the man's frame as he again took aim. "Don't worry, I'm a great shot."

You jumped up at his words, shielding Daryl's frame with a wide stance.

"Why would you even shoot him? He's a friend! He provides for us.." You felt Daryl's head rest against you in response and held a paw around your leg.

Your voice cracked as you yelled at your father, tears now anything but fake.

"Don't you see? That's a monster!"

A crowd had formed by now as you yelled at each other until Carol stepped in, wondering in her kindest voice what seemed to be going on.

You knew Carol, she was the sweet lady who brought food all the time. Even while being part of Daryl's group your parents quickly accepted her.

"Do you wanna lower the gun, please?" Carol approached cautiously. "You're scaring your wife and daughter."

The rifle lowered slightly before being used to aggressively point back as he continued raving about how his daughter was defending a demon.

"You don't even know him!" You snapped back before Carol could answer. It wasn't that you did knew him at all either, which your father made very clear as he cursed at your disobedience.

"You kept me locked inside, I couldn't get to know him.." You cried out between tears, feeling Daryl carefully nudge your hand with his snout.

"From what I'm hearing right now I think it's best you and your daughter are staying separated for a while." And before he could respond she added "she'll be staying in my home. We are friends and I know she's comfortable around me."

After some more back and forth without a pointed gun, efforts to avoid the argument shifting back to Daryl and finally some words from your mother the agreement was done. You were watched like a hawk as you and Carol packed your most important items up and eventually left for her home.

It was strange, spending your time in a new home. Even stranger to hear a shower running while thinking Carol lived alone as she never mentioned any housemates.

She helped you take your items upstairs and sort out anything you could keep downstairs like coats and shoes.

"You can do whatever you want in here. Just make sure to tag along with me if you wanna go outside for the near future, okay?" Carol tried her best to work with everyone's rules and requests and for now it seemed to be good.

You spent your first days relaxing and reading. Carol had allowed you to rummage through the books she kept in the living room and you found a thick book on werewolf mythology and history. Maybe she kept it to learn stuff about Daryl.

And you wanted to learn as well so you spent your time in bed with the book, reading about the strengths, weaknesses and changes of werewolves. There were chapters about their changed anatomy too that went into full detail.

During dinner you heard a door and stairs before a half asleep, grumbly Daryl emerged from the downstairs room.

"Morning, Pookie. Made your favorite." Carol got up to grab him a plate as Daryl sat down at the table and greeted you tiredly.

You three ate dinner mostly in silence with Daryl still being half asleep and you being too nervous to speak and were internally worrying if the way you ate was normal.

And of course Carol caught on as you two washed the dishes as Daryl had passed out on the couch almost immediately after putting his plate away.

"His hunting trips tire him out, he sleeps almost the whole time for like four days after." She gives a loving glance at her best friend. He looked like those old world dads that took their after work nap while moms cooked dinner. It was cute, honestly. And that little peek of happy trail underneath the ridden up hem of his shirt was pretty distracting.

You continued the dishes and laughed with Carol, who promised to take you along on her trip through the community to clear her list of tasks.

You finished up and headed back upstairs to continue study your book, eventually passing out with it open beside you.

It wasn't long before Daryl joined you in the bed, laying down behind you and pulling you close into his chest. Your body warmed up immediately as his soft growly breaths fanned your ear and his hard length pressed against your clothed backside.

A soft sigh left you as you pressed back against him. You wondered what he looked like, bit you weren't going to interrupt him and ask. His hands slipped the fabric off your body and you felt his thick cock slip between your thighs.

Your breathing picked up as you felt his hand snake to your front and guided himself between your folds and pressing in oh so slow.

You moaned as he slid in and out at a calm pace with his hands grabbing at your chest.

He felt so good inside of you and you could feel yourself getting so, so close--

What? A knock on your door woke you from your dream.

"Yer okay?" Daryl's raspy voice wondered, but as he breathed in he needed no answer. Your panting clearly wasn't from a nightmare. Your bedside lamp was still on and his old lycantrophy book was open next to you on a ..more intimate chapter.

When you didn't answer his question in embarrassment but seemed to be okay in any other way he gave you a huff and a smile. "'M headin' fer a shower. Wan' me back here after?"

A very shy nod was all you could muster before he left with a quiet "back in a bit."

As the door closed you put the book away and curled away under the blankets. Entirely flushed by the situation and embarrassed of how he caught you just now.

You were so caught up in your own misery you hadn't realized he walked into the room until your mattress dipped on the side and the blanket was lifted off your head.

Wide eyes, caught off guard, stared up at him. His hair still wet and a soft smile on his face. "Hi," was all he said before dipping his head down and nuzzling your cheek, not wanting to kiss you without being sure you'd allow him to. He kept his seated position at your side until you gave him the okay to come lay down.

But it was clear you were still a bit shy from before.

"Can ya show me what ya want?" His voice was much softer than usual, sending shivers down your body that collected all the way down to your core.

You rolled onto your back, hands slowly coming out from under the blanket to hang still halfway between you two for a moment before they settle on his arms and tug ever so softly, scared to seem too forward. He let his arms be moved, one ending on each side of you and his body soon followed.

The blanket stayed in place to form a comfortable barrier for you to remove when ready, but for now he was content like this. "Wha's yer next plan, pretty lady?" His hand lifted to caress your cheek and brush a strand of hair out of your face. You didn't answer but without thinking you stared down as your mind went back to your dream and the book you were reading.

Daryl caught your eyes moving down his body and let out a soft laugh. "How 'bout ya share tha' dream from earlier. Can do tha' for real this time."

A short moment of silence passed that Daryl used to take in your features properly this time until you finally nodded. "Okay."

You moved the blanket down while Daryl moved off it to give you more space to move, patting the mattress behind you for him to lay down. Feeling the mattress dip behind you really kicked your nerves into high gear and Daryl noticed. He placed himself down gently, an arm over your waist to test the waters. He had no clue how experienced you were or weren't thanks to your living situation so tonight wad all at your pace. Although it was getting difficult to keep his urges to himself as his mind howled at him to 'just take and claim her'.

Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Can I.. see you?" It wasn't the whole question, but it was all you could get out.

"Take ma clothes off?" A shy "Please" was all he needed to take off his shirt and shuffle off his sweats. "All the way?" He questioned before removing his underwear as well on your request.

"Can yers come off?" His fingers had already found the hem of your shirt and the elastic of your panties, slowly moving his hand around your bare skin.

"Uhuh." Your hips lifted just enough for your shirt to be pulled up and rolled back to lift your shoulders for it to come off entirely. With the blanket slipped down Daryl's eyes found your chest immediately and looked at you with pleading eyes.

When you gave him permission his lips were on your skin, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. You arched your back in response, pressing your ass right against his hardening member and earning a soft moan from the man. Humming in response you repeated the motion until a hand gripped at your hips. Quickly stilling all movement as you felt claws digging into your skin. You pushed down the blanket to see. The skin around his fingertips had darkened and his nails had grown into long, thick claws. The deep rugged breaths fanning your ear had you look back at him only to see bright blue eyes and sharp fangs. His ears now pointed our from underneath his messy hair.

"Please.. show me?" They still weren't the words you were trying to say but you couldn't get them out, too embarrassed to ask.

The question mulled around in Daryl's mind for a moment, wondering if he was really going to change for her.

But who was he to deny her request? He knew he wouldn't hurt her and had seen her more often than not staring from her window.

So he nodded. "Yeah, alright." To which she smiled widely, unable to hold her excitement in.

A quick kiss was shared before he lifted himself up to his knees as he let the change wash over him. It was a quick process for him these days and it only caused some mind discomfort that faded as soon as the change was done.

You watched him shift into his large beast form with awe, being below him only intensified it all.

When his breathing evened out and his shape now was that of a beast he slowly blinked at you, showing he trusted you.

You were gorgeous beneath him. And he was beautiful above you.

Yet neither of you moved. He was letting you take him all in now that you were close and not watching from behind glass.

All that was heard in the room was Daryl's heavy breathing as he watched your hand lift up and reach out to touch the thick muscle of his arm.

You watched his head come down and gently lick your arm at the spot you touched him. And then your hand moved. To his shoulder, up to the side of his neck and his tongue followed. To your shoulder, onto your neck. His wet nose rested against your skin as he let out a noise akin to a purr. Ever so slowly you moved your hand again, resting it on his chest and giving the soft flesh a little squeeze. You couldn’t help yourself when he looked so soft and squishable.

You felt his wet tongue dart across your neck, moving down with each lap and reaching the sensitive skin of your nipple, easily engulfing the whole area in a layer of drool and making you sigh in relief.

One of your hands went to rest on the bridge of his snout and softly pushed downward. A whimper escaped your lips as Daryl complied and moved down until your pushing stopped. He had needed to back up a little and almost stepped off the bed in the process but managed to curl up with his maw right above your centre. Jaw hanging open with his tongue lolled out, sniffing and lapping at nothing as he salivated. You had spread your legs for him but still his large paws came to rest on your thighs before he nudged his snout against your lips and licked a broad strip making you moan out his name.

Just as he shoved his tongue against your clit he let out a hum, sending vibrations straight through you. Soon after you were squirming under his grasp, whining and begging for nothing in particular until he slowed his movements and moved back to hover above you, still licking his lips.

With how he was sitting over you, you realized you had a very clear look at his delicate its full glory. And it was scarily big. Everything about him was big, his tongue had reached deeper than anything else ever had, but seeing how it hung just above your stomach and reached as far up as It did, with that big, swollen knot at the base..

Now it was Daryl’s turn to let out a whine. He repositioned himself so his length rested snug between your puffy lips, moving his hips back and forth to get at least some kind of friction and panting at you, almost begging to press it past your entrance.

Reaching down you gave his cock a rub, trying to wrap your fingers around but them never meeting with how thick he was.

She used both hands to squeeze at him while he kept moving around. A particularly loud whine made you feel bad for him and finally gave into both of your wants.

When he pulled his hips back you maneuvered his tip between your folds and into you on his forward thrust, catching him off guard.

He felt his tip being enveloped in your walls and jerked his hips, pressing further than he wanted and earning a yelp from you.

"Ow." You breathed heavily but still managed to laugh, which helped ease Daryl's worry of hurting you.

He didn't move until you gave him the okay. Slow, careful thrusts were his way to go, each few thrusts adding an inch. After a good few inches, almost three quarters of his length inside of you your face scrunched in pain. "Too big.." you sighed with a flat hand on his chest. He grumbled an apology and wrapped his hand around himself, making sure he would't thrust deeper as he kept going at any pace you could handle. Slowly speeding up as no noises of protest came and he only heard soft moans and pleas. His head was right next to yours, panting softly as he rutted into you, taking in your increasingly needy sounds.

"C..close" you breathed as your hand reached to feel the bulge in your stomach his cock made. An acknowledging growl let you know he understood and not too long after when his thrusts got more sloppy he reached a paw to rub at gour clit, working to get you both off at the same time.

"Fuckk--" his rough pawpad felt so good on your most sensitive parts you came hard, your walls constricting around his length so delicious it took him two, three more thrusts before finishing with a muffled howl.

Daryl lapped at your skin in a comforting manner, from your cheek to your chest like he was telling you "you did great."

He slowly pulled out and nudged you hips, gesturing at the door. He was telling you to go clean up. You could feel him leaking out of you so squeezing as best as possible you waddled to the bathroom only to return to Daryl comfortably resting on your bed, lifting the pre-warmed blanket for you to join him.

It felt safe like this, with his strong frame curled around you it was like nothing could hurt you anymore and sleep took you in a way calmer embrace than ever before.

The next morning when you woke up you found Daryl back in his human form blinking the sleep from his eyes and grunting a good morning.

You lazily smiled at his groggy morning voice and leaned in for a quick kiss, whispering your own good morning in return.

You shared some cuddles until your stomach called out for food so loudly it had you both roll out of bed with laughter and head downstairs after getting dressed.

Neither in those moments, now or before had thought of the reason they even shared a house. Their loving housemate Carol, who, from her spot in the kitchen called out upon hearing two pairs of feet come down the stairs.

"How was it? Did you use protection or do I need to puppy-proof the house?"

A/N: y'all may thank @celtic-crossbow for that fantastic closing line.

#sometimes I write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd daryl #twd au #werewolves #werewolf #werewolf x human

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soraviie · 11 months

Text

coming home tired.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: fluff! (maybe some angst you all know how it is)

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ lmao I don't like this. Anyway, Ice Age 1 and 2 absolutely peak entertainment

NAMJOON | The second the slippers are on your feet, you trudge to the bed and toss yourself face first into the mattress. With a bit of luck, you could suffocate yourself like this. A low whistle rises from up behind you and squinting with one eye open, you spot a sympathetic looking Namjoon standing in the doorway.

“That bad, huh?” he drawls and you groan at the mere mention of it.

“Don’t even remind me,” you plop your face back into a pillow where your voice can only barely be heard as a muffled whisper. “I’m seriously thinking of quitting.”

“You say that all the time,” he rolls his eyes to which you take some offence. With narrowed stare, you glare back at him, cringing at how palpable the sweat on your back is.

“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend-”

“Supposed to be,” Namjoon scoffs just as if not more offended. “I am your boyfriend.”

“And boyfriends are supposed to be comforting when their partners are feeling down,” you scorned. “Not be snide. I swear you treat me as bad as Monie. We should both leave.”

“I treat you both well!” the volume of Namjoon's voice suddenly rises and you cannot help but wince as it hits against the pounding baseline of an oncoming migraine. Immediately, he forces his voice to a much quieter tone, a sound no more than a vague whisper whilst an indisputable shade of concern appearing in his eyes.

“Is it that bad? Do you need to go on a sick leave?”

“No, no,” you wave him off, crawling off the bed with no meagre amount of difficulty. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time when “after a bit” has grown to be you drooling in deep sleep on the pillow, still fully dressed only to then wake up at 2 am incredibly hungry. “I’m just a bit tired, that's all.”

“You be careful, alright?”

Namjoon’s face still has a sort of worried film to it as though he’s caught between two possible options of how to make everything better and knowing him, he probably was.

“Do you want me to read to you?”

“You hate it.”

“But I like you so…”

You try not to, however, a small smile still stubbornly worms its place onto your lips and it’s soon echoed on Namjoon's own expression. He outstretches his hand and it isn't long before you grasp it.

“Come on,” he throws his head towards that god awful hellscape of a seat that you detest so much but had no heart to tell as Namjoon had grown fond of it. “Let’s get your mind off things.”

Though there is a wolf-like whistle as you change out of the work clothes for which he gets a shirt thrown into his face, largely the evening is spent in civil spirits.

“How about we eat before?”

Instantly, your blood curdles and from where you’re perched on the end of the grey sofa, you throw Namjoon a deeply, deeply anxious glance. He doesn’t miss it and after once again rolling his eyes because damned if Kim Namjoon wasn’t a passive aggressive bastard, he wraps a precarious hand over your shoulders and grumbles —

“I didn’t cook anything myself. Don’t worry.”

“Thank god,” you sigh and get pinched in the side.

Some would say it’s simple, almost boring but time with Namjoon, wanted or not, fair or unfair, was limited. Moments like these — with your back pressed against his side as you curl up onto the sofa, a leftover pizza laying in front was a luxury. He was rarely if ever at home and it seems that even he gathers as much as his lips seek out his beloved spot on the side of your temple and press a feathery kiss. Simple — yes but precious all the same and you couldn’t thank him enough for just being here.

“Now where were we…” you mutter to yourself, haphazardly sorting through the pile of books laid like a fallout rubble on every surface nearby. Taking advantage of the bared skin of your back, the tips of his fingers softly graze along your spine, mutely inviting you to return into his hold.

"Why do you check out so many books if you never read them?" he grumbles.

"Why would I read them if I can have you do that for me?"

"Tyrant."

"I know you are but what am I?"

The sheer volume of his exasperated sigh is almost enough to wipe your tired state clean off.

"Behave," Namjoon warns lowly, letting his head fall back on the headrest. "Otherwise, I'll just put you to bed."

You give him an angelic smile but comply, offering the book of choice only to frown when he is too eager to grasp it. There's even a twinkle to his eye.

“A cliche of story,” you grouse underneath your breath, mocking the same words Namjoon had said after forcefully reading or as he insisted “surviving” the first chapter. “My ass.”

Nonetheless, save for a few laughs, there is not much that you talk about. There’s no need to share a conversation, just the feeling of his warm skin is enough to sate the void his absence left behind. And with it, the stress slowly abates, unclenching its grip from you, sentence by sentence as Namjoon's voice cruises through the evening.

YOONGI | You don’t quite know how your jaw has not yet unhinged off your face, stretched to its absolute limits by the snake-like yawns but you’re thankful for it anyhow. Another one breaks out the second you’re over the threshold and that is what greets Yoongi instead of a smile or a single, coherent greeting.

“You’re home early,” you point out, withering out quickly. So much so for reading a book or watching a movie, or tackling any amount of apparently never-ending chores.

“Yeah,” he shrugs off, seemingly unconcerned but those slanted, all too observant eyes track the slope of your tired back — the way you collapse into yourself, unable to fully stand neither still nor straight — and with it his lips purse into a thin, displeased line.

“I’m fine Yoon, don’t worry about it,” you call out with a shake of the hand. You don’t think he buys it.

“I’m sure,” he replies simply, tone aggravatingly pleasant, not a hitch, not a crumble for you to catch onto his motives. “Let’s get you into something cozier.”

Peeling off the layers of those impersonal, pretentious clothes makes you cringe. The sweat that had been subtly building under the material is sticky and for a second you almost wish Yoongi would be at the studio like usual. Not much of a looker — sweaty and as appealing as worm splattered underneath the car’s wheel.

“Cute,” you hear a mutter behind you and turning around, you find Yoongi standing before you, chin in hands, almost appraising you the way an art critic would a rare painting.

“I’m not cute right now,” you grouse. Yoongi was never one to sugar coat things, so why begin now?

“You’ll always be cute.”

There is an audible offence in his tone and something in it makes you wanna tease him and almost begrudgingly you have to admit that yet again his master plans proved to be fruitful — the accumulated tension was slowly dissolving in the air around you.

“Even if I’m 90 and all my teeth are gone?”

“Well then I’ll be just as old and we can expire together.”

You shake your head with a barely suppressed smile and suddenly the home feels that much warmer. Not just four walls with a buzzing fridge, droning of the vapid TV and somewhat unsettling emptiness but an actual home.

“Always the romantic Yoon.”

“I drew you a bath,” he throws his head towards the closed bathroom doors. “Get in.”

There’s not a space left in that statement for you to argue and thinking about it, you didn’t want to. The water is in perfect temperature, betraying the amount of time you’ve been together and seeing the purple foam sitting atop of the scented waterline as candles laid around hobbled on the nearby surfaces, tears rush to your eyes.

Sometimes it was good to cry, be it out of joy, sadness or just as a way to release things and while for some it might seem bizarre to hear your cries in the bath, even somewhat disconcerting but Yoongi knew better and he knew when to simply give you space.

By the time you get out of the bath, pruned almost to the bone, your head feels hazy — emptier but soft at the edges. The second you see Yoongi setting up the table, you nuzzle into him, practically melting against his frame. For a second he freezes, out of the corner of the eye you glimpse how his features widen in a shock-stricken expression but once the moment inevitably passes, he plays it cool, pretending that there isn’t a pink blush nestling prettily on top of his cheekbones.

“My, my, you really are tired,” he calls out, gingerly prying your hands away, largely to sit you in the nearby chair. Yet another sign of the sheer exposure you've had with each other over the years — when you clung, you clung, more than once lazing atop of Yoongi as though he was your own personal body pillow. He put up with it like he did with most of you — possessing endless kindness and patience.

"Some soup, nothing fancy," he explains, sliding a spoon your way. "It'll fill you up but won't give indigestion."

"Thank you. You're the best."

He doesn't respond to the compliment with anything credible, just something whined softly through a pout. The dinner passes by in a blur as you try to listen to Yoongi's day. The guilt gnaws with sharpened teeth - at your own inability to focus on what he's saying -but the haze spindles its spidery web too tight around your body and quickly enough, you sink into the mattresses absolutely boneless.

"This just needs one thing," you hear Yoongi muttering overhead and after a beat during which you might as well have fallen into some form of micro sleep, he returns back, paddling quietly across the plush carpet carrying none other than an extremely sleepy and confused Min Holly. The poodle sniffs slightly, veering as he suddenly finds himself put on the bed but then simply decides to snuggle up the pillow next to you — an arrangement that often resulted in Yoongi putting up a fuss over being exiled from his own bed. Though tonight there is no tantrum and quietly you dream of soft hands caressing your head before inviting dark embraces you whole.

JIN | "So you don't want to come out?"

The blanket shakes in a definitive no, pulling from him a deep, deep sigh. "Alright but just text if you need me."

For a second, more so out of instinct than anything, he thinks of leaning down, brushing away this ridiculous blanket you've cocooned yourself in and planting a kiss on your forehead - like he always does- but something in the way you're so obstinately clinging to it stops him and instead he lays his lips atop of it, allowing you to hide away from the world. When the ends of your ears perk at the sound of the closing doors, you slowly push the blanket onto the floor, gulping down large breaths of fresh air.

Jin was nice, you liked Jin, obviously as you lived together, but sometimes…sometimes a person just needed to be on their own. The way you move throughout the house is largely mindless. Something is playing in the background, what - you don't know. You don't put much focus on what passes between your hands - the vacuum, the window cleaner — it's just a motion. A motion required so that the tension doesn't flay you whole. It's not like you particularly want to do so — the lower back pain surely is a sign you don't want to but it is needed. The nagging thoughts of something being not done in the house will just nag you on and coupled with the stress from work, you didn't put it past your body to become the first person on the planet whose head popped from their shoulders and become airborne.

It is when you're in the middle of battling one very annoying corner of the front entrance when Jin comes home. All too soon you hear the code pressed on the outside and you greet him as such, standing and staring like a deer in headlights with vacuum in one hand and a wet wipe in another. For a passing moment, Jin simply takes you in, a wrinkle of thorough confusion marking his face. Then as if to come to a foregone conclusion, he sighs, places the many, many takeaway boxes that tower dangerously all together in a green plastic bag on the console nearby and struts forward. You almost go in to defend yourself be it verbally or with a vacuum cleaner but he simply disregards it and places a palm right over your forehead.

“As I thought,” he mumbles solemnly. “You’re running a fever.”

Immediately you check yourself, in the hurry almost letting the vacuum hit the ground had Jin not caught it at the last second.

“No, I’m not,” you protest but deep down you've grasped that your hand is sweaty and that your head feels…heated, somehow. “I don’t want to take a sick leave!”

Jin was often an easy-going man, never a joke missing when he was around, never a moment weighing too heavily but he was still an adult and sometimes…sometimes he put his foot down.

“But you are,” he insists with a deadpan tone. Both of your hands are forcibly freed from the items in them as you’re spun around and pushed towards the bed, your socks providing no grip to fight the movement. “Better one sick day today than a whole month later. Remember November?”

“I remember November,” you huff begrudgingly. “But it’s not that bad.”

“_________,” the sound of your name falling from his mouth with not a lick of usual laughter or any form of fond exasperation rings like a cannon shot through your ears, making you shrink smaller. “You’re tired. Just rest. Everything else will fall into place.”

You grow limp under his touch and let yourself be carded back into bed, no huff, no puff. Vaguely it’s reminiscent of Jin’s own temper tantrums as he battled a cold two months ago. You’d chided him then for acting like a spoiled child with a silver spoon both in his mouth and up his ass and you know now that it was merely an act of the infamous pot calling the egregious kettle black. There is a twinkle of vindication in Jin’s eyes even if he does not say it out loud. The session of being made fun of was simply postponed due to the pitifulness of your state alas not entirely avoided.

“Now, let your boyfriend take care of you,” bright is Jin’s smile as he beams down upon you from one ear to the next but the pat on your head dours the cheesy sentiment if he even had any to begin with.

“I’m not a dog,” you gruff, wrenching his hand away but as Jin saunters away, dignified as ever, “could have fooled me” is tossed casually over his shoulder.

HOSEOK | “You don’t have any plans later in the evening?”

Because it was 6:30 of a quiet Monday morning and you had assumed that Hoseok hadn’t come home at all, given how you’d gone to sleep alone and woke up as such, the question poised from a poked-in head, partially hidden by a steam of running shower, it came as a no surprise you were scared shitless. Nursing the elbow that was so rudely slammed against the tiled wall, you replied that no, you did not have any plans.

“Great! Love you!”

The only thing you heard after were quick, running footsteps and then — silence.

“Love you too,” you muttered to the empty air. “Whatever that was.”

But Hoseok did sometimes do odd things and so as the work day reared its vicious Hydra head you forgot all about it, too submerged in the rising pile of problems.

By the time you shuffle out of the work doors, there is a deadpan expression upon your face and even more upon your soul. You’re tired and the outlook of coming back — yet again! — tomorrow makes it all the more draining. As you drudge your way down the main street there is only one dream floating almost palpable before your eyes and that is your bed. The very thought of immediately propelling yourself underneath the fluffy duvet and dozing off to a good music is a piece of private heaven you’re salivating after and all that was needed was to go home.

If only it would be that easy.

A sleek, black car rolls in front of you, so crudely that only by the last pinch of your nerves you do not curse the driver out then and there. It’s a blessing you do not as the window rolls down and you find none other than your boyfriend sitting joyfully on the other side.

“Are you abducting me, good sir?” you call out and Hoseok opens the doors from the inside, invitingly patting the seat next to him.

“Yes, now get in. This is not legal parking.”

At first, you hum happily along to the song playing on the radio. Sure, Hoseok makes a weird turn — it definitely does not belong to the usual route but maybe that was him trying to evade the congested traffic. A second one? Your hum falters but still you persist. You were still going in the correct general direction and if anything you should be grateful about being rescued from the overcrowded hell that is public transport in a rush hour. But once the third turn is taken and you no longer recognize the area, the soft happiness blossoming in your body freezes and for a fact refuses to thaw.

“Uhh…Hoseok?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are we going?”

“To the mall.”

If feasible, your brain would make a sound similar to a record being pulled under the needle of the player. And then smashed against the fucking wall.

“The mall?” you echo slowly, however Hoseok remains blissfully oblivious and smiles as your dream of bed and rotting rest shatters into unmendable pieces.

“Yeah! You’ve been working so hard! You definitely need some new gifts. Name whatever you want, I’ll get!”

Get me home, is what flashes through your mind but even thinking about it feels ungrateful of sorts. Thus, you bite your teeth into a pained smile.

“Yay,” though you try to sound enthusiastic it comes out more like a squeaking cry of a dying animal.

Having three bodyguards flickering in and out of your periphery as blinding mall lights blare overhead was not your idea of fun in the best of days but even less so after the dogshit that was work on this particular Monday.

Suddenly Hoseok shoves a string of pearls underneath your noise, with an overeager “try this!”. You oblige but something in the look does not please him and quickly the pearls are swapped for another, a tad more delicate piece.

The longer you trail after him, the more your eyes droop downward. It becomes too difficult to even properly focus on walking let alone on what Hoseok is saying. Covertly, you try to slump against him while on the escalator and once more Hoseok misinterprets this as an expression of affection, cooing at it.

You do not have the heart to tell him you were seconds away from crawling into the bathroom and sleeping there.

“Which shoes do you like better? These ones or these ones?”

Strategically, you position yourself on the plush albeit hard chair of the shoe shop.

“They’re both good,” you mutter and the next time you open your eyes, a muted darkness stands before you. For a second, your heart leaps, dry spit curls up at the back of your throat but as the second passes, so does the fear. The dark slowly abates and the familiar feeling and smell of your comforter drags you back into the peace.

You’re home.

There is a vague clattering coming from the closed bedroom doors and as you drop back onto the pillows with a sigh of deep relief, it stops only for someone to move closer.

As Hoseok opens the doors, he stands in them for a while wearing a gentle but knowing smile.

“If you didn’t want to go, you could have just said so.”

You screw your eyes shut, feeling the end of a headache coming back up from behind the eye sockets.

“Did you drag me back?” you groan, sinking deeper into the mattress as though it could possibly save you in any way.

“With some help,” Hoseok nods, throwing a towel to rest over his shoulder. “You were out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” you glance at him from the covers, turning your voice much more earnest. The feelings of ungratefulness cling to your chest, creating a heavy, pressing sensation. How much time really did you have with Hoseok? Hours, minutes? Versus the days that he was entrenched deep into work or worse on tour. You ought to spend every moment with him, radiating nothing but happiness but it was just…

You were just too tired.

“I really am.”

“Don’t stress about it. But really just tell me next time that you don’t want to go and would rather sleep instead. Trust me, I would understand.”

You nod along to his words, giving a mute promise though it's one he accepts.

“Besides there’s always online shopping,” he supplies lightly before his smile warps to cut a bit too deep into cheek and too devious in its hue. “And I can always spoil you in other ways.”

JIMIN | The second your aching feet drag over the warm threshold, you don’t even let Jimin finish his greeting, instead propelling yourself tiredly into his chest, self-indulgently wrapping your arms around his waist.

“What’s this?” he chuckles softly, placing one cheek upon the top of your head — you could feel the weight of his motion. It rests on you like a heavy blanket, relaxing yet not caging. “Since when are you so nice to me?”

“Oh, shut it,” you hiss meagerly, cheek still ruffling against the thin material of his grey t-shirt. “I’ve always been nice to you.”

“Debatable,” he laughs but it quickly sizzles into a low hum. “Long day?”

“Felt like it would never end.”

Dinner is eaten quickly, with you mostly scarfing down whatever is put down before you and Jimin occasionally throwing a worried glance though he chooses not to give these concerns a voice. You’re grateful for the silence — too exhausted in your own right to dwell on what should soon turn into a hazy, near non-existent memory.

The sofa underneath your back is pliant enough and slinking onto the too small decorative pillows, the same ones Jimin had sworn would be perfect as you had stood in IKEA checkout line, you feel your eyes fall downward — not slow and steady, but definitive and pointed like a crash of a rock.

Jimin’s voice floats above the cotton-candy haze that circles the ends of your eyes and maybe vaguely you catch the tail of a sentence.

“...movie?” is all you hear and deeply not caring, you nod along, still partially clinging to his arm.

“Something you like…” Jimin mutters under his breath. “The Notebook is always great.”

“I literally have never liked that movie.”

He lets his mouth open in truly horrendous offence, placing a palm over his chest as though you’ve just stabbed him with a kitchen knife.

“Blasphemy! And in my own home too!”

Imperiously, you make a grab at him, settling yourself to lay partially on his torso.

“It’s our home, you menace.”

“Ah, and there they are! So I thought you being nice earlier was suspicious.”

But even as he’s saying it, there’s a lingering presence of suppressed smile etched across his lips.

“Just play something,” you mutter, not even bothering to maintain the appearance of wakefulness.

“What about “cold eyes”?” he suggests, switching contemplatively between the select options, each one playing an annoying loud

“That’s still your favourite movie. I like “The Lighthouse”.”

As expected an immediate wrinkle of distaste curls up his nose as he regards your suggestion. Apparently taking in a noir coloured fever dream seeped in oceanic nightmares had not been his favourite way to spend an evening and though he endured it once, more thanks to his apparently endless love for you than patience, you doubted the chances of him laying his eyes on the production ever again.

“A compromise,” he suggests, by now only barely able to move as you melt into him, your tired bones demanding a rest. How could even one’s inner thigh muscles hurt you did not know but such was the reality.

“Ice age.”

“Deal.”

It’s not even five minutes into the movie that the warm colours flashing on the screen, not to mention the rub of Jimin’s fingers tenderly grazing against your scrap, lulls you into deep, exhausted sleep. Jimin doesn't wake you.

TAEHYUNG | Though the headphones squeeze on your ears in a manner that manages to somehow be both painful and itching, you pour all of your focus into the pot of soup boiling on the counter. The sensory hell that is extractor hood whirrs overhead and while you hate both the steam making everything just a touch too hot and the noise being a touch too grading, it does the trick. It completely overwhelms your mind and with it the piled up anxiety. The sudden light touch, light yes but unmistakably belonging to a human hand, forces some form of primal scream out from your throat and you’re met face to face with equally wide-eyed, equally frightened Kim Taehyung. Who is in your house.

You almost ready the ladle as a weapon of sorts but the fleeting voice of reason reminds you, he is in your home because this is the home you share.

Because you’re dating, it goes to supply and you’re thankful that it does otherwise you would have just slammed your boyfriend into the kitchen ground with the aforementioned ladle.

He attempts to speak or at least so you assume from the way his mouth moves.

“Just give me a sec!” you point at your earphones in the still lingering confusion momentarily forgetting to how to turn off the blasting music that just a second ago was mind numbing in a pleasant way but now has grown to be an auditory guillotine.

At last you manage the Bluetooth connected mess and pushing back the hair from your face, you huff, trying to sound light and miserably failing in one fell swoop.

“Why-why are you home so early?”

Taehyung quirks his head to the side and those soulful, terribly wary eyes glide over your face in suspicion.

“Was I not supposed to?”

You almost don’t stammer when answering “no”. Taehyung hums but it doesn’t feel either like a response or the final sentence in the otherwise lackluster conversation. If anything it’s a wordless noise of suspicion and you begin to sweat under its weight.

“You look like you haven’t slept a week,” he points out, not overtly trying to be accusing outright but similarly failing as well. At first your mind leaps and bounds to white lies, some smaller some bigger but as his gaze grows more expressive, more analytic you wither and simply confess like a child would after eating too much candy from a jar that was specifically left for guests.

“That’s because I haven’t.”

Taehyung nods, clearly having suspected as much.

“And I assume the reason why you were unpleasantly surprised by my arrival is that like any other night, you wanted to make something quick, then sit yourself in front of three devices all playing different things and then letting yourself rot in an unmade bed?”

You twiddle with your thumbs.

“Yes. Are you mad?”

He looks mad, however because this was Taehyung the next second his face blooms with pity and you find yourself surrounded by two arms and what feels like a cashmere sweater.

“Oh my baby.”

The beginnings of what feels like straying tears rush forward but still for now you force them down. Disconnecting, for the first time you look Taehyung properly over. What initially seemed like nothing but put-together pillars of stability when compared to your crumbling statue ebbs away and in the muted light of the kitchen you see. The downturned corners of his mouth, the eye bags obstinately clinging to his face, the hair that hangs over said eyes, clearly unkempt, obviously trying to hide something he deemed too personal to share with the rest of the world.

Other than you that is.

Once again it rips out of you without much consent or thorough planning of the brain:

“You’re tired.”

He laughs but the sound, alike the atmosphere, falls strained.

“Yeah I am. Can’t sleep much without you.”

The soft ends of his voice, clipping into an exhausted drawl, makes your heart bleed both in pink and red.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he adds with a deep sigh. “And it seems not entirely without reason.”

“It’ll be alright,” you try to brush off but without knowing whom you tried to convince more — Taehyung or indeed yourself. He doesn’t much say of anything, merely gives one truly solemn nod and clutches your hand in his grip — ladle and all.

JUNGKOOK | The second you feel the familiar walls of your home swallow you whole, the full effect of a thoroughly draining day kicks you in the chest. You feel its weight knead at your muscles, turning every strain of it into an over-taut strings of deepened ache. You breathe a weary, albeit content sigh as one sweaty article of clothing is shed after the next. It’s a quiet retaliation — to toss them into the hamper for laundry tomorrow. Thank god for your laundry fairy.

You hear someone at the door and momentarily the ache disappears in the surge of sheer adrenaline but as the familiar sounds of dog’s nails scraping against the floor reach your ears, you relax once more.

“Babe?” comes an inquiring voice just seconds before Bam rounds the corner, gleefully wagging his tail at your presence.

“You’re wet,” you complain but since much like Jungkook, it was impossible to be mad at him, all the dog hears is the pleased sound of your voice so without any inhibitions whatsoever, he noses at your shin, leaking rainwater onto the beige bedroom carpet. Jungkook pokes one head in and you’re not surprised to see that he’s much in the same state.

“And you’re wet as well,” you point out, monotonous, as he shrugs in response.

“Forgot to take my umbrella.”

You don’t chide him, having honestly no strength to do so. Instead, you plop down onto the bed, stifling another monstrous yawn, not entirely missing the faint wrinkle of concern carving its way in the space between Jungkook’s eyebrows but choosing to not remark upon it. He was already too worried these last few weeks. Still Jungkook remains Jungkook and not a second after, from his spot in the doorway comes gentle but somewhat of a sternly voiced question.

“Are you okay? You look…I’m sorry tired is not the word. Drained of your very soul.”

You offer him a mirthless laugh, running a palm over your face.

“Is it that obvious?” you try to joke but the hint of frailty betrays you. Its note might be faint but for Jungkook with his musical pitch, its laid out bare on a desolate cliff. He doesn’t speak but there’s no need to. His face says it all.

“It’s just I’ve never not…known things,” you admit, a sense of frustration immediately clutching at your chest. “I’ve always been quick to adapt. A month, two months tops and I’d be like a fish in water but…” the end of the sentence trails off into a frustrated sigh.

“It’s not your fault they’re not training you properly,” he objects but even so remembers to be quiet. There was no use in shouting and that was the rule you both agreed upon.

“I know it’s not my fault,” you mumble underneath your nose but even you yourself can hear the disheartened nature of that statement. For long dragging stretches of time, you simply stare at Bam, reaching out to pat him ever so slightly.

“I’m just…tired, Koo,” at last you state, the final walls breaking down in one, finite statement.

“I get it,” he echoes somberly, the shared faraway glint in both of your eyes reminding you both of the many, many tired late evening, early mornings and the middle of the nights. Jungkook rouses himself out the soured memory lane first. He shakes his head and paddles over, sitting on the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

“You want a shoulder massage?” he offers and as his touch settles upon your skin, you wince, prompting a hissing curse from his lips.

“It’s like a rock, baby,” Jungkook whines in your ear. You try to shrug the sentence away however the flare of unexpected pain puts a firm stop to it.

“And I don’t think you’ll make it better,” you sigh, trying, in a last ditch attempt, to sound a tad playful. You think it somewhat works as Jungkook pressed a preemptively apologetic kiss to the back of your head.

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @sukunabitch; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @back2bluesidex; @silverliningsandstorms; @ahewlett

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cumsuga · 2 months

Text

Grey Areas Pt 2

taehyung x fem!reader

genre. smut, fluff, angst, romance, non-idol!au, twin!taehyung, BIL!taehyung, widowedmother!reader

Your husband is dead, now you're trying to avoid the man that looks exactly like him. The only problem with that is trauma bonds people, sometimes in more ways than one

warnings: death of a spouse, sleeping with your brother-in-law, grief, unprotected sex (Be safe and be smart; please use condoms), mentions of part infidelity, smoking, light drinking, taehyung is definitely in love with his sister-in-law aka reader, you're a mama (lots of drama), yall be fuckin', anal(?), Taehyung likes fat asses.

word count: 5k

18+ (Minors DNI)

A/n: First and foremost, thank you, @hbkdrecs, for testing/proofreading! I don't know if I'll make this a series or just leave it a mini. Anyway, thank you, everyone,for all the support! Please support your local fic writer by liking and reblogging! Y'all are the best!

Taglist!: @ohsweetmimosa

“You know you fucked up, right?” Jimin asks. Taehyung had spent the two weeks with you as he told you he would. Every night was spent in each other's arms, him in between your thighs or you on your knees. You couldn’t understand what it was about Taehyung, but you couldn’t keep your hands off him. Part of you thought it was because he looked like his brother, but the other part thought he was nothing like Sujin. Taehyung was the complete opposite of him, making you want him even more.

“Jimin, you told me you wouldn’t judge me.” you rub the bridge of your nose. Jimin, your best friend since birth, was known to be a judgy bitch, but right now, you need less judgment and more advice.

“Listen, I’m never one to judge, but bitch.. He’s your dead husband's IDENTICAL twin brother… Right now is the best time to judge. Hell, this is like the plot of an awful lifetime movie. Except Taehyung didn’t trick you into thinking he was Sujin.” he takes a sip of his tea, smiling.

“I’m going to hell, aren’t I?” you gnaw on your thumb. You’re too far gone with Taehyung to go back now. You think you may even love him. He makes you feel safe. He'd choose you if he had to choose between you or his family. It was a naive way to think, but you didn’t care. Why should you? Sujin cheated on you for the majority of your pregnancy, and though you’re not one for revenge, it sure tastes good cold.

“Oh baby, straight to hell, but that's okay. You can explain to Sujin when you see him there.” he chuckles, scooting a mug over to you.

“Jimin. That's not funny. I was with Su for most of my life, and we were married. It’s too early to joke about it! You’re literally being the worst best friend ever.” You groan, and you wish he would be serious. “This is like life or death, serious.”

“My love, you’ve crossed a line from which you can no longer return. There is no advice I could possibly give you that would make you feel better. You're smitten. I knew you were when you called and told me you had to tell me something.”

You sign because, though you’ll never tell him, he’s right. You crossed a line, but you never said you wanted to return. You were fine with knowing you fucked your dead husband’s brother. You could live with it because Sujin would never find out. The only problem was that you didn’t know if you could stop.

—-

“Bro.. that's fucked.” Jungkook looks horrified.

“Listen, I’ve been in love with her since I was 10. I know it’s wrong, but she means everything to me. I just want to take care of her.” Taehyung shrugs Jungkook off. He feels remorse about it, but he won’t lose sleep over it.

“But that’s your brother's wife. Morally, it’s wrong. Jungkook is justifiably horrified.” Namjoon chimes,

“Namjoon, you slept with Jungkook’s sister. I don’t wanna hear SHIT from you.” he’s starting to regret telling his friends about his indiscretion. Jungkook looks bewildered by the revelation, but everyone decides it’s best not to open that particular can of worms.

“I support you.” Yoongi walks into the garage. “Namjoon sent me a voice note of the details. I don’t think what you did was wrong. From what you told us about her before, you called dibs, and Su disregarded bro code. Fuck’em.”

“Hey, that’s still my brother. Chill.” he mean mugs Yoongi.

“Man, we’re a little past the respect thing for Su. I’ll always have love for him, but if we're being honest, he was a shitty guy. Lest we forget the 2016 incident? He’s been doing this shit to that girl for years, we all knew, and we said nothing. We’re all just as bad as him. Namjoon, you witnessed the 2016 incident. Jungkook, you knew it was gonna happen, and Tae Su told you everything. So let’s not all act like we’re all holier than thou.” Yoongi lights a cigarette and takes a long drag.

Everyone is quiet, reflecting on how they’ve all wronged you. Taehyung felt the worst about it all because he knew Sujin had cheated before, but you guys were kids when it happened, and he didn’t think Su would do it again. Taehyung made Sujin swear he wouldn’t, or he’d tell you everything.

“Yoongi’s right…” Jungkook and Namjoon say in unison.

“I know... I know.” He sighs, “What should I do? All I want to do is be with her.”

“So do it. At this point, Tae, you have nothing to lose. If your family disagrees, fuck them. You’ve secretly loved the girl for years. I’m sure Sujin would forgive you. Hell, you forgave him. Now is the time to act.” Taehyung nods, “One more thing... Are you ever gonna tell her it was you?”

Taehyung calls you while you’re returning from picking up groceries. He tells you he wants to talk, and you’re happy because you also want to talk. You miss him, as crazy as it sounds. You want nothing more than to be in his presence.

When you pull up, he’s outside again waiting for you. When he sees you, he immediately goes to help you with Azra. Giving you a quick peck before he rounds the car to you. “Hi, princess.” He gets him out of the car and grabs his diaper bag. Your heart melts seeing him and Azra together, and you feel so fucking guilty. Jimin's words are starting to affect you more than you thought they would.

“DADDY!” Azra screams when he sees Taehyung, squishing Taehyung’s cheeks together. Naturally, you go to correct him, but Taehyung is visibly uncomfortable with it and quickly corrects him.

“No baby, I’m Uncle Taetae. Daddy… Daddy is with Grandpa in the sky.” He points to the sky, and Azra looks up and repeats the word sky. Taehyung pecks his head and walks into the house with you.

He sets Azra in his play place when he gets in and helps you with whatever you are carrying. “Go rest, I’ll grab the rest.” but you pull him back to you.

“Wait. I missed you. C’mere,” You pull him into a kiss. It’s soft and sweet. He smiles into the kiss. He finds it strange how natural everything feels, and he finds it even stranger that he doesn’t feel guilty about what you two are doing.

He gently pulls you away, “My love, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna go get the groceries. I’m not going anywhere.” He pecks you once more before heading out the door.

You sit with Azra and play with him while Taehyung brings in all the groceries, and you wish Sujin was like this. Sujin helped but never made it a point to do it all himself. The more you compare the two, the more resentful you grow of Su. You want to hate yourself for it desperately, but you can’t.

Taehyung calls out to you from the kitchen, “Babe, did you mean to buy baby food?” you can hear him rummaging through the cabinets and putting stuff away.

“Yeah, I thought we were out. Why?” you say as Azra tries to climb in your lap.

“Because you bought more baby food and have a whole bunch.” You plop him on top of you. He begins playing with your fingers lazily while watching Baby Shark.

“Oh, well, now I won’t have to go get more in two weeks.” everything feels so domestic. It scares you a bit. “Hey, you said you wanted to talk. What about?” You stand up with Azra and walk towards the kitchen.

“About… us.” He stops what he’s doing and looks over at you. He gives you a look that worries you just a bit. Sujin would look at you like that right before starting an argument.

“What about us?” You ask as Azra reaches out for Taehyung, and Taehyung happily takes him.

“Azzy, no fingers in your mouth.” You move to take his thumb out of his mouth, and Azra buries his head into Tae’s chest.

“Daddy..” he pouts into him, and at this point, Taehyung is too tired to keep correcting Azra.

“That’s not Daddy, Azra.” you try to take him back from Tae, but he starts to cry and cling to him.

“Daddy! Az say no!” Azra cries out.

Taehyung sighs, “Has he napped today?”

You shake your head no, “Just leave him. He’s cranky because someone needs a nap. Azzy want to take a nap with… papa?” Azra nods his head, and they leave to go to the bedroom so Taehyung can put him down for a nap. Fifteen minutes later, Taehyung emerges from the bedroom and joins you on the couch.

“I’ve never seen him so cranky.” he tried to pull you closer to him, but he could tell you were upset. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever do that again.” you push away from him. “You’re not his dad, don’t do that. I don’t like that.”

He pulls you into his lap, “Listen, I know I’m not his dad. But he was cranky, and I was just trying to remedy the situation. I’m sorry, baby.” you pout at him, and he kisses it away. You’re both silent for a while, watching the TV.

“Do you think we’re bad people?” you question out of nowhere, turning to face him.

“What do you mean?” he’s still looking at the TV but rubbing your knee lazily.

“Tae, look at me.” he looks towards you, so you question again, “Do you think we’re bad people?”

“I mean, kinda. We are bad people because of our previous relationship, but at the same time, I don't think we're bad people for finding solace in each other. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I’m not faulting myself for finally expressing that; I don’t care if my family is upset about it. We’re happy. Shouldn’t that mean the most?” his eyes feel like they're burrowing into your soul.

“What do you mean you’ve loved me for a very long time?” The revelation takes you aback, but he’s silent. His cheeks are flushed, and he can’t believe he just told on himself.

“I–I’m. Uhh..” he doesn’t know what to say. He’s scared of your thoughts when he tells you the truth. But he takes a deep breath and lets it go. “You remember when we were all kids? Do you remember when Sujin confessed to you? Well… that wasn’t Su… It was me. And even though you were with Sujin, I never got over you… That’s why I stopped coming around as much when you and Su got married, even less when you got pregnant, and all together when Azra was born. Because I didn’t want to accept that you chose Su, I couldn’t take the fact that my brother knew how I felt about you and still decided to be with you. Sujin wasn’t as amazing a person as everyone thought. He was and still is an asshole. I know I should be upset that he’s dead, but I can’t be. My brother was a terrible person to me. Now I’m just happy I finally get to be with the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

You’re shocked. It felt like a million volts to your system. You never thought in a million years that Taehyung was the boy who confessed to you. He was always so quiet and reserved. Even in middle school and high school, he was never into dating, but now it all makes sense. He never really dated because he wanted to be with you.

“Well… Well, what about Naomi? You two were together for five years. You can’t tell me you didn’t love her. You had to have if you were together so long.” You need him to tell you he’s lying. He has to be because it feels like Sujin used you to get under Taehyung’s skin right now.

“I mean sure… I thought I loved her and wished God that I could have given her what she wanted from me. But It wasn’t fair to keep stringing her along. If I could take it back and not hurt her the way I did, I would in a heartbeat. No one deserves that, and I hate that I did that to someone. To this day, I send her little things to apologize. All of them returned, but I feel a little better knowing I’m trying to right my wrongs to her.” he’s looking at his hands, ashamed of his past actions.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you take his hands in yours, just a little sign to show him you’re not closing him out. He felt so much relief knowing you weren’t scared of his secret.

“What was I supposed to say, Y/N? ‘Hey, I’m actually the guy that confessed to you, and I think you should be with me and not the man you had a baby with?’ You would’ve looked at me like I had six heads, baby. I know you.” he sighs.

“I wouldn’t have… Honestly, the more we’re together, the more I wonder what life would have been like if we had been together since childhood,” you say honestly, and you feel like a weight has lifted from you. Even though Sujin’s only been gone a month, you’re entirely ready to let him go. You’re tired of keeping this relationship a secret and don’t care what others say about it. Sujin wasn’t a good husband to you, and you were tired of pretending he was.

Taehyung smiles at you, “Honestly, me too.” he kisses you softly.

“What are we going to tell Azra when he gets older?” This was your primary worry. You didn’t want your son to get bullied because kids are ruthless.

“Don’t beat me up when I say this, but maybe we should raise him as mine? I mean.. Genetically he is. I will have to get used to him calling me dad, but I’m with it if you are?”

Taehyung sees your shift in mood, but he knows that you know he’s right. “I’ll have to think about that, Taehyung... You’re right, but I’m still a little apprehensive about it.” you’re chewing on your thumb again, but Taehyung pulls it from your mouth to kiss you.

“No fingers in your mouth but mine,” he says as he moves to kiss your neck, and you push him away, giggling.

“Ew, don’t ever say stuff like that to me. Weirdo.” You stand up from the couch, and he smacks your ass as you walk past him.

“Where you going?” He asks as you disappear into the back of the house. You wanted to make sure Azra was asleep.

“I'm just checking on the baby.” You walk back into the living room, sitting in Tae’s lap.

“God, my brother didn’t deserve you. You’re such a great woman. I don’t care what anyone says.” You two are trying to make out, but something constantly interrupts you. This time, it’s your phone, and it’s your mother-in-law. She sounds pissed but keeps everything very short.

“Your mom is on her way here. She sounds mad. I think you should leave..” You’re panicking. She alluded to knowing about you and Taehyung. “I think she knows.”

“So what? You said you wanted to be with me. Why does it matter if she knows or not?” You’re pacing the living room. How could she have found out? You didn’t tell anyone outside of Jimin. You didn’t go anywhere together. There's no way... “Taehyung, please. I don’t think this is going to end well for you… for us..”

“No. I’m not leaving. I love you, and I want to be with you. I don’t care what she thinks.” He stands firm on it, not even budging off the couch. You didn’t want to do this, especially in front of your son. But before you could even process it, there was a knock at your door.

“Taehyung, please! Hide or something. Azra,” you’re whisper yelling at this point, and the knock is getting louder. But she barges in like God was punishing you for being in love. You had forgotten you had given her a key when you and Su bought the house. She sees Taehyung sitting there and immediately starts with the bullshit you were trying to avoid.

“So, it’s true?” she sneers, “Ms. Killian called and told me you haven’t left since the funeral. She told me that she had seen you two kissing in the driveway. So is that what you do? Like a whore? Your husband, my son, dies, and you move on to his brother? And you flaunt it in public. You must be a whore. Is that baby even Sujin’s, or is it Taehyung’s or some other man's?”

You stand there quietly. Too terrified to speak, you thought you were ready for everyone to know about you and him, but fuck were you wrong. This is your worst nightmare. “Speak, whore!” she screams at you.

“Please..” you say meekly, “The baby.”

“Oh, so now you care about my grandson? You didn’t care when you were fucking his uncle. You didn’t care when you were flaunting it to the whole fucking neighborhood!”

You look at Taehyung, and he immediately steps in front of you, “Don’t talk to her like that. You know nothing but what you were told by some senile old lady that doesn’t ever know how to mind her own fucking business.”

She smacks him, scoffing, “Don’t you ever insult my intelligence, you little shit. You were always like this, so jealous of your brother. Always wanting what he had. You never amounted to half of what your brother was.”

“My brother was a lying, cheating piece of trash. I spoke to Natalie. She told me you gave her Su’s number and encouraged her to contact him because his current girlfriend wasn’t as hard-working and was freeloading off your son. You were complicit in his cheating on his pregnant wife. Don’t act so fucking high and mighty, mother. You’re the exact same as Su, and that’s why my father left you.”

You stand there stunned. You don’t want to believe Taehyung, but what would he gain from lying about it? She says nothing and looks away from the both of you. That confirms all you need to know. She knew about it.

“I did nothing of the sort.” she scoffs again, “You’re the one lying up in his house with his wife. You both are scum. My son deserved better than a whore for a wife and a worthless piece of trash like you for a brother.”

“Oh please, you miserable insufferable cunt. You only cared about Su because he did whatever you told him to do. You’re upset because you no longer have someone to control. It fucking kills you to see me happy. But you know what? I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I love her, and she loves me. Go fuck yourself.”

“I think you need to leave.” You hear Azra crying in the distance. “Actually, get the fuck out of my house.” you’re seething. If you knew you wouldn’t go to jail for beating her ass, you do it in a heartbeat.

She doesn’t budge, and she is stubborn, just like Su. “I SAID GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE, YOU EVIL BITCH!”

“When I tell the family, you will have nothing. You will be alone, just like you always were.” Taehyung just shakes his head in disdain, “Just you wait, and as for you, you little slut. If I ever see your face again, I’ll slap that fucking look off of it.”

“I dare you to. Now get out.” You say, pushing her out the door and rushing to Azra.

“Sh, sh, sh, it’s okay. Momma’s here, my sweet boy. No more tears.”

You're rocking Azra when Taehyung joins you in the room. “I’m sorry, this was never my intention.” He takes Azra from you and sits you in the rocking chair.

“Just sit here and calm down. I’ll get him to stop crying.” He says, walking out of the room and into the kitchen.

When he leaves, you burst into tears; a million thoughts run through your head. What are your parents going to say? What if she tells Azra’s daycare? What will they do? What about Azra and his relationship with them? You knew it was life-ruining and thought you were ready to face it, but you weren’t. You’re scared, and you feel alone in the feeling.

Taehyung joins you with a sleeping Azra back in the room. He sets him gently in the crib and kneels in front of you. “Hey, hey. No more tears, remember? Everything is going to be okay. I will make sure of that. Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” he takes your hands, kissing them softly.

You want to be mad, you want to keep crying, but he just had this effect on you. He made you feel so safe, so secure. You knew he would shield you from the fallout because that’s just what Taehyung does. He’s a nurturer, and you loved that dearly about him.

“I need to tell you one more thing…” he says before telling you about the 2016 incident. He told you about all the girls Sujin cheated on you with before he asked you to marry him. He told you that Sujin said it was to get it out of his system before he was chained down forever. He told you that he kept it from you to protect you and that he should’ve told you when it happened to save you from all the pain you’re going through. He apologized for hurting you and swore never to keep a secret from you again.

“I need you to trust me. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. I swear on my life, you mean everything to me, and I’ll never lie to you again, " he says before kissing you passionately. “I love you, Y/N. Please believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t, Dummy. I just wish you would’ve told me before I married that prick.” You say, wiping your nose on your sweater and laughing. He laughs softly with you. “How’d you get him to sleep so quickly?”

“Oh, I told him that if he went back to bed, I’d buy him ice cream after his nap. And I swear he was out like a light. It was pretty weird.” he chuckles.

You cup Taehyung’s cheek, rubbing it softly, “I wish it were you.” you peck him.

“Hey, better late than never at all, am I right?” he gets big-headed, so you push him down, but he pulls you with him. He is kissing you again, this time a little rougher than before.

“Not here. Let’s go to the room.” you stand up, extending your hand to him. “Come cuddle with me.”

He gets up, pulling you close to whisper in your ear, “Oh baby girl, we're gonna do more than cuddle. I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” Your cheeks are bright red when he pulls you away.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” you shy away from him, but that only eggs him on more.

“Don’t get all coy on me now. You like it when I talk to you like that.” He picks you up and walks you to your bedroom. He tosses you on the bed.

“You’re all I need, all I want.” He climbs on top of you, pushing your sweater up splaying his hand across your tummy. “I mean fucking look at you… You’re literally my own personal wet dream.”

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth while he works on getting your jeans off. You’re squirming at his touch. You were never like this with Sujin, but he never cared to take his time with you. He would never even eat you out. The first time you ever got head, it was from Taehyung. And it was the best thing you ever experienced. He told you he loved eating pussy, and said it made him feel like a man to make his woman feel good before him.

“Off with these, I wanna taste you. You looked so sexy putting my mom in her place.” He kisses his way down your tummy and you instinctively try to close your legs. Always so shy to him seeing you so on display.

“Taehyung..” you keen when he plants a light kiss on the space above your clit, he loved toying with you. He liked seeing you so needy for him. “No games.. Eat it.”

He pops his head up to look at you, ‘Someone is eager, but I think..” he spits directly on your clit and you swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, making you clench around nothing.

“I think-fuck- I think, I’ll play with it a little.” he pushes his fingers to your clit, before rubbing his spit around. “I mean, listening to how you sound. One could cum from the sound alone, if I do say so myself. It’s so fucking lewd.”

You moan something that sounds like his name softly, “I’m gonna make you cum just off my fingers before I eat it. I wanna play with your pussy, princess. You like that? Tell me you like it, please… fuck.” he pushes two fingers into you.

“Love it...” you buck your hips into his hand, grabbing his wrist so you could fuck yourself on his finger. Taehyung is just staring at you in awe, I mean sure he’s fingered you before but he’s never seen you like this. “Love it when you play with my pussy, daddy..”

“Fuuuck…” he can’t believe his eyes, his dream girl getting herself off on his fingers. This is everything he hoped for and more. “You’re so fucking nasty.”

“Only for you, wanna be yours. Tell me I’m yours, please baby…please, spit on it again” you beg. And he happily obliges you, he wants nothing more than to get you off quickly so he can go to town on you.

He can feel you starting to squeeze his fingers so he moves his fingers quickly, curling them to rub your G-spot. “You’re mine, my good girl. Fuck, look at you cumming all over my fingers. So fucking hot.”

You come undone beneath him, moaning the most sinful music to his ears, “I’ll eat you out tomorrow.” he pulls you down to the edge of the bed, flipping you on your stomach, and ridding himself of his clothes.

“I love pretty things,” he smacks your ass hard, causing you to yelp, before getting you into position. He rubs his tip into your wetness before tapping his dick against your clit.

“Lemme put it in your butt.” he prods your hole and you look back at him like he’s crazy. “Taehyung don’t even play with me like that. That’s something that needs preparation.”

He chuckles, “I’m kidding-fuck” he pushes into you,” fuck.. I’m kidding.”

Your head drops into the bed, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Taehyung was big, like you knew lanky men were usually big, but fuck that stretch made you see stars every time.

“Big..” is all you could get out before he starts thrusting into you. He smacks your ass again.

“But you can take it all, can't you.” you nod biting your lip. You feel like you’re on ecstasy every time you two have sex, he hits all the right spots. “Yeah I know you can because you’re my good little cockslut.” he smacks again before gripping your cheeks fucking you back into him.

“All this ass, and you expect me to not want to fuck it? You’re crazy, princess. Your pussy is literally like heroine, I’m fucking hooked.” he thrusts harder into you.

“Yeah! Just like that, fuck me Taehyung… Please fuck me!” you're a mess at this point, he’s completely ruined you.

And just like you asked, he gave you exactly what you were asking for, fucking into you like he was gonna die if he didn’t make you cum again. He enjoyed knowing he made you feel so good, he thrived on it. “Gonna cum…”

“In me.. C-cum in me.” you stutter out, “oh fuck. Oh fuck!”

You cum around him, squeezing him like a vice grip, and he follows suit. You can feel him filling you up, it almost makes you cum again. You loved the warmth of it, but you loved him fucking it out of you even more. Reveled in the feeling of it running down your pussy and thighs.

When he was done, he collapsed next to you on the bed. Trying but failing to catch his breath. “Can we do it like that again later? That was sexy.” you hum in compliance, the feeling of sleep creeping its way through your veins. And like the gentleman he is, he gets up to get something to clean you up with.

He returns with a cloth, the coolness stinging your heated skin, but he’s gentle when he reaches your vulva, making sure not to rub your clit too hard but just enough to rid you of the cum that is now starting to dry. “Sorry, I’m trying to be gentle.” he squeaks out.

“I love you,” you say sleepily as he gets you into some pajama shorts. “So much.”

“I love you too, baby girl.” he kisses your temple before leaving for the bathroom. Before you fall asleep, you hear the shower run. You smile in contentment. You could get used to having Taehyung around. You know now for sure that you won’t mind all the stares and gossip as long as he's by your side. You could make it through the day knowing you get to come home to a man who really loved you. So what? You found genuine happiness in your husband's brother; stranger things have happened. This was your grey area. This was the way life was meant to be, how it was supposed to be. You’re ready to move on as long as it’s with him.

© @cumsuga 2016-2024. All rights reserved. — Unauthorized use or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating, and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited. DO NOT USE MY CONTENT FOR ANY AI PURPOSES WHAT SO EVER

credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

Dark!Feysand x human!reader: Tag, you’re it - Part 2[***]

A/N: Do you like my cookies? They’re made just for you. A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.

Warnings: noncon, smut, mention of whips, kind of sex-slave things?, mentions of rape, impact play, face-sitting, suffocation, fingering

Word Count: 5,444

Your eyes snap open, instantly scrambling back at the sound of the key in the lock.

The gate swings open, allowing your self-appointed mistress to step inside, her feet silent on the wooden floor, bathed in a thick, dark red rug. Like blood-soaked moss.

The iron bars dig into your spine as you whimper, pushing yourself into the corner, where the metal meets the plaster of the wall. Your legs curl up to your front, arms hugging your knees tight as you try to tuck yourself into a tiny ball.

“Sweetness, stop doing that,” she tuts, standing at the entrance to your cage, situated near the end of their bed. “It’s been weeks. You know we aren’t going to hurt you,” she reasons, arms folding across her chest as she stares down at your cowering form.

Sometimes you’re lucky, and they’ll allow you to stay in your cage as they couple, forcing you to watch as they enjoy one another. Other times, you’re dragged from your confines kicking and screaming, until one of them inevitably takes your mouth for themself.

“If you mean me no harm, let me go,” you rasp, throat still raw from the night before. You’d kicked off just a little too hard, which landed you a night with the High Lord. And Rhysand, plus the chains and whips he’d subjected you to, wasn’t something you wanted to be reacquainted with anytime soon.

Her brow narrows, lips pursing.

Then she’s walking toward you, eating up the distance in a few quick strides, and you press yourself tighter into the corner. Your padded shackles clink as they drag across the rug.

She squats down just a way from you, making you squirm beneath her piercing blue-grey eyes. “What’s this about, hm? You were doing so well,” she muses, peering at you intently. “What happened?”

Fear and anger pump through your blood, hugging yourself tighter. “You murdered by husband, Feyre,” you snap, vision blurring at the memory. “You murdered, and raped, and stole,” you snarl, tears brimming at your lashes as you glare at her.

Her own brows narrow, a mix of pain and fury in her eyes as she stares at you, hard. Then, “your husband, as you call him,” she says icily, “was a rapist. A rapist, and a coward. We saved you from him.”

“But I didn’t need saving! I didn’t want saving!” You cry, nails digging into your knees as you keep yourself balled tight.

“He was ruining you,” she snarls lowly. “He wasn’t good for you. Couldn’t provide for you. He only wanted you so he could have a wife.” She pushes forward then, gripping you by the jaw as your eyes lock with hers, intent and piercing. “A pretty, little trophy. The Mother knows you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He knew that too,” she growls, lips brushing over your own. “Every damn person could see it. You were too good for him.”

You squirm in her grip, trying to jerk away, but she’s so powerful and strong you can never hope to escape. “I. Love. Him.”

“He’s dead,” she snarls back, pulling you closer. “He is dead, mutilated, and buried. Dumped in the ground for the worms to feed on him. What’s left of him.”

“And I still love him more than you,” you spit back.

You know you’ve found your mark when she goes still, features leeching of colour, turning a ghostly shade of white. Fury glitters in her blue-grey eyes, icy rage surfacing, sealing over.

“We were friends, Feyre,” you continue on. “You were the closest I have ever been with someone, and now you keep me in a cage.” Her jaw tightens, but she says nothing. Just staring at you with that fury that has nowhere to go. “You can say what you like about him. Keep telling yourself those lies,” you breathe, nails piercing your skin. “Maybe you think he was ruining me, that he was tearing me apart, but you’re the one who caused me to be like this. You. Are. My ruination.”

The smack comes out of nowhere.

One moment you’re staring into her eyes, and the next your head is snapped to the side, cheek stinging with pain. Vision blurs and tears fall, unable to stop them, no matter how hard you try.

“You will either learn to love us,” she grits out, a cold fire burning in her gaze. “Or you will continue on like this. If you’ll be so stubborn as to waste away over that miserable wretch, then so be it. Drown in your grief.” Again she grips your jaw, crescent shapes surely indented in your skin by now. “But don’t come crying to me when you become so damaged even we won’t tolerate it.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, regret flashes in her eyes. Pain flares in her gaze, and you feel that final thread be snipped off. The final string connecting a woven tapestry, split into two.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes widening. “I didn’t… You know I didn’t mean that…” She cups your cheeks, staring pleadingly. “Sweetness, forgive me.” She presses her forehead to yours, touching you so gently, reverently, as if you really will shatter.

You jerk away, landing a kick to her stomach, but it merely bumps her away a little—always so much stronger than you. “You’re just like him,” you spit, pushing every ounce of betrayal and hurt you can muster into you eyes. “No, worse. This is so much worse than anything Tamlin ever did to you.”

It’s not a physical smack to the face, but it might as well have been.

Her eyes again grow cold at the mention of her past lover, lip curling. “I am nothing like him,” she snarls, gripping your shoulders.

“Aren’t you?” You snap back, kicking off again—you might be able to get through to her. “Keeping me locked up? Trying to make me dependant on you? Taking away my autonomy?” You spit at her, each word seemingly knocking a brick from that wall. “At least he never raped you.”

The final brick falls, but it doesn’t bring the aid you had hoped for. Instead fury crushes down on you, ire blazing in her eyes, hot like steel fresh from a forge.

You’re thrown to the floor, breath knocking from your lungs, air wheezing from your lips as your head hits the rug with too much force. Your eyes fly wide, paralysed as your stomach spasms with the strength of the shove.

“And here I thought a night with Rhys would have fixed that attitude of yours,” she says icily, walking over to your shackled body. “Where did that come from, huh? You were never so easily agitated before.” She stalks over to you, staring down at your winded body, muscles struggling to move. “Maybe we’re being too soft on you,” she muses, making your blood run cold. “Maybe we need to take a rougher, more absolute approach to breaking you in.”

Feyre’s deft fingers fly to the band of her leggings, pushing them down her thighs, over her calves and off her ankles, leaving her in her shirt and underwear. She steps over your head, looking down your body as you attempt to wriggle away. “It seems the only time you’re at all like your old self is when you’ve got something to do with that lovely mouth of yours,” she growls, squatting over you. Even with your human senses, you can scent her arousal from how close she is.

You squirm away, but she drops down, placing her cunt over your mouth, sealing it shut with her weight. “Much better,” she purrs, thighs spreading as she rolls her hips, clit rubbing over your lips. “You’re so much more enjoyable when you’re just a place for my pussy. So well behaved.”

The High Lady’s hands bury in your dress, and you shriek and squirm as she pulls the fabric away, up to your waist, baring you to her. You squeeze your thighs shut in attempts to hide yourself—they didn’t allow you to wear underwear. That would give you too much dignity. They want you ready at any time.

You twist your head to the side but she shifts her hips, squeezing you with her calves to keep you upright, so she can rub and roll over you to her pleasure. “I think you need the fight beaten out of you. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?” Her hand smacks down between your legs, and you scream—with pain and surprise.

Again, you try to squeeze your legs closed, but bands of darkness tug on the shackles attached to your ankles, wrapping up the iron and looping beneath your knees. Forcing your thighs open.

She brings her hand down again, catching your clit beneath bone, and you whimper into her heat. The wet fabric settles over your features, dampening your lips and nose as she grinds onto you, pleasuring herself to your pain. She smacks again, and tears fall.

Feyre doesn’t stop. Spank after spank is landed to your soft, tender sex, until slick is attaching to her fingertips, connecting them to your cunt by thin threads of slippery silver. She snarls with feminine satisfaction, delighting in the way your thighs tremble, how your chest is rapidly rising up and down with your muffled cries. Her middle and forth finger slide down, spreading you wide as she leans down your body, shifting her weight over your face.

The two fingers press to your sopping entrance, before pushing inside, roughly. Sliding up to her knuckles.

She’s pleased when you whimper, nosing at her sopping entrance as you try to squirm away.

“You say you hate us, yet you get this wet from a few harsh touches, sweet thing?” She croons, indulging in the obscene squishing sounds your cunt is making as she slides her fingers in and out. You only whimper, refusing to bow to her will.

Her fingers retract from your cunt, smacking down again, and you scream, jerking violently as the sting lances up your thighs. She lifts up onto her knees, gripping your jaw with the fingers that were just inside of you, arousal smearing your skin. “Come on, sweetness. Tell the truth, for once,” she snarls, lips lifting in a feral grin. “Such a pretty liar.”

Your nose scrunches in distaste, tears rolling back through your hair as she keeps you trapped beneath her cunt, pinned to the rug. “I hate you,” you spit out instead. “I will never love you,” you say, wetness blurring your vision as your chest heaves with sobs.

Her lip pulls back from her teeth as the undersides of her feet slide beneath your head, pulling you up into her cunt as she locks you in, squeezing tight. She releases you long enough for her underwear to vanish, before she’s shoving you back in, wet heat pressing onto you, slicking your mouth and nose.

Again her hand smacks down, and you can’t help the way your lips part in a muffled scream, hands grasping at her as you try to escape, but she pulls you tighter. Can’t breathe.

You sting between your legs, tears spilling as she continues abusing that tender, intimate part of you, pain searing into your tummy as he smacks down on your raw, swollen clit. The world spins a little and you need air, you need to breathe—

Warm, strong hands are pushing her off you, carefully.

You gasp for breath, falling back into the ready arms as cries continue to wrack your body, lungs spasming from the intensity.

Rhysand pulls you to his chest, your back to his front as you shiver and sob, giving you strength to fall into as your own fails you.

Feyre growls in the back of her throat, shifting slowly to face her mate. “Give her to me.”

The words alone drag whimpers from your lips, the little strength you have being used to push yourself back into the male, scrambling into his cruel arms. Arms that are currently holding you so delicately compared to the iron grip she’d just had you in.

You’d always known she was a huntress. Always’d had that slightly wild edge to her, the part that was well-acquainted with cold winters and brutal slaughters. It was different actually facing that part, though. Having it turned on you.

You scramble back further, hands pressing onto the tops of his thighs as you leverage yourself. He’s crouching down, hunching over you possessively. Not quite protective, but not offering you up, either. A strange combination indeed.

Soft, hot lips press to your temple, and you whimper, not having the energy to shift away from him. “I thought she was ours, Feyre, darling,” he purrs, holding you a little tighter to his body. “I’m getting a little jealous over all your time together.”

“Rhys,” she snarls, moving closer.

You snatch your legs in, flinching away from her, curling into the High Lord.

Both of them mark the movement, noting the significance.

You just chose him over her.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you shuffle away from her, burying into Rhysand, burrowing into his warmth and strength. Violet eyes gleam with interest at the pressure you’re creating, as if you want to crawl inside of him, nestle beneath his skin.

“I think you need to calm down,” he says softly but firmly, watching his mate. “You’re scaring her.”

Her brow narrows, but she pauses. “You’re being too soft on her,” she accuses lowly, letters dragging from her tongue. “She’ll never come around if you keep allowing her to sway you like that.” Rhys doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash, hand moving to stroke your hair, as if calming a pet. Strangely, it works.

“You think I’m being soft on her?” He repeats, attention dropping to you, between his thighs. His hand lightly grips your throat, spanning your neck and jaw, allowing him to tip your head back. “Do you think I’m being too soft on you, little lynx?” He asks, violet eyes piercing into your tear-filled ones hungrily.

You shake your head. “No, Rhys,” you whimper, lower lip wobbling, and he feels your heartbeat spike beneath his fingers. He makes a low sound of approval in his throat, eyes flicking back to Feyre’s. “See? So polite,” he drawls, squeezing a little tighter. “So well trained.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Feyre snarls, glowering at the two of you. “If you don’t punish her when she misbehaves, she’ll know she can use that in the future. Are you listening to me?”

His violet eyes have latched onto yours, brows curved upward, expression tired and pleading. He groans in the back of his throat, tightening his hold on you, fingers pressing against your pulse point, pushing tears from the edges of your lashes. “What about you, Feyre, darling?” He asks, gripping your chin so you’re forced to face her. “How would you fair if she gave you those pretty bedroom eyes?”

Blue-grey locks onto your bright, tear-filled gaze and she stiffens.

Rhysand hums. “Thought so.”

Feyre narrows her eyes at her mate. “I don’t like it when she mouths off like that.”

“Well, how about fixing those misconceptions instead of punishing her for them, hm?” He counters, returning to stroking your hair, liking how your sobs subside beneath his touch. “You want to encourage her behaviour?” She snaps irritably, prowling forward a little, making you tense up in his hold.

A low laugh rumbles from his chest at that, but he continues petting you, allowing you to start softening beneath him. “I think our previous method clearly isn’t working. Or rather, it’s worked enough so that now we’re going softer on it, she’ll know the difference. Isn’t that right, little lynx?” You blink bright, gleaming eyes at him, and he smiles.

“If we’re both more gentle with you…would you like that?” He asks, softly stroking your skin. You manage to blink away your tears, getting a hold on your wobbly lower lip. Then you give a near imperceptible dip of your head.

Violet flicks smugly to blue-grey, and you shiver in his arms, wondering what you just signed up for.

“So, we compromise?” She says, drawing your attention to her. “Is that what you want, sweetness? We’ll be more careful with your frail self, and…what? You’ll stop being so difficult?”

“You killed my husband,” you hiss out, weakly. “And you’re upset about me being—”

Faster than you can register, Rhys’ hand has slipped between your thighs. You tense, bracing for another smack that will have a fresh wave of tears surfacing, but instead he softly touches the pad of his finger to your sopping entrance, dragging back up your centre to gently roll over your puffy clit, gliding across the taut bud with ease.

A quiet moan spills from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, toes curling as he plays with you. Heat washes over your body, and you hate how you’re reacting to him. How you’re stumbling straight into his lap.

“We’ll be more careful, and she’ll fall open for us,” Rhysand murmurs, smug grin on his curved lips, enjoying how you’re melting at his fingertips. “Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

You try to think it over. Them being more gentle with you means no more nights with the High Lord and his whips. No more biting and unending pleasure torment. Your eyes flick away, dropping to the rug. What if this is the best deal they’ll offer you? What if this is the best it gets? It seems like a way to escape their torture. At least, in a way.

Rhysand hums with satisfaction as your head dips, shame warming your cheeks—because you’re considering it. Considering bargaining with them.

“Either way,” he drawls, hands sliding beneath your arms, pulling you up with him as he stands. You whimper, the intimate area between your legs aching, vision blurring at the edges. “I think you two should do some making up. Isn’t that right, sweetness?” He grips you tightly as he guides you from the cage, toward their large bed. Fear spikes in your blood, and you try to dig your feet into the ground, attempting to push away from the haunting structure.

“Uh, uh, uh,” the High Lord tuts, stopping behind you. “I thought you were going to be good for us.” Darkness swirls at your feet, humming and lulling, imploring you to follow his movements. Your toes curl, pressing back into him. “This is wrong…” you whimper, trembling beneath his hands.

You try to turn, and he lets you, keeping a light grip on your hips. “This isn’t right, Rhys,” you say softly, peering up at him pleadingly. He takes a step forward, and you obediently yield. Take a subconscious step back. “What isn’t? What are right and wrong, really?” He counters, taking another sweeping step forward, and you’re aware of the bed closing in on you.

“This,” you say, emphasising as you flick your gaze over him. “I don’t—… How else can I make it clear?” You cry. “I don’t want this. Either of you. I never have. Not like this.” The mattress presses against the back of your thighs, and you stiffen. Your time is up.

He takes a final step forward, so you’re tight against him, hips digging into you, chest to chest, craning your neck upward. “I think you’re lying, again.” And with that, he’s grabbing you by the waist, lifting you up and tossing you onto the mattress with terrifying ease. You squirm and scramble but darkness has already constrained you, tying you to their bed as hunger darkens his violet eyes.

“Like I said, I think you two need a little make up session. Get nice and messy,” he purrs, prowling round the bed, only to settle behind you. His arms wrap over your tummy, pulling you back into him, so you can feel the firm hardness of his length. You writhe, attempting to contort away from his dominating hold.

A secret conversation passes between the High Lord and Lady, then she’s slinking forward, pushing your legs open. You whimper, squirming away in fear of what she’s going to do to you. You’re so sore and sensitive…

“Behave,” she snaps, brow narrowing at you in silent reprimand. Rhys snarls in warning, but she snarls back. Blue-grey eyes flick from his in favour of yours, and you shrink away, a whine building in your throat as they pierce into you. “Feyre…” you plead softly. You need her to be gentle, or…

Something in her features softens, and she uses a slight bit less force as she spreads your legs, baring your gleaming heat to her. “Want me to be careful, sweet thing?” She asks lowly, the pads of her fingers pressing into your thighs. Your lower lip wobbles, but you nod, slowly. “Not going to get in my way? Not going to try and stop me?” She drawls, settling comfortably on the bed, mouth prone to attack your clit. You shake your head, muscles tensing the closer she draws.

“No? You’re going to let yourself enjoy it, this time?” She purrs, hot breath brushing over your heat. It’s her own sort of test—to see if you’re really willing to compromise. So you nod, dutifully, praying for forgiveness.

Her eyes spark, locking on yours as she delivers a small lick to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin. Rhys hardens further at your back. “Say it. Tell me you’ll enjoy it. Say how you like it when we do this to you.” Again, there’s a warning growl from Rhys, and your heart drops.

Feyre’s lips quirk, and she moves a little closer to your heat, a wolf circling in on her prey. “Go on,” she goads, “tell me how much you want me.”

“Feyre…” the High Lord warns, her name ripping from the back of his throat. “I thought you wanted us to make up, Rhys,” she snaps, “these are my terms. Either she can accept them, or…” She leans forward, lips latching over your heat so he’s unable to see as her teeth tug on your clit.

You flinch, whimpering, but push your legs wider. “I…” you stammer, softly, hands fisting over your stomach, still slumped against Rhys. “I’ll enjoy it,” you whimper, thighs shaking with the effort of not trying to close them. “I won’t— I won’t try to stop you. And I…” you swallow, arriving upon the hardest part. Tears blur your vision, but you blink them away. “And I like it when you do this to me. I want it.”

Rhys’ hips roll into you, grinding the hardness of his cock into your backside, groaning softly. Feyre’s eyes gleam with delicious satisfaction, removing her teeth from your sensitive skin, licking gently over your slick heat. “That’s better,” she says, kissing your clit softly.

You whimper, trying to ignore your words as they replay in your head, bringing one hand to your mouth, knuckles pressing over your lips. It’s an effort to keep your thighs spread with how sensitive you are, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. She’s lapping and licking, gentle flicks of her tongue sending warm zaps of arousal to your centre.

The High Lord noses your neck, hot lips brushing the sensitive skin as he moans quietly, a lustful exhale of breath. “What lovely things would you say for us, hm?” He asks, canines scraping the shell of your ear. “What sweet sounds could you make?”

You shiver in his arms, sorrowfully tipping your head to the side, giving him unrestricted access to your throat. He takes the offer eagerly, mouth attaching to your smooth skin, already sucking bruises into you, teeth scraping as he searches for a spot he wants to bite. Where he wants to stamp his mark into you, to be seen later. Serving as a reminder.

Feyre shifts, tucking her knees beneath her as she slides her fingers into you, the warm, wet muscle in her mouth swiping over your clit, making you bite back a moan. She suckles the taut bud, soothing the stinging from earlier and you push your teeth into your knuckles.

The High Lord sees, and doesn’t approve.

His hand grips your wrist, pulling it from your mouth as she curls her fingers against a certain spot. A high-pitched whine spills from your lips, and he finally bites down, canines pressing into the soft skin of your throat, printing his mark on you. “Don’t hide those sounds from us,” he scolds, roughly yanking your hand from your mouth.

You attempt to seal your lips, clenching your jaw shut, but they have other plans.

Rhys tugs your dress higher, darkness swirling around your bodice, then it vanishes. You squeal, attempting to cover yourself with your arms. Even now, even after all these times, you hate it. He shoves your hands away, tutting softly, “now, now. You said you’d be good. Or shall I let Feyre have free reign for the night?”

You sob weakly, coil tightening in your belly, resisting the urge to cover yourself, spreading yourself wider in attempts to make up for it. Feyre nips at your clit, and you hiss. The taut bud is sore and swollen, puffy from attention, every flick of her tongue sending sparks burning between your legs.

“Mm sorry…” you manage, opening yourself up to the senses, the pleasure she’s putting into you. “Yeah? You’re sorry for disobeying? For hiding yourself from us?” He purrs beside your ear, hands cupping your breasts as you squirm against him. He groans as your rear presses against his cock, the seam rubbing against him almost painfully. Deliciously so.

You nod, palms settling over his thighs, needing something to hold on to. “Say it,” he groans roughly. “Say how much you like it. How badly you want us to touch you.” Tears spill, rolling down your cheeks from the torrent of emotions they’re subjecting you to.

“Rhys…” you beg desperately. “Rhys, please…” You don’t want to say it. Don’t want to give them another word. Even if they were once your everything. He raises his fingers to your mouth, pushing them onto your tongue firmly, coating them in saliva. “Say it,” he commands softly, stroking the wet muscle. “Say it, or we’ll have to go back to our old methods.”

His wet digits retract from your lips, brushing over your nipples, making them peak, becoming sensitive to the air. You attempt to crane your head back, but are unable to with him so close behind. “Rhys…” you whimper, tears dripping onto your chest, Feyre eagerly suckling your clit, pumping and curling her fingers against spots she shouldn’t know about.

The High Lord tugs on your nipples, making your eyes squeeze shut, spine arching as your rear presses harder onto his cock, straining against the seam of his trousers. “Say it,” he growls, low in his throat, “say you like it. Tell us you want more.” His teeth scrape over the shell of your ear, and you flinch. “And make it believable.”

Feyre’s tongue swipes over your clit, making you squirm against the pleasure, deft fingers dragging in and out, rubbing against your inner walls.

“I…”

The High Lady adds more pressure between your legs, and your muscles go weak, melting into Rhys’ chest as your eyes roll back. Dizzy with warmth. In the back of your mind, you think you can feel his lips lift into a hellish grin, watching from a far corner in your head as one of his hands leaves you, trailing down over your tummy.

Feyre pulls away, a mix of slick and saliva connecting her mouth to your heat as Rhys’ hand takes her place. Her fingers are still pumping and curling, and that heat is still building, and you’re almost entirely relaxed against him.

That is, until he presses the pad of his middle finger hard over the tip of your clit, soreness blaring through your mind.

You squeal, panting and writhing, pushing her fingers deeper into your cunt, letting them touch sensitive, more intimate spots that have small moans spilling breathlessly from you. “Rhys…” you beg, eyes squeezed shut as your nails dig into the muscle of his thighs.

“I’m not stopping until you say it,” he says roughly, slowly oscillating his finger over your clit, the soreness sending blinding white flashing behind your eyelids and your hips buck. Feyre’s free forearm slides over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as you try to roll down onto her fingers.

“Come on,” he goads, amusement lilting his honeyed voice. “Just a few words, and I’ll stop.” The circles tighten, Feyre’s fingers brushing against spots you feel she’s intentionally targeting. “Say it, or I’ll make it worse,” he laughs darkly.

You whimper, mind spinning as you attempt to remember the words he’d ordered you to speak. Struggling to form them on your tongue. Heat builds; the coil tightens. “Rhys…” you moan, hips trying to buck up but she’s keeping you down. All you can do is take them. Every thing they force onto you.

Your lips part, head tipping back as you slide lower down the mattress. “I…I want more,” you whisper, heart splitting as tears drip down your cheeks, wetting your skin. “I—” You cut yourself off with a moan, nails biting harder into Rhys’s thighs and you wonder if he can even feel it. Maybe he enjoys it.

“Come on,” he urges, “just a bit more, then this can all stop.” You don’t want it to stop.

Fuck, you don’t want it to stop.

The realisation slams into you right as Rhys pinches your clit, and the loudest moan yet bursts from your lips. Your hands scramble about, searching for purchase frantically, trying to grip onto something as you feel the wave crest.

“F…Feyre…” you whimper, squirming and writhing. They hold you tighter, restricting your movements and louder sobs spill from your lips. “Please…please, please more.” Rhys’ breath catches and Feyre’s eyes flick to you, each of them memorising the way you move, the desperate jerks as you try to shift how you want.

“That’s it,” the High Lord breathes, letting up on your sensitive clit, only for Feyre to latch on in his stead. “So good. That’s our girl. So well—”

They let you go long enough to move.

You push up and flip over before his hands have your hips in a bruising grip. You cry out from pain but crawl further up his body, arms shooting over his shoulders as you press into him. His violet eyes widen marginally before your mouth opens over his, the echo of pain still reverberating around your thighs.

Feyre reattaches her mouth to your cunt, switching her fingers and her teeth as her tongue pushes against your entrance, thumb pressing into your clit, her nail scraping over the swollen bud. Your nipples graze his chest, and you shatter right then and there—with his fingertips still digging into the softness of your hips.

Your hips wind against her, hands threading in Rhys’ blue-black hair, the thick, silky locks feeling good between your fingers. Your hands fist as you pull him closer, and he groans—a sound deep within his chest. You feel it resonate into your own as his tongue flicks out, stroking over yours as he pushes after you. His canines catch on your lower lip and you moan, sweetly.

You don’t have the time to face what you’ve done as the aftershocks fade, taking the remnants of your strength with them, leaving you with mere scraps of energy.

Arms give out, and you collapse onto him, Rhys lying back on the pillows as he basks in the reassuring weight of your body against his. Quiet pants whisper from your lips as you remain stretched out over the High Lord, void of any clothing, mind still blank from the orgasm.

Feyre presses a kiss to your entrance, before dragging herself away from your heat, trailing a pathway up your spine until she’s draped over you. You feel the full press of her breasts against your back, and subconsciously arch your spine, curving into her shape so you can mould together.

Her lips press to your neck, and a soft sound of pleasure hums from your mouth, a quiet breath of ecstasy.

Rhys’s arms wrap around the both of you, making sure you remain tucked between them.

Right where you belong.

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#Feysand #Feysand x reader #Feysand smut #Feysand x reader smut #dark!feysand #Dark!feysand x reader #dark!Feysand smut #dark!feysand x reader smut #x f!reader #x f!reader smut #[***]#dark fic #Tag You’re It #Tag Your’re It Part 2 #October

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

Text

In Too Deep | Six | Jake Seresin x mom!reader

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Synopsis: Jake Seresin had sworn he was never going to be a father. He liked his life the way that it was, child-free, stress free and chaos free. Free being the key word. After falling for you, it becomes clear that Jake is in for an attitude adjustment, whether he likes it or not.

Warnings: no smut, maybe allusions to sex at various points, swearing, fluff and teeny bits of angst if you squint, Jake and Riley prepare to bond over their bad dad issues 🫶🏼

…

“Have a good day today!” Jake calls.

The car door swings shut behind the perpetually angry little girl and Jake sighs. He pulls the car away from the drop off zone and glances back to check that she got in okay. He hadn’t mentioned any of this when he called you last night. Only the good parts. Like Jax speaking more, playing at the park, finding the worm. Calling him dad for the first time.

He glances back at the little boy through the rear view mirror. He’s big enough now to not be rear facing, and grins at Jake as their eyes meet.

“Park?” He asks, tilting his head slightly like an excited puppy. Jake’s lips quirk softly, it’s hard not to smile when Jax gives him that huge smile.

“We’re gonna go see Uncle Rue first, but we can go to the park later.” He explains to him as the car pulls out onto the road. School drop off has always been a point of contention between you and Riley, so today is nothing different, your kid just isn’t a morning person.

But, she has barely said a word since her dad dropped her off yesterday and Jake’s not sure where he stands. The line between being negligent and nosy seems blurred when it’s a kid like Riley.

He can’t stop thinking about her attitude towards him. You’ll never agree to a future with him if it jeopardizes a relationship with one of your children, and he wouldn’t want you to. But god, he wants a future with you. More than anything, actually. Sleeping in your bed, spending time with your children — Jake feels closer to you as these past four weeks draw to a close than he ever has before.

He dreamt last night about what it would be like to marry you. Jax was a little older in the dream, and he was the ring bearer. He was beaming, and you were overjoyed at the sight of your little boy in a suit.

Riley, a foreboding and absent presence in his dream. Something missing from the perfect day that weighed in like a big grey cloud. He would want her there in real life, but he would want her to be happy to be there. Jake knows that if he proposed to you now, Riley’d be furious.

Plus, the two of you haven’t even been together a year yet, he’s not sure how you would take all of this future talk. If, a year ago, you had told him that he’d be driving your kid to school and thinking about marriage — he would’ve laughed in your face.

Jax balanced against his side and a backpack slung over his other shoulder, Jake’s juggling keys, a toddler and a water bottle in his hands as he lets the door swing shut behind him. Payback’s brows raise just slightly as he sets his coffee down on the coaster and leans back against the leather armchair that he’s situated in.

Rueben can’t pretend not to be taken aback at how quickly Jake seems to have mastered the daddy-daycare act. But then, given that this is the same man who taught himself piano in under a week just to spite Rooster, Rueben should’ve known better than to second guess Jake. He has always made everything look easy.

“Look at you,” Rueben teases, leaning forwards and smiling as Jake hands him the wriggling toddler. He sets JJ down on his knee and coos a hello towards him as Jake offloads everything that he’s holding and huffs out. “You’re a natural.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Jake mumbles tiredly as he sinks into the armchair opposite his friend. He smooths a hand over his forehead and tries to relax, stretching his legs out.

Rueben cocks an eyebrow at him and catches Jax’s hand seconds before it has time to dip into his still hot coffee. “Trouble in paradise, buddy?”

“Daddy.” Jax points at Jake and turns his head to look at Rueben. He points again to make his point clear. Jake stares across at the little boy and sighs softly.

“Well, that’s new.” Payback comments, brows raised. He glances between Jake and the toddler, then sets Jax on the ground so that he can stretch his legs.

“I don’t know what to do, I mean — they’ve already got a dad, and he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out that his kid is calling me daddy — but he’s never around!” Jake goes into defensive mode right away. Payback just sits there and watches, keeping one eye focused on the toddler as his friend rambles and rants in front of him.

With two daughters and a wife who is infinitely more intelligent than him, Payback has been a good listener for a long time. He just sits back and lets Jake go for as long as he needs, nodding his head as he tries to keep up with the pace of the panicked speech.

Jake finally stops with a slow inhale. He glances down towards Jax and takes note of the confusion on the toddler’s chubby features, then starts to wonder if he was even making any sense at all.

“Where’d Hangman go?” Payback taunts, giving a soft shake of his head. He looks Jake over like he’s really looking for the guy he used to know.

Unimpressed, Jake rubs tiredly at his temple. “Huh?”

“I mean Hangman’s worried about who he’s going home with tomorrow night and how much protein is in his lunch. I don’t know who this guy is, but Hangman would hate him.” Rueben’s just teasing, he’s smiling at Jake and it’s just a comment. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Jake glances down to the kid in front of him and then at the ground.

“Tell me about it.” Jake mumbles.

Payback scrunches his brows slightly, “Alright, man. What’s going on? — You’re weirding me out with all of this doom and gloom.”

Jake takes a quick look around him. It’s a Wednesday morning, right after the school run. There are plenty of toddlers in here, and adults having chats. It’s just that Jake and Payback are the only ones here that are men. Jake wouldn’t have been caught dead here when he was Hangman.

As much as the callsign was made to taunt him, Jake grew into it. He became Hangman. Confident, suave, independent. If he’s not that, he’s not too sure who he is.

“You’re right,” Jake’s shrug is cold and unattached. He won’t look at Jax as he speaks. Rueben stares right ahead at his friend. “This whole thing. You’re right, it’s just not me.”

There’s a long pause. As much as he wants to check on Payback’s reaction, Jake can’t bring himself to lift his gaze from the polished tile under his shoe for fear of meeting Jax’s gaze. There’s no way he can look into those big, round eyes and admit that he’s quite simply not enough.

The coffee shop chatter carries on around them. Jax carries on between them, toying around with the action figure that he has been clutching all morning. He crashes it into Payback’s knee and makes an explosion sound. Rueben smooths a hand tenderly over the little boy’s back.

“Jake.” His tone is dead serious now, and quiet. It’s his dad voice. Jake recognises it. He’s seen Payback gently scolding his kid enough times to know that that’s what is happening now. Rueben sits forward slightly and covers Jax’s ears with his hands. “You say that shit to me again and we’re going to have a problem.”

Jake looks up and frowns at him. “What?”

“You don’t get to quit because you’re freaked out. You do that to these kids and I swear to god, I’ll never talk to you again.” Payback swears, still covering the toddler’s ears. Jax doesn’t even seem to mind, playing calmly with his action figure and kicking his legs.

Jake adjusts the cap on his head and checks around him again. He’s fidgety and agitated, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t? — You think that I don’t get scared shitless like three times a week that I’m not good enough for my kids? — I’m terrified of screwing them up, but I’m here, and I’m doing what I can.”

“It’s complicated. They’re not,” Jake pauses to glance down as Jax wriggles around in Rueben’s lap, struggling to try to get down. “They aren’t mine.”

Knowing better than to fight against a toddler that has already made up their mind, Rueben moves to that Jax can get down. Right away, Jax brushes past him and heads for Jake. He stands between Jake’s legs and leans into his thigh, holding up his action figure for Jake to see.

“Daddy, look.”

Jake smiles softly and scrunches his nose just the slightest bit. Jax grins at the attention and presents the action figure closer to Jake, almost swinging it into his chin. The toddler seems to remind himself to be more gentle as he leans in against Jake’s chest. Jake squeezes at his sides, making the toddler squeal and squirm in front of him. He lifts him up and sets him down on his knee.

Rueben stares across at Jake.

“It’s complicated.” Jake insists as he smooths a hand over Jax’s wild hair to tame it. Jax taps Jake’s arm to make sure that he’s watching and flies his action figure around in front of them.

“Not to me,” His tone is gentler this time, he’s relaxed as he watches Jake and the kid together. They look so natural together. Payback motions and Jake covers Jax’s ears without question, gently kissing the curls on top of his head. “He doesn’t know who his dad is and who isn’t. He knows who’s there for him.”

“Yeah, well Riley knows and she hates me.” Jake answers back. JJ squints across at Payback, seemingly aware of the fact that they’re discussing something that they don’t want him to hear. He quickly goes back to playing with his toy.

“That’s what kids do — look, Jake, I can sit here and tell you about how much kids are going to break your heart, but,” He stops to sigh, smoothing a hand over his facial hair. He glances quickly between Jake and the oblivious kid sitting on his leg. “If you’re going to leave, man, just go ahead and do it.”

Jake’s brows scrunch together just slightly.

“But you don’t get to come back.” Payback explains calmly. He looks at Jake, deadly serious. “You leave those kids and you’re gone for good. Are you good with never seeing him again?”

Jake takes his hands away from Jax’s ears and squeezes his sides softly. The toddler turns and squeals excitedly, grinning up at Jake. It’s scary, sure. But it’s scarier to imagine not seeing this face every day, that cute little smile and hearing those excited giggles.

And god, he’s never loved anyone like he loves you. These past three weeks have been hell without you, he has been counting down the days until you’re back with him again. Never seeing you again isn’t even something that he had considered. His crisis of faith is cut short as his phone rings loud in his pocket.

He slips it from his jeans and takes the call, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder as he keeps Jax steady in his lap. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Riley’s stepfather?”

Luckily, with the day off, Payback was more than happy to take Jax for a while. Jake quickly yanks his cap off of his head and tugs his fingers through his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat as he steps through the doors of the school. Riley’s sitting on a chair outside of the principal’s office, scowling at the floor with her arms across her chest.

The principal is crouched in front of her, trying to talk to her calmly. Riley’s silent, staring at a dirt smudge of the floor.

“Riley?”

The principal stands and turns, extending an open palm towards Jake swiftly. “Ah. Mr. Seresin. A quick word in my office, please?”

It’s clear immediately that Jake has never done this before. He doesn’t bother taking a seat, even when Mr. Anderson settles behind his desk and motions for Jake to do so. He swallows nervously and asks if Riley is okay.

The principal watches Jake’s reaction calmly as he explains what happened. Disbelief comes first, it crosses his face clearly but his Navy career has taught him better than to voice his disagreement out loud.

There just is no way that Riley would have cursed at a teacher. Jake is sure of it. He’s sure of it because he is pretty confident that if Riley knew any curse words, she would have already directed a few of them at him.

She has always been a delight in school — you were always bragging about how great she was doing in her classes.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose as the principal explains further. Great, so not only is he annoying Riley with his mere existence, but he’s screwing up her future now too.

“We aren’t going to suspend her.”

Jake sighs in relief and leans his head back.

“Y’know, this is the first time that it has happened and we’re confident that it won’t happen again. But, um, Mr. Seresin— I really hope that you don’t think I’m overstepping here, but,” He pushes his round glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stands. Jake gets the feeling that he won’t like what’s coming next. “I’m not sure that you’re really qualified to get Riley through this time in her life. Maybe you could talk to her mother and—“

All semblance of being calm and composed flies out the window as Jake cocks his head at the geeky looking brunette behind the desk. The principal swallows softly and stops talking.

“I’ve got it. Thanks.” Jake bites.

Long day after fucking long day. Only seven more of them until you’re home and he’s no longer outnumbered. He lets the door to the office slam behind him as he steps back out into the reception. “Put your coat on, let’s go.”

“Not cold.” Riley argues, slinging it over her arm and grabbing her backpack. She walks for the door before she even has it over her shoulder. Jake turns to follow her but stops as he catches sight of a familiar face. There’s a blonde walking along the hall with a lanyard around her neck saying substitute.

It takes him a couple of seconds, standing there and trying to place where he knows her from. Then it clicks. The smiling face leaning over Alex’s shoulder the other day. His lips part as he looks back towards Riley.

“Oh, shit, Riley.”

…

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@hopeless-romanticnamed-s

@indynerdgirl

@marantha

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@galaxy-moon

#jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #in too deep #Glen powell

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nsharks · 1 year

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part two —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 4k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: let me establish some things/characters/relationships ya know.

You dream of that house in Norbury. The one you grew up in. Your mother calls you for lunch. You are caked in dirt, fingers just leaving the soil where they’d searched for bugs and worms. Your sister watches in disgust but now she is pulling your arm.

You follow her, bare feet padding the wood floors. The lunch is on the table - pine needles on a porcelain plate. An empty glass which should be filled with juice. Your stomach howls. You look up to ask your mother for something else.

Right before your eyes, she melts into something grey. Maggots bleed from the corners of her eyes. The irises turn white, staring down at you with hunger even stronger than your own.

“Mom?”

Across the table, your sister melts away, too. Her body is mangled to the point that it tumbles to the kitchen floor.

You wake up just as your mother’s decomposed hands grab your shoulders and her mouth finds the crook of your neck.

Your eyes peel open to find darkness.

Not the house in Norbury, just a sheet of black that covers the cold forest. This has become your new home, and likely, your soon-tomb.

You wipe your eyes.

You lean back against the tree which you have managed to hoist yourself in. Sleep finds you again, but this time, the nightmare arrives when you wake up, once more in the form of a rotten smell and hissed groans.

These ones are real.

By the time you awake at dawn, your joints ache. You barely remember how you got up here, or how you got back up after the man and his daughter left. You sat there next to the broken bow for minutes, hours. Then, something moved you. The last piece of your humanness. It stood you up, forced you to find some pine needles to swallow down since meat was now out of the question, and brought you to this tree branch before the night settled.

The sunrise over the white forest is pretty, you think.

But you hear something. Smell something.

You look down and what your eyes find beneath the tree branch is not pretty in the slightest.

"Are you serious?" your numb lips whisper, now fully awake.

Only a few meters below you stand three Greys.

They must have wandered near the tree during the night, catching a waft of your smell from up above. Their tattered heads are tipped back, pale eyes pointed at you. Mindlessly, their arms squabble up towards the branch. But it's too high for them to reach. One of them, once a young woman your own age, pathetically claws at the tree trunk.

The thing with Greys is that they are terrible climbers. That is something they all share because their infected brains cannot muster enough strategy for it. What they don’t share is how long they have been decomposing, and what kind of physique they started out with. For instance, a Grey with a child's body will be less of a threat than one who was once a thick-boned man. Similarly, a Grey who was recently infected will have more muscle mass than one who has been rotting for years.

If you had your bow, you would be fine. But Skull-Face took this from you. Bitterly, you understand why. Who was he to trust that you wouldn't point it at them the moment they turned their backs?

But now there is no way to kill them.

You will have to figure out something else.

You shift on the branch to get a better look.

One looks bigger than the others. It still has some hair left. The others only have exposed skulls and a few clumps jutting out that resemble black worms. The female clawing the tree looks pretty weak and slow. You could probably outrun her. But even if you are faster, the Greys do not tire. They don't have the need for rest that you do, and even after a night's sleep and some pine needles, you are beyond exhausted.

Fuck. He really should have just killed you.

You want to cry. If you were hydrated, you would.

But instead, you carefully stand up on the branch, hugging the trunk to keep your feet steady. You scan the area. You didn’t make it very far from the pond the man and girl found you near.

What direction did they leave in?

You think you remember but even if you run that way, what sort of protection will you find?

You don’t know, but it seems like the best bet you have. Desperation seals this plan in your brain. First, you need a head start, so without much to lose, you shrug off your coat and wait until the three are close together before dropping it over their heads. It’s enough to disorient them, even for a moment, so you can slip down from the branch, scraping your knees at the bottom, and take off.

The cold bites but the adrenaline warms your muscles. Your body feels heavy despite being so thin, but something drives it. Your legs carry you towards the pond and past it.

But it is not long before they trail behind you with grunts and clambered, uneven footsteps. You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know that the biggest one is running the fastest. By the sound, there is likely only a ten-meter gap between you and him, living and undead.

It must only be a few minutes before your stamina nose-dives. So little fuel.

They’re gaining on you.

You whirl past trees and snow.

A camp.

A high fence around a small cabin.

The sight is enough to push you forward, energy spent but your instinct driving you. It must be them. You run and run, but then you stop, a gasp slicing through your lungs when your feet just barely stop in front of a deep trench. It is dug around the perimeter of the camp, wide enough to require a jump.

There is no time to think. In an instant, you decide you'd rather be killed by his knife than turned Grey. Bitten.

So you leap across it.

Your boots just barely land on the other side.

You fall from the impact and there is a sudden intense pain as something sharp under the snow pierces your torso and causes your eyes to roll back, fingertips clawing at the frost. A ringing in your ears.

You make out a flurry of sounds: the pathetic moans as the Greys fall in the pit behind you, someone's heavy footsteps crunching the ground, and then a gritted-out “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Then, blackness.

You wake up to the touch of rough fingertips.

"Should be enough. Hand me the knife, Blue."

Eyelids heavy, you see log-stacked walls that form a small living room. Your body lays on what you believe to be a sofa, the sprung cushions so different than the hard surfaces you’ve slept on for years now. Your coat - Paul's old coat - is long gone. You are left with only your soiled shirt, the fabric hiked up just below your breast.

Seconds later, you are aware of the two other people in the room. A girl with mouse-brown hair stands over your head. She hands something to the behemoth sitting on the stool, who is leaning over to inspect your midriff.

Knife.

He will finally put an end to it all. He should have done so the first time. You clamp your eyes shut and inhale, ready for it again, but the stab to your gut never comes. Instead, a soft hand brushes your forehead and you hear the sound of his knife cut something.

"Hey, it's okay. He just finished the stitches."

"What?" you mouth.

"You may or may not have fallen on one of our caltrops," the girl says apologetically with a scrunch of her nose.

Confused, your head shifts against the cushion to look down. You see it now. The wound. Black sutures unevenly close it up, but still, some blood seeps.

“Don't get comfortable. Fixed it for you, but tomorrow you're out." He shakes his head as he speaks in a growl under his breath. "You have some goddamn nerve, you know. Leading those fucks over here."

"I— I had no other option," you croak, but just these few words take so much energy to push through your teeth, and you lean your head back.

"She made a smart choice," the girl comments quietly. Blue. She nudges her father's shoulder and clears her throat. “Come on, Ghost. Maybe she could—"

"No."

A petulant sigh blows up a piece of her hair. She looks back at you and in your half-aware state, her youthful eyes remind you of your long-dead nephew.

You are not awake for even a minute longer before your eyelids flutter shut again.

Blackness.

The next time you awaken they are sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You lift yourself against the couch with a wince, your hand instantly holding your torso. Your shirt has been tugged back down over the wound, and your brain is a bit more aware than before. You look around again, taking in more of this new environment.

When was the last time you’d been inside a house?

It's a modest cabin, but far homier than the tents of your old camp. There is a shorn rug on the floor and a small stack of board games: Scrabble, Monopoly, Battleship. Against the wall is a steel fireplace, the ash inside suggesting it was recently used. A lamp on the table casts a soft, yellow glow. You notice the outlines of windows that have been boarded up with planks of pine.

When your eyes finally land on the food they are eating at the table, your stomach hisses.

Ghost has his mask inched up so he can chew on a piece of meat. Blue sits on her knees in the chair, scooping her fingers in a jar of peanut butter. Some of it coats the corners of her mouth. He notices and reaches over to swipe a thumb against her lips.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. She swallows a mouthful as her eyes curiously drift across the room. They widen when she sees that you are not only awake but trying to sit up.

“Ghost. She’s awake again.”

His response: wordlessly nudging a small plate and mug in front of the free chair at the table.

Warily, you swing your feet down, nostrils flaring to rake in the smell of food rather than dead flesh this time. Standing is a difficult task, one that causes the muscles around your wound to spasm. But hunger is stronger than your pain. Desperate. Starved. You don’t have it in you to question the situation, not yet.

The small plate truly is small; it looks like he has given you pitiful scraps of things they didn’t want. Stale crackers. The hard pieces of dried meat from an animal you aren’t sure of. But it’s more than you have had in a week. With just how fast you inhale it, there is no time to wipe the crumbs from your lips.

Blue is staring wide-eyed when you are done.

You gulp down the mug of water.

“Shit balls. You really were hungry.”

Ghost pulls his mask back over a stubbled jaw and lets out an irritated groan. “I told you to stop with that. What are you even sayin’?”

“And I told you—“ she shoots him a look, tongue poking out. You sit there with your chest rising and falling slowly, each breath requiring more energy than you have. “ —that I like to be creative with it.”

They are talking to each other as if you are not even there.

“There is no being creative with it. If you’re gonna swear, do it right, yeah?”

A few more bickers. One voice low and gravelly. A cockney accent. The other voice, soft and pettish. But you don’t care to listen. Rather, your eyes stare at your empty plate and you press the tip of your thumb to the crumbs and lick them off like a scrounging rodent.

The moment Blue is done with the peanut butter, a big boot under the table taps the leg of her chair.

“Time for bed, kid?”

“Dad—”

“Go on.”

He juts his chin in the direction of a small hallway where you can make out the shape of a few doors in the dim light. One must be her room because, with a sigh, she stands from the table and heads towards it, leaving you alone with him.

He is a man who threatened to kill you, and now a man who has stitched you up and fed you.

Tomorrow you’re out.

Sucking in a breath, you look up at him. “What is your game?”

He narrows his eyes. “That how you say thank you?”

“Thank you for what?” your voice rattles through fragile bones. “Keeping me alive for one more day? You should have left me there to bleed out.”

“I should have.”

“So why didn’t you? Are you fucking evil or what?” Your teeth tighten and the muscles of your face clench. “I have nothing. No one. You know I won’t survive out there. What was the point of this— “ you gesture to the spot where your wound lies under the shirt, then to the plate in front of you, “—and the food? There is no good reason to, right?”

“There is no good reason,” he repeats in a murmur. "Maybe I jus’ pity you. You look like you’re one of ‘em already.”

He leans back in the chair as his eyes drag over you. He is covered head-to-toe. Wearing a long-sleeve black shirt and jeans. The mask is just as intimidating as before, a plastic skull sewed crudely to the black fabric and two faded, white lines painted down the chin of it.

Where you’d been terrified of the sight the first time, you are now angered. Your breath quickens through sore lungs.

“I don’t want your pity. I want you to stop being a coward and fucking kill me already,” you say, waving around a bony hand, “...or fucking help me. Make up your mind, but don’t send me out there again to suffer.”

You continue, quieter, wiping your wet nose.

“You can do it now,” a curl at your lips. “She’s not here to stop you.”

Dark eyes flicker away and stare dully at the cabin wall. He is boarded up like the windows. There is nothing to see except for the growing tension in the muscles under his clothes and the way his hands roll up.

The silence is dizzying. It could be fatal.

But finally, he looks back at you.

He pulls his broad shoulders into an intimidating posture before offering his decision in a growl.

“You will sleep outside," and your heartbeat staggers, "You won’t have any of our medicine. You will get food for yourself once that shit is healed. And—“ his voice lowers into something that makes your frail body shiver, his hand moving to grip the table. “—if you lay a finger on her, your neck will be the next thing I break. Understood?”

Your lips part. They close.

Your eyes flutter shut and you lean back in the chair. With a gargled gasp, you nod.

“Understood.”

Something soft touches your foot that first morning.

It gently rouses you.

"Hey, I heard you're a part of the team now."

A head pokes into the small shed you've been banished to and sunlight filters in. Groaning, you shift against the dusted floorboards. Your body only fits with its knees bent. Ghost gave you a thick blanket to sleep with, but nothing to lay on. Still, this shed is within their fortification.

You are still alive.

Somehow.

The game of survival has spat you out here, at the camp of a father and daughter. The memory of your first encounter takes the form of a phantom welt on your throat. Could you trust that he wouldn’t change his mind?

It’s not like you have a choice.

"Huh?" is all you can say, looking up at the child who you suspect had great influence on the moments leading you here.

"You know... the team."

Blue smiles down at you. The soft touch to your foot ends up moving right by your cheek. A puffy tail tickles the skin.

"What is—?"

"This is Grim," she says cheerily, and reaches down to pick up what you now see is a chocolate rabbit. "He's a good friend of mine."

"You have a pet?" you ask, rubbing your eyes in surprise. The pain in your torso has faded just a bit. Still, your body feels like a corpse. You sit up and the blanket falls to your waist. You miss the couch.

"Not a pet, a friend," she says. "Come on. Get up."

Painfully, you follow her out of the shed. Now that you are not running away from Greys, you can observe their camp better. It is... impressive. Not only is there the fence and trench outside, but within it is more than you ever had at your old camp. Covered in the snow lays a wood planter, which you assume they use to grow crops in the other seasons. Just next to the house is a large wooden hutch housing more rabbits than you have seen in a lifetime.

Blue leads you there, plants a kiss on the top of Grim's head, and slips him back in.

"You have a lot of friends.”

“They aren’t all my friends,” she says. “Only Grim. The others are food.”

Rabbits for food? It's brilliant. They breed like crazy. Having this food supply at their fingertips means they must not hunt as often as you and Paul had to— which means, fewer encounters with the threats outside.

Ghost is smart.

The mere setup of this place is evidence of how well he understands their needs. And with how well-fed Blue appears, they have not yet struggled the way you have.

But their food won’t be for you much longer. With your lack of a bow, you wonder how you’re meant to hunt.

Instead of worrying about it yet, you ask Blue, “Where is your dad?”

“Huh? Oh, Ghost is cleaning up your mess from yesterday.” She gives a shrug. “And he’s shoveling the trench. Doesn’t really work if there’s snow in there.”

“Why do you call him Ghost?”

You take a good look at her.

Her fair skin covers soft cheekbones, the skin of her rosy lips has been chewed a bit at the corner, and her eyes are truly the opposite of his: full and bright. She thinks the question over for a long moment as if it is something she’s never had to prepare an answer for.

Maybe, there has just never been anyone around to ask.

“He used to play outside with me,” she finally says. “He was in the military, you know? And when he was home, we would play this survival game. Pretend to shoot each other. Climb the trees. He had his codename, so I had to have mine.”

Military. That makes sense.

She continues, eyes flickering down to the herd of rabbits as her fingers brush thoughtlessly over the edge of the hatch.

“When things happened, I just remember him telling me that it was like we were playing survival again, except - you know - not a game this time,” her brows furrow, then she shrugs, “He’s called me by my codename ever since and I usually call him by his. Sometimes Dad fits better.”

“So," you say, "what is your real name, then?”

“I’d tell you," she gives a smile that reaches her blue eyes, "...but then I’d have to kill you.”

It is then you notice that Blue carries two knives on her. One strapped to her ankle, and the other tucked in the belt of her trousers.

Breakfast consists of what you now realize is rabbit. Again, your plate is much smaller than theirs. Ghost feeds you like one would feed a stray dog. You thought it might be awkward, sitting at the table with them. Part of the team. Except, not really. You feel more like a pest.

It's not really awkward apart from the fact that Ghost doesn't spare you even a glance. Blue's curiosity fills the space. She asks for your name. She wonders where you came from and why you were alone, her head tilted and her elbows leaning on the table. You explain your story quietly, shifting your gaze to her dad, and do your best to leave out the gritty parts. She listens, and offers a few gentle "sorry's".

"I can't imagine having a sister," she says when you are done. "And I also can't imagine having to watch her die like that."

Ghost stares at her.

You respond anyway, "I never imagined it, either."

After eating, Ghost leaves to fetch the same blanket he'd given you for sleep. Finally, he looks at you. Dark eyes that have the smallest flicker of disgust as they travel over you, causing your throat to dry.

"You smell like shit. Come on."

You learn that bathing for Ghost and Blue means using a small rag and soap made from resin. The cabin has a bathroom, but there is no running water, so instead, there is a bucket of some collected from a nearby creek. Ghost hovers near the bathroom door for a moment, before shaking his head and leaving you.

The cold water stings. Ghost was blunt but not wrong. You smelled like rot. You drag the rag over your skin and the valleys of your ribs, disgusted by what you see, and have a hard time remembering what your body once looked like. Your wound is still puffy against the stitches. Red, screaming. The small, scratched mirror above the sink shows you a ghastly face. You look away. You use the blanket to dry yourself.

Outside, you find Ghost and Blue playing tic-tac-toe in the snow. It's something you used to do with your nephew, only it was usually one-sided because he was always too withdrawn to care. Blue, on the other hand, narrows her eyes in fierce competition and Ghost sits on a tree stump, his elbows on his knees.

“How come you always get to start, huh?”

“Because,” she sings, drawn out, “Youngest goes first.”

“Doesn’t sound very fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Remember, Ghost?”

“Jesus, kid. Not even a teenager and you’re already usin’ my words against me.”

"Don't say them if you don't want me using them."

"Just go, it's your turn."

This is how those first few days go.

It is mundane. Games, scattered meals, and walks to the creek for water. You don't join them. Ghost ignores you for the most part except to silently offer bits of food and checks to your wound. His rough fingertips never soften, not for you. He finds your old coat on the second day and gives it back with a cold: M’not giving you another if you lose it. It still smells like Greys.

You feel like an intruder, sticking to your shed most of the time. Blue pokes and prods at you curiously. It is as if she doesn’t know how much she is allowed to interact.

On the fourth morning, she greets you again with a soft wake-up call from Grim and, to your relief, an extra piece of meat that she slips into your palm while whispering: Don’t tell Ghost, okay?

And it's on this day, after breakfast, that the two of them decide to leave the camp to go hunting. Ghost is a big guy. Rabbits alone can't keep up the thick sinew of him.

"You're comin' with us," he tells you, wearing a thick SAS jacket for the occasion.

You almost choke. "What?"

"Your stitches are lookin' fine and you're walking alright." His voice is flat, with an edge to it that teeters towards irritation. "You can get your own damn food."

"I don't have anything to hunt with," you remind him.

He tucks Blue's hair behind her ear before asking her to wait outside.

Then, he disappears into a room down the hall, coming back a moment later with a wooden bow in one hand and a military-grade knife in the other. On his back is a rifle, and in a sheath on his tac pants is a handgun.

He sticks the bow in your hand, then the knife in the other. With wide eyes, you look over the carved wood. It is stronger than your old one, whittled down smooth from oak. Along the curve of it, Blue is etched in all capitals.

"She doesn't use it much," he says, before suddenly, the metal tip of his handgun presses into your torso - the wounded side - and he loops his fingers around the back of your neck, pulling you close.

"Don't even think of trying anything," Ghost growls this warning in your ear, digging the end of his gun hard enough to make you whimper as your healing wound cries out. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you. I won't."

taglist:

@cool-0-n @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost #zombie apocolypse au #tw blood #tw death #tw gore

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

Text

Thank you

Keegan x AFAB reader

Credit for the artwork to @ave661 who kills it every-time.

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, themes of depression, self-critical thinking

This was gonna be fluff, but I’m incapable apparently.

————

Lying on the roof of base you leant back onto your elbows as you allowed the fine rain to mist over your face. You often came up here when you wanted to clear your head. It was peaceful, still. The familiar sting of loneliness throbbed in your chest as you took in strangled breaths, urging yourself to calm down. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as your chest collapsed in on itself.

You allowed them to fall, cleansing your soul of the pain you were feeling. Looking up at the sky your eyes drifted along the stars before landing on the moon. The blue hue of the moon bore down upon you as you covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. While the pain your felt was incredibly real you couldn’t place what emotion it stemmed from. It was more than sadness, it was more than anguish, it was a silent emotion that crept up on you. Keeping you hostage within its firm grasp.

‘Thought I’d find you here kid’ a husky voice penetrated the darkness. You remained looking at the sky, the rain started to pick up, the heavy droplets of water kissed your skin. The figure trudged over to you before sitting by your head. Looking up a pair of cloudy silver eyes looked back at you, his gaze softening slightly as you finally acknowledged him.

‘Hi’ you muttered meekly.

‘Didn’t see you at dinner.’

‘So you came looking for me?’ You asked, removing your gaze from his, back to the sky. ‘You been quiet lately, been worried about you.’ You scoffed internally to yourself. Why would anyone be worried about you? Why should anyone be worried about you? ‘Why are you here Keegan?’ It came out a little more cold than you had intended.

‘Cause I care about you kid, you haven’t been yourself for a while now.’ He sounded sincere, but the little voice inside your head was already telling you he couldn’t be trusted. You weren’t worth caring about.

Slowly you sat up, swinging your legs around so you were sat upright, next to Keegan. Your clothes stuck to you, clinging to your form as you repositioned yourself. Your shoulders hunched over as you leant on your arms, fresh tears now falling with the rain.

‘Why? No one really cares, they tell you to talk, they listen but they don’t hear you. How are you any different?’ You spat, eyes still firmly staring at the ground. A warm hand encased your cheek, pulling you to look at him. Reluctantly you turned your head, your now bloodshot eyes met his calm pools of grey and blue. It was enough to make bile rise to the back of your throat. ‘Because you’re a good person, and because I like you. Always have.’ He was being sincere, serious even. His face didn’t falter when he expressed those words. You rolled your eyes, the words stung, piercing the armour you’d placed around yourself.

‘You’re fuckin delusional’ you spat, unwilling to accept his words. He placed his other hand on your cheek, cupping your face entirely. ‘Why do you hate yourself so much?’ His voice was strained, a tinge of pain strung throughout it. You’d been with the Ghosts coming up to a year now, you got on well with them and even better with Keegan. You felt safe in his company, on and off the field. He’d wormed his way in instantly, and you hated him for it.

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit your attraction to him, he was gorgeous, kind, a great mentor. You’d flirted on and off for months but nothing ever came of it. Convincing yourself you weren’t worth his time, his love, if he felt that at all. You didn’t deserve to be loved, to be liked. You placed your hand over his, shutting your eyes trying to calm yourself. ‘Why do you care? Why are you up here?’ Pain and disbelief evident in your voice.

He placed his forehead against yours, ‘because you don’t, I’ll care enough for the both of us. You don’t deserve the pain you put yourself through.’ A guttural sob left your chest as he pulled you into him, placing his arms around you. He felt safe. He felt like home. Cradling your head he kissed your temple, ‘I’ve always cared about you, more than you’ll ever know.’ It was such an alien feeling, having someone outwardly confess how much they care. It made you cringe.

He kissed your cheek this time, and again, edging closer to your lips this time. You bit your lip, the salty taste of your tears spread across your tongue. This wasn’t real. You couldn’t accept it was real. How could anyone want this with you? You whispered his name against his lips, a plea of disbelief. ‘Please’ he begged ‘let yourself be happy, let me in.’

You peered up at him, lashes saturated with tears and rain. You still didn’t understand what he saw in you, why he would want this. But for once you allowed yourself to feel, to really feel a sliver of anything but sorrow.

Glancing down to his lips again a strained breath forced from your chest, you cupped his jaw in return. As he placed his lips on yours it felt like you’d been punched full force in the gut. You gripped at his jaw, falling into the kiss further and further. Your jaws opened in perfect unison as you swiped your tongue along his. A quiet groan rattled in his chest as he dropped a hand to your waist.

Taking this as your cue you straddled him, never faltering from his kiss. Instead of sadness you now felt overwhelmed with passion, infatuation. He gripped at your back, nails digging into your saturated skin. You ran your fingers through his hair, a black tangled mess. You knelt up onto your knees, leaning over him as you moaned deeper and deeper into him.

He pulled back, breathless ‘slow down kid.’ Instantly your mind told you you were being rejected, but it was quite the opposite. Your chests rose and fell in tandem, panting to one another. The butterflies that swarmed in your abdomen shot down to your cunt, rolling your hips into him. Staring down at his face, his perfect face you whispered his name again. Begging him for more. ‘Please’ it was bust a whisper lost on the roof of the base.

His throat bobbed at your words, at your plea. His mouth suddenly running dry. He lifted you onto his hips as he made his way to the door. ‘No.’ He looked at you confused.

‘Here, on the roof’ you asked tracing his lips with your thumb. ‘Really? In the rain?’ You nodded in return, kissing him once more.

Letting you down your boots hit the floor, you led on the ground, legs parted, droplets of rain running down your face. Keegan placed himself between your thighs as he kissed your neck, ‘fuckin hell kid.’ Placing a finger on his swollen lips you hushed him ‘shh Keegan, just fuck me. Please.’

Wasting no time you fumbled with your belts, pulling your trousers down as far as the wet material would let you. Freeing himself he lined up at your entrance, pushing himself into your cunt he threw his head back. A grunt came from the pit of his chest. He clawed at your hips, your waist, your ribs. Any part of you he could touch, that he could feel, like a man touch starved. You pulled him close to your chest as he began to thrust faster and faster.

Delicate moans flooded his ears as you cradled his head into your neck. It was primal, pure desire and just fuelling this … what ever it was between you. Arching your back you rolled your hips as he dropped a hand to softly rub your clit. ‘Don’t stop, fuck Keegan, please don’t stop.’ It was a whine, a sob, a cry of pure untamed pleasure. He panted into your ear, guttural whimpers as he savoured the sensation of your cunt around him. He couldn’t talk even if he wanted to, completely lost to this feeling, lost in the moment with you.

Pulling him to your face you rested your foreheads together, inhaling each others moans. Mouths open and slack, chasing each others high, daring each other to fall first.

But it was you.

You came first, clenching around his cock he cupped your face ‘that’s it … atta girl … come on my cock.’ His voice was dry, withered. As he coached you through your orgasm his pace became sloppy, jagged. ‘In me, cum in me’ you whimpered, eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed as you tried to regain control. His moans can only be described as heavenly, sinful, but ultimately indescribable. His cock pulsated inside you as he came, filling you completely.

He rested his head in your chest as he rode out his orgasm, panting onto your skin. ‘Keegan?’ You asked quietly. ‘Yeah?’ He remained breathing heavily into you.

‘Thank you.’

#keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan p russ #call of duty keegan #keegan cod #keegan russ smut #keegan russ x you #cod ghosts

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neon-junkie · 1 year

Text

Behind the Screen - Pt.3

Summary: Tech has been scrolling for hours, searching for something specific. His little crush on you is constantly sitting on his shoulders, and it’s weighing him down to the point that he’s desperate to find any content that reminds him of you, so he can jerk off and go to sleep! However, what he wasn’t expecting was to come across you specifically, legs spread, hand in between your thighs as you touch yourself proudly on camera.

Pairing: Tech x Female Reader

Tags: Sex work, Mutual pining, Masturbation, Flirting, Smut, First time, First kiss, Light dom/sub, Oral (giving and receiving,) Multiple positions, Dirty talk, Creampie, Pillow talk, Love confessions.

Word count: 6k

[Part 1]

Notes: HELLO LOL. I didn't realise I had left this fic for a year n a half!! I started writing the finale back after I posted the previous chapter, but I just... couldn't get into it. I kept going back to it, adding this, removing that, and then I decided to leave it for a couple of months, and focus on other fics. Well, it's finished! I've finished this series!!! YIPPIEEEEE!!! Thank you to everybody who's stuck around. I didn't think this trope/fic would become popular, but I'm thankful that it has ^_^

Knock knock!

You knock again, uncertain if Tech heard the first time. He's probably caught up in work, as always, no doubt with headphones on. It's also likely that he might be asleep, but it's a rarity for Tech to sleep before the sun rises. He can be both a night owl, and an early worm, only because he stays up all day and night, tinkering away on never-ending projects.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you decide that he doesn't want to be disturbed, and begin making your way down the Marauder's corridor, heading back to your room.

And then a familiar voice calls out your name...

Peering over your shoulder, you lock eyes with Tech, half-hanging out of his doorway. He looks like he's just run a marathon, covered in sweat, and missing his shirt with his goggles resting up on his forehead. "Do you need something?" he asks after clearing his throat.

"Your assistance, if you're free?" you question back.

Tech stutters, debating his reply. He knows that you're into him, and that you're attempting to get him into bed right now, but the issue is... well, him. It's painfully obvious what Tech has just been doing - jerking off - as he's still rock solid, and barely able to hide his length behind his sweatpants. How is he meant to explain that? Confess that he was watching your stream? What if you get offended? Or find it creepy?

"What exactly do you need?" Tech asks, somewhat avoiding your question.

"Uh... I can tell you in my room? It's... personal," you briefly explain with a soft shrug, nodding in the direction of your room.

You truly are two awkward idiots pining after each other, aren't you? Both in your underwear, clearly interested in each other, but too ditsy to confess and sin the night away. "One second," Tech mutters before scurrying back into his room. He shifts his erection about, attempting to cover it as much as possible. If he walks a certain way, then he can keep his erection contained, rather than letting it glide against the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants. So, he waddles awkwardly after you down the hallway, and thankfully, your back remains turned.

Upon entering, Tech blushes at your setup, knowing exactly what you've been doing. It's not like he was watching, right?

"What are you filming?" Tech asks, hoping that his innocent question is an open window for certain things to happen.

"Well..." you begin, and turn to face him. "I need your assistance for something that I'm filming, but it's rather... uh, explicit."

"Explicit?" Tech stutters, looking at you wide-eyed. Maker, are his eyes always this vibrant? A welcoming shade of brown, often hidden behind the yellow tint of his goggles. The soft indents of his goggles come into focus, and you smile at the sight. He's such a dork - a loveable, shirtless dork, who's attempting to not focus on the used dildo sitting on your bedside table.

"Yeah," you nod in confirmation. Your eyes scan the perimeter, quickly chalking up a plan. Maybe you should have thought about how to come onto him first, but there's no harm in following the flow. "Sit down," you gesture to your bed, although your words come out like a timid question.

Tech looks at you for a moment before sitting on the edge of your bed, his hands resting on his lap, clearly hiding something. Without a word, you slowly drop to your knees, positioning yourself in front of Tech's legs. He raises a brow, and it remains raised as you say, "tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"Alright," Tech nods, followed by letting out a shaky sigh. He watches as you place your hands on his thighs, parting them slightly so you can wedge yourself between his knees. His thigh muscles flex at your touch, skin contact separated by a thick layer of fabric, soon to hopefully be removed.

You gently squeeze Tech's thighs, massaging them in an attempt to calm his nerves; or are you trying to calm yourself? Your stomach is more restless than the waves on Kamino, and somehow, they worsen when Tech finally moves his hands off his crotch, revealing his painfully hard erection.

"Oh," you softly sigh, not realising the expression has fallen from your lips. Tech grips onto the edge of your bed, bunching up fistfuls of your duvet, acting like an awkward teenager. His tense emotion grows tenfold when you look up at him from beneath your lashes, and ask, "may I?" in a tone so sweet that it's guaranteed to give him cavities.

"Please," Tech practically sobs, desperate for your touch.

You don't dive in straight away; instead, you wrap your hand around his clothed erection, and get a feel for what you'll be working with. Maker, he's gorgeous. Tech seems to be the man of your dreams, delicious and perfect in every way, and such perfections continue throughout his entire body. He sweetly groans as you touch him, firmly enough to show your presence, but still light as to not give him too much pleasure.

"Is this alright?" you question, locking your gaze onto Tech's.

Tech's fists tighten around the edge of your bed, attempting to steady his dizzy form. He's on cloud nine, in euphoria, blissed out from such a small amount of contact. "Y-Yes," Tech weakly nods.

A light laugh flows from your lips as you move a hand up to press on his chest. "Relax," you sweetly order as you gently push, encouraging him to drop onto his elbows, and unwind for the first time in days.

Tech goes to push the bridge of his goggles up his nose, a small gesture that he does when nervous, only to remember that they're resting on his forehead. You can't help but smile at him again, and your smile remains as you gesture to Tech's sweatpants and ask, "can I take these off?"

"Of course," Tech consents with another nod. With your help, he shimmies his sweatpants down, and kicks them off, discarding them on your bedroom floor.

As Tech lies back onto his elbows, you take a good look at him, now nude, relaxing on your bed. His solid cock is pressed deliciously against his stomach, waiting for attention, with a certain... something wrapped around the base. You make a mental note to mention that later, but for now, you peer up as Tech casts you a soft smile after readjusting the way his goggles are sitting on his forehead; clearly, he's uncertain if he should remove them, and you decide for him as you comment, "they look cute."

"Cute?" Tech repeats with rosy cheeks. "Darling, if only you could see yourself."

This time, you're the one blushing. The tender moment fizzes out into lust as your eyes trail back down to his cock, and instinctively, you sit forward on your knees, sandwiching yourself between Tech's thighs again. An almost silent exhale can be heard as you gently wrap your fist around his cock, and begin jerking him, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight.

"So..." you begin. "I should probably tell you what exactly is going on."

"Oh. Yes, indeed," Tech agrees, feigning innocence, as if he wasn't watching you perform mere minutes ago, with clear evidence scattered around your dorm.

"Well, Tech... in my spare time, I like to stream."

"What games do you play?" Tech questions without missing a beat.

"I- No, I mean stream," you repeat, and emphasize that last word.

"Oh," Tech mutters as he side-eyes the used dildo still sitting on your bedside table. His expression is pleasant, far from concerned, not the expression that you were expecting.

"Yeah. And I've been wanting to partner up with someone for quite some time now..." you continue, leaving open windows for Tech to slide any questions in. Instead, he simply nods. "...My viewers were telling me I should make a move on someone that I'm into, and... well, now you're here."

Tech lets out a nervous sound, a mixture between a laugh, and a sigh. "You have... far better choices than myself," he grumbles as he diverts his gaze to the floor.

"Don't be so self-deprecating, Tech," you roll your eyes. "If I wanted anyone else, I would have approached them, hm?"

"Certainly, that is true," Tech agrees with a light shrug. "However, I'm not certain that I can perform up to your standards."

"Oh?" you quirk a brow. "Are you hinting that you're a virgin?"

Tech lets out that same nervous sound from before as one hand moves up to rub the back of his neck. "Not particularly, but it's been so long that I certainly feel like my virginity has 'grown back,' as some would say."

Whilst still slowly pumping Tech's cock, you kiss along his tanned thighs, noticing how the muscles tense and relax under your touch. "Well..." you say between kisses, "how about you let me do the work, and I'll guide you?"

A whimper escapes Tech's lips when you reach his cock, only to divert your lips away, and peer up at him, awaiting his reply. "I am happy with this arrangement," Tech confirms with an eager nod.

"Good, good," you smile. "Now, I need to address the Nexu in the room..."

Ah. Tech knew you were going to mention this. His appearance was rushed when you knocked on his door, and a certain item was left on standby, unable to be removed during Tech's moment of panic.

"Tech..." you say with a light laugh. "Why do you have a cock ring on?"

The poor man looks like he's about to burst from embarrassment; his body has shifted to a deep shade of red, all the way up to the tips of his ears. Sweat is forming above his brow, and Tech refuses to make eye contact.

"Well, I-I uh..." Tech stutters, and rubs his hand across his face. "I was... occupied when you knocked on for my assistance."

"Uh-huh," you say with a slow nod, biting back a giggle. "I guess you didn't get around to finishing?"

"Not... yet..."

"I also assume that you were edging yourself?" you question again, and continue biting back laughter when Tech sheepishly nods. "How long for?" you stutter, in awe that you've just discovered a small handful of Tech's kinks.

"I'm afraid I wasn't keeping track of time, but it certainly was... a while," Tech shrugs, still refusing to meet your gaze.

You bat your lashes as you sarcastically reply, "Tech, you poor thing."

Tech casts you a scowl, only for his expression to instantly disperse as you begin to slowly and carefully remove his cock ring. "Let me help you," you sweetly coo, and soon toss the cock ring to the end of your bed, instantly to be forgotten about.

Tech hisses through his teeth as you wrap your fist around his length, now jerking him with ease. His cock is throbbing against your palm, weeping from such minor contact, desperate for release after, what must be, an hour of edging? More? Less? Who knows!

With one hand occupied, the other unfastens the ties of your gown, and you shrug it from your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. Tech instantly flushes again from the sight - you, on your knees, pumping his leaking cock whilst wearing nothing but lingerie. Maker, he certainly has died and gone to heaven, or whatever holy place the afterlife holds.

"Can I take this further?" you question.

Eagerly, Tech nods his head, and mumbles, "please." He then clears his throat, and tries again, "if you would, please."

You barely need to put any effort into your touch. After licking a firm stripe up the base of Tech's cock, and swirling your tongue around the tip, Tech falls back onto the bed and blurts out, "I'm not going to last long."

Biting back a laugh, you coo, "that's alright, Tech. Whenever you're ready."

Poor thing. At least his stamina will be reset when it comes to round two!

You softly run his cock past your lips, pumping the base in time with your thrusts. You're gentle, knowing that he's overstimulated as it is, but it seems even your feather-light touches are enough to make his knees weak. Tech's warning appears as a groan, and with that, the taste of his release appears on your tongue.

Once you're off his cock, you gulp down some water, rinsing the salty taste from your tongue. Tech peers up at you from his debauched state on your bed, and after letting out a deep sigh, he mutters, "your turn."

"Are you sure you're ready?" you say with a soft laugh. Tech eagerly nods, and hoists himself up into a sitting position.

"But first..." his words linger, and are replaced with the sensation of his lips against yours. It's such a tender kiss, so delicate and nervous, barely lasting a few seconds before Tech breaks apart. "I am following your lead, Darling, but I'm certain that you'd like some attention, yes?"

"Mhm," you say with a nod. "I suppose I should turn my stream back on too?"

"Whenever you're ready," Tech consents. With that, you rise to your feet and awaken your laptop. You get your stream up and running again, and as you sit back down on the bed, in camera shot, you ponder on making some sort of announcement.

"I'm... I'm just going to focus on you," you inform Tech. "I want this to be natural, you know? It is our first time, after all."

"And hopefully, not the last," Tech says with a hopeful glisten.

You let out a chuckle, only for your laughter to fall silent as you plant a sweet kiss on Tech's lips. He lets out a hum, and deepens the kiss as his hand comes up to cup your jawline, his fingertips dancing over your hairline.

"It would be nice to rewatch this one day," Tech mutters against your lips, referring to your stream.

"We've barely started," you point out, chuckling once again.

"Ah, yes. About that..." Tech smirks. This time, you're the one being pushed back onto the bed. Large palms grip at your thighs as Tech shifts down into position, spreading you apart. His semi-erect cock is pressed between his stomach and the bedsheets, and you let out a groan as he begins kissing down each thigh, stopping when he gets close, then switching to the other.

One hand moves from your thigh, and Tech pauses his kissing to watch in awe as he hooks his index finger around your panties, shifting them to the side to expose your cunt. "Oh, my..." Tech mutters under his breath.

He manages to wedge the crotch of your panties in the crevice of your thigh, freeing his index finger. It gently runs over your folds, up and down, testing the waters. Once tested, Tech decides to switch his finger out for a more efficient tool, and smiles to himself as he licks a firm stripe along your pussy.

Up and down, over and over. He's teasing you, but in doing that, he's also teasing himself. Tech caves in swiftly, and puts his focus onto your clit, smiling once more as you fall back from your elbows with a moan.

The hand on your thigh tightens, holding you in place, whilst his other hand begins prodding at your entrance. A single digit is teasing you, and if this alone is making you a whimpering mess, then who knows what more will do to you.

Tech soon slips his fingers in, and as he does it, he firmly sucks on your clit. Your thighs instinctively attempt to clench together, and with it, Tech's brows furrow as he clicks his tongue. "Ah, ah!" he mutters against you. "Don't you dare."

"...sorry..." you pathetically whimper.

Satisfied with your meek apology, Tech returns to his task, and before you know it, another finger has slipped into you. They curl upwards, and your thighs begin to tremble again as Tech begins rubbing against that spot, all whilst he's having a sloppy make out session with your clit.

Digging your fists into the bedsheets is doing nothing for you. So, you tangle your fingers in Tech's hair, your chest warming as the realisation that his hair is soft. You don't want to tug hard - how could you do that to such a man?! - but your light pulls are clearly appreciated, as Tech lets out a soft hum in response.

Tension is high, running throughout your entire body, and passing through to Tech. Whilst lying flat on his stomach, his hips are softly moving, grinding his cock against your bed, desperate for some form of relief. However, Tech can wait, and take pleasure in ruining you whilst working on his patience.

"T-Tech, holy fuck," you whine. That's all you manage to sputter out before your first orgasm hits you, your hips automatically rocking against Tech's tongue as he milks your pleasure.

"That's it," Tech repeats, muttering against your folds. He fingers continue to pump away, but as your orgasm ends, so does his magic. He's grinning like an idiot as he removes himself from between your thighs, and licks his lips before wiping your juices off his face using the back of his hand.

"Are you satisfied?" Tech asks, and all you can manage is a pitiful nod. "Excellent, then I will continue to keep my standards up."

You let out a light laugh; every time that you've dreamt about hooking up with Tech, he's always remained formal. That's just Tech, even if your fantasies, and it seems that your dream version of him, is painfully accurate.

Tech crawls up the bed, pinning your body against the mattress. He's sweet as he plants a few kisses on your lips, before moving his focus elsewhere. "As ethereal as you look, I would much prefer to see you bare," Tech gestures to your lingerie.

"Go ahead," you reply with a blush. "That is, if you know how to unclasp a bra."

Tech chuckles, and nods his head. "You underestimate me, Darling."

Shifting into an upright position, you watch in awe as Tech begins undressing you, kissing every surface of your body as each item of your lingerie disappears, one at a time. His touch is tender, loving, and deliberate, motivated by admiration and lust - Tech wants to have your mind spinning before he sheaths himself into you, and to nobody's surprise, his plan is working.

"May I?" Tech questions as he moves his head up to yours, your bodies pressed together, with his cock eagerly twitching against your cunt.

You let out a needy, "please," that has Tech chuckling.

"There's no need to be so desperate, my dear," he coos, and locks his lips with yours. The taste of your afterglow is vibrant on his lips, and you don't mind the sweetness; it doesn't last for long, only a few seconds before your attention is stolen elsewhere.

Tech, with his hands curled around your body, manages to slip his cock into you using only a tilt of his hips. His uncut tip begins to slip into your entrance, and all the wind is knocked out of your lungs as Tech slams into you.

Once fully sheathed, Tech holds himself there, his exceptional mind spinning in admiration. He's oh-so-giddy, utterly love drunk over you, and the fact that he's here - inside of you - has caused his poor brain to short circuit.

Tech reboots, and begins with a calm roll of his hips. Back and forth, he's testing the waters, soon to bring you to the depths with him. "Is this alright?" Tech questions, and smirks when you eagerly nod.

The faster he goes, the more you begin to moan, and it seems your vocals are contagious. Tech is letting out sounds that you've never heard before, but they're bound to play on repeat in your mind for the rest of eternity. He is beautiful, even more so like this - slamming into you, with half-lidded honey eyes gazing over your form, parted lips, and a light glisten of sweat coating his body.

Not to mention his goggles, sitting on a slight tilt on his forehead, a silent reminder of the man that you're getting down and dirty with.

Tech, your squad mate, a friend, is fucking you on camera. He's pounding you silly on the Marauder, 'his' ship, as he calls her; yet, it's not only his ship. The others are meant to be asleep, but you two are most definitely keeping them awake.

"I don't want you to, but you need to be quiet," you painfully protest. As sweet as Tech's mewls are, he's blatantly loud, and it doesn't take a genius like himself to put two and two together. Tech is moaning in your room? Yeah, that's a recipe for teasing from the others.

"I do not want to," Tech replies with a mindless shrug, and an expression that reads, 'and how dare you suggest it!'

"The others will-"

"-That's fine," Tech cuts you short with a small wave of his hand. "I can tolerate their teasing. It's not like I've endured it before," he shrugs, and returns to a quick pace, the sound of skin against skin filling up your room.

His thrusts have your brain short-circuiting, until his words repeat in your mind. "Wait, they've teased you before? Over...?"

"Over you, yes," Tech confirms with a nod. He almost looks embarrassed at his confession, so much so that his hips have stilled again. "I am not exactly timid when it comes to my admiration for you."

"Awh!" you say with a soft laugh. "I've never picked up on anything," you confession, and this time, Tech is the one raising his brow.

"Never?" he repeats, and seems even more taken aback as you shake your head in confirmation. "Well, I'll spare the details for now, seeing as I don't want to confess to all my sins on camera," Tech explains, and trails his eyes over to your set-up, a reminder that you're streaming all of this.

"We'll save it for pillow talk," you agree.

"Pillow talk? Hm," Tech repeats, adding the new word to his dictionary. "Anyway, back to business."

To your surprise, Tech slips his cock from you, his tanned skin glistening with your slick. "Hands and knees, Darling. I have an idea," Tech orders, and watches in admiration as you change your position. "Here-" he directs you, positioning your face in the cameras' direction, whilst he slots in behind you.

Tech lets out a long and deep sigh as he slides his cock in, his hands finding comfort in the curve of your hips. He gives one slow, experimental thrust, followed by another, testing the waters of this new position.

Soon, he begins, but slow and gently, at first. It only takes a few encouraging moans from you to urge him to speed up his pace, filling the room up once more with the sound of skin against skin.

Tech weaves his fingertips in your hair, and with a tug, pulls your head upright. "Keep your eyes forward, Darling," he speaks against your ear, whilst directing your gaze to the camera. "Look into the camera," he orders, and lets out a pleasing hum as he feels you clench around his length.

Whilst Tech's hand returns to your hips, he keeps his body looming over yours, pinning you down to the mattress. His voice remains low and husk, speaking for you, rather than your audience. "Your meek eye contact is a reminder that they will never be able to enjoy you like this, a sensation that I've been craving ever since you were first assigned to our squad."

"Tech?!" you sputter, peering over your shoulder to meet his gaze.

"Ah, ah!" Tech tuts, and directs your sight forwards. This time, he keeps his grasp in your hair, ensuring that you won't stray from his task. "Once again, eyes forward, Darling."

The excessive evidence of your arousal is now dripping down onto your bunk, along with being slathered all over Tech's cock. He lets out a grunt at the sight, and takes pride in the utter mess that he's making of you. Recording everything is a hobby of Tech's, and he's beaming at the fact that you're doing his job for him, with your adorable little set up. Maybe next time, he'll take a recording from his perspective?

Falling down onto your elbows, you attempt to slip one hand beneath your thighs, wanting to set off the final spark in your chain of reaction. However, Tech swats your hand away, letting your hair now fall freely.

"I'll take care of that," Tech informs, and places two warm fingertips over your clit. "You just focus on looking pretty, which I estimate will be a rather attainable challenge, for you."

And with that, he's paying attention to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in a motion that has your whole body trembling. "T-Tech, shit! I'm gonna-"

"-Of course, you are," Tech cuts you short. "Go ahead, I'm right behind you," Tech encourages, and you swear you overhear him mutter, "quite literally," under his breath.

In those few moments, you consider the position that you're in. Do you really need all of these sex toys? Should you dispose of the entire box? None of them, nothing, will ever compare to this current feeling of bliss - this feeling of bliss that Tech has brought upon you. Nothing will ever beat this, so why not stick to this method every single time?

And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, Tech lets out the neediest moans as he topples forwards, burying his cock to the base, and fills you up to the brim. He's trembling, resting his forehead against your shoulder blades as he rides his high. His goggles are pushed off in the process, falling onto your bed, quickly to be forgotten about.

Tech has to physically peel his body off yours when he finally catches his breath. You're both a mess, utterly debauched, covered in sweat, spit, and Maker knows what else! Whilst Tech rolls onto his back, you take a moment to shut your stream off, mumbling something about having a fun time, and that you'll see your viewers whenever. You'd almost forgotten that the camera was running, and now, you're happy to have a moment alone with your squad mate.

As you lie besides Tech, his hand automatically clings onto your thigh, gently squeezing the muscle. Tech's breaths are finally steadying out, and he licks his lips before opening his eyes.

Warm, alluring eyes meet yours, and for the first time this evening, Tech looks somewhat sheepish. "How... how are you feeling?" he questions.

"Good," you confirm with a nod. "And you?"

"Minus the excessive heart rate, and the overwhelming urge to hop into the refresher, I'd say I'm rather pleasant."

"Pleasant?" you let out a chuckle. Tech raises his brow, and soon laughs along with you. "We've just had sex for the first time, and your response is to say that you're pleasant?"

"Well, I am," he shrugs, his eyes lighting up at your giggles. Even now, in this sweaty and unruly state, Tech is still head over heels for you. If anything, he takes pride in his work, and is thankful that you're not the type to get up and leave after sex.

Well, this is your room, but at least you haven't kicked him out.

A comfortable silence fills the air, and you're content just lying there, bare skin against bare skin, coming down from your joint high. That is, until the meek sound of buzzing catches your ears, and you sit upright to question, "what is that?"

The sound is coming from your box of toys, abandoned on your dorm floor. You let out a frustrated grumble as you rummage through to find that one of your vibrators has switched on, and has probably been buzzing away this entire time, the noise drowned out by your shenanigans.

Tech welcomes you back into your bed with an extended arm, and you don't hesitate to cuddle up to him. "You know..." Tech begins, and pauses before continuing. "I could build toys that are far superior to the standard ones that you own."

"Oh?" your ears perk up. "And would those toys be moulded after yourself, Tech?"

The sound of his name flowing from your lips has him turning red at the tips of his ears, but he brushes his feelings aside. "Why do that, when you could enjoy the real thing?"

"Hm, good point..."

"However, I am sure your viewers wouldn't want me appearing in every stream. Still, I can be there in some form," Tech continues. From the soft tilt to his brows, you can tell that he's starting to think things through, happy and eager to improve the quality of your sex life.

As much as you enjoy seeing his brain tick away, you have a secret that will leave him a sputtering mess, and you decide that it's time to reveal your hidden card.

"You seem rather interested in my streams, Tech," you casually comment as you roll onto your stomach. Your hand comes to rest on Tech's chest, aimlessly playing with his soft trail of chest hair, whilst Tech lies back and enjoys the sensation of your body being pressed to his.

"Well, of course," Tech says with a shrug. "I want to encourage all of your interests-"

"-I don't mean like that," you cut him short. With that, you straddle his hips, pinning his body beneath yours. There's an evil glisten in your eyes as you maintain eye contact with a man who is starting to look worse for wear.

"What do you mean, then?" he sputters, and rests his hands on your thighs.

You pause for dramatic effect, then repeat your previous words. "I mean, you seem really interested in my streams," you smirk. "I think I understand now why you've recently spent so much time in your room."

If there were a physical example of 'guilty,' then Tech would be the spitting image of it! All colour has faded from his skin, soon to be taken over by a flustered swarm of redness. The hands on your thighs have swiftly turned clammy, and rather than stray his eyes around the room, avoiding the topic, all he can do is stare into yours as he realises that he's been caught.

"I... uhhh," Tech mumbles. His mouth falls open, only to instantly fall shut as he realises that, no matter what, there is no denying this. Tech has been caught, red handed, and he has to face the consequences of his actions.

But if the consequences are sleeping with you? Then, by all means, scold him as much as you physically can!

"So, you've got nothing to say for yourself, huh?" you tut, and cross your arms against your chest, your breasts bouncing with the movement, which causes Tech's eyes to wander south before returning to your playfully intimidating gaze.

"H-How did you know?" he questions with dry lips.

"Is that it? Is that all you're going to say?" you tease. Tech instantly begins back-pedalling, but you shut his rambling up with a soft wave of your hand. "As smart as you are, Tech, you're not exactly street smart."

"Do explain?" Tech tilts his head in confusion.

You let out a light chuckle, reminding yourself of how you pieced it all together. "Your username, Tech. You set your username to T99. It was so painfully obvious that it was you," you laugh, and laugh even more as Tech brings his hands up to cover his face with them.

"Forgive me," he mumbles into his grasp, causing you to laugh even harder.

"I'm not mad at you," you explain, and pull his hands from his face, returning them to your thighs. "I was actually happy when I noticed that you'd subscribed, which is why I stole your undershirt from your laundry pile. I wanted to drop a subtle hint that I'm into you."

Tech drums his fingertips against your thighs as his brain ticks away. "The hole that you made, was that intentional?"

"Possibly," you say with an innocent shrug. This time, Tech is the one chuckling, now with a more relaxed form - the opposite to how he looked moments ago. "I was surprised to see that you'd joined my stream, and I was kind of praying that things would eventually lead to this."

"Well..." Tech draws out the word as his hands move up to your waist. A gentle tug on them has you pressing your chest to his, and the way that his lips slide against your own has your chest burning hotter than the sun. Tech's eyes remain locked onto yours as the kiss breaks, and dare you mention it, but you can feel his length hardening again beneath your crotch. "...It's a good thing that I subscribed, hm?"

"A very good thing, indeed," you nod before planing another kiss on his lips.

Tech is oh-so-gentle as he rolls you onto your back, pinning your body beneath his. Your lips remain occupied, all whilst your hands roam every inch of him, to his toned biceps, to the cute plumpness of his butt.

Tech follows suit, admiring you in a new, gentler light, with a silent promise that he's far from finished with you.

Only this time, he'll be mindful of his neighbours.

A pair of feet lie relaxed on the Marauder's dashboard, a rare, yet comforting position for a certain Batcher to be in. Echo's eyes are half-lidded, looking down at his datapad, scrolling through the holonews like a father reading the morning paper. He barely looks up from his article as he comments, "the ship's finally stopped rocking."

Hunter perks up at his words, quite literally. The viroblade that he was twiddling between his fingers comes to a halt, and he squints as he questions his surroundings. "So, it has," Hunter soon agrees, and relaxes back into his chair, letting out a deep and long sigh.

Echo sighs with him as he swipes onto another article. "At least they've got it out of their system," he comments.

"Took them long enough," Hunter agrees with a grumble. "We can finally go to sleep," he continues, and looks over to Echo, who seems rather interested in whatever has grasped his attention.

Unfortunately, some people cannot sleep unless under certain circumstances - Wrecker and Crosshair have no problem dozing off, regardless of their surroundings. However, Echo, has regular sleeping problems, and Hunter struggles due to his heightened senses, meaning they have to sit and endure whatever is going on.

"I'll take the first watch," Echo says with a shrug, finally looking up from his datapad to lock eyes with his rather exhausted Sergeant, the bags beneath his eyes being an obvious giveaway.

"Are you sure?" Hunter asks, sheathing his viroblade, eager to get some rest, but not wanting to disregard Echo's needs and comfort.

"Yeah. I've got a few more things I want to read first," Echo shrugs, and returns to his holonews. He softly smiles at the sound of relief that Hunter makes as he pushes himself up from his chair.

Hunter has no effort to argue with his ARC Trooper, and swiftly accepts his invitation. "If you say so," Hunter replies, and says goodnight, heading down the Marauder's hallway, desperate for his bunk.

Echo remains fixated on his reading whilst his hand moves up to flick a button on his earpiece, muting his surroundings. "Just in case," he comments to himself, despite not being able to hear.

Better safe, than sorry!

#behind the screen #tbb #the bad batch #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #f!reader #smut #female reader #reader insert #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb tech #tech

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