#the way she tucks her face against his neck

[rookieloveskashi]

This Is How It Starts

Relationship: Hatake Kakashi x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Warnings: smut, dubcon? (sex pollen), porn with plot, confessions of feelings, voyeurism, masturbation, nipple play, 69, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, cum swallowing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, POV Kakashi

Word Count: 9.3k (i have no excuse)

Summary: Kakashi is surprised to learn he'll be bringing you—a civilian—on his next mission. He takes every precaution he can think of, but what will he do when a strange new jutsu has an effect that he couldn't predict?

AO3 Link

Kakashi tucked his hands deep in his pockets as he waited for Tsunade’s office door to open. The report from his latest solo mission was stored in one of the front pouches of his flak vest, and he hoped he would manage to get in and out without a new mission scroll replacing it.

It had been nearly four months since Tsunade had been welcomed as Hokage to a village short on shinobi, and Kakashi hadn’t had an hour of free time since. At first, he had worried that his defeat at Itachi’s hands—or eyes, rather—would mean he’d lost some of the new Hokage’s confidence. But by this point, he wished that had been the case.

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eye, figuring he may as well catch a few minutes of sleep while he had the chance. So when the door opened only a moment later, Kakashi chose to keep his head reclined and his eye closed, savoring a few more seconds of peace.

“She finally ready for me?” he asked, expecting to hear Shizune sigh before inviting him in.

“I think so…”

The voice that responded did not belong to Shizune. Kakashi finally opened his eye and there you were: the last person he expected to see coming out of the Hokage’s office.

You also happened to be the last person he would mind seeing, but that was another matter entirely.

“Y/N.” Kakashi felt his cheeks heat up as he fixed his posture and rubbed his sore neck. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“First time for everything I guess,” you smiled. “You getting back from a mission?”

Kakashi held up the scroll containing his mission report. “Turn in one, get assigned another.”

A genuine look of empathy colored your face. “I’m sorry.”

“Maah, it isn’t your fault,” he shrugged. “It’s just the way it is right now.”

“Kakashi!” Tsunade shouted from inside her office. “You just gonna stand out there all day?!”

“Duty calls,” he sighed.

“Good luck on your next assignment,” you offered. 

“Thank you.”

Kakashi lingered beside the door, watching for just a moment as you made your way toward the exit down the hall. His curiosity got the better of him, which he quickly made known as he walked into the Hokage’s office.

“What was Y/N doing here?”

Tsunade wore an unamused expression, keeping quiet as Kakashi approached her desk. The two spent a few seconds in a charged silence before she rolled her eyes. “Normally, I would say it’s none of your business, but it happens to be relevant to your next mission.”

Kakashi didn’t even have a chance to make a smart comment about being assigned yet another mission without rest. The fact that you were somehow involved nullified his exhaustion. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve gotten reports that suggest evidence of a forbidden jutsu being developed in the Land of Rivers. All we really know so far is that it’s explosive-based. I need you to go and learn everything you can about it; who’s behind it? What does it do? Is it something that requires a specific chakra nature, or does it have the potential to be more of a widespread problem? I want all the information you can get.”

“Okay… but what does that have to do with Y/N?”

“She’s going with you.”

His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“We don’t have any sensory-type shinobi available.”

He would need to have a medic-nin check his hearing. Or maybe he had recently suffered an untreated blow to the head and just forgotten about it, because Tsunade’s statements just weren’t adding up. “I still don’t see what that has to do with Y/N. She isn’t any type of shinobi.”

“But she could have been.” Tsunade shuffled the papers that were stacked slightly haphazardly on the corner of her desk. “I’ve been looking over her files from her time at the Academy. She outclassed all her peers in terms of sensory skills; but she never took to combat, so the old regime considered her to be too much of a liability.”

That made sense with everything he knew about you. His own time at the Academy was so short, it didn’t overlap yours at all. He remembered hearing about a potential sensory-type dropping out, but at the time, he really hadn’t given it a second thought. Some people just weren’t made for the shinobi lifestyle, and while he could now recognize that fact without bitter judgment, the same couldn’t be said of his opinions back then.

Over the last year or two, he’d gotten to know you as someone kind and considerate, who was easily startled and prone to daydreaming. It made perfect sense that you were content living a civilian’s life; working at a tailor shop, which Kakashi just so happened to frequent with his arms full of battle-torn clothes. Every visit had caused his fledgling attraction to grow into the undeniable crush that he hadn’t yet figured out how to act on.

Admittedly, he’d been looking for an excuse to spend more time with you, but taking you on a mission wasn’t what he had in mind.

“I discussed it with her, and she’s willing to give it another try,” Tsunade continued. “In the future I see her as more of a specialized ninja anyways, probably doing more work with the Intelligence Department than actually going into the field. And that makes this mission basically perfect for her.”

“Right, if you ignore the part where you are sending her out in the field.”

“You’re only meant to gather information, not get into a fight,” she countered. “And even if something happens, who better to handle it than you?”

Kakashi leveled his most unimpressed stare at her, letting her know he wouldn’t be won over by cheap flattery.

“Hey, we have to work with what we’ve got. Assigning you to escort her was actually better than I could have hoped for. Flattery aside, you know you’re a strong shinobi. I have complete faith in you.”

“I still don’t feel right about this. She may have the makings of a great sensory-type, but she’s still a civilian.”

“Well, when you’re Hokage, it’ll be your call.”

“Don’t even joke,” he deadpanned.

“Just, look out for her, okay? I appreciate that she’s even willing to go out there. If she hates it and she never wants to consider being a ninja again, I’ll respect that and back off. But I want to give her the chance to make that decision for herself this time.”

On that—at least—Kakashi agreed.

Not to mention, if he didn’t take the mission, that wouldn’t stop Tsunade from sending you out there with the next clown who was available. He didn’t want any other shinobi to be assigned if it was your well-being on the line.

“I’ll protect her.”

“Great. I told her to meet you at the gate tomorrow morning at 7:00. We want to make a good impression, so don’t be late.”

Kakashi arrived at the gate a half-hour early, his weapons pouches full of sharp, polished kunai and shuriken, as well as explosive tags, smoke bombs, food pills, and anything else that could possibly be useful. Taking a civilian on a mission was even riskier than taking a team of brand-new genin; at least they had the basic skills taught at the Academy. You were coming to him with an affinity for sensing chakra, but that was about it. Instead of sleeping, he’d spent the night checking, double-checking, and triple-checking everything; he would not be caught unprepared for anything that might threaten you.

You arrived with Tsunade about twenty minutes later. Tsunade must have given you a spare uniform; the dark blue outfit looking out of place on your figure. You didn’t wear a flak vest, and Kakashi wondered if Tsunade seriously withheld that just because you weren’t properly ranked.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a self-conscious smile. Kakashi could practically feel the nervousness rolling off of you in waves; from the way you toyed with your hair to the way you shifted your weight where you stood.

He didn’t want you to feel nervous. He wanted you to feel safe.

Safe with him, specifically.

“Alright, good luck on your first mission, Y/N!” Tsunade smiled, standing beside Kakashi and clapping her hand down on his shoulder with arguably too much force. “We’ve got you with the best of the best here, so just focus on identifying the chakra, and let this guy deal with everything else.”

Kakashi brushed Tsunade’s hand away, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I didn’t realize you held me in such high regard.”

“Of course I do! Besides, you guys aren’t even going through any enemy territory. It’ll be a breeze.”

You remained skeptical, looking back and forth between them. “If you say so.”

She may have been overdoing it, but Tsunade was trying to calm your nerves, and he should be doing the same. “She’s right,” he addressed you. “I can understand that you’re nervous, but I swear: I won’t leave you to handle anything on your own.”

Your eyes met his, and Kakashi actually felt his heart skip a beat. There was no way he would let anything get to you.

Kakashi counted himself lucky that the mission was technically all within the Land of Fire’s borders, but he still kept a vigilant watch. Your nervousness abated with every mile that passed without incident, and by the time you arrived at the town near the Land of Rivers’ border, you were almost too carefree.

“Wow,” you gaped at the unfamiliar surroundings. “This place is way different from Konoha. Ah, look! So cool!”

While you took note of the various shops and food stalls lining the busy street, Kakashi only focused on the way certain men in the crowd were noticing you. He stepped up to your side, putting his hand on your lower back and guiding you away from your gawking admirers. “Stay close.”

“Hm? I thought this wasn’t enemy territory.”

“It isn’t,” he conceded, “but it isn’t guaranteed to be friendly either.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense.”

Kakashi tried not to feel proud of the way you nudged yourself just a little closer to him. “I didn’t say that to scare you,” he added. “It’s just best to stay cautious.”

“Understood.”

“Let’s find a place to rest. Tsunade’s given us a stipend for food and lodging.”

“Oh, that’s not a bad deal.”

“I have to be honest; this isn’t typical. It depends on the rank of the mission, among other things. Normally, a mission like this would mean sleeping outdoors and living on shinobi rations.”

Your mouth flattened in a tight line. “I see.”

Tsunade would punch my lights out if she could hear me talking like this. “They aren’t that bad,” he hurried to add. “It’s only on the really long missions that I get tired of them. And of course we have bedrolls so it isn’t completely uncomfortable…”

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You don’t have to sell me on the whole shinobi thing, even though I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Tsunade asked you to.”

Kakashi nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Not in so many words…”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I wish she hadn’t laid it on so thick. I mean, what good is this mission as a trial run if she sets me up with all this extra stuff that I wouldn’t normally get?”

“You make a good point,” Kakashi agreed. “If you want, we could skip the inn, and spend this mission the way I assume it would really go.”

“Nah, let’s use it. I’m sure you don’t get the chance to take advantage of stuff like this too often. You might as well benefit from her scheming while you can.”

“If you insist,” he smirked.

He kept his hand on your back the rest of the way to the nearest inn, where he rented the cheapest room, knowing he would feel guilty if he used the opportunity to splurge. He realized his mistake as soon as he opened the door, internally screaming when he found that the room only contained one narrow bed.

Jiraiya would have a field day with this.

Kakashi immediately offered you the bed, laying out his bedroll before you felt pressured to start a charitable back and forth. He was the senior on this mission; it was his responsibility to make sure you were comfortable. And that did not include having him share the bed, much as he might wish differently.

As you both settled in, Kakashi tried just to focus on the mission ahead. According to Tsunade’s intel, all those who’d witnessed the jutsu had passed through the woods located southwest of the town. You two would search that area tomorrow in case the jutsu caster left any trace. With any luck, the search would turn up evidence quickly. 

“This way.”

Kakashi gestured for you to follow him, but he was impressed with how little he seemed to actually need to direct you. It didn’t feel like he was leading a civilian. True, an experienced shinobi would be able to read his movements and anticipate the orders before he gave them, but you were keeping up much better than he expected. Maybe it had to do with your sensory skills. Either way, Tsunade’s plans for you might just pan out after all.

He would have to examine his mixed feelings on that, later.

“I think I feel something,” you said. “A concentrated mass of chakra, but it feels strange. Not like when I can feel a person’s chakra.”

“It might be some kind of trap. Be careful where you step.”

You nodded and continued on your way through the forest, keeping your gaze low to the ground. Kakashi had told you what to look for, explaining how to spot wires and other hidden obstacles, and while you would need to get quicker at it, he was pleased to see you’d taken his lesson to heart. Your sensory skills would only help you if the tools were chakra-infused, so familiarity with basic traps would be vital.

“I think it’s coming from this plant.”

Kakashi headed toward you, watching as you started reaching toward a large bell-shaped flower. Just as he was about to reach you, the flower petals unfurled, revealing a small sphere covered in tags.

A paper bomb!?

Kakashi grabbed you by the waist and jumped away only a fraction of a second before the bomb exploded. You landed on your back, Kakashi hovering over you to shield you from the blast. But the explosion wasn’t the type he had been predicting. Where he thought it would be all heat and shrapnel, there was instead a thick cloud of translucent mist, shimmering like dew on a fragile spiderweb. A dud?

Maybe I shouldn’t have tackled her, then.

He couldn’t even feel the density of the mist; if it weren’t for the way it refracted light, he might not have known the bomb had done anything at all.

Kakashi looked down at you. Your eyes were locked on him, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I think so,” you muttered. “Thanks.”

He scrambled to his feet, then held out his hand to help you up. “This is the chakra I felt,” you said, looking around. “Is it dangerous?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen this before.” Kakashi lifted his hitai-ate and opened his Sharingan to inspect the mist. It was difficult to make sense of what he was seeing. The substance hung in the air, a strange chakra aura hovering like fog. It had expanded in a thirty-meter radius from the source of the explosion—much wider than he had anticipated when he jumped backward. Something about seeing that cloud of chakra made his skin crawl. Even his mask felt too tight against his face.

Looking at you, he noticed some of the chakra had settled on your clothes and your face like pollen. He could even see it pass through your lips as you inhaled. Normally, it was instinctual for Kakashi to limit his breathing in the wake of an explosion. But he’d been so worried about protecting you, his instincts had failed him. He hadn’t even thought to warn you to hold your breath, either.

Whatever it was, it was in both of your systems now.

“We need to get out of it.” Kakashi scooped you into his arms, carrying you out of the cloud of chakra as quickly as he could. He was much faster than you were—it only made sense for him to carry you. At least, that’s what he told himself as he ran, trying to ignore the placement of his hands on your body. When he was clear of the mist and you could both breathe freely, he put you back on your feet. “How much did you inhale?”

“I don’t know… too much, probably. Oh Gods… I feel really warm. Is that bad?”

“I don’t know exactly; but don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” He smiled at you, hoping to calm your nerves. “Let’s just get back to the inn, and regroup from there, okay?”

You nodded, putting on a brave face and following him on the way back into town. He could tell you felt guilty, but he didn’t know what else he could say. This jutsu was completely new to him.

Kakashi wished he had more medical training beyond bandaging his own wounds. Maybe there was some way he could be proactive. But with every step closer to the inn, he started to feel his own temperature rising. His flak vest felt gradually heavier on his shoulders and chest, causing his breathing to become more of a chore. He wiped his brow with his forearm and turned to look at you.

Your face was noticeably flushed, and you were panting despite the relaxed pace. You just looked so uncomfortable, tugging at your clothes as you tried to keep up.

“Is it getting worse?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m really hot now, and lightheaded… dizzy… You don’t feel any of that?”

“I’m a bit warm too,” he agreed, “but I probably didn’t inhale as much as you.”

“I guess that’s an advantage of your mask,” you offered, lightly smiling before your face twisted into a grimace and you doubled over, clutching your stomach.

“What is it??”

“Cramp—” You took a few sharp breaths as you let the pain pass. He waited as patiently as he could until you turned and looked up at him with your eyes open wide, pupils so dilated he could barely see any color. Your face was red and your lips were parted, like you still couldn’t catch your breath.

“We’re almost back,” he encouraged you. “I’ve got you.”

He said it with the best of intentions, but by the time he got you back to town, you were pulling at the front of your shirt and fanning yourself with the fabric. Your skin had gone from flushed to feverish, and the dizziness had progressed to a point where you were unsteady as you walked. Kakashi tried to steady you by putting his hands on your waist, but you had tensed up so much in response that he shoved his clammy hands in his pockets for the rest of the trip.

As soon as you got in the room, you curled yourself onto the bed in the fetal position. You were rubbing your thighs together and running your hands up and down your sides. Kakashi felt hot under the collar as well, and seeing you writhe on the bed like that certainly wasn’t helping.

“D-do you need water?” he asked, trying to think of any way to help.

“No,” you groaned as you pressed your face into the mattress.

“What can I do—”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

You whined. “It’s embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed abo—”

“I’m horny, okay!??” you hissed. “It’s so bad I can’t even think straight. I feel like I’m going to boil out of my skin. I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t…”

You trailed off with a groan, seemingly still in enough control of yourself to stop before finishing that sentence. But it was more than clear what you were about to say, and hearing you voice even that much of the truth forced Kakashi to acknowledge: that was exactly how he felt, too. The heat, the unsteadiness, the tightness in his groin. Loathe as he was to believe it, he understood what you both were up against.

Aphrodisiac.

Kakashi had heard of this type of technique before, but he never knew of anyone using it or being hit by it before. Honestly, he never even thought it was real. But his discomfort was already shifting into insistent pain, and he probably had less of the pollen in his system than you did. If this is how he felt, you had to be going insane.

Bigger problem: he had no idea what would happen if you didn’t do something about it. Is there any treatment other than…

Kakashi cleared his throat. “If you need to… take care of it, you can.”

Your cheeks burned even redder from embarrassment, but Kakashi noticed the way your fingers twitched like you’d been waiting for his permission. “Yeah?”

“I’ll just… watch. I mean—! Keep watch! From—” he frantically pointed to the door, “out there. I will go and guard the door.”

He waited for your answer, only recognizing your thighs rubbing together and the impatient look on your face five seconds too late.

“Right, sorry.” Kakashi slipped out of the room and quickly closed the door, sighing out a nervous exhale and letting his back hit the dense wood.

Idiot.

He brought his hands to his face, still warm from guilt and irritation at himself for saying such a stupid thing. But no wonder—there was so much blood swelling his dick that there was none left for his brain. The feeling between his legs was completely overbearing; heavy, tight, sensitive. Just the way his clothes were brushing against his dick had him biting his lip. 

He tried to clear his mind, putting his arms rigidly at his sides and taking another heavy breath. Unfortunately for Kakashi, that turned out to be a huge mistake. His sharp nose caught a hint of you inside the room, the scent of your arousal making his mouth water and his cock throb.

With that, his self-control went out the window.

His hand slipped under his waistband without command, his fingers wrapping around his shaft and beginning to slowly pump. His eyebrows pinched together, failing to process how his actions brought him twice as much desire as it relieved.

Knowing in the back of his mind how wrong it was, Kakashi pictured you as he touched himself; thinking of how fucking sexy you probably looked.

Would you lie on your back? Legs spread and fingers pumping in and out of your needy hole? Or maybe you’d straddle a pillow and take it for a ride, rubbing that swollen clit against the fabric. Fuck, what if you were in such a rush that you grabbed his pillow? Stuffed it between your legs and rode it into the mattress until you were out of breath and exhausted, leaving your scent saturated in the fabric so he could bury his nose in it later. Like a wild fucking animal.

Shame made his cheeks hot. It was so wrong, but he still couldn’t stop imagining all the ways you might be pleasuring yourself right now; right on the other side of the door. And what dirty thoughts might be running through your head? Was your need so strong that you didn’t have to have anything on your mind? Or could he dare to hope that your time in close proximity meant that he was on your mind? Kakashi pumped a little faster and imagined your pretty flushed face, eyes screwed shut and head full of thoughts of him. 

Knowing how twisted and perverted it was, he put his ear to the door and listened. He could hear the low creaking of the bed; the headboard lightly tapping against the wall in a precise rhythm. You were clearly trying to stay quiet, but your desperation had you huffing out muffled gasps and unsatisfied whines that made his cock ache in his grasp.

He could make you feel so much better. He could have you moaning and crying out his name. Kakashi… Kakashi—

“Kakashi…?”

His eye snapped open and he pulled his hand away from himself in a guilty rush. “A-are you finished?” he asked, sounding breathless and spent even though his dick was still painfully hard and twitching for attention. 

“It’s not working,” you groaned, frustration and anxiety in your voice.

He slowly pushed the door open, giving you time to shout or throw something if he was about to stumble into a scene he shouldn’t see. But you were just sitting cross-legged on the bed, your pants on the floor and your lap covered by a pillow that he couldn’t help but be jealous of. He forced himself to ignore the now overpowering scent of your sex permeating the air; as if he needed more proof of your efforts.

“It isn’t enough.” You looked up at him with red, desperate eyes. “What’s happening?”

Kakashi moved without thinking, kneeling down in front of you at the foot of the bed and cupping your jaw in his palm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“How?” You nuzzled into his palm, visibly calmed by his touch. Your cheek was so soft, so smooth… He stroked your skin with his thumb, forgetting for a second that he had no right to touch you—especially not with the hand he’d just had shoved down his pants.

Kakashi moved to pull his hand away from you, but you reached up and held him in place. “Don’t…” you breathed. “It feels good.”

“Y/N…” he warned.

“I’m sorry,” you whined, although you hardly seemed sorry with the way you reached your other hand forward and grabbed the front of his vest, pulling him closer. “It just… fuck, Kakashi, it hurts. I don’t know what to do.”

You looked him in the eye. “I think… I think I need you.”

The pained tone of your voice cut him deeper than any blade ever had. But he didn’t know what to do, either. He was responsible for you. It was his own fault this was happening to you in the first place. He should have protected you and prevented it, but he had failed. Miserably. Completely blown it.

So… the least I can do at this point is try to help, right?

No. It would be wrong. It would be so incredibly despicably wrong. Despite the lewd way he’d already thought about you, and the painful throbbing between his own legs. 

“I can’t.” He leaned slightly back. “I can’t take advantage of you like that.”

“You breathed it in too,” you said. “It’s not taking advantage.”

“It is,” he insisted. “Even if I tell myself it’s just to help you… it won’t be that for me.”

“Kakash—”

“I have feelings for you, Y/N.” He blurted the truth before he could stop himself. “And I hate to see you in pain but I can’t pretend like I’d be sleeping with you just to get whatever the hell this is out of our systems. I want you. For a while now; not just because of some stupid airborne—”

“Kakashi.” You put both hands on either side of his face. “I want you too.”

Could that be true? Or was it just the poison talking? Why would you want someone like him, who would only complicate your life?

“Y/N, you don’t—”

“Please,” you begged. “Just listen. I won’t have the courage to admit this later.”

You renewed your hold on his jaw, making sure he gave you his full attention. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I didn’t even think I was any good at hiding it; I thought that might have been one of the reasons Lady Tsunade assigned you to the mission with me; because she knew I had a crush on you and she probably figured I would be more likely to do this if it meant being around you. Which, honestly, if that was her plan then she was right. I was too scared to come out here until she said I’d be going with you.”

“R-really?”

“Really, Kakashi. I don’t want to be a shinobi. I didn’t even really want to when I was a kid. I was relieved when I left the program. And I was terrified when Lady Tsunade asked me to do this. I only agreed because I wanted to be with you. And I thought maybe—best case scenario—I could help you in some way and impress you because, I mean, I’m nobody and you’re you. You could have anybody you want, and if you’re saying that it’s me… Kakashi, you have me. You’ve had me the whole time. So at the risk of sounding like an Icha Icha character, just take me already.”

He laughed; caught off guard that someone so funny and bright and beautiful would ever feel that way about him. But the way you apparently felt about yourself was even harder to believe. “You aren’t nobody, Y/N,” Kakashi promised. “And I would tell you everything that’s incredible about you if I weren’t so distracted by how badly I want to kiss you.”

You blushed, your eyes shifting down to his covered mouth. “Can I take off your mask?”

Kakashi nodded. You adjusted your hold on him, gently hooking your fingertips under his mask and slowly tugging it down. He noticed your body start to tremble impatiently, and it made his heart melt; how you still moved slowly, prioritizing his comfort over yours. Your eyes roamed over every centimeter of skin you exposed, taking it in bit by bit until his mask was fully down.

You let the material fall from your fingers, your eyes lingering on his lips. “You’re sure?” you whispered.

“I want you, Y/N. Nobody else.”

He let you look for two more seconds, until he couldn’t hold back any longer. Urgently, he used his grip on your jaw to pull you forward, bringing your mouth to his and kissing you with hunger. You moaned against him, dipping your fingers into his hair and tugging to get him closer, shifting your legs to wrap them around his torso. In turn, he dropped his hands to your waist and hugged you close, kissing you over and over and over again. He couldn’t get enough. The feel and taste of your lips had him going out of his mind; even just the sound of each kiss drew him back in.

“Mmm, Kakashi…” You hummed between kisses, sighing his name into his mouth and running your fingers through his hair. 

He put his hand on your shoulder and steadied you as he pulled back—only an inch. “I need to know this is real,” he panted. “I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“The only thing I regret is not telling you how I feel sooner,” you smiled. “Sounds like we could have been doing this for a while now.”

Like a force that only nature itself could produce, you and Kakashi came back together, his tongue snaking its way into your mouth as you tugged at his shirt. He crawled forward, causing you to lie flat on the bed. He grabbed the pillow you’d held between your legs and tossed it across the room. He may have been fantasizing about that pillow before, but now it was only an object in his way.

Nothing was going to keep him from you anymore.

He prowled over you, letting his heavy bulge press against your clothed core. Your body was warm to the touch, and he felt the heat between your legs as you rubbed against him. You each moaned into the other’s mouth at the contact. Despite the layers of fabric between you, rubbing himself between your legs still brought him a thousand times more relief than his hand had. He could only imagine how good your bare cunt would feel.

Soon, he would do so much more than imagine. And it seemed you had the same idea.

“Take off your clothes,” you grinned as you unzipped his vest.

Kakashi hummed as he shrugged off the garment without breaking the kiss. “The mask wasn’t enough?” he teased.

“Not even close.”

Kakashi gripped the front of his shirt and tore it over his head, admiring the way you blushed even harder at the sight of more of his skin, your eyes enjoying everything from his collarbones to his silver happy trail. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking for permission to undress you as well. You nodded, letting him lift your shirt off over your head and giving him access to your gorgeous tits that he’d thought about on more than one occasion; when he couldn’t fall asleep without getting himself off.

He leaned down to suck harsh kisses into the soft flesh of your exposed cleavage. It felt so right to have you on his lips. He couldn’t resist the urge to bite down, leaving teeth marks all across your chest while you giggled and squirmed in his hold.

With every ounce of skill he had, Kakashi reached around your back to unhook your bra, flinging it away from your chest and groping your breasts like the shallow pervert he didn’t want you to think he was, in spite of his actions. But he didn’t stand a chance. Back home, you’d nearly caught him (more than once) ogling your chest in the midst of casual small-talk. Denying himself now—with you so beautiful and willing underneath him—would have been out of the question. And they were just so soft, reacting eagerly to the feeling of his rough palms and fingertips. If not for the influence of the pollen, he would have been happy to play with your tits all day.

Your nipples pebbled under his touch, creating the perfect peak for him to suck into his mouth. His name continued to tumble off your lips like a prayer. He never wanted you to stop saying it. It sounded so good in your breathless voice. Kakashi tested your limits by trapping your nipple between his teeth, biting down with more and more pressure until you were pulling on his hair and trembling below him.

“Shhhhh.” He licked your nipple to soothe it, apologizing for the rough treatment. “Just needed to see how much you could take.”

You laughed. “What exactly are you planning to do to me?”

His answer came in an emphatic groan. “Everything you’ll let me do.”

You pulled his mouth back to yours, kissing him harder and rolling your hips into him. “Pants—” you gasped. “Off.”

Kakashi chuckled against your lips, reluctantly pulling away and sitting up on his knees. He flicked open the button of his pants and grabbed the waistband of both his pants and his briefs, pulling them down slowly. It had less to do with teasing you and more do with making sure he didn’t cum in his pants, but the tortured and hungry look on your face was certainly a bonus.

Your eyes darkened as he exposed himself inch by inch; his skin taut and sensitive, veins standing out prominently all the way down his shaft. Finally, he took pity on you, bringing the elastic down past his engorged head. His cock sprang up and smacked into his stomach, a wet glob of precum sticking to his abs.

“Gods… Kakashi…” Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to wet them. “You’re so big.”

You started crawling forward, eyes hungrily glued to his dick. It twitched for your attention with the same persistent need he felt throughout his whole body. His fingers twitched with the ache to touch you; his lips tingling—needing contact with your skin.

Desperately, he reached out and pulled you to your knees to kiss you. You giggled and slid your hand down his chest, cupping his hot, weeping cock with a gentle grip that turned him into putty.

You maneuvered your hand around him, touching and stroking to familiarize yourself with his size and weight. Kakashi’s head tilted back as he let out a deep groan from deep in his chest.

“Feel good?” you whispered, kissing your way from his jaw down his neck. 

Kakashi was so turned on, he was afraid to speak—afraid that he wouldn’t be able to make a sound beyond a pathetic mewl. Instead, he settled for vigorously nodding his head. Shivers erupted along his skin. The only thing on his mind was the need for more relief. His hand flew up to envelope yours, urging you to pump faster. “Keep touching me,” he exhaled. “Fuck.”

Teasingly, you started moving your mouth down the planes of his chest. “I want to taste it.”

Kakashi threaded his free hand into your hair, pulling your mouth back to his a bit more roughly than he would have if he’d been in his right mind. “Wanna taste you too,” he moaned. “Need to.”

He tossed you back onto the bed, crouching down and positioning his face between your legs. The center of your panties was drenched, and his eyes dilated like a predator locked on its prey.

Kakashi pressed his face against your panties, inhaling your scent and exhaling in a shaky groan. You smelled like something to be devoured, and he would be damned if he let it go to waste. His mouth watered, nearly as wet as your cunt. “You smell so fucking good.”

He couldn’t wait anymore. Kakashi flattened his tongue and licked along the drenched fabric, too impatient to think to take them off. You squirmed and tugged on his hair, breathless moans and pleas falling from your lips. He rutted into the mattress, kicking his pants and boxers off as he yanked your panties to the side and lapped at the mess between your legs.

It was incredible, but those panties were gonna be the death of him. Kakashi reached into his pile of discarded clothes, hooking the end of a kunai on one finger. He spun it around the digit to adjust his grip before cutting your panties down to shreds so he could finally have full access to your heat.

Now that there was no pesky underwear in his way, he hooked his arms under your thighs and rubbed your pussy over his face until he was covered in your juices. You squirmed, but there was no way he was letting your cunt get away from his mouth. Kakashi feasted on you like a man who’d lived on nothing but bread and water his whole life.

Dumb lustful indecision fogged his brain and made his muscles clench with impatience. If he had his way, he would go slowly. Enjoy himself. He would savor you; kiss and lick and suck until your cute little cunt was prepped to handle him. But the influence of the chakra pollen was too strong. His cock was no longer begging for attention—it was demanding. And humping the mattress wasn’t gonna cut it.

Not that he would settle for that, anyway. His aching hardness would only be soothed by the softness of your body.

Kakashi huffed in frustration, summoning the strength to tear his face from between your legs in order to climb fully on top of you. He pushed his thumb into your mouth, gripping your jaw and urging it open before rubbing his thumb over your tongue. “Need this.”

You looked so fucking cute, nodding with your wide eyes and your pink cheeks, and Kakashi wished he was in the right mind to take his time with you. He was as careful as he could manage, rolling onto his back and manhandling you into position above him—on all fours, your cunt poised just over his face and your mouth inches from his dick.

“There we go,” he proudly grinned, grabbing two handfuls of your ass and pulling you down to smother himself.

You moaned as you rolled your hips into him, desperate to ride his face. You bit down on his hip before licking one long trail from his navel down to his lap and up the length of his throbbing cock. 

His hips automatically lifted off the mattress to follow you. Kakashi shuddered as his head slipped past your lips and found its home in the warmth of your mouth. The long-awaited pleasure was indescribable; he only knew that nothing had ever felt this good, and he would be lucky to last five minutes.

Kakashi buried his face in your dripping cunt, wasting no time before running his tongue and nose through your slippery folds. You whimpered, grinding down on his face and forcing your own mouth further down his shaft while you pumped the base with your hand to make up for what you couldn’t fit.

He snarled against your folds when he felt you take his tip into your throat, gagging and sputtering while saliva drooled from your mouth. He lapped at your clit with frenzied licks, desperate to make you cum before he blew his load down your throat. Your clit throbbed, still so unsatisfied despite your earlier struggle.

You said you needed him. He had to prove how good he could make you feel.

Kakashi focused all his efforts on your clit, expertly reading your reactions and memorizing what was too much and what made you search for more. When he felt your thighs tremble, he locked down his pace and pressure, single-mindedly working you to an orgasm that left his face a sopping mess.

He kissed your hole like it was your mouth, lazily licking up your juices from your still-quivering cunt. Even at the height of your orgasm, you were still spoiling his cock—sucking and licking and pumping—and now that he’d finally gotten you off, he was more than ready to do the same.

Kakashi threaded his fingers up your scalp and through your hair, gripping you and bracing you before he started thrusting into your mouth. He felt more of your saliva drooling down his shaft and dripping onto his balls, easing his frenzied movements. With only his own pleasure on his mind, he felt his nerves race to the edge almost immediately.

“Shit… I’m gonna cum…” he panted. “Will you swallow it for me?”

You responded by humming around his dick, massaging his balls to encourage him.

“Fuck—” he grunted, “Get ready, ahh—”

The first pulse was almost blindingly satisfying. Kakashi quickly let go of your head so he wouldn’t drown you, too relieved to be embarrassed by how much cum was spurting from his tip. It felt like it would never stop, making his eyes roll back in euphoric bliss.

He wrapped his arms around your hips and hugged to bring your cunt back to his face, pressing a flurry of kisses over your folds while you drank down everything he gave you. Rather than feeling overstimulated as his cock twitched one last dry time, he instead felt his body giving itself back over to the pleasure of your mouth. It still just felt good, and he could tell from the way you were riding his face that your satisfaction was short-lived, too.

It took more willpower than he was willing to admit to pull himself away from you. “Y/N. Hold on—come here.”

You crawled your way up his body, leaving wet kisses trailing from his pelvis up to his jaw. Kakashi positioned you to lay on top of him, pulling your mouth to his and indulging in another set of deep, passionate kisses.

He smirked against your lips when he felt you start to roll your hips into him. “You want more, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you whined. “I’m sorry; it felt better at first, but…”

Kakashi settled you with another kiss. “It’s okay. I know what you mean.”

“You too?”

He reached between your bodies, gripping his cock and sighing at the pleasure. “It shouldn’t be possible for me to still be this hard.”

You looked away bashfully. “I’m sorry I got us into this.”

“I’m not.” Kakashi rolled over to put you on your back. “True, I didn’t imagine it would happen quite like this,” he blushed, “but I did imagine this more often than I should admit.” He kissed you again, hoping he could explain himself without his greedy dick undermining his words. “I’ve imagined a whole life with you. And if this is how it starts… I’m not sorry at all.”

“Kakashi…” you whispered, blinking up at him before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clutching him close. You pulled him into another kiss, your fingers burrowing into the roots of his hair. “In that case, neither am I.”

Kakashi cupped your head in his hand and cradled you as he deepened the kiss. He could feel your body humming with anticipation below him. He ran his other hand down the outline of your body, taking his time as much as he could stand.

“You’re so beautiful,” he exhaled. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please…” You whined against his mouth, titling your hips for friction. “Kashi, I need you.”

He smirked, kissing you one more time before sitting back on his calves. His eyes roamed your body hungrily as he gripped his cock. “Normally, it would hurt my pride that you still needed more…” He stroked himself once, twice before slapping his cock down on your tummy. “…But hearing you beg for my cock definitely makes up for it.”

You blindly reached forward and dug your nails into his thighs. “Gods, please put it in…”

His dick throbbed, a pearly string of precum dripping onto your stomach. You were absolutely gorgeous, and he had you pinned to the mattress, begging him to destroy you. 

He rubbed his cock along your slippery folds, his sticky precum mixing with your arousal. The relief from that alone was nearly indescribable. But still, Kakashi felt like if he didn’t get to sink his cock inside your perfect little hole, he wouldn’t survive.

You shamelessly squirmed beneath him, and he knew you felt the same as he did.

“You need this cock, baby?”

“I do Kakashi I need it so bad…”

“Don’t worry,” he cooed. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

Kakashi lined himself up with your entrance; something in his brain snapping at the sight of being so close. His hips thrust forward, burying nearly his entire length in one shot. You shrieked, clawing at his back while wrapping your legs around his hips. Your plush walls sucked him in, the pleasure so immediate that he collapsed down onto your chest, his hips instinctively rearing back and plunging forward to feel more and more.

Kakashi forced himself to slow down, peppering soothing kisses over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he huffed, unable to suppress the grin spreading over his face. “It’s just so hard to hold back. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“Me too,” you panted, thrusting up to meet him. “Keep going. Please.”

Your mouth had felt incredible. But your cunt—it was where his dick belonged. It was designed for him. Even with all the teasing and foreplay, you were still so tight. And soft. And warm. And wet. Walls gripping him, suction pulling him in, drawing him deeper; he couldn’t fight it. He was only human. But in that moment, he could swear you were something more.

“Fuck… you feel so good, better than I even—hgnh, Y/N baby…”

Your breath passed by his ear in overwhelmed whimpers that were lost in the loud smacks of his skin against yours. He was reaching so deep, he swore he felt the tip of his cock prodding at your cervix. 

“T-tell me if I’m hurting you,” he panted, letting his hips continue to slam into yours. “If it’s too much, I’ll…”

You’ll what? …Stop?

Even the thought of stopping made him grind his teeth in protest. His hips thrust even harder, proving that he had no say in the matter. 

Stopping was not an option. He was gonna fuck your needy, precious little cunt until it was ruined. And maybe then some. 

Your nails dug deeper into his back, his name rolling off your lips in desperate gasps mixed with tiny sounds of frustration. “Kakashi, don’t stop, fuck, I…”

“Yeah?” he grinned, digging his hands into your hips and angling you perfectly to take his every thrust. He pressed his chest into yours and latched his lips to your exposed throat. Covetously, he sucked a hickey into your throat while he kept pounding away, claiming every last bit of you for himself. It was all for him. He would make sure of it, leaving his mark on you with his mouth and hands so that no one could question who you belonged to.

You babbled praises, tongue lolling out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back in your head. “Like that,” you gasped. “Just like that—”

Primal intuition guided his movements. He folded your left leg backward, grunting into your clavicle at the bone-deep gratification that raced along his nerves. You hiked your right leg a little higher on his hips. Desperately, he brought his mouth to yours, kissing you and panting, pulling away just for a glimpse of the cock-drunk look in your eyes before he quickly kissed you again.

He needed to feel you with every part of himself. It wasn’t enough to continuously stuff himself balls-deep inside you. He wanted to taste your lips and feel your body, leaving nothing untouched. He put his right hand over your breast, immediately rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger as he pushed your leg back further and rubbed himself over the sensitive area behind your clit.

You tossed your head back with an indulgent cry, pleading for more. “There… don’t stop!”

“Right there?” Kakashi felt your walls flutter around him, and he buried his face in your neck. It was too good; he wasn’t gonna last, and once he came this time, it would be the last of his stamina. But you asked him not to stop, and he wouldn’t. Not until he gave you what you needed. “What else? I’ll do anything you want.”

“W-want you to cum with me.”

Kakashi gasped out a curse, pounding away at your sweet spot. “Tell me where you want it,” he groaned. “I’m close.”

“I-inside. Cum inside. Please.”

Kakashi moaned, feeling the muscles in his pelvis tighten with enthusiasm. “Haa, oh yeah?” He pressed his pelvis down harder, increasing the friction on your clit. “Want me to—ngh—fill you up?”

Instead of answering, you yanked his head back within reach of your mouth and kissed him, moaning into his mouth and clinging to him. Kakashi couldn’t keep his answering smile at bay; he was too lost in his own delirious happiness. If he could have held out forever—stayed just like this—he would have.

But he didn’t have to. These feelings were real. After this, he still had hours, days, years to spend exchanging kisses and breaths and affection with you.

Kakashi grabbed your ass with bruising strength as his orgasm hit. His stomach twisted and his balls contracted, signaling a rush of endorphins that made his toes curl and his thighs shake. You squeaked against his mouth, pulled directly over the edge with the first pulse deep at the base of his dick. 

You broke away from his mouth, but your limbs clutched to him as your own orgasm sent tremors through your body. “K-ka-kashi-i!” The broken sound of his name slipped past your lips over and over in a desperate whisper.

“I’ve gotcha.” Kakashi held you close, riding out his intense high while giving you something to stabilize yourself. “I’m right here. I’ve gotcha.”

The muscles in your cunt repeatedly tightened around his cock to wring out every last drop of cum he still had to offer. The tug beneath his navel tugged beyond the point of pain, but his cock still pulsed; keeping pace with the demands of your cunt until you finally came down. It left him panting, his forehead resting on yours as he stared into your eyes.

No trace of the jutsu remained; leaving just the two of you in a bubble of heady, genuine affection that quieted the last of his fears. When his lungs relaxed, he titled his head to catch your lips in a sweet, devoted kiss. You hugged him to your chest and answered his kiss with the same promise.

He stayed like that, blissed-out and content, until your spent pussy started quivering from overuse. He leaned away to give you space, but he was surprised when you reached out and grabbed his thighs.

“Wait,” you whispered, your bent legs trembling on either side of him. “Slowly.”

Kakashi nodded at you, his eyes sleepy under heavy eyelids. But he was careful as he pulled out, blushing at the sight of the milky fluid dripping from between your legs. You shivered at the empty feeling and finally let your legs fall to the mattress.

Yes, the jutsu had worn off. But you looked so beautifully wrecked, he almost believed he was ready to go again.

He gently cleaned you off with the sheet, resolving to destroy the evidence a little later and leave some money behind for replacement linens. It would have to be good enough; he was too exhausted to worry about a more discreet alternative.

The only thing he cared about was you; making sure you felt comfortable and safe, showing you that he meant every word.

Because he was already sure that he loved you—and when he inevitably told you sooner rather than later, he didn’t want there to be any room for you to doubt him.

Kakashi gently brushed your hair back from your warm face. You smiled up at him, nuzzling against his palm. He didn’t waste a second before leaning back down to sweep soft kisses over your cheek and neck. You giggled, then turned your head to catch his lips with your own, your fingers trailing along his sides and guiding his weight to press down into you.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side, cupping your jaw to make sure he didn’t break the kiss. You let him kiss you to his heart’s content until you eventually broke away, blushing and nuzzling into his neck. 

Kakashi wrapped his arms around you. “You okay?”

“Mhmm, just worn out,” you sighed. “How about you? You alright?”

“Me?” He hugged you closer and kissed the top of your head. “I’ve never been better.”

You hummed warmly, returning his embrace and lightly kissing his collarbone. “I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow,” you guessed. 

“I’ll carry you home if I have to.”

“What about the mission?”

“We learned more than enough about the jutsu for Tsunade to send a new team out here with some equipment to protect them from its effects. They’ll gather samples, and based on the way it worked, she should be able to develop an antidote.”

You snuggled closer into him, giving over to the intense wave of exhaustion left behind. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Get some sleep,” he whispered. “We’ll head back to Konoha when we wake up. And once we get back, I think I owe you a date.”

► masterlist

#kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi hatake x reader smut #x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi imagine #cw dubcon #cw sex pollen #reader insert #reader insert smut #rookie wrote

[giggly-squiggily]

Forgive me if I'm being a pest, but...

Can you write a tickle fic of Yor and Loid being a Tickle Monster Duo chasing Anya.

And Anya uses Damian (who was there for study reasons) as a human shield. And the poor boy gets roped into the situation.

Hey anon! First and foremost, you are not a pest at all! This prompt is beyond adorable! :D Unfortunately I couldn't quite figure out how to include Damian into the mix so this is just the Forger family. I hope you like it! :D

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @backy-san @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart

Anya leaned back against the wall, her eyes narrowed as she dared a peek around the corner. In her hands, her bright green pistol gleaned beneath the overhead lights. “I’ve gotcha now, bad guys. Agent Anya’s not letting you get away.”

Her target was sitting on the nearby couch, a newspaper in hand as he scanned over the pages. A quick poke into his mind confirmed what she already knew.

Boring. Everything he was reading was boring.

Rolling into position, she made it to the next rendezvous spot, daring another peek around the coffee table at him. The bad guy flipped a page and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. His guard was down, this was her chance!

“Take this, bad guy!” She cried, diving out from the table and pointing her gun. The bad guy blinked and looked over, eyes widening.

“What-”

Bang! Smoke rose from the steaming barrel of her pistol. Anya watched with cool composure as the bad guy slowly fell from his seat, clutching the chest wound she gave him.

“No…this isn’t how..it’s supposed to end..” He groaned out, coughing. Anya gave her gun a spin as she tucked it against her hip, puffing out her small chest. “Agent..Anya..”

“What?” She gasped, her mistake hitting her like a ton of bricks. Such a careless mistake- how did she forget to ask him where the hideout was? “Tell me where your boss is!” She ran over to his dying body, grabbing him by the collar. “Tell me before you go!”

“Hehe..that stays with me..to the end..bleh.” The bad guy gave her one last smirk before his head tilted to the side, showing he was gone.

“...” Anya sighed, releasing him from her grip as she took a step back. Well- there went the easy route. She’d have to hold a meeting and decide what to do next. Turning her back to the body, she pulled out her walky-talky and brought it to her lips.

“Agent Penguin, Agent Bond, do you read me-over?” She waited for a response, staring down at the peanut shaped walky-talky.

Then she peeled back the shell of said walky-talky and proceeded to eat it. She’d get a new one at headquarters.

“Time to go-” She went to leave, but before she could- a hand grabbed her ankle!

“Agent….Anya…” The voice behind her groaned, slowly sitting up as she let out a shriek. “Why…did you kill me…?”

“Oh no! A zombie!” She cried, reaching for her gun. Unfortunately for her, it had fallen off her hip, scattered across the way. “Agent Bond! Agent Penguin!”

“There’s…no use…” A new voice groaned out, making Anya gasp. Another zombie had appeared, face hidden beneath her long dark hair. “We’ve come…for your sooool!”

“AHHH!” Anya screamed as they attacked, her life flashing before her eyes.

~~~

“AAHH-Aheahhahahhahahaha! Gehahahahha, nohohohohohoho! Doohhoohohn’t eahahhaht meheheheheehe!” Anya squealed as she was gathered in Loid’s arms, Yor’s fingers dancing against her stomach and sides as she kicked and giggled. “Mahhahahamahahaha!”

“Who’s that? I’m a zombie!” Yor cried back in glee, giggling just as much as she carried on prodding her daughter. “And I found myself a tasty morsel! You should try this, Loi-I mean, bad guy!”

“Who are you calling a bad guy?” Loid teased gently, adjusting his hold on Anya so he could sneak a few tickles into her neck. “Though I suppose I’m willing to give this a try.”

“Aheahhahahaha! Nohohoohoh, nohohohoohoho pahaha-Pahhahahahhaha!” Anya let out another loud shriek when fingers pressed into her chin, going for her worst spot. “It tihiihhiihickles!”

“Does it now?” Pulling his hand back, he pretended to give it a taste. “Mm, she tastes like peanuts.”

“Really? I love peanuts!”

“Eheheehheehehehe!” Anya was sure there’d be nothing but bones left of her when they were done! Desperate for help, she cried out one last time. “Bohoohohohond!”

Like an angel descending from heaven, a blur of white fur and huffing came charging from around the corner- going straight for Yor! The woman yelped as she was tackled, flailing over with a squeal of mirth as Bond began licking her face relentlessly. “Bohohohond, it tihihihickles!”

“Uh oh- our only weakness!” Loid gasped in mock fear, letting Anya go as she rolled onto her feet. “Huh? How did you-”

“You’re done for, Zombie!” Anya cried, grabbing her gun and pointing, pulling the trigger. Loid yelped in surprise before falling back, falling still for good.

Well- good being about five seconds before Yor freed herself and proceeded to tickle him.

“Trahahahitor!” He cried out, his window to fight back growing smaller by the second as Bond threw himself across his chest, effectively trapping him. Anya laughed in delight before joining the fray once more, giggling alongside her parents.

~~~

Anya Agency Report:

Operation Zombie Hunt- Success.

Thanks for reading!

#spy x family #anya forger #loid forger #yor briar #yor forger #forger family #tickle #tickle fic #squiggily writes the things #fluff #family fluff #their silly your honor #I love them so much and miss them #I wanna rewatch the anime

[ilsaethan]

it's my first time in venice. mine too.

#filmgifs #filmedit #missionimpossibleedit #rfergusonedit #tcruiseedit #mission impossible #mission impossible dead reckoning #ilsa x ethan #ilsa faust #ethan hunt #tom cruise #rebecca ferguson #mi7 #*mine #*touch #her silly little smile #his cute little smirk #the way she tucks her face against his neck #and snuggles up to him #him pulling her closer #😭😭😭 #giggling and kicking my feet to the tune of screams and wails

[cheonstapes]

miguel o'hara stars in... 'DOMESTIC BLISS' (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

a/n~ i physically cannot write a fic about my favs w/o getting horny mid way through sorry ;( i just want miguel to wrap me up and brush my hair and hold me tight---- NNNNNNNNNNH (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

summary; miguel really likes your thighs…and how his cock looks between them.

wc; 700+

pairings; miguel o'hara x fem!reader

cw; SMUT!!, fluff, miguel and reader being cutesy, consensual somnophilia, thigh-fuckin, lil bit of blood, cummin inside, basically a breeding kink cause i said so, softdom! miguel, miguel being pussy whipped, sleepy sex, cumplay?, n e ways...not proofread - is one in the mornin

miguel loved nights like this. both of you wrapped up in warm, fluffy robes, and matching slippers - just enjoying each other’s company. 

“babe, grab my headband for me please?” 

walking over to where you were in the bathroom, he looks at your beautiful face through the mirror, sliding the cute headband on your head. “here, my love.” he trails a hand down your arm, wrapping it around your waist and he pulls you closer into him, your body pressed tightly against his rock solid chest. he doesn’t loosen his grip on you as you lean forward to wash your face, instead gripping your hips to hold you steady.

he still doesn’t let go of you when you walk over to your shared bed, tucking you under the covers and bringing you as close as he could to him. his face rested in the crook of your neck, lips pressing soft kisses against your warm skin. he really was the luckiest man in the world, blessed with this angel in front of him. his hands gently traced the curves of your body, the touch meant to be soothing but it was anything but for the throbbing he felt under the sheets.

he could hear you snoring quietly, the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the slenderness of your collarbones that were faintly littered with love bites. everything about you was just so perfect. especially those thighs of yours. those sexy, juicy, thighs - pressing against his. palming at your ass, he pulls you closer, if that was even possible - fingers moving to dip into your panti- oh, fuck, you weren’t wearing any.

this new revelation led to him fucking his thick cock through the tightness of your thighs, nudging your little clit with every thrust. he whimpers, actually whimpers, at the feeling, a sound he’d take to the grave - if you were awake right now, you would not let him live that down. but that didn’t matter right now, not when he was so close to painting those pretty thighs with his cum. or actually, why waste it? maybe he should just cum inside of you. it would save cleaning up in the morning, plus - you smelt so delicious after your shower, it’d be a shame to wash away that scent and his cum.

he angles his hips upwards, one hand on yours waist and the other keeping your head up as you sleep - the leaky tip of his cock pressing against your tight pussy. he doesn’t want to disturb your sleep, especially since you’re so cute when you sleep, so he only pushes the tip in - a faint pop! echoing through the room as he slips inside of you. “fuck, baby, s-such a tight pussy - isn’t she? looks like ‘m gonna have to stretch her out some more, hm?” soft whispers fall upon deaf ears, chuckling silently to himself as the sounds of your snoring get louder. 

the constant suctioning on his tip was driving him mad, brows furrowed tightly as he threw his head back against the plush pillows. biting his lips so hard he draws blood, the ruby liquid running down his neck as he stares down at his cock disappearing between your thighs - thighs that we’re starting to…move? you seemed to be regaining some sort of consciousness, small breathy moans left your plump lips, eyes blinking open as you turned to look at him. 

he was so caught up in your pussy, he didn’t even register your hand coming to push him deeper into your quivering cunt. your soft hand wrapping around him set him off, his hot, sticky, cum shooting straight against your womb as you take him all the way to the base. the other hand rests on his lower stomach running along the trail of hair that you love oh, so much - fucking yourself on his cock whilst he shoots white ropes along your walls.

“p-princess- mmph, shit- didn’t…i didn’t mean to wake you.” he really means that, he truly didn’t want to ruin your beauty sleep - but he couldn’t help but rub tight, slow, circles on your sticky clit, speaking lowly into your ear. “go back to sleep, beautiful, papí will take care of you, ‘kay?”

i mean shit, back to sleep we go! 

-ONE CHANCE, JST ONE CHANCE MIGUEL

#miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #astv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #cheonstapes #cheonstapes films!🪷

[pprodsuga]

i’m serious about you

summary: gojo realizes just how much he likes you when you go on your first date

note: feeling a bit soft for gojo rn so pls enjoy this little scenario…it’s 2am and i just wanna write something before i go to bed <3 gojo is probably a little ooc but this is my blog so!!!

i’m a lil rusty when ur comes to writing fics but i hope u enjoy!

warnings: fluff fluff fluff + she/her pronouns

masterlist :)

“I’m surprised this place is open so late.”

You mutter absentmindedly as you look at the pastries behind the glass, face at a respectable distance while Gojo stands beside you. He leans down to see what you see, his own eye catching the chocolate cake sitting on the top shelf.

“Nanami told me about it a while ago,” he explains. “Says he likes to come here when he can’t sleep since they’re open so late.”

“Do you like this bakery?”

Gojo watches as you pick and choose which pastries you want to try. The girl behind the counter lifts her gaze to him, eyes widening before averting her gaze to the small box in her hands.

“Haven’t tried it, actually,” Gojo says. He rubs the back of his neck when you turn around. “I, uh, wanted to wait. To try it with you, I mean.”

He sees your mouth morph into a shy smile and he can’t help but return it. Gojo turns and orders a beverage from the cashier, watching as her fingers fumble with the buttons before she relays the bill.

You’re about to pull out your wallet when Gojo reacts quicker than you can comprehend. You watch as he gives his credit card to the cashier without batting an eyelash. He laughs when you huff and grumble about being able to pay for the pastries since he paid for dinner, but he bumps his hips with yours and tells you it‘s on him.

You look so perfect under the awful fluorescent lights in your best dress and hair let down. He’s not used to seeing you like this; so carefree without your worries tucked away in that pretty little head of yours.

Gojo used to think he’d make it through life without relying on anyone and that he couldn’t count on other people for his own source of happiness and companionship. But he can’t deny there’s something about you that tugs at his heart strings a bit too aggressively.

This feeling follows him to the morning prior, when he asked you to accompany him to dinner. Gojo had guessed that you liked him more than you let on but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. This new sensation in the pit of his stomach travels with him tonight, especially when he takes a step back to fully absorb the way you look in his jacket. It dwarfs your shorter stature yet Gojo thinks it was made for you to wear.

The girl behind the counter turns around to finish the order, leaving the two of you to your wits for the time being. Gojo senses that this—casual dating or otherwise—isn’t something you do often. He silently thanks Shoko for drilling him about you (likes, dislikes, who you are as a person aside from the so-called friend group you two belong in) because he sees your finger tapping against the side of your leg and decides to make a move.

“I really like spending time with you,” Gojo starts. “I could do this again and again if you let me.”

“Really?” you ask, sounding something akin to disbelief. Your dress follows your movements as you turn around but all Gojo can focus on is the way your cheeks begin to blush. How cute.

He takes a step forward, nodding. “Believe it or not, I really enjoy spending all of my money on cute girls.”

“Is that so?“ you ask with an uptick in your voice. “Wonder if I’m the cutest, then.”

Gojo knows you’re joking by the way you’re smiling at him, but he wants to set the record straight.

“You are,” he says, “because you’re the only one.”

A soft sound distracts the two of you and he looks past your shoulder to see the cashier has set his beverage on the counter. Gojo thanks her and grabs the cup when he notices notices she’s written her phone number on the back of the surface. His stomach drops when he sees your eyes linger on the penmanship.

He panics.

“I must be special.”

Your voice lacks the humor from moments prior, eyes glazing over the written numbers while Gojo pathetically stands like he’s a frozen statue. He doesn’t know why he cares what you think of him nor why he wants to disprove the theory that he can’t settle down because of an innate need to flirt with everything that breathes. He watches you swallow and avert your gaze to the exit sign when he nods furiously.

“Yeah, you are.”

Gojo throws the beverage in the trash can beside him and cups your jaw in both of his hands to pull you into a tender kiss in the middle of a poorly lit bakery with two other patrons. He thinks your lips taste like coconut and sugar, so soft that he could keep his mouth on you forever and never complain.

He must be doing something right because you’re kissing him back.

You pull away first and he laughs at your flustered state, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips before you can escape him. He pays no mind to the girl who walks into the back room.

“I’ll spend however long it takes to make you understand that I’m serious about you,” Gojo promises.

“You better send Nanami a thank you card.” You grab the box of pastries. “Taking me here was a good start.”

Yeah, he thinks. She’s the one.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x oc #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x oc #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru fluff #ahhh it’s been so long since i’ve written fanfics and it’s 2am #very sorry for any poor writing choices #but i hope you liked it! #<3 #my writing

[buckyalpine]

Bucky comfort. What I need like air right now is a sweet, chubby baker Bucky who notices his bunny is down. She doesn't say anything out of the ordinary when she comes to visit the bakery, kissing his soft scruffy cheek before taking a seat at the booth with a fresh Danish he made.

Cherry, because that's her favorite.

He can tell something is off when her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and she's curled up in his hoodie quietly nibbling on the pastry instead of clinging onto him like she usually does.

He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He loves when his girl hugs his thick waist tightly from behind while his works at the dough and rolls out croissants. Her little hands usually knead at the fluff around his belly. Instead she seems to be in her own world, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and pushing herself further into her seat to hide from the rest of world. You tell him you have to run a few errands and he doesn't miss your steamy eyes and small voice as you scurry off out of the bakery and it just adds to his worry.

Bucky was having none of that.

He lets Sam and Steve take over a couple of his orders, cleaning off and deciding to go straight home to you instead, he knows you don't actually have errands to do, he always makes sure to take care of them anyway. When he arrives back home, he isn't surprised to see your smaller form curled in a ball on the couch, eyes wide, surprised to see him.

"Bucky?" the quiver in your voice gives away that you'd been crying moments earlier.

"C'mere baby bunny" Bucky cooed, scooping you up in his beefy arms, and cradling your body to his, holding you to his chest while you nuzzle into his neck. "Wanna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours" He whispered against your hair, stroking it while you pull back, giving him a shrug. He knows you don't always want to talk about it but he's going to do what he can to make you feel better

"I'm not sure" You say with a sigh, your mind still running around a thousand miles a minute. Nothing particularly bad happened but one thought led to another; questioning if you were happy with your job, if you were happy with where you were in life, if you were someone Bucky would actually even want to be with, someone so sweet and loving and handsome like him, all your friends seemed to have found their footing and you were still here so unsure-

"Shhh" he kissed your forehead as if he could hear your insecurities screaming at you from inside your head. "What do you need sweet girl" His lips brush against the top of your head, breathing in your soft scent of peach body wash and vanilla lotion. He has you perfectly tucked into his much larger form, as if he were trying to protect his baby bunny from the rest of the world.

"Cuddles?" You cling onto him, sighing contently when he shifts so he can wrap you up in his arms while you bury your face into his chest. Everything about him is so comforting, if you could find a way to burrow yourself into him, you would. Your wiggling and shifting to get even closer makes Bucky chuckle, cooing at the whine you let out when he pulls away.

"Not going anywhere bunny, just getting us more comfortable" You're not sure how he does it but with minimal effort and movement he's helped you strip off all your clothes along with his, tossing the fluffy throw to cover you both up. You love feeling his bare skin against yours, practically purring now that you can feel every bit of him.

The rumble of your stomach doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky and he makes sure to wrap you up in a blanket burrito before getting up and padding over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going now" You pout and he cups your face with the gentlest touch.

"You're hungry bub, I'm just getting a snacky" and with that he walks off, grinning at the giggle you let out watching his perfectly perky ass saunter off.

"Yummyy" You wiggle happily from under your blanket at both the sight of you very pretty, very naked boyfriend carrying in a plate of more Danishes and a bunch of other pastries and fruit he grabbed on the way out when he left the bakery.

Bucky adores seeing you like this, setting down the snacks so he can hold you again when you give him grabby arms. He doesn't let you lift a fingers, feeding you another Danish, kissing the crumbs that clung onto your lips. He runs you a bath next. His bunny doesn't feel like moving much so he's happy to carry you there while you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear.

By the end of the night he loves seeing the light return to your eyes, your soft giggles when he has you perched on the bathroom counter doing your skin care routine with him.

"Keep your little paws to yourself, doll" Bucky swats away your hands when you reach for the lotion, taking over the job for himself. He's more than happy to massage up and down your calves to your thighs. He massages all the knots out of your back and shoulders before carrying you off to bed again for more cuddles and kisses.

Anyway, this was sitting in the drafts for weeds and it's still what I need rn.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x f!reader #chubby bucky #chubby bucky barnes #chubby bucky x reader #chubby baker bucky #baker bucky barnes #marvel fluff #bucky barnes fanmix #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x f reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes comfort fic #bucky barnes comfort fic #bucky comfort #soft bucky barnes #soft bucky #bucky barnes x fluff #chubby bucky barnes fluff #avengers fluff

[forsworned]

IT'S (NOT) JUST SEX ft. SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Warning(s): Sexual Content, AFAB!reader, (Sorta) Daddy Issues, Half&Half Proofread idk

Author's note: Guess I'm drowning in Simon right now, I just have so many ideas for him and honestly this is not original but fuck it I think it's cute mwah

"It's just sex."

But he's literally paying attention to every staccato of your moans, as he angles his hips perfectly to hit your sweet spot every fucking time. The way you arch your back, and your whimpers are elongating with every stroke, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you cumming all over his dick. And he doesn't even care if he's finishing anymore, as long as you're getting yours he's more than satisfied enough. And he's definitely not flipping you over on your back every time without fail just to see your pretty "o" face.

"It's just sex."

But he's waking up before you with your coffee exactly the way you like it, down to the milk preference, brand and roast. Your eggs perfectly fried, and a tender kiss to your temple asking you,

"How'd ya sleep, love?"

"It's just sex."

But he's always fixing your hair when it's out of place, the collar of your shirt when it's tucked in incorrectly and making sure he's holding your hand when you're crossing the street together.

"It's just sex."

But he's talking you down over the phone when you get into a catastrophic argument with your dad and moments later he's showing up at your door with your favorite snacks and beverages. His arms are enveloping you in the most snug bear hug, kissing your temple and rubbing your back while you cry it out. And then you're watching reruns of your favorite tv show and until you're passed out in his arms.

"It's just sex."

But he's letting you in. You're seeing all the sides of him that he never shows to anyone else. The scars under his mask, the way his lips curve up into a smile when you're doing you're little dance to oldies on the radio, and the genuine, hearty chuckle that effortlessly escapes his now loosened sternum.

"It's just sex."

But then you're under the steamy water coming out of his showerhead, as he sings in his off-key baritone while he suds up his loofa to clean you up after he fucked your brains out on his loveseat. Memorizing every mole, stretchmark, and crease in your skin as he's exfoliating your pretty skin.

But,

It's not just sex.

Because he's sitting there on the sofa, wondering how the fuck he ended up with the prettiest, vintage engagement ring you pointed out when you two were antiquing (antiquing? he doesn't bloody go antiquing) between his stout, scarred fingers, glittering in the moonlight and all.

"Si?"

He turns from the ring to the most stunning woman that's ever graced his miserable presence, leaning against the doorframe with his shirt hanging loosely over her thighs, hair disheveled in the cutest way humanly possible. Her playful smile etching into her dulcet features as she sucks in her bottom lip. Oh yeah, she's a fuckin' stunner.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

His eyes visibly softening as he drinks you in.

"Ya, dovie, I'll be right there." He murmurs, licking his dry lips, and you're already padding back to his room, making sure you sway your hips provocatively. That causes his lips to kick up into a genuine smile and a chuckle to escape his chest. And then he's up, carefully putting away the precious metal in a false bottom drawer under the utensils, and then he's jovially treading back to you. Face first into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural musk. He could bathe in this shit.

Fingers carding through his hair and he's oblivious to the knowing smirk on your sly face. That fucker thinks he's so slick.

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #call of duty ghost #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x female reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader #cod #cod smut #call of duty smut #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

#should've made this a proper fic #it's longer than i expected it to be #anyway. #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x female reader #call of duty #fanfiction

[delirious-donna]

The Temporary Assistant [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: I’ve been obsessed with the exhausted lawyer for some time now, but this is the first time I’ve written a fic for him… please be kind cause I baby.

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: NSFW, pwp, established relationship, reader is assumed to be a little bit on the booby side, pseudo boss/subordinate dynamic, spit as lube (don’t do this folks), Higuruma is a breasts man, nipple play, little prep, cumshot

Masterlist

“She quit. What do you mean, she quit?”

Higuruma massaged his tired eyes in steady circles, huffing out a laugh at your exasperated questioning and the equally perplexed look on your face.

“Darling, I don’t know how else to phrase it other than the young lady no longer works for me,” he offered with fatigue lacing his tone. It was late, and he didn’t want to be having this conversation for the third time today. The first had been with his partner at the law firm they jointly owned, and the second with the agency supervisor his previously employed assistant worked for.

Nanami hadn’t been surprised at the news, a fact that bothered Hiromi more than he cared to admit. His partner was not one for pulling his punches, so Hiromi was accustomed to his sometimes blunt manner of speaking, but it still hurt to think that Kento had seen something coming that he had been blindsided by.

“I’m only surprised she lasted this long.” Those were his parting words as Hiromi stalked dejectedly back to his office at Nanami’s insistence that his assistant would be far too busy to spread her attention to them both. Not words he’d been happy to hear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Higuruma. That’s not like her, but I’m afraid it’ll be at least two weeks until I can provide a replacement.” The agency supervisor sounded genuinely shocked at the sudden resignation, and his day simply went from bad to worse.

Hiromi flopped onto the couch, his head lolling back with his eyes sliding shut from the weight of his fatigue. It had been mounting all day, and now that he was home, where he should be finding solace in the comfort of his surroundings and his loving wife’s embrace, he was hit suddenly with a fresh reminder of the shit he’d landed in.

A soft hand caressed the side of his neck, inducing a shiver of relief. It was followed by the weight of your body settling over his spread thighs, your head resting against his shoulder. His suit jacket still hung from his lithe frame, the button undone and the shirt beneath badly wrinkled from the long commute home, but you didn’t care about his untidiness. 

He felt every quiet exhale fan his throat, the ghost of a smile finding its way to his face despite it all. Your nimble fingers burrowed into the knot of his tie, loosening it until you could pull it free and toss it away. “What are you going to do, Hiromi? I know you have that court date coming up… it’s a busy time. How about Nanami’s assistant?”

“Not an option. I already tried,” he muttered with a shrug. 

Opening his eyes, he peered down at you tucked into the crook of his neck, a hand inside the collar of his shirt and your nails grazing gentle patterns over his collarbone. He chewed his lip, fearful to broach the idea planted by his partner when his foot was almost out the door. “You could always ask your wife…”

Selfishly, he indulged himself in your affections, your scent that permeated every corner of the home you shared and let his fingers, stiff from the cold, warm against your feminine curves. You might not be so keen to indulge him once he suggested you work as his temporary assistant, so he would take what he could until push came to shove.

“Your fingers are icy, Hiro. Come here,” you chided with a click of the tongue, though he knew it was only born of concern for his health. Hiromi hummed happily, grateful when you pressed his palms together with yours on either side and blew hot air to dispel the chill.

“What would I do without you?” He whispered, sitting upright and nudging your nose with his when you glanced at him. Hiromi’s eyes drooped, heat dusted his cheeks at the proximity, and when you let out an airy giggle… he swore he swooned all over again. Just as he had when he first met you and fell in love.

He doubted he would be in the position he was today had it not been for you. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he would be here at all if he hadn’t met you when he did, but that was a story for another day.

You admired the side profile of your husband, eyes low and hazy with appreciation of his strong jaw and prominent nose that hooked just so at the end. “Good thing you’ll never have to know.”

Hiromi groaned aloud, burying his face between the soft skin of your décolleté. His cool lips skimmed the tops of your breasts, first on one side then turning to the other, making you shudder and hum. Your fingers threaded through his black hair, tugging firmly at the roots just how he liked, and his hips jerked in response.

A great fuck and a good night’s sleep would fix him, you were certain of it. It wouldn’t resolve his work issue, but Hiromi worked better with a clear mind, and you knew it was murky as bog water right now. Your man was a brilliant lawyer, dedicated to working towards a more just legal system for those normally underrepresented along with his partner, but he was a terrible workaholic.

You couldn’t count the nights he traipsed home from the office at an ungodly hour only to drag his tired body into his home office to continue where he left off. Only coming to bed when you physically dragged him away from his keyboard and desk with threats of pain and not the kind he typically enjoyed.

It couldn’t be easy to be his assistant, though you knew damn well that he was a good man. The poor girl probably had enough of the endless expectations and incessantly long hours which were necessary to get through all of his demands because he refused to finish at five like normal people. On the few occasions you’d stopped by his office, you could see the fraught expression written all over her young face and how her eyes pleaded with you to distract her boss enough so she could catch up with the mountain of requests waiting for her attention. Poor girl…

Ready to go to town on your poor overworked and stressed husband, you rocked your pelvis against the seam of his zipper, pushing his head further into your chest whilst his cock twitched and hardened beneath you. Hiromi practically purred, the sound muffled and vibrated right down into your soul. The possibilities were endless, and you were considering if you should slide to the floor and bathe his cock in your spit or ride him until all that wicked tension left his body when he suddenly paused.

His hands moved to your waist, the pressure firmer than expected and he gently slid you back along his knees so you were no longer planted over his poorly concealed erection. The flicker of guilt burnt in his whisky-smoked eyes, and it soured your smile. Hiromi shook his head and exhaled deeply, his eyes flitting away from yours.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered.

“You… can’t fuck your wife?” Your voice broke into a laugh that had nothing to do with amusement and everything to do with the bitter twist of uncertainty in your stomach. “Since when?”

“Don’t say that. I want to, but I need to ask you something first.” Hiromi cupped your face in his hands, leaning in to press what he hoped were reassuring kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. “Then you can decide if you still wanna… y’know.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion forming like a snake ready to strike, and your arms folded tightly across your chest. He swallowed nervously, struggling not to ogle your beautiful breasts that he would be fully buried in by now and likely suckling on had it not been for his damned conscience. 

“Spit it out, Higuruma.”

Oh, he was in trouble.

Hiromi cleared his throat and fixed you with a beseeching look. “Will you be my assistant?” He rushed on when you visibly bristled. “It’s only for two weeks until the agency can find me a replacement and, and… it was Kento’s idea!”

“Throwing Kento under the bus isn’t going to save your hide, Mr Higuruma!” You slid sideways onto the couch, ignoring the groan of disappointment from beside you. “You know very well I am in the midst of my PhD. How could you think it would be feasible for me to come work in your office as an errand girl for a fortnight?”

“Well… I have a plan,” he said, both pointer fingers coming together as he continued to give you the best impression of those adorable dogs with the droopy eyes.

When he didn’t elaborate immediately, your eyebrows rose and you nudged his knee with yours. 

“R-right. I know you’ve been writing your paper here at home. So, I thought that maybe I could also work from home. You could help me out and continue your work in between the things I need.”

Dammit, that wasn’t quite the terrible idea you had initially anticipated. You eyed your husband from head to toe, and he desperately tugged at your folded arms until he could take your hands into his. He kissed across your knuckles, nuzzling his cheek, rough from a faint five o’clock shadow, into the back of your hands.

“Hiromi…” you warned, but he was almost too overjoyed to hear his given name once more to heed the warning in your voice.

“Two weeks. That’s all. And I promise not to ask for too much, only the absolute necessities that I can’t manage myself. Please?”

How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly and especially when you knew just how under the cosh he was with his upcoming trial? It would only interfere with your deadlines if he didn’t uphold his promises, but you chose to believe that he would. After all, Hiromi was rather keen on keeping his balls attached to his body.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

~

The first week went by without incident. It was an adjustment, to say the least, but once you found your feet and Hiromi got used to not having to leave at the arse crack of dawn, it was rather lovely to see more of your handsome husband.

Being able to sit down at the small kitchen table to eat lunch together was a daily treat, and it filled you with triumph when he would eagerly seek you out in the kitchen with his nose sniffing out whatever delicious treat you had prepared that day. Ensuring Hiromi ate during the working day was, more often than not, a struggle, with several text messages bouncing back and forth until he acquiesced–but not now.

Maybe it was the lure of stolen kisses or the giggles shared when you called him Mr Higuruma, breathlessly pressing your body into his and squealing playfully when he pawed at your backside in turn.

You’d be lying if you weren’t enjoying the pseudo roleplay of boss and subordinate. Playing pretend with a power balance that didn’t translate to your relationship outside this current scenario. There was no top or bottom, no dominant or submissive, just two people enraptured by each other. Sometimes you led, and other times he did. Your marriage was well-balanced, and you loved that about Hiromi. He wasn’t threatened by a woman that initiated, in fact, he loved it—loved you. So this new experience, where he was large and in charge at all times, was certainly thrilling, but not everything was smooth sailing. 

Hiromi was demanding, to say the least. When he was engrossed in a specific piece of work, he had a way of speaking that made you want to smack him round the head with one of his many manila folders, preferably one of the thicker ones.

No wonder his assistant had quit if he regularly spoke to her in the clipped manner you had heard on more than several occasions now. Only your intimate knowledge of the man kept your tongue in your head and your hand away from the folders. Niceties were time-consuming when he was against the clock. He didn’t mean to be cold, and you told yourself this over and over, but it still hurt, just a little.

Higuruma could get used to this. 

He idly wondered how he would feasibly make the transition back to office working once this temporary fix came to an end. He didn’t miss his morning commutes, the packed trains that felt like being crammed into sardine tins, nor the chill of the office before the heating had a chance to warm the rooms sufficiently. 

It was a treat to be able to roll out of bed and right into his desk chair. If he wanted to start at 6am, he could, though you would chastise him thoroughly if he dared to. He knew you liked your morning snuggles, and so did he. Waking slowly to your soft snores which he liked to call purrs, and soaking in the smell of your sleep-soaked skin whilst his hands roamed every inch of your softness he could reach. It made it easier to escape the clutches of sleep, knowing you were waiting for him.

However, the star attraction of the current situation was you. Never had he cast an appreciative eye over one of his assistants, not even before he met you, but you were his wife, and he couldn’t help but gawk at his sheer dumb luck. There was something altogether forbidden about the fantasies in his head which, of course, made them all the more alluring.

The first few days at home he had stayed in comfortable clothing, favouring the sweats he’d wear around the house on the weekends and his old college sweater, but quickly, he realised that this didn’t work for him. He needed the structure of his routine even if he wasn’t venturing past his front door, so the suits returned—starched collars and a black tie at his throat. As if to match his energy, you started to dress formally too, and what a treat that was.

Pencil skirts that he didn’t think he’d ever seen, blouses that nipped in your waist, pinafore dresses that swished around your thighs and most decadent of all–lace-topped stockings. 

You were driving him to distraction, and the worst of it was that he was certain you didn’t realise. It made him sound shorter than he liked, his words coming out clipped, and his pleasantries sounded cursory rather than heartfelt. You were doing your best to accommodate his needs whilst still working on your paper, and here he was, wishing to bend you over his desk to run his nose and mouth over your squidgy thighs, the meat of your backside and the seat of your underwear until it soaked through with his saliva.

By the time the second week rolled around, Higuruma was a volcano, ready and raring to erupt at the slightest breeze or incident. The lunchtime kisses were no longer satiating his desires, nor were the evenings spent worshipping at the altar of your puffy, spit-covered pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch this very specific itch.

“I’ve made the copies you asked for, Hiromi. I’ve also updated your calendar with the pre-agenda meeting that came through from the opposing side. Was there anything else for now?”

Hiromi audibly moaned when your wrist grazed his fingers, setting down the documents in question and lingering by his side, waiting for an answer. He tugged sharply at the knot of his tie, feeling choked for air—starved of logic. 

As he glanced up at you, he paused. Your bottom lip was held fast between your teeth, eyes positively alight with playful mischief. So maybe you were more aware of the thick-as-sticky treacle tension than he gave you credit for. He fixed the cuffs of his shirt in an attempt to mask the shake of his hands, setting his pen down before leaning back in his chair. It creaked in protest, and you raised a hand to stifle a laugh. 

“Actually, there is something else, and it cannot be put off a moment longer,” he drawled with a tone that suggested he was going to dictate a letter or something equally menial. 

You were not expecting him to spin his chair towards you and yank you down by the arm into his lap. The shriek that left you was genuine, only silenced towards the end by the firm melding of warm, insistent lips. His hands were everywhere and all at once; squeezing the tops of your arms, ripping at the buttons that hid your cleavage from him and skimming beneath the tight hold of your skirt until it rucked around your hips.

There was such urgency to his movements that you struggled to catch up, but finally, you broke apart from his mouth, saliva strands webbing and breaking apart as your tongue passed through them and across your swollen lips. “Mr Higuruma! What would your wife say?” 

It was meant as a spicy joke, a nod to the little games that had been at play and the dynamic the two of you had fallen into, but you sensed immediately that it didn’t go over well. He stopped fumbling with the buttons of your blouse, half of them free from their holes and the lace of your bra now prominently on show, breasts firmly squeezed together given the constraints of the material.

“I-I would… never. I mean…” You watched the desire in his eyes shift to panic, and you shushed him with a finger over his lips. Your heart ricocheted in your chest at the sincerity, and if you believed you couldn’t love him any more than you already did, it proved untrue when you witnessed the devotion that shone in those whisky-coloured eyes.

“I know. It’s okay,” you murmured, closing the distance and trailing your lips over his jaw and up to his ear. “I like it… keep going, please?”

Oh gods, how could he have ever deserved a woman like you in his life? Hiromi whimpered, his eyebrows pinched together, and he felt that final strand of restraint snap clean in two. His lip trembled for a second before he was on you again. Hungry kisses pathed down your throat, a hand at the back of your head to keep you close and manoeuvre you exactly as he wanted.

You scrabbled at his tie, pulling it free with a whip crack until you could toss it behind you and return your focus to his shirt so you could scratch at his chest and leave red welts across his skin.

“No.” The frantic lawyer shook his head, pressing his fingertips over the fresh mark he’d sucked into your neck simply to watch you whine from the pressure of the blooming bruise. “Belt, now.”

Jumping at the ragged command that rasped from Hiromi’s throat, you complied without teasing or complaint. Working the tail of his leather belt through the buckle and sighed at the clatter of the metal when it rattled free to join his tie somewhere unseen in the room.

“Fuck… take it out, please.”

He didn’t wait for you to say anything, nor did he wait for you to pop his top button or lower his zip. He was too focused on freeing your bountiful tits and taking them into his mouth. Your eyes raised to the heavens when his hot needy tongue licked around your nipple, the lace cups shoved down to push your breast up and into his face. 

For long moments, you only watched as he laved you with his spit, lips drawn around your pert buds to elicit that deep-seated squirm of pleasure that echoed between your thighs. Hiromi lifted his gaze to your face, making sure you watched as he sandwiched your breast together with his broad palms so he could suckle both nipples at once. Your jaw slackened, your stomach sucked in, and your hips undulated atop his thighs.

It invigorated the tightness of your hold on his cock, drawing it out of his briefs followed by his heavy balls to stroke him hard and fast. He could take it, you knew that, his purpled cockhead sticky from precum that painted your fingers and palm. You paused with his foreskin pulled back, fingers ringing his base to use your other hand to tickle the seam of his balls. He jerked up with a muffled grunt, a resounding pop echoing in the study when his lips pulled free of your breasts.

“Need you, Sir. Please, want this,” you paused to squeeze his shaft in emphasis, “Inside me.”

“Little fucking temptress, you know that? Should’ve bent you over this desk days ago…” He growled against your collarbone, marking it with his teeth.

Higuruma stood abruptly. You squealed and anchored an arm around his neck, refusing to give up your possessive grab of his throbbing dick. He turned and shoved the back of his chair flush against the edge of his desk to stabilise it before dropping you into the leather seat and folding your legs back to your chest. 

His rough fingers pinched into the fat of your thighs, fiddling with the sticky bands of your lace stockings and damn near ripped them. You would have complained had it not been for the raw emotions written all over Hiromi’s face, his eyes fixed on the seat of your underwear and the obvious stain that was caused by his ministrations.

Bending his knees to drop closer to you, he savoured your mouth with his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to curl over your teeth. He filled his hands with the fat of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart and massaging the roundness with little gentleness. It was all you could do to moan, the sounds swallowed greedily only to be replaced by a pleading keen when he tugged your underwear away from your cunt. The fabric bunched around your knees, and you assumed he’d move back to remove them fully, but he didn’t. Instead, he twisted the material until it was tight around the bend of your knees, pinning you in place. 

His long slender fingers stroked your pretty slit, coming away with remnants of your arousal and using it to mix with his precum that continued to weep onto your hand. Hiromi’s head sagged forward, black hair falling into his eyes as a long string of saliva fell from what he’d gathered behind his teeth to your sensitive clit. He smeared it around the bundle of nerves, scissoring his fingers until he could tug it feverishly.

“Hiro… fuck me already. Goddammit, I’m gonna blow,” you whined, painfully aware that you were dangling by a thread.

You helped him lead his cock to your entrance, tapping it against your folds to see the tendons in his neck strain and giving you some semblance of smug satisfaction. When he finally notched where you needed him most, your breathing was coming so rapidly you faintly worried you might pass out from this. The air was so thick you struggled to inhale, drowning in this faux forbidden tryst.

He groaned, long and low. His nose nudged into your warm cheek as he bent even lower and pushed into your velvet heat. “That’s it. This pretty pussy is sucking me in—fuck—oh, you like that?” He teased, his hips drawing back only to plunge in again, and deeper this time when he felt you clench around him.

You gripped his forearms, head lolling against the headrest when his cock reached your depths, and the coarse midnight patch of hairs at his pelvis rubbed delicious friction into your pert little pearl. 

“Mhm… mhm. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

Higuruma could have laughed at the absurdity of your words. What made you think he could stop even if he wanted to? You were hugging him too perfectly, pulling him back in each time he withdrew his hips. The rhythmic pap of his full-to-bursting balls against the split of your ass rocketed him closer and closer to the finish point, enough so that he fisted the base of his dick to stave off his looming orgasm. He wasn’t ready for this to end, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop either.

The tails of his shirt escaped his trousers and obscured the view of his cock disappearing into your warm cunt, and he growled in frustration. You were so close to the precipice of your orgasm that you didn’t realise why he was growling, only moaning at the primal noise and clenching down hard enough that Hiromi’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Releasing his hold on your thighs, he grinned wolfishly at the imprints of his fingertips on the backs of your legs. With his heart pounding rapidly, he ripped his shirt up his torso and gripped the material between his teeth. His cock sawed in and out at a pace that was losing its rhythm at an alarming rate. 

He’d never looked like this before, crazed with desire and burning heat covering the apples of his cheeks. The whisky smoke in his eyes was barely visible due to how blown out his pupils were, and you lifted a hand to caress his cheek. His eyes cut to you, hips rotating whilst buried against your cervix, and with a sharp nod, he asked you to cum for him. His thumb sought out your clit, working it from side to side whilst his balls drew painfully tight and the first lick of molten heat dripped at the base of his spine.

Your eyes rolled over, limbs going lax and pliant pinned between the chair and his body. Your toes curled within your stockings, thighs trembling and butterflying open onto the arms of the chair. Hiromi rode out your high, slowing himself just so, but he couldn’t hold back for too long.

With a willpower that shocked him, he pulled out at the last moment and pumped himself until thick viscous spurts of cum shot across your exposed breasts and stained the blouse covering your stomach. He convulsed so intensely his knees nearly buckled, long drawn-out whimpers ripping from his throat, and you watched it all through hooded, blissed-out eyes. 

Hiromi sagged forward, his forehead pressed against yours as he fought to catch his breath. His cock twitched as it softened, the sensation worsened by your toying little fingers exploring his sensitive skin and rubbing the mixture of his and your arousal into his pelvis and across his balls. He didn’t know what to say. The fantasy lived out was so much more than his imagination could conjure, but he still felt a little vulnerable now it was over.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and licked over his parched lips. Words caught in his throat, but they were cut off by the trill of his phone on the desk as it vibrated across the wood. You handed it to him with a shy smile, and he answered it after smoothing back his hair.

“Mr Higuruma?”

“S-speaking,” he answered, clearing his throat urgently.

“I’m calling from Clerical Angels. Unfortunately, I have bad news. It is going to be another week before a new assistant can start. I’m sorry for the delay, I know it must be an inconvenience…”

Your eyes widened at the conversation you could hear as clear as day, meeting his steady gaze with cheeks that burned with a combination of mild embarrassment and intrigue. One more week.

“Not at all. I think I can cope, my wife is happy to bend over backwards for me.”

Oh, Hiromi would pay for that comment… but not for at least another week.

#delirious writes #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #jjk higuruma #jjk x reader #jjk smut

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

[alipal97]

I'm an Idiot

Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem!reader

Summary: Luke has a dream about about his best friend y/n that leads to him ignoring her so she doesn't find out his true feelings

Warnings: angst, Luke being an idiot, smut 18+ only please, language, it's a LONG one but it's so worth it I promise

"Shit, Luke," y/n moaned out, her soft breathes fanning against Luke's scarred cheek, "right there."

Luke thrusted himself deeper, groaning out at the sensation and burying his face in the crook of her neck. "God's, y/n, you're so fucking tight."

Luke pushed in slowly once more, burying himself to the hilt. He was going painfully, torturously slow. Luke wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless until all she could do was scream his name, but not if it meant hurting her so he held himself back from driving into her full force and taking her like he so desperately wanted to.

Y/n knew what he was doing and responded by wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper. They gasped simultaneously at the new angle.

"Don't-", he stuttered, "Don't do that." He held her hips down to prevent her from moving again, gripping it so tightly he was sure it would leave a mark and the thought sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He panted against her sweaty collarbone as he tried to regain his composure.

"You don't like it?" She whispered in his ear seductively, raising her hips up to meet his.

Of course he liked it. He fucking loved it, but it was testing the restraint that he was already in a losing battle with. If she continued to pull him in deeper like that he was sure to snap. Luke could feel her clenching around his cock and fuck it made him want more.

When he didn't answer, y/n leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Stop holding back, Luke. I want you to fuck me."

With a sly smirk, Luke pulled out of her before-

Luke startled slightly as his eyes opened to the early morning sun that filtered through the windows of the cabin. He could hear the birds chirping outside and the slight footfall of other campers making their way to breakfast.

He sighed in frustration and rubbed a hand down his face, only to freeze when he felt a body stirring against him. He slowly lowered his hand, his brown eyes falling to Y/n's sleeping form next to him. She was fully clothed with her back to him as her shoulders rose and fell with each even breath she took.

Luke had one arm wrapped around her waist while the other was trapped beneath her head. Her hair falling over his arm and onto her pillow in a perfect halo. For the daughter of Hades, she sure looked angelic in this moment.

He realized he must have fallen asleep during one of their late-night talks, given that he had woken up in her cabin rather than his own. Luke was honestly thankful for her company. His sleep was typically plagued by never-ending nightmares, but never when he slept with her tucked into his chest.

Noticing that she was still sound asleep, Luke decided to relax and enjoy a few more moments of rest before he would inevitably have to wake her for breakfast and break them out of their comfortable bubble. He closed his eyes and pulled her body closer to his, tucking his face into her hair that smelled faintly of her jasmine and coconut shampoo.

Unconsciously, Y/n snuggled back against him, pressing her body back against his. Her round ass pushed against the bulge in his pants that he hadn't realized had been rapidly growing since he woke from his dream. Luke grunted at the contact and swore under his breath quietly. Nightmares may not be a problem when sleeping with y/n, but for the last few months other dreams had started to become a bit of an issue.

Luke had had a crush on her since the first day she walked into camp four years prior, something Clarisse and Chris never hesitated to poke fun at him about. How could he not? She was gorgeous, funny, and fiercely protective of those she loved.

The two of them had always had a flirty sort of banter that probably went beyond the bounds of friendship, but he never really made a move, of course, fearing his feelings wouldn't be reciprocated and valuing their friendship too much to jeopardize it.

Just like he was about to if she woke up and felt his hard on nestled between her perfect thighs.

It was probably a dick move to leave before she woke up, but Luke would have to come up with an excuse later because there was no way he was going to be able to conceal what the dream of her panting and writhing beneath him had caused.

Ever so carefully, Luke shifted his weight toward the edge of the bed and slowly began to pull his arm out from under her head, freezing when she stirred in her sleep. He swore quietly under his breath and waited until she stopped moving before pulling his arm away from her completely.

He tiptoed his way to the door, the old hardwood floor groaning slightly beneath his weight as he walked. Luke reached the door and turned to take one last look at her sleeping form that was now nestled against the pillow beneath her head, soft snores emitting from her pink lips. He smiled to himself and closed the door quietly, bounding through the camp on his way to take a very cold shower to relieve him of his 'little' problem.

The sound of her front door clicking into place made Y/N stir against her black silk sheets before she woke entirely, noting the now empty bed beside her. She furrowed her brows as she sat up, noticing that Luke's shoes were gone and so was he.

It confused her, to say the least. Luke had never been one to sneak away before she had woken up, usually opting to wake her with whispers that sent tingles down her spine and butterflies to her belly.

Luke had been acting strangely the last few months, but he never hesitated to crawl into bed with her when she complained of insomnia or nightmares. Having him around while she slept had eased what normally plagued her, and she knew it did the same for him. She shrugged lightly to herself, figuring that he had camp counselor duties to attend to, and she would catch up with him later. Still, disappointment settled in her chest at not being able to wake up with his body wrapped around hers.

Y/n was a camp counselor herself, but since she was the only current daughter of Hades, she was more or less in charge of only herself when she wasn't training the younger campers. She rose from bed, tidying the cabin around her before throwing on a pair of spandex shorts and her Camp Half-Blood shirt to get ready for her daily training sessions after breakfast.

She made her way down to the pavilion by herself, basking in the warmth that spread over her tanned skin where the early morning sun broke through the trees. She could hear the rumble of conversation from the other campers who were already sat for breakfast as she drew closer.

Y/n made her way through the breakfast line, her eyes scanning the area for a familiar mop of dark curls as she piled strawberries and pancakes onto her plate. She turned to make her way to her usual spot, noting that Luke hadn't yet made an appearance there, which was odd since he had obviously left before her.

Y/n took her usual seat next to Clarisse, saving the spot to her left for Luke whenever he decided to show, with Chris, Travis, and Connor sitting opposite her.

"Hey," Chris greeted her around his mouth full of pancakes.

"Hey," she replied distractedly, her eyes still scanning the pavilion.

"Who are you looking for?" Clarisse asked, noting her odd behavior and trying to follow her wandering eyes.

"Luke, of course," Travis said with a smirk.

"Who else?" Connor added with a smirk identical to his twin brother's.

Y/n's face flushed a light shade of pink as she resigned herself to pushing the food around on her plate with her fork. She knew that her crush on her best friend was painfully obvious to everyone—well, except for the one person who truly mattered. It wasn't like she really tried to hide it, always saving him a seat on her left at meals and choosing Luke as her sparring partner or simply cuddling up next to him by their nightly campfires.

She was hopelessly in love with her dark-haired best friend, but she never attempted to make a move, fearing rejection or, worse yet, jeopardizing their friendship. Still, Y/N couldn't help but blush when he would wrap his arm around her innocently and tuck her into his side or become flustered when she caught a glimpse of his well-defined abs when he would lift his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow during sparring sessions. Needless to say, she had it bad.

"Hey guys," Percy greeted the small group of friends as he sat to Y/n's left, leaving an empty space for Luke. Annabeth took her seat across from him. "Where's Luke?"

All eyes at the table turned toward her, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "How would I know?" She speared a strawberry on her plate with a bit more force than necessary.

"Oh, I don't know," Chris shrugged his shoulders sarcastically. "Maybe it's because he spends more time in your bed than in his own these days." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a smack to the head from Clarisse and a glare from Y/n.

"Speaking of the lover boy," Connor says, his eyes falling to Luke as he makes his way through the breakfast line.

Y/n tries her best to act nonchalant, fighting the urge to turn and look at him. Instead, she resigns herself to pushing the strawberries around on her plate.

When Luke finally makes his way to their usual table, he pauses, noting the empty spot left for him next to Y/N. He battles with himself silently as his feet carry him closer. He wants to sit next to her more than anything, but just the thought of her leg accidentally brushing his under the table causes his dick to twitch in his cargo pants. There was no way he would be able to hide a boner with this many people around. Normally, he had a bit more self control, but thay dream had really done him in.

He had been fortunate enough not to encounter any other campers on his way to the showers this morning to relieve himself. His hand had been wrapped around his length, stroking himself in a fast rhythm as he imagined y/n lips wrapped around him, quietly moaning out her name as he came in his fist.

Luke quietly groaned to himself as he rounded the table, feeling y/n's piercing eyes on him as he took a seat between Connor and Chris. Everyone at the table froze, forks hovering midair in confusion and disbelief at the strange behavior. Luke didn't even pay them any mind, trying his hardest to avoid your gaze that had sparked with what looked like disappointment, fearing that if he started blushing he would never stop.

"Okay," Clarisse said, drawing out the word and breaking the silence that had fallen over the group. "Cabin Twelve is throwing a party on Friday. Are you guys in?"

"We're always in," the Stoll twins spoke in unison. Y/n thought it was funny when they did it, but Luke always found it disturbing and creepy.

Luke was barely listening to his friends’ discussion as he pushed the food around on his plate. He was trying to avoid looking up, knowing that Y/N was across from him, trying to meet his gaze. He knew she had given up when she let out an almost inaudible sigh, and he suddenly felt guilty. He hated ignoring her, but it physically pained him not to hold her and draw her in for a kiss when she pouted her perfect pink lips at him. It was as if Aphrodite herself was trying to punish him.

"I don't know," Travis shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip from his cup. "I'll probably ask Silena to go with me. What about you?" He looked over at his half-brother, who was still staring down at his untouched food. "Luke?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, breaking out of his thoughts and looking up from his plate for the first time since he sat down.

"Are you bringing anyone to the party?" Travis asked again.

"Oh, um," Luke was at a loss for words. There was only one person he truly wanted to ask, but he knew she wouldn't see it as anything more than friendly. They had attended parties together in the past, but it seemed inappropriate to him now that he had come to the realization that he was in love with Y/N. "I don't really know. I haven't thought about it."

Connor, being Connor, decided to stir the pot a bit. He opened his mouth to say, "What about Laura from Cabin Ten? She has a pretty massive crush on you."

Luke shrugged and finally took a bite of his breakfast, not noticing the way y/n's eyes watched him anxiously. "Yeah, I guess so," he replied, a bit distractedly. It would seem weird if he didn't take anyone, but he couldn't take y/n without torturing himself to the brink of insanity. He still couldn't shake the image of her beneath him or the faint sounds of her breathy moans that echoed in his mind.

Y/n had decided that she had had enough. She slammed her silverware onto her plate, swiping it up, and marched her way over to the fire pit. She threw her offerings into the flames and made her way to her first activity of the day. Tears stung her eyes, and jealousy clawed at her chest as she marched past the table where her friends all sat, looking slightly concerned at her sudden outburst.

Luke's eyes trailed after her, watching her back until she disappeared over the hill. He sighed to himself and ran a hand through his curls. He had thought that if he kept a bit of distance his body and mind would relax a little but he was more tense than ever.

Clarisse kicked him under the table causing him to wince and rub at his now sore shin. "What the hell has gotten into you?" She shouted at him.

"Ouch, what are you talking about?" Luke glared at her as he continued to rub his sore leg.

"I'm talking about y/n," Clarisse said, her brows raising as if what she was getting at was obvious. It was, but Luke didn't want to admit what he was doing was stupid.

"What about her?"

It was Chris's turn to chime in. He turned to his half brother and said, "Since when don't you sit next to her at breakfast, and since when don't you two go to bonfires together?"

Luke groaned in irritation, his face growing hot. The last thing he wanted was for them to pry and find out the real reason he was ignoring his best friend. It was embarrassing the way he was dreaming about her, and jerking off to the thought of it like a fifteen year old who just discovered women exist.

"My world doesn't revolve around y/n." He grumbled.

Percy snorted from his spot across the table. "That's bullshit."

"Language!" Luke, Annabeth, and Clarisse all chastised him at once.

Clarisse turned away from the son of Poseidon and back to Luke. "He's right, though. You two are always flirting with each other, and it's painfully obvious. Do us all a favor and put us out of our misery. This tiptoeing around each other is disgusting."

"What Clar means to say," Chris said, shooting a look at the curly-haired girl who merely shrugged, "is why are you avoiding her? We all know you like her, so why are you holding back?"

"Because he's a chicken shit." Percy chimed in with a smirk.

"PERCY!" They all yelled and the blonde rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on! I'm thirteen, for crying out loud!" he yelled back, slamming his hands on the table. They all ignored him and went back to their conversation at hand once more.

"All we're saying," Chris said, gathering his plate of offerings and standing up, "is that you two have been riding this line between something and nothing for too long. Man up and ask her to the party." And with that, he threw his offerings into the fire and walked off toward the rock wall.

Sparring practice was a bit more tense than usual that day, and it was obvious to everyone around them. When they had all chosen their partners, Y/n had been quick to ask James from Cabin Ten before Luke could even take a step in her direction. It caused a stir among the other campers who witnessed the out-of-character behavior, leading them all to wonder what had happened between the two counselors.

Usually, she would make her way to his side, joking about trying her best not to mess up his 'pretty face', but today she wasn't really in the mood to joke and be ignored by her best friend.

Luke sat frozen for a few seconds, utterly shocked that she had chosen someone over him. He guessed he deserved it for the way he had acted at breakfast, but it still stung knowing that she was angry with him. So, instead of standing there looking like an idiot, he grabbed Percy by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from where he was attempting to flirt with Annabeth. He left her to pair up with one of her siblings as he dragged Percy to a spot where he had a clear view of Y/n.

They began to spar, and while Luke was the best swordsman the camp had seen in over three hundred years, his head wasn't in it today. Percy disarmed him repeatedly while his eyes wandered over to Y/N. She was currently grabbing a drink of water while James stood at her side, whispering something that made her throw her head back and laugh.

She pulled at the hem of her orange tee, lifting it up to wipe the sweat from her face. Luke's grip tightened on his sword when he saw James's eyes lingering over the tattoo on her right hip. He made to step forward when Percy's hand on his arm made him freeze and look back at the younger boy.

"I don't think that's a good idea. She already seems kind of irritated with you," Percy warned.

Luke scoffed, shaking his head, and walked over to where she was smiling with her hand placed gently on James's bicep. The sight made his blood boil, and he had the overwhelming urge to rip the boy's arm off.

"Hey," Luke said, directing all his attention to his best friend, who, at the moment, wouldn't even glance his way. "Can we talk?" When she continued to ignore him, he lowered his voice more and whispered, "Please?"

Y/n couldn't help herself; she lifted her gaze to his and nearly caved when she saw the pleading look in his eyes. But then she remembered how he had snuck out of her cabin that morning and proceeded to ignore her throughout breakfast. Y/n folded her arms over her chest and put on her best poker face.

"I'm a little busy right now."

"Oh, really?" Luke asked in a patronizing tone, crossing his own arms over his chest. Y/n had to try her best not to glance down at his bulging muscles. "Busy doing what, exactly?"

"Well, if you really want to know," she stepped closer to the blonde on her right, "I was just about to accept James's invitation to the party Friday night."

That was a total lie. Y/n had actually been about to turn the boy down and state that she probably just wouldn't go, but she figured if Luke could go with a date, then so could she. Maybe it would help her let go of her crush on Luke once and for all. She knew she deserved better than waiting around for the boy to come to his senses.

Luke scoffed, his face scrunching up with the action. "You're kidding me, right?"

This made Y/n angry. Luke had no right to be upset over her accepting a date to a party he didn't even want to attend with her.

"So what?" She took an angry step toward the curly-haired boy. "You can talk about asking Laura to the bonfire, but when I accept an offer from someone who's genuinely interested in me—"

Luke interrupted her. "You seriously think this guy," he gestured to James, "is seriously into you? Have you forgotten that he and his siblings sleep with people and then dump them just for entertainment?"

James stepped forward, trying to put himself between Luke and Y/n, something that irked the girl to her core. She didn't need anyone to defend her. "Hey, woah. You don't know shit about me, man, and you don't get to talk to her like that."

Luke's features darkened as he narrowed his eyes at the boy who was just a few inches shorter than him. "Back the fuck up and mind your business. She doesn't need you to be her knight in shining armor."

They were nose-to-nose now, exhibiting the typical dick-measuring contest, and Y/n had had enough. She pushed her way between the feuding boys (yes, boys), placing a hand on each of their chests. While James looked down at her with a smug grin, Luke refused to tear his gaze from the blonde, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face.

Y/n tried to meet Luke's gaze, but he wasn't backing down. With a heavy sigh, she let her hand drop from his strong chest and backed away, though it physically ached to do so.

"Let's just go, James." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, with James right behind her. Subtly, he flipped Luke off behind his back.

The days leading up to Friday were awkward and tense for Luke, Y/N, and the friends who surrounded them. In the mornings, when Luke arrived for breakfast, Y/N would suddenly be in a rush to get to her lessons. At night, she would lock the windows and doors of her cabin, pretending not to hear Luke knocking and pleading with her to let him in and talk.

By the time Friday rolled around, Luke was absolutely miserable without his best friend, and he was kicking himself for being so stupid. He wouldn't have had any reason to be jealous if he had just come right out and told Y/N that he was in love with her the very day he had realized it himself.

Now, here he was, looking like an absolute idiot, all alone, leaning against a tree with a drink in his hand as he watched his best friend snuggle up next to James by the fire. She was laughing and smiling as he spoke, but never quite like she did when she was with him. Every once in a while, her eyes would catch Luke's, and it made his heart skip a beat in his chest until she would quickly avert her gaze and give her full attention to her date for the night.

"Where's your date?" A voice spoke from his right and he pulled his eyes away from Y/n to see Laura batting her eyelashes up at him.

Luke shrugged and took a long pull from his cup, the liquor burning his throat a bit on the way down. "Didn't bring one."

"That's odd since I overheard that you were going to ask me." Laura licked her pink-painted lips and smiled, placing a hand on his chest. "I was waiting for you to ask, but-"

Luke's attention was pulled away as his eyes landed on Y/n, who was walking away from the party and back toward the cabins. He didn't even give an explanation or say goodbye to the Aphrodite girl as he pushed past her to follow his best friend. He was almost certain he heard her call him an asshole but he really didn't care.

Luke followed behind Y/n all the way to the cabins, unsure if she was aware of his presence. He figured she probably did, since she had the instincts of a goddamn wildcat, but was probably still just ignoring him.

He was a few yards away when he watched her reach her cabin and go inside, and he didn't hesitate to walk up the front steps and knock. Now that everyone was at the party, he could possibly get her to talk to him without an audience.

Nerves settled in his chest as he raised his fist and rapped it against the dark wooden door, waiting on the edge of his figurative seat for her to open the door and face him. Luke listened closely to the shuffling on the other side of the door before he heard a sigh and then the click of a lock. For a moment, he thought that she had locked him out and turned with a heavy heart to make his way back to the Hermes cabin to wallow in his self-pity until her soft voice reached out to him.

"What do you want, Luke?" She sighed heavily as she stood in the doorway, the door partially blocking her chest.

By the way she was attempting to cover her chest, and the way Luke could see her bare shoulder and the strap of her bra, he guessed that she had been in the process of undressing and getting ready for bed. He was trying, and failing, not to let his eyes wander as he made his way back up to her door.

"Can we talk?" Luke asked quietly, his voice and eyes pleading with her to say yes.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding and opening the door for him to step through. He let his eyes wander over the expanse of the cabin that he had seen a million times before in an attempt to give her some semblance of privacy while she found something with which to cover up.

It wasn't until she cleared her throat from behind him that he turned, and his heart stopped in his chest. She stood there with her arms crossed and shoulders tense, now covered in a soft gray sweatshirt. His sweatshirt. She still wore the black jean skirt that she had been wearing at the party, and he saw her top and bra discarded on her dresser, meaning that she was completely bare underneath his sweatshirt. Luke felt his dick twitch in his pants and had to shake the thought from his mind before things got out of hand.

He took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his dark curls before he spoke. "Listen, y/n/n, I'm really sorry about being a complete dick the last few days and for ignoring you. I was just going through some stuff and I didn't want to upset you or lose you as a friend so I thought if I ignored you until I could figure out how to get over it, things would be better."

Y/n didn't say anything as she waited for him to continue.

"It turns out," he took a deep breath, "I can't get over it, and I don't think I want to."

"What are you talking about?" She took a few steps until the distance between them closed, and she cupped his face in her soft hands, forcing him to look at her. "Why would you even think you could lose me as a friend?" Her eyes darted between his, but his were focused solely on her lips.

"Because I don't want to be just friends with you," Luke whispered before he closed the distance between them, his lips grazing hers. "Tell me to stop."

Y/n shook her head and tangled her fingers in his dark curls. "I can't," she said. And then she pulled his lips down to crash against her own.

Luke reacted immediately, his hands falling to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, all teeth and tongues as they finally let themselves feel everything they had been holding back. When Luke swept his tongue along her lips, she moaned into his mouth and tugged his curls, eliciting a deep groan from Luke. Eventually, the two ran out of breath and had to pull back, their chests heaving from the lack of oxygen.

"Is this why you've been ignoring me?" she asked against his lips, wanting to taste his mouth on hers again, but not before she got her answer.

Luke smirked and shrugged. "Well, that and I've been having some pretty intense dreams."

Y/n pulled back, brows raised, and Luke's heart dropped for half a second before she smiled up at him through her long lashes. "About?"

Luke tightened his grip on her hips and dragged her closer and she gasped at the feeling of his hard length pressed against her hip. "Mind if I just show you?"

When she nodded, Luke didn't waist a second hoisting her up, her legs instantly snapping around his waist and his hands falling lower to cup her ass. He carried her to her bed, laying her down before kissing her with a bit more coordination than before. He slotted himself between her open thighs, rutting into her gently causing a breathy moan to fall from her perfect lips.

Y/n didn't waste any time ridding him of his shirt, throwing it down to the floor and allowed her hands and eyes to wander down the expanse of his toned chest and abdomen. It wasn't like she had never seen Luke shirtless before, having patched him up more times than she could count, but this seemed more personal like he was willing to let her see and have every part of him.

Luke's own hands wandered up the front of her sweatshirt that she had stolen from him so many months ago, travelling higher and higher until his hand came into contact with her bare breast. He took it in his hand, kneading and squeezing before rolling her soft nipple into a firm peak.

Y/n smirked and dropped her hands to pull the material over her head, growing more confident than ever as she watch Luke swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. She leaned up ever so slightly and placed a soft kiss against his throat, causing him to groan and drop his head down to lay between her breasts, his soft curls tickling her sternum.

"The feeling is mutual." She whispered into the air between them, kicking herself for not coming up with anything better to say.

Luke lifted his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "'The feeling is mutual'? That's all?"

Y/n rolled her eyes and lifted her hips to push her core against the bulge straining in his pants. "Shut up and fuck me."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked against her lips before dragging his body off the bed and standing at the edge.

Y/n looked confused before Luke quickly shed his pants, leaving him in just his black boxers, before he grabbed her under her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. He kneeled on the floor, ridding her of her skirt and panties in one fluid motion. He nearly let out a moan at the sight of her glistening cunt and used two fingers to swipe through her folds.

"Did I do this?" Luke asked with a smug grin. When she didn't answer, he slapping her ass, making her jolt and throw her head back with a moan. So she likes it rough? Noted. "I asked you a question."

"Yes." She answered breathlessly, her fingers tangling in the sheets with anticipation.

Luke didn't say another word before he brought his tongue down to her weeping cunt and licked a stripe all the way up to her clit with a flat tongue. Luke groaned at the taste before diving back in for more. She tasted so sweet and heavenly and Luke was absolutely certain the next time he had ambrosia, it would taste like her.

Y/n's moans filled the empty air as Luke devoured her like a man starved, dipping his tongue into her hole before moving higher to suck harshly on her swollen clit. Luke moved one of his hands from her thighs to push two fingers into her, noting how tightly she squeezed his fingers. He curled them upwards ever so slightly, feeling her hands fly to his hair instantly and tug harshly. He moaned around her clit, sending vibrations throughout her whole body.

"Shit," y/n moaned as her back arched off the mattress, "Luke, I'm so close."

Luke pulled away from her, fingers still working in and out of her, bringing her closer to the edge by the second. "Let go, baby. Cum for me."

Between his tongue, his fingers, and the fact he had called her baby, y/n let herself go, cumming with Luke's name tumbling from her kiss-bitten lips over and over again. Luke continued to lap at her, enjoying the sweet and tangy taste of her release on his tongue, until she was squirming and all but pushing him away from the overstimulation.

He got the message and sat back on his heels, enjoying the sight of her post-orgasm, hands still fisting the sheets as she watched him lick his fingers clean. He moaned around the digits, teasing her until she physically couldn't take it anymore.

Y/n sat up and grabbed hold of his camp necklace, pulling him to lay between her open legs once more before smashing her lips to his, tasting herself on his tongue. Luke smiled into the kiss when she bit down on his bottom lip and tugged.

"I want you," she spoke against him breathlessly, "to fuck me."

Luke pulled back, placing his hands on either side of her head to support himself. "Who taught you patience?" He joked, but groaned when her hand snaked down to palm him over his boxers.

Luke got the message and decided that he was done teasing her, for now. He shed his boxers quickly and quickly aligned himself with her dripping cunt. He rubbed his tip through her folds, collecting her arousal before looking up at her, searching for any signs of hesitation.

He got his answer when y/n smiled up at him softly and pulled his forehead down to rest against hers. She angled her hips up and his tip slipped in, elicting a moan from the both of them. Luke moved slowly, pushing in deeper, inch by agonizing inch. His breath caught in his throat and his mouth hung open when he was fully seated within her.

"Are you okay?" Luke asked softly.

Y/n nodded and rolled her hips against his, letting him know it was okay to move. Luke captured her lips with his before pulling out and thrusting back into her.

"F-fuck." He groaned against her mouth, thrusting into her again. "You're so fucking tight." He trailed his lips down her jaw, leaving kisses all the way down her neck until he reached the soft spot just behind her ear. He bit down on the soft skin there.

He was going torturously slow and while she loved that he was being so sweet and gentle, there would be time for that later. Right now she just wanted him to take her and fuck her into oblivion. This had been a long time coming and she was done with the soft, hesitant actions.

"Luke." She whimpered against his ear, her breath sending shivers down his spine.

"Hmm?" He groaned, too consumed by the feeling of her heat sucking him in.

"Fuck me harder."

Luke pulled back, not sure he had heard her correctly. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. "What?"

Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist and spoke again. "Fuck. Me. Harder."

Luke didn't need to be told a third time once he was sure he wasn't imagining things. He grabbed her thigh and lifted it higher before driving into her. They both groaned at the new, deeper angle, sweaty chests heaving as they grew accustomed to the overwhelming sensation.

He set a new, harsher, faster pace, grinding his hips into hers to add to her pleasure. Y/n finally got what she wanted as he pounded into her already sensitive cunt. She bit her lip to try and contain her moans and Luke wasn't having it. On the off chance this was a one time thing, he wanted to hear just how good he was making her feel.

Luke pulled her lip from between her teeth, kissing her softly before saying, "Let me hear you. I want everyone in the whole camp to know how good I make you feel, that I'm the only one who can make you feel this good."

He pulled out and angled a particularly harsh thrust into her caused her to moan without a care for anyone that happened to pass by her cabin.

"Fuck, Luke, feels s-so good."

"That's it, baby, let them know who you belong to."

Y/n clenched around him and Luke could feel himself growing closer to the edge, but he would be damned if he didn't bring her to a second orgasm before he let himself go. He leaned back just enough to reach a hand between them, using his two middle fingers to rub at her bundle of nerves.

"Shit, just like that. I'm so close."

Luke would do just about anything to hear y/n praise him like that for the rest of his life. He could die tomorrow and he would be at peace with it now that he had heard the way his name sounded tumbling from his lips and the way her body reacted to his.

"Oh gods, I'm gonna—" with a hoarse cry, y/n reached her peak, clenching around Luke as her nails scratched at his back. She had probably drawn blood, but neither of them could find it in them to care at the moment.

Luke worked her through her orgasm, picking up his own pace as he chased his own high. With a few more calculated thrusts, Luke came with a low groan, biting down on the juncture between her shoulder and neck as he spilled inside her.

With a heavy sigh, Luke rolled off of her, reaching his arms out to pull her sweat soaked body into his. Y/n nuzzled her face into his neck and tangled her legs with his, breathing out a sigh of contentment.

Neither of them said a word until Luke finally caught his breath and asked, "So the feeling is mutual, huh?"

Luke's grin only grew when she slapped him on the chest. "Shut up."

"So if the feeling is so mutual," she glared at him, and he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. "Then why did you go to the party with James?"

Y/n sighed. "Well, my best friend, whom I really wanted to go with, was being a total dick."

Luke looked down at her apologetically. "So why didn't you tell him then?" he whispered.

"Because I've been in love with him since we were sixteen, but I didn't want to throw away our friendship in case he didnt like me back." She whispered back, finally laying it all out in the open.

"You know what I think?"

Y/n bit her lip nervously. "What do you think?"

Luke tilted her chin up to look at him, bringing his lips closer to hers as he said, "I think I'm an absolute moron for ever making you think that I don't love you the same way."

#luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan smut #smut #demigods #x reader #luke x reader #fanfic #imagines

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part 8

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut. Graphic domestic violence, physical abuse, choking. Non consensual kissing. Hospital setting, nurse!reader, medical inaccuracies. Drowning metaphors. Strong feelings of self loathing, despair, fear, anxiety. Suicidal ideation. Crying. Panic attacks. Bun is unraveling. Comfort. Protective Simon and Johnny. Things are happening.

The girl in the mirror hates you.

It’s easy to tell, by the way she stares, how her eyes glow in the yellow fluorescents of the staff bathroom.

You make her sick.

Your weakness, your stupidity, has cost her, again. As if it hasn’t cost her enough at this point, as if it hasn’t drained her dry over and over until she thought she would die.

Until she thought she wanted to die. 

Someone knocks on the bathroom door.

“Occupied.” You snap, and they huff, turning away to go who knows where.

You peek back over to the girl in the mirror. She still stares at you in disdain, but now it’s more expectant, more… intrigued, like she’s asking, well… what are you going to do?

“What are you going to do, sugar?” Phillip’s hands tighten around your neck, white teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun of your apartment. The sound of your windpipe being crushed echoes inside your eardrums, and you flail uselessly, struggling, kicking and hissing and crying to no avail. “Where are you going to run next?” Black spiderweb strings along the outside of your vision, and your palm slaps against his forearm, a pathetic endeavor, as always.

He’s too strong. Too determined. 

You’re an ant. He’s a shoe. 

You’re an early high school grad, on an academic scholarship at school your mom couldn’t afford, and he’s the charismatic grandson of a Texan oil tycoon, the son of a judge, living in a fancy house without roommates in the city.

You want to be a doctor. He wants a housewife. 

You want to be a mother; he promises to beat them out of you. 

You want a life in the sun. He wants to become a shadow himself. 

“Phillip.” You wheeze, air snaking through your teeth. He lowers his ear, like he can’t hear you, a mocking bow that you know he relishes. 

“What’s that?” 

“Can’t- breathe-“ The sigh that answers you is what you imagine a disappointed father sounds like, followed by a tsk, an over developed dramatic show that you’ve come to know so well, and he throws you to the ground in one motion, shoulder smacking against the hard wood floor. 

There’s a tear of muscle. An immediate soreness. Stars dance in your vision. 

“Gotta hand it to you, princess. You were hard to find this time.” 

You don’t have an answer for the girl in mirror.

Even with the turtleneck and the very good makeup, it’s bad. There is no doubt, someone will notice.

And then there will be questions. Nonstop questions, personal questions, private questions. Questions from your boss and an HR rep behind a closed door somewhere, invasive, mandated reporting, logical questions that you must have answers for.

You chew your lip.

It’s not so obvious, maybe, with the turtleneck. The long sleeve under your scrub top covers the tender flesh on your neck, your shoulder, your forearm. It’s second nature, how easily you hide, how perfectly they tuck away, little stories beaten into your skin for no one else but you to feel.

Except for your orbital and cheek bones. 

These are blatant. The ball cap pulled down over most of your face hid them well enough on your way in but now... inflamed, angry skin swells beneath your eye, and while it looks okay, you guess, when you get close, it’s obvious that something is wrong. The foundation and failed attempt at contour can only do so much.

It’s shocking to realize you’re actually mad at him for it.

For being so impulsive.

So sloppy.

But then again, wasn’t that your fault? 

You’re bold. Bolder than ever before. Closer to the top of your breaking point now, angry and beaten down and dying in the black of a bottomless pit. Unable to escape. Unable to climb out. 

You’ve been falling inside it for years, and it’s all you ever do. 

Fall. 

And you’re so, so tired. All you want, is for it to end. 

“That was sick, even for you, Phillip. What are you, some kind of freak? Jerking off all over your ex girlfriend’s-“ The backhand is swift. It rockets across your face, combination of it’s force and the sting making your head spin, and you stumble. 

When you lurch, he presses close, chest to your side, strong fingers digging into your forearm so tight it hurts. 

“Don’t say that.” His lips drag across your cheek, insult to injury where he struck you. They press together in a kiss, a foul, rancid piece of affection, making your stomach turn.“You know I don’t when you call yourself that. I don’t like when you lie, sweet thing. It’s not very nice.”

“It’s not a lie, you Texarkana hillbilly fuck, it’s the tru-“ You’re up against the wall in a single movement, arm twisted so hard you cry out, and he shoves you into place until he’s got you where he likes, face to face, nose to nose. 

“There’s my spitfire. Knew she was in there somewhere.” The nickname almost makes your retch. It’s a flicker of a memory, of yourself before the grave of your now life, the fateful twist that is Phillip Graves. 

“I hate you.” You spit. His eye twitches, and he looks every bit the insane man you know him to be. 

Because this... this is Phillip having fun. This is Phillip playing with his food. Phillip and his toy. 

This is not Phillip’s crazed rage. This is not suit and tie Phillip, rip your hair out from the roots Phillip, beat you until you’re unrecognizable Phillip. 

This isn’t the Phillip who slaughters innocent people. Who murders entire towns for pleasure. 

For a very short moment, your mind drifts to Simon and Johnny. You wonder what they’re doing right now, if they’ve already had their lunch, if Penny visited today. If maybe she napped with her Da safe and snuggled, sweet and asleep dreaming of sugar plums. You think about the light in Johnny’s eyes from last night, the way he looked at his daughter, and Simon, and even you. You remember the press of Simon’s mask covered lips on your forehead, a sweet, comforting piece of affection that you’ve already locked inside your heart. 

You float there. In those feelings, those memories. 

You wish they were here. You wish they could help you. 

The acknowledgement is terrifying. It happens so fast, hardly a second, but in that time, horror shivers down your spine. 

You’d put them in danger, for yourself. Your selfish, stupid self. 

Phillip’s mouth hovers over yours, and you swallow the gag rising in your throat. 

“I can’t stay.” He whispers, pseudo-gentle kisses adorning your nose, your cheek again. “It’s really rotten luck, honestly, you showing back up here today. I was just saying my see you laters.” You’re not religious, but the thoughts come easily regardless. Oh god, thank god. Thank fucking god. You have a chance.“I know you’ll be here when I get back, won’t you? I’m tired of chasing you around the world, sugar.” He gives you another wet, closed lip kiss, and your jaw trembles. “If you’re not, it’ll be that much worse for ya.”

You can do this.

It’s not anything you haven’t done before.

Deep breath. You can do this. 

Stepping outside the bathroom is like taking your first steps as a child. You’re slow, pushing through the burn in your side, the sore agony in your shoulder, the torn cartilage you’re sure is the cause the of the pain in your shoulder.

You can do this. 

Get it together. Get yourself together. You’re not going far. 

You make it down the hall without running into anyone, and once you reach the on-call room, you’re breathing long sighs of relief, sliding the lock into place after the door shuts behind your back.

Two black duffels sit on the floor, staring at you. Mocking you, just like the girl in the mirror.

What are you going to do? 

The receptionist is calling your name. 

You ignore her, trying to make it to the elevators, almost breaking into a run even though you’re in pain, your face throbbing, neck sore beyond belief. 

“Sorry, can you-“ Intercepted on your path, she gasps. “Oh my god, what happened?” 

“I was mugged.” It’s a point-blank response, even though you sound like a frog or a piece of roadkill, and it brokers no argument. You look at her with the flattest gaze imaginable, dissuading her from saying anything else. 

“I- I’m sorry. We’ve been trying to call you.” The hair on the back of your neck rises.

“For what?” 

“We need your room. There’s been a block reserved, and it includes the floor you're on. I'm... sorry.” You’re not able to contain your shock, mouth dropping open, heart cracking into tiny pieces. 

On top of everything. Now this. 

The receptionist peeks at you nervously, waiting on pins and needles for a response. 

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry. The hotel apologizes, the block is paying for a higher rate and-“ 

“It’s fine, really. I needed to check out anyway.” You know it’s not her fault. Hell, you’d be surprised if it wasn’t the hotel’s fault either. It’s not like Phillip wouldn’t move heaven and earth to force you out of hiding. He's more than capable of finding out where you’re staying. 

She gives you another apologetic look before scurrying away, and the elevator doors finally enclose around you, a tidal wave of despair swelling in your heart, dropping you to your knees with gut wrenching sobs.

You’re crying again. Curled up in the on-call bed, your shoulders shake in hysteria, tears and panic overwhelming everything you have left, swallowing you until you can’t see the surface anymore.

Your throat burns. Breathing is like rubbing sandpaper down the back of your tongue, and you wheeze when you try to take deep breaths, shoulder shrieking in misery every time you shift.

You have to get it together. You have to work in an hour. 

But you can’t. You dig deep and try, desperately working to pull something forward, something sane and controlled, but there’s nothing to be found, only acid in your throat. The hysteria mounts. It catches the wind and flies down the hill, crashing into you over and over until your hands are clenched together so tight, even they hurt.

You fucking idiot. You waited too long. You ran out of time. 

You’re dead. 

“Oh my god.” Nia covers her mouth, eyes wide. You hold up a palm.

“It looks way worse than it actually is.” Another nurse peeks around her shoulder, and gasps.

“What happened to you?”

“I was mugged yesterday, getting off the train.”

“Oh my god!”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yes, I did.” You assuage them to the best of your ability, reassuring their worry. “I filed a report, and they didn’t get anything important. I’m okay. Really.” And then the kicker: “I would tell you if I wasn’t.” You glance at everyone, four or five now, gathered around, and lay on the final piece of the puzzle. False familiarity and the ever present desire to be relevant. “Wouldn’t I, Nia?” You gesture around to expectant faces as if to say, tell them, and she readily agrees.

“Yeah, she totally would.”

Everyone pretty much leaves you alone after that. Patients need checks, meds, all of the usual stuff. You assure Nia once more in private, promising that you’re okay, and she reluctantly leaves you alone too, once you swear up and down.

The only thing that doesn’t leave you alone, is your cellphone.

>Hey, just wanted to check in, see how your day off was yesterday? 

>Bunny :)

There are a few others, alternating like above, Simon first, then Johnny. Asking if you got some rest, if you’re okay, and then a promise not to push.

You ignore them.

You ignore the feeling in your chest at the sight of their incoming text messages, the proof of their care.

You ignore the way it feels to know they’re only a floor below you.

You ignore the fact that when you got here today, all you wanted to do was run to Johnny’s room and settle in that chair next to his bed, curl up close to them, where there’s love, where there’s warmth. 

You ignore it at all.

Get it together. You have a job to do. 

Simon appears at the pit three hours into your shift. There’s no one around, everyone trying to take breaks, cover breaks, or deal with whatever emergency is happening in the moment, except you.

And when you round the corner and spot him, waiting, it takes your breath away.

Half of your reaction is pure fear. The last thing you want is for him to see you like this. Beaten. Broken. Ugly.  

The other half is… something pure. Something enamored. He came up here, why? Is he worried because you didn’t answer? Do they care? 

Still-

You start to turn on your heel, eyes flipping wide and panic startling your heart. You’re barely a shadow, a clip of a person on the other end of the hall and yet-

“Hey, there you are.”

Fuck. The acid starts to rise all over again. You keep your face tilted down towards the floor.

Maybe you can pretend you don’t hear him. You leap back around the corner, practically running towards the on-call room, where your life sits in two black bags, waiting.

You can’t do this. You can’t face them, let them see. 

Something desperate gnaws in the pit of your soul, a howl that begs you to turn back and let him in, let them both in, tell them everything.

It’s selfish, and cruel.

It’s unfair.

He calls your name. You still don’t answer. Your scrub pants swish together as you jog, trying to get away, but the effort is in vain. He’s too quick, long strides overtaking yours at a brisk walk, and just before you reach the door, he positions his body in front of the handle, an immovable wall.

There’s a long moment of silence. You stare up into his face, wide eyed, horrified.

You know what he’s seeing. A failure. A moron. A mess. 

To his credit, his expression does not change. His brow does not furrow. He only stares at you, frozen, slow thawing fury finally glowing in his eyes after a centuries’ long minute.

He reaches, time standing still, the back of his fingers stroking the lightest touch against your tender cheek, and his voice is almost unrecognizable behind the mask when he snarls,

“Who did this to you?”

The tears come in a flood. You don’t understand why the breakdown comes in this moment, why everything crashes into a million little pieces, until you feel a strong, careful arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a broad, warm chest, face tenderly nestled into a black hoodie. It feels… safe. Like a home you haven’t had in a long, long time. Like something you never thought you’d feel again.

Maybe it’s a moment of weakness. Maybe it’s your downfall, another thing for the girl in the mirror to be angry with you about, you’re not sure. You’re not sure about anything except this feeling, this feeling that lights up your heart in an explosion of fireworks, fear and panic and anxiety soothing into sadness, into a homesick feeling for a love, a life you’ve never had.

Maybe it’s a moment of weakness, when you sob his name, when you go limp against him and he holds you steady, a cheek atop your head, soft words washing over you in a whisper.

Maybe it’s a moment of weakness, but right now, you can’t seem to care.

Johnny is distraught.

Simon brings you into his room, still tucked into his side. He’s careful with you, telegraphing all his movements, letting you know where he’s going, reverence rich in his touch like he’s handling glass.

“What in the-“

“Bun says she was mugged.” Simon tells him, and you miss whatever is happening over your bowed head, hands shaking with nerves all over again. “She assures me she’s not hurt but-“

“I’m fine.” You croak, and Johnny jerks, mouth half open in disbelief. The light is dim, casting short shadow across his face, his sweet eyes drenched in worry, and you stand at the foot of his bed, tears waiting on your waterline. “I’m okay, they didn’t really get anything, and I-“

“Come here.” He cuts you off, raising both arms, extending them as wide as he can manage, scooting his hips to the side. It’s a feat, but he hides the grimace of pain well. When you don't budge, he repeats himself, firmly the second time. “Bunny. Come here.”

The shame burns, entrenched in you so deep, you know you’ll never be able to cut it out, and your tears fall unbidden, encouraged by the hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach, your heart, an ache that you need soothed so desperately.

You’re out of control. You’re losing your grip. 

You had a moment of weakness but this… this is too much. 

“Please, pretty girl.” He whispers, reaching you where no one else can. Speaking to you through the fog of your doubt, your hatred, your fear.

Your hands shake as you reach for his, and when you sit beside him, hip to thigh, he looks at you like he’s staring at someone other than the person who used to be his nurse. He’s looking at you the way you catch him looking at Simon sometimes. Bright gaze full of love. Of worry.

“I’m okay.”

“No, ye’re not.” He shakes his head. “Ye’re not. This is not okay.” The way he says it feels like he knows, like he understands, and you swallow dry, breathing ragged and shallow. It turns frantic, and he squeezes your knee gently, redirecting your attention. “Hey, shhh. It’s okay. Ye’re safe with us.” Simon sits on the arm of the chair, directly next to the bed.

“Do you need to count your breaths?” He cuts directly to the quick. Will this provide you relief? Will this stop the pain? The agony? 

No. 

“N-no.” You gasp.

“Okay. Just try to breathe, everything’s alright."

I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just this- this happened and then I found out I had to find a new place to stay, and I st-still haven’t, so I have to sleep in the on call room, and I don’t-“

“Whoa, okay. Slow down.” Simon soothes, hand slowly sliding up and down your spine. You relax into it, marginally, clocking the subtle upward tick of Johnny’s lips, firm line shifting into a small smile, and then turning cross. 

“What do ye mean, ye dinnae have a place to stay?”

“My apartment-“ is trashed. Is a scene of a crime. Is a hollow rib cage housing a dead heart. “is being renovated so I’ve been living in a hotel,” Johnny nods, like he knows. Of course he does. What secrets do they have between? Probably none. “But someone reserved a whole block and there’s no vacancies, so I had to check out this morning.” It’s pathetic, the way you’re crying over this, the way you feel, but it’s all so forlorn in this moment, and you can't stop yourself from falling deeper and deeper into a well of despair, hopelessness dragging you to the bottom, trying to drown you. “It’s not a big deal but-“

“It is a big deal.” Johnny declares. “Ye had somethin’ horrible happen to ye, and now this on top of it?” Simon shifts, flat palm and fingers pushing down through the air, and you barely catch it from the corner of the eye. It’s the same kind of sign you give someone when you want them to slow down, and you blink.

What’re you doing?  

“I… I’m fine.” You wince at the croak in your voice, last menthol infused cough drop wearing off, bringing back the raw pain in your windpipe, the gravel grit of bruising in your voice.

“It’s okay to be upset, bun. Anyone would be.” You wipe your face, chasing away the tracks of tears and trying not to wince when you straighten your back.

“I know, but I’m okay. Really.”

“Ye cannae stay in an on-call room.” What?

“Oh… it’s fine. It,” wouldn’t be the first time. “It’s not a big deal.” Simon is watching you, focused with that same blazing intensity that feels like he’s digging around inside your skull. 

“Why don’t you stay with us?”

“What?” You blurt. “No. No, I… I couldn’t. It’s not-“

“Appropriate?” Simon finishes, head cocked. “Johnny isn’t your patient anymore.”

“And we have plenty o’ room. Penny’s still staying with Price’s a lot, because Simon’s here all the time, so it’d be nice and quiet for ye.” Say no. Tell them no.

“I couldn’t. It’s… you hardly know me. You’d invite me to live in your house?” Incredulously, you stare at them, flicking back and forth between two expectant, understanding faces.

“We know ye. Ye try to hide yerself from us, bun, but… ye cannae. Ye light up every room ye step foot in, and I dinnae think we would have made it through this without ye. Ye’re special to us, even if ye cannae accept it.” He winks. “Yet.”

“We want to help, sweetheart. Let us help you.” You’re between a rock and a hard place. An immovable force, and object. Two wills, locking in around you.

But instead of a cage, it’s warm. It’s gentle. It’s… safe.

“I couldn’t encroach.” You’re on autopilot, mouth making sounds that your heart protests. Simon sighs.

“You’re not encroaching. We’re inviting you.”

You would be putting them in danger. 

“I… I can’t.”

“Why?” Johnny’s still got his hand on yours, and he squeezes, carefully. “Talk to us, bunny.”

“Tell us what’s really going on.” Simon is grave, and for a second, air gets stuck in your lungs, fighting to escape.

You cannot tell them. No matter what. You can’t. The turtleneck is too tight, cotton and polyester scratching at your sore skin, and you shiver.

“There… there’s n-nothing going on. What if the people that mugged me,“ come back to finish the job? Track me down? Words die on your tongue, the lamest attempt to push them back withering away. Simon is having none of it.

“We’re special forces, love. No one is going to get to you while you’re with us." He pauses, trapping you, holding you in stasis, and when he repeats himself, it's a dark vow, a promise. "No one.”

If you do this. You have to tell them.

You can trust them. They’ve proven that so far, haven’t they? 

You hardly know them. 

But isn’t that better? 

“I…” Your hand raises instinctively to your throat, and Johnny’s eyes narrow.

“Bunny.” He leans forward at the waist, slow as to not hurt himself, and you sit, frozen, bug eyed, transfixed on his hand that are stretching towards your turtleneck.

You should stop him. You should tell him to back off. You should do something. 

You can't. You don't. You sit there, waiting for the discovery. Waiting for the shame. 

Once he hooks his pointer finger in the top and tugs, it’s over.

Your heart stops in your chest. Johnny burns, dragon flame and rage, incineration boiling over in his body.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He hisses.

“Fucking hell.” Simon echoes, and you close your eyes. You know the tender skin looks bad. Swollen. Angry.

“Please.” You whisper, lower lip quivering, floodgates trying to burst into pieces. “Please I… I can’t talk about it. I c-can’t, I can’t-“

“Okay, okay. Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now, sweetheart. You’re safe.” You’re crying violently, unable to see, trying to rasp out apologies, and Simon stands, tucking you back into his chest, big hand on the back of your head. Johnny keeps his touch at your back, consistent, reassuring pressure that rubs from the top of your spine down, and he hums delicate, affectionate phrases lilting in heavy Scots’.

The girl in the mirror screams at you inside your head. She calls you a fool. A coward. She tells you the truth, that you’ll only get them hurt, that you know better.

You don’t disagree with a single thing. You know all this to be true.

But for a moment… would it be so bad to indulge? To have one- two good things in your life, even if it’s fleeting. Even if you know how it will end, can you not just have this for yourself, in this suspended moment of time, this chance?

You want it. Them. So desperately, it swells and aches and tugs at you, just as they do.

Time ticks forward, and you do not pull away. You don't try to hide, or evade. You just... exist. Between them. The rock and the hard place. 

“Alright?” Simon murmurs, your tears now stopped, only delicate sniffles sounding from his chest. You nod, shifting backward to take them both in.

“I… if you’ll have me, I’ll… I’ll stay, until I can find a place.” Inky dark shadow flickers across Simon’s face, but sunlight chases it away, happiness crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Are ye sure?” Johnny is hopeful, bright, and beautiful, and you tighten your grasp on his hand, holding it like you’ll never let go. You take a deep breath-

You take the plunge.

A moment in the sun. 

“I’m sure.”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish #phillip graves

[too-deviant]

mdni 🃏

stepbro!luke / voyeurism / so perv!luke but also perv!reader

you’ve just moved into your new house — both your dad and may thought it would be good to have a fresh start in a new place. it was nice, in a cute neighbourhood. you and luke got to pick your own rooms, and were left to your own devices when your father and stepmother went for date night.

your name echoed softly along the silence of the hall. you poked your head out of your doorway, looking right into luke’s across from you and meeting his eyes. he was stood in front of his window, staring out at whatever was on the other side.

“what?”

“c’mere.” he beckoned you with his fingers and you were quick to step out onto the soft plush carpet of his room. he hadn’t done much decorating — his bed was made, and he’d hung his mirror up. everything else was in its boxes. “look.”

you sidled up next to him, eyes tracking his gaze out the window and to the house next door. it was nice, around the same layout as yours despite the obvious differences decor-wise.

for example, they had their bed against the middle of the back wall, whereas luke’s was tucked into the corner. you knew this solely because the moment you glanced through the double paned glass of both your windows, your neighbour was bending his wife over at the hips and taking her from behind.

your lips parted as he adjusted his grip on her sides and began to piston roughly. you couldn’t hear anything but judging by the look on her face, he was doing the right thing.

“holy shit.”

“i know, right?” luke smirked at you, “mr and mrs smith are freaky.”

“i’m pretty sure their last name is burgenhoose.” you inputted, raising a brow when mr burgenhoose slapped his wife hard on the ass. she moaned, luke whistled.

“whatever. i’m sure burgenhoose isn’t the name she’s screamin’ right about now, huh?” he chuckled, “what d’ya think it is? looks like…rob? rod? bo —“

“god.” you breathed, muttering, “oh god.”

he hummed in agreement, nodding at you. you didn’t bother to look, eyes fixed firmly on the way your neighbour was gripping his wife’s chin and pulling her back against his chest. luke narrowed his eyes at you, and went to say something, but your eyes widened and you gasped, grabbing his arm and yanking him into a crouch under the windowsill.

“what the hell was that for?” he exclaimed.

“shh!” you put a finger to your lips, lifting yourself up an inch and poking your eyes just over the frame of the window, “i swear she looked at me.”

he smirked at you evilly, “we don’t have to be quiet. we can’t hear them, they aren’t gonna hear us.”

“whatever.” you kept watching.

“damn.” he glanced up and down your frame — at your fingers gripping the windowsill, your overall position. “i didn’t take you for a voyeur, but i’m into it.”

“what — ?”

it was his turn to hush you then, “don’t worry about it. stay there.”

you didn’t protest. you kept looking, watching as he kissed down her neck and bit her ear lobe. you let out a shaky breath, “we’re sick. sick people.”

“they left their curtains open.” luke whispered, suddenly behind you. his hands settled on your hips, “seems to me like they want us to see ‘em.”

“luke —“ your breath caught in the back of your throat when luke began to kiss down your neck. his fingers drifted along the waistband of your shorts, dipping inside for only a second before coming back out.

“tell me what they’re doing.”

you licked your lips, hands tense around the wood you balanced yourself on, watching your neighbours fuck. his arm had wrapped around her waist as he rolled his hips into her ass and her head had dropped down onto his shoulder. you whispered the details like a secret, and luke complied to your every word. his clothed crotch rubbed against your backside and he let out a long breath into your ear.

“this is…” you swallowed, this is bad.”

luke didn’t reply, he just made his movements more defined. the wet patch that had been forming on your panties the moment you began to watch grew bigger. wetter. you moved back into him with a breathy moan. his free hand was on your hip, moving slowly down the back of your legs and pushing them ever so slightly apart so he could get more efficient friction.

your movements got faster. uncoordinated. messy. your forehead dropped against the windowsill and you circled your hips against his fervently, moaning towards the carpet beneath you. he moved his hands to your shorts, pushing them down roughly along with your underwear that peeled away from your cunt. you hissed when the cold air hit your sensitive clit, and you throbbed in anticipation, bringing your hand to your chest and squeezing your boob with a huff.

luke’s hand came round to yours, pulling it away from yourself and steadying it back on the windowsill with a smack. that same hand then took your hair into its grip and yanked your head back, forcing your eyes back on the couple that were banging next door, “tell me if it changes.”

and that’s how you ended up on top of him, swinging your hips back and forth with your hands in the same position as before — only this time, luke’s head was nestled between them. his hands gripped your asscheeks roughly, guiding you back and forth, up and down, this way and that. your moans kept fogging up the window and you kept having to wipe your hand across the glass so you could keep watching the neighbours. when she got faster, so did you. when he slapped her ass, you said again and luke did the same.

when mrs burgenhoose came, legs trembling and head thrown back — so did you. luke wasn’t too far behind, thrusting up into you when you’d slowed your own movements. the neighbours started cuddling softly, but you just pulled the curtains to and let luke carry you to his bed.

first night in the new house. had to break it in, right?

#this is so nasty #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan smut

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 4) part 1, part 2, part 3

-

You remember the lock turning on the door of another room.

Ice flooding your veins. Heart suddenly tripling in speed, flush against your breastbone, close to snapping your ribs and pumping right out. A man standing in front of the locked door, barring your only way out. Petrified, but not confused; it’d always been an inevitability, something you’d long been waiting to happen, but hoping beyond hope that maybe you’d skirt by it unscathed. 

You’re in a bedroom, but you’re also in a study hundreds of miles away, cabinets along the walls filled with jade carvings and porcelain trinkets, bookcases filled with untouched first editions with the spines still stiff, a leather chair tucked into wide mahogany desk, and a grandfather clock ticking ominously in the corner. And you’re watching a man come into the room and lock the door, shutting you both inside. 

There is a bust of the same man in the corner of the room. When you sink into the memory, your eyes drag there and hold.

“Honey? Honey, are you alright?”

You come back to yourself at the sound of another man’s voice. When you blink, the memory leeches out of the corners of your eyes and you find Price looking down at you with some concern, a slight furrow between his brows. You shudder out the memory until it’s wrung out, until you’re dry of it. Sweat cools on the back of your neck. There’s a tremble in your hand that you notice when you go to rub your forehead, a shake that even Price notices, taking your wrist and pulling it to his chest.

There is no bust in the corner of the room here. The man that locked the door holds your wrist tenderly to his chest and waits for you to answer, his lips still sloped down. The black spots fade from your vision one by one, panic retreating back into your bones. It leaves a too big hole inside of you. 

You know it’s still within you. It slumbers in the marrow of your bones; it cowers in there, sometimes close enough to kiss or close enough to cradle your head and crack it against the nearest ledge. 

“Honey?” he asks again. The deep tenor of his voice moves something back to life inside of you, as much as it pains you to admit. Even to yourself. 

You blink up at him, only realizing how dry your mouth is when you croak out, “I’m—I’m alright. Apologies.”

He doesn’t seem much convinced. Perhaps he has a right to doubt your words. You can’t see the tormented thing staring back at him. 

“I’ve given you a few too many frights today,” Price sighs, head dropping towards you, like drawing a curtain around the two of you. “Thought maybe you needed a bit of a push, but you’re not quite there, darling, are you?”

“Not where?” you ask, lost. “Where am I not?”

For once, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t try to force his vision into your head. It shocks you when he dips his head to press his lips against your forehead, lingering there for several moments. Breathing you in. You let him linger there, half-curious yourself, a softness suffusing into you like breath. 

“Are you hungry enough to eat? Or straight to bed?”

His words give you a nervous thrill, but when you catch his eye, there’s nothing to read there. Absent of double meaning. He’s asking you if you’re hungry and if you’re wanting to eat. 

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m still…well, I’ve had a bit of a cramp all afternoon. I don’t think I’m up to eating.”

“Not even tea or cake?”

The thought intrigues you, but not enough for your stomach to untwist. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

He hums against your forehead, then presses another kiss there, then a third on your temple, breathing out a puff of air that blows across your face and tickles your nose. “Not hungry for anything then,” he surmises, and you hear it there, the silvery flipside of an innuendo. You scrunch up your nose and flinch when he chuckles. “How about just a bath then? And then we’ll tuck in for the night.” 

“That sounds nice. Do you, um…I could help if you want?"

“Already fetched the water earlier today. Wash tub’s downstairs. You can stay here or come down and wait until the water’s warm.”

Finally, he pulls back and puts some space between the two of you. Something buried deep in your chest clicks when he unlocks the door and steps out. You try not to look at it too hard. 

You follow him downstairs, more out of habit than anything. With the water already fetched from the well and Price starting a fire to heat it up enough for a warm bath, there’s not much for you to do besides wait, but you join him downstairs anyway, taking the time to look around. 

“Toothpowder, brushes, and mint are in the drawer under the sink if you need any,” Price tells you. You don’t bother with the mint, but you use the rest to clean your teeth in the bathroom sink, a bowl of water already waiting for you to help rinse your mouth. You rethink the mint afterwards, chewing on a couple of leaves to rid your mouth of the chalky aftertaste. 

It takes awhile to heat up enough water for a bath, giving you time to peruse the rest of the house. After spending the bulk of your day locked up in his room, it’s nice to stretch your legs and move about. The rest of the house is fairly typical, barebones; Price heats up the water in a stone fireplace in the main room and at the other end of the house, you find the kitchen.

The crickets in the bushes out front are louder than you’ve ever heard them. For a moment, you stand alone by the front door, fingers twitching by your sides. It wouldn’t do you any good to run, but your feet feel quick now, light after hours of rest. You could bolt like an Appaloosas if you wanted to. 

Then Price calls your name and you drift back to the other room.

Steam billows off the water in the metal tub. It’s only halfway filled, which makes you frown; you have no right to be picky after the days you’ve spent cleaning yourself with a damp washcloth over a porcelain bowl, but you can’t help thinking that it’ll hardly come up to your waist. Still, staring at the warm water makes your skin itch; you could practically kiss the bar of soap sitting on the floor next to the tub. If there wasn’t a man in the room, your dress would already be on the floor. 

“Are you still waiting on more to heat up?” you ask, casting a glance at the fireplace where a small flame still burns. There isn’t a bucket of water hovering over it though, just a poker stowed back in its place. 

“Any more and I’ll be mopping up water for the rest of the night,” he huffs. “That’s more than enough for us.”

“Us?” you repeat. 

It only makes sense when you turn around and stare wide-eyed at Price as he untucks his shirt and starts at the buttons, each one slipped through the hole exposing a new inch of chest covered in dark hair. You make a noise at the back of your throat, half-aghast. The other half, indeterminate. If your feet weren’t glued to the floor, you’d stop him or grab his hands. Instead, you watch mutely as he pulls off his shirt and unbuttons his pants, mouth drying at each new slab of muscle revealed.

You swallow reflexively when his pants pool around his ankles on the floor. You catch a glimpse of thick thighs covered in dark hair and something heavy dangling between his legs before you avert your eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sure to give yourself a kink in your neck, but perhaps forgivable this time. 

“Us?” It comes out squeaky this time, high and tight in your throat. Price laughs.

When he moves towards you, you can hardly so much as lift a finger to keep him at bay. Your body feels tethered in place, sluggish and inert. The world moves around you instead, doubly so when Price fits his hands at your waist and twists you to face away from him. 

Big hands ruck up the fabric of your dress, slowly pulling it over your head. You lift your arms for him on command, the whole time baffled by how little struggle you put up. You imagine him telling that deputy of his what an obedient little bride he’s found for himself. 

“Us,” Price confirms, emphasizing the word the same way you did. “We’d be here all night if we took turns. Water’d be ice cold by then too. You’d rather I freeze my nethers off?” You open your mouth to reply but he cuts you off. “Don’t answer that.”

That pulls a real giggle from your chest, shocking you both. Breath sits like a bubble in your chest. You feel his fingers still at the ties of your corset before pulling it through. 

He loosens each lace slowly, giving each a gentle pull. It’s nerve wracking, nail-biting tedium, the corset gradually giving way to his touch and drooping into your waist. You let him undo each of the hooks and unwrap it from your torso before pulling off your chemise underneath, flesh chilling in the open air. Even stationed behind you, you feel his stare like a heavy, weighted thing. His fingertips trace over the naked skin of your back, looping small circles just for the pleasure of touching your skin. 

Gooseflesh runs down the length of your arms, shivering from his touch as much as the cool air. You tell yourself that it means nothing just to put it all away.

“Alright, let’s get you washed up,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat. “Been awhile since you had a warm bath, I bet.” 

You turn part way around, watching him from the corner of your eye. If only he knew. 

Price gets in the tub first and it’s immediately obvious to you why he hardly filled the tub. His body takes up so much room that you frown when you realize that he expects you to get in next. It’s one of the bigger tubs you’ve ever bathed in and yet he still has to bend his knees. The sigh he lets out after relaxing against the back of the tub makes you shiver. 

When he glances up at you swelteringly, you hear the evocation unspoken. 

“If you’d just give me a minute,” you snap. 

“Darlin’.” 

The note of warning in his voice finally tips you over the edge of hesitancy where you’d been precariously balanced. 

The water is still warm when you dip a foot tentatively in. It’s easier to ignore the indulgent smile on Price’s face than engage with it, sure you’d shout yourself hoarse if you finally let your composure crack. 

You think it vaguely humiliating to have to turn around in front of Price in the tub in order to lower yourself to sit. He doesn’t touch you yet, but there’s no way to avoid the weight of his eyes on your backside. It’s not something you’ve thought about much before. A man’s hands on you, stripped bare for him, lowering yourself into a hot bath with him. 

You peek over your shoulder. “Do you ever stop staring?”

A pointless question. He doesn’t even meet your eye to respond, just stares at the curve of your ass with heavy lidded eyes, the faintest pink hue high on his cheeks. He hums instead. You purse your lips.

The water sloshes up the side of the tub when he pulls you down abruptly, settling your back against his chest. You stiffen in the cradle of his arms and chest, acutely aware of every point of your body pressed into his. When Price sighs now, it reverberates through your back and chest. 

“Why does it feel like you’ve been run against a whetstone?” he asks. The sound drips heavy from his lips because the room is silent apart from him, apart from the gentle lapping of the bath water against the sides of the tub and the water trickling from the washcloth when he lifts it out of the water and gives it a wring. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, frowning. 

“You’re all sharp, all hard edges. If I’m not careful, you might run me through.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you married me,” you huff. 

That gets another laugh out of him, raising your hackles. It’s hard to differentiate between ridicule and endearment. You opt for the former to guard yourself, to keep yourself safe. 

“I’ll take my chances.”

You can’t think of a way to respond to that. It’s loaded in an uncomfortable way. It’s easier to just let it pass into silence. Price doesn’t seem anxious for you to respond anyway, thankfully, instead reaching out of the tub to grab the bar of soap still on the floor. The movement pushes his pelvis into you, the length between his legs pressing against the small of your back. You jolt forward only for him to wrap an arm around your waist and haul you back. More water splashes over the rim.

“Christ, you’re skittish,” he gripes. 

“What do you expect me to do?” You squirm in his hold, which only makes his arm constrict tighter around you, drawing you even closer. 

“Sit there and let me wash you, for one. What’s got you all riled up?”

“You know exactly what,” you say, face hot when you feel it press against you again. 

“My—”

“Yes, that,” you hiss, digging your nails into his forearm. 

“Squirming around isn’t gonna make it go away,” Price teases, squeezing once before finally letting you go. You scoot forward as much as he allows, but it’s for naught; you can feel it press against you still. 

In the brief silence, Price lathers up the cloth until it froths, then puts the bar of soap back down on the floor. You almost stop him to say that you can wash yourself, but he starts on your arms before you’re so much as able to part your lips. 

Your nipples bead when he drags the washcloth over your chest. The material is coarse, almost abrasive, and when you wince, Price murmurs a soft apology into your ear. He’s softer when he pulls your legs one after the other from the water and sets your foot on the rim of the tub, dragging the cloth over your calves and up the inside of your thighs. You shake when his hand disappears under the water, biting your lip until it hurts.

You sit with the silence instead of electing to fill it. It’s better that way anyway; words can unravel so many interiorities that long for stasis. And what has the man at your back done to earn your words anyway, besides lock you up and throw away the key?

You’ll figure your way out eventually. It’s only a matter of time. 

His own washup is perfunctory, performed only to get it over with. None of the affection reserved for washing you. He barely makes you lean forward before dragging the cloth haphazardly across his chest, getting a few good scrubs in before calling it a day. 

“I can’t imagine why you’d spend so much time filling a bath just to wash up in five minutes,” you say, peering over your shoulder at him. Expressly not focusing on the pillowy muscles of his chest or the dark, wet hair now flush with his skin. 

“Haven’t used the tub in months,” he grunts, dunking the cloth in the bath water until it comes out clean. He wrings it dry before hanging it over the rim. “There’s a creek out back, ‘bout a ten minute walk from here.”

You frown. “You usually bathe in a creek?” 

“What’s the point in spending time heating up enough water for a bath when there’s a perfectly good creek nearby? Water’s water.”

“You did it for me.”

“That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “It shouldn’t be.”

“You like to fuss over nothing, huh?” Price remarks. Again, it’s said so earnestly that it makes your skin prickle. 

When you stand, the water rushes off you in a wave, leaving you slick and cooling rapidly in the air. Your teeth clatter until he steps out of the tub to fetch you a towel, wrapping you up in it and patting you dry. You get a bit dizzy when he kneels before you to dry your legs, swaying on your feet. Under your breath, you mumble something like, you don’t have to. 

He ignores you. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you let it go. 

Your bare feet pick up stray dust and debris on your way back up the stairs alone. You wipe them off on the mat at the door before changing into your shift while Price empties the tub downstairs. The oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates most of the room when you light the wick and delicately put the chimney back in place, apart from the elongated shadows that hang from the corners like spiderwebs. 

The bed looks different when you know you’re meant to share it. You try not to tense up too much when you hear Price come up the stairs, eyeing him nervously from the other side of the room. 

“You’ve got that look again, darling,” he says, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it this time. The knot in your shoulder aches when they untense. 

“What look?” you ask, averting your gaze when he drops the towel to change into his nightwear.

“Like a doe.”

You snort, distinctly unladylike. “Like a deer before it’s shot?”

“The very same. Didn’t I tell you it’d be straight to bed?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. In the back of your mind, you must have assumed he was placating you, saying words just to soothe. It’s rare that men speak plainly and mean it. Over the years, you’ve learned to read into second meanings and real intentions couched in soft words. Men like to think themselves simple, but you know a vast underground world. 

Some part of you grows anxious with your own inability to play the part of his simpering wife. He must have thought he’d be taking to bed something nurturing and with wings. It’d be easier if you just acquiesced; you can’t imagine he’d worry so much about his doting wife fleeing in the middle of the night. Not the wife happy to spread her legs for him.

“Why are you so patient?” you ask him outright instead. 

He takes a moment to answer, studying you. His face by lamplight is inscrutable. “Nothing good comes plucked too soon.”

“You don’t think that God gave you the right to—” You can’t say the words, but he understands. 

“The methods of God take pickaxes and shovels to uncover,” Price says, so simply, so plainly. You hardly understand what he means. “It’s not a man’s place to rush to understand His intentions.”

You think it’s almost unfair for a man to say those words to you when you plan on running away from him. It makes you dig your nails into the palms of your hands. 

You’re still nervous when you crawl into bed, eyeing him when he settles on his side and turns the lamp off, cupping his palm around the glass and blowing out the flame. There’s little to worry about though. Price doesn’t so much as shift from his side of the bed. 

The world outside is beyond gold and red now, when you stare out the window from where you lie on your side. When you think of the past, it comes with a searing pain. Then, it is no more.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #cod price #john price #price x you #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader

[dollfacefantasy]

hi! i love your writing so much! i was wondering if you could write something with leon and a clingy reader? she just likes being held by him, and one day a make out session gets out of hand while he’s holding her so he just fucks her while standing up, not letting her get down. i don’t know if this makes sense but the thought won’t leave my head. hope you’re having a good day/night! <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you're such a needy little thing. leon can't get enough of you, and when he finds out you like being held, he has to take advantage of that.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), standing sex, daddy kink

word count: 3.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i FELT this one cause i also have a thing about being held hehe. i hope it's what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are really appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

It only took Leon a couple weeks of dating to figure out that his girlfriend was exceptionally needy. He could tell you tried to suppress it to the best of your ability, control your yearning for physical contact, but it was still there. Honestly, it was obvious from the way you looked at him alone. Glossy, pleading eyes just calling out to him for some love.

At first, he was wary of this trait. He wasn’t good with affection normally. Didn’t like talking about his feelings. That stuff was just too much. He’s a busy guy already. He didn’t need extra worries in the form of a sweet thing like you rubbing your cheek against his neck, snaking your arms beneath his shirt, softly pleading “Leon, I wanna cuddle.”

But his problem was that he always gave into that stuff. Words like those hitting his ears, your pouty lips begging for his kisses, and grabby hands roaming around his body always got you what you wanted. He’d plant a smooch on your temple or forehead, grunt a quiet “c’mere then baby,” and pull you on top of him.

Time passed, and you grew on him like ivy climbing a stone wall. Your clingy nature took root somewhere inside him and drove him wild. It was addictive, feeling so needed. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone’s absolute first choice. It was nice living out his days with the subconscious idea that he was your favorite person. He could get a bit cocky about it sometimes but more than anything it made him all sappy. He couldn’t help it. He tried keeping up the cool, slick persona around you for a little while because impressing you was so important to him. But the way you looked at him made him feel like Superman. Your precious face tilted upwards to gaze at him like he was the only man you’d ever laid eyes on. It just made him wanna scoop you up and take off, soar far up into the clouds where it would just be the two of you.

So he ended up feeding into this kind of behavior one thousand percent, enabling you with no reservations. If you were sitting together, you were on his lap. Standing near each other? His arm was around you, keeping you tucked to his chest. The two of you would be lying in bed and simple cuddling just didn’t cut it anymore. No, instead, he’d be rubbing your back, nuzzling and kissing your neck, massaging your scalp. And the pet names were constant. Your actual name was only reserved for serious or special occasions. In ordinary conversations, it was always “my baby” with the intermittent “precious girl” or “princess” mixed in. 

Because, from his perspective, why wouldn’t he? You both deserved this. You craved the physical affection you’d never gotten enough of while he yearned for a sweet little thing to dote on and love between the brutal DSO missions that plagued most of his time. He didn’t give a fuck if someone wanted to say it was codependent or that he was whipped. You were his baby, and if sweet tender affection was what revved your engine, what kind of man would he be to deprive you of it?

Maybe he was whipped. He wouldn’t shy away from that label. He loved you undoubtedly. His heart ached to see you smiling and laughing. Each individual cell in his body cried out to be pressed against you. But in the same breath, he’d be a liar if he said that sex played no part in his urges to coddle you.

He’d never seen a girl get as cock drunk as you. He’d warm you up with his cooing and caresses, and then all he had to do was slide a few inches in you, and you were gone. Nothing had ever gotten him so hard. It’s like your brain shut off as soon as your sweet little pussy was filled up. Really, you went the whole nine yards; whining, babbling, drooling. Your gorgeous lashes would flutter as your eyes went hazy, and you always wanted to hold his hand. Well, more specifically, you wanted him to offer his hand to you. He’d simply murmur “Aw, is it too much, princess? Here, hold daddy’s hand. That’s my girl,” and you were already cumming.

Cause that was the other part of this whole thing. Shortly after he caught on to your intense need for physical affection, he discovered your penchant for the infamous d word. The first time you’d said it, he had you pinned down to the mattress, face shoved against your pillow, hips slightly elevated while he stuffed you full of cock. You just cried it out in the same way you’d yell for God or whine “fuck.” And he rolled with it. One little word wasn’t gonna get in the way of what he’d found with you.

Beyond calling him daddy, Leon tried to take note of all the things that got you going. Sure, you were fond of physical expressions of love, and you probably wouldn’t turn down an offer from him ever. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have favorites when it came to this stuff. Leon took pride in remembering what you liked. Over the months of your relationship, he made a point to remember the specific motion you liked him to do when he rubbed your back. He burned into his mind that you liked to kiss in a way that would definitely make those over-the-top smooching noises found in network dramas. What could he say? He just wanted to do everything right for you.

Possibly his favorite thing that he discovered about you though was your love for being held. Love probably wasn’t even a strong enough word. Your affinity? Proclivity? Plain white hot need? Who fucking knows. All he knew was that you had a major thing for being wrapped up in his arms with your head on his shoulder.

The first hint he’d got at this part of you came by pure accident. He’d just arrived home from a mission, a long and taxing one at that. He’d missed you like crazy, felt as needy as you did on a daily basis, and you were practically vibrating with a longing for his touch. So when you came bounding down the hallway to meet him at the front door, he’d grabbed you by the waist, picked you up and spun you around like in an old cartoon when the prince and princess finally get their happily ever after.

Coming out of the short twirl, he’d brought you to his chest and held your body a little ways above the ground. He cradled your head to your shoulder and kept his grip tight to support you. And it wasn’t like you melted or had little hearts gleaming in your eyes, but something in your demeanor shifted.

“There’s my baby,” he muttered while smacking kisses on the side of your head.

You replied with how much you missed him, more than anything in the whole world. He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh and brought you over to the couch. You were all over him even more than normal which was really saying something. You couldn’t stop pecking his face or pushing up against him. Next thing he knew, you were tugging at his belt and taking his dick down your throat.

“Fuck, precious. don’t gotta choke yourself. It’s not goin’ anywhere,'' he hummed while tilting his head back against the couch. You weren’t normally so forward. You were always needy, but typically, you waited for him to initiate. It was much more your style to drop hints that you were in the mood and wait for him to pick up on your signals, but this time you just went for it.

He stroked the back of your head while you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time. Groans fell from his lips, and his hips jolted in small twitches. Your saliva seeped out over your soft lips and dribbled down to his balls. You had never lacked enthusiasm before, but now you were taking him like his cock was the best treat you’d ever had.

He could barely stand the sight of you in that moment. Cute eyes drooping while your cheeks hollowed. Once he heard the muted sound of you gagging, he was done for. Shot his load deep in your throat in what would have been an embarrassingly short amount of time if you were anyone else. But you swallowed it all without any complaints and then crawled into his lap to cuddle some more. As you curled up to his chest, he knew something he did struck a chord with you to get you so eager.

So naturally, he tried picking you up again a couple days later. He had to know if that was a fluke or if it really was a thing. This time it was much more intentional, but he still played it off as a teasing gesture. He scooped you up from behind while you were fidgeting with something in the kitchen, expecting a whiny chorus of “Leon!” and “Stop, put me down!” But you didn’t say either. You let out a soft squeak and a quiet “What are you doing?”

“Just giving you a hug, baby,” he teased and situated you in his embrace so your front was pressed to his.

Almost immediately, as if your skull was magnetized, your head fell to his shoulder. Your limbs tightened around him a little and you took a deep breath like you wanted to commit his scent to memory. You didn’t even complain about him pulling you away from whatever task had been occupying your attention.

“This isn’t a hug,” you’d said softly.

“Says who? Seems like a hug to me, got my arms around you,” he responded with a small kiss to your temple.

His hand rose to your head and cradled it against his shoulder as your legs locked around his waist. He stood there with you for a moment just taking in the embrace. It was as if he could feel you melt against his body.

“A hug is when we’re both standing,” you say quietly while slotting your face in the warm crook of his neck.

“Yeah? You look that up in the dictionary or something?” he mutters in return.

When he had a firm hold on you, he walked you through the living room, taking the long way up to the bedroom to give his little experiment some time to play out. You rested quietly in his grasp as he navigated past furniture. He ran his free hand up and down your back as he moved, his other one planted firmly on your thigh to support you.

After the two of you reached the bedroom, he set you down on the bed and climbed in after you. His fingers coasted across your cheek as he looked down into your eyes, studying you in a way. He was still curious about what was going through your head. Again, him holding you like that had led to some of the best sex the two of you’d had, but there was something deeper there too. This wasn’t just a cheat code to get you to drop your panties. There was an emotional part of this too. He could tell.

“So you like when I pick you up, hm?” he’d asked.

You looked up at him from your spot against his chest, glowing a bit as you came down from the high. “I guess,” you answered with a tiny shrug.

He’d chuckled at your attempt to be casual and just dropped the subject matter. Your reasons were probably sensitive to you. Located in a deep, private cavern of your heart that was too guarded for you to let even him in yet. And that was ok with him. For now, he’d just chalk it up to some desire on an instinctual level. It was just something that made you tick, and it became something he did for you from time to time when you needed that extra level of care.

This evening, the two of you had been watching some movie. To be honest, Leon didn’t even remember what it was called at this point because he didn’t really wanna watch it in the first place. He was much more interested in you. You had just started it up as he arrived home from running some errands though, so he didn’t want to be rude and ask you to shut it off just because he was horny. Instead, he flopped down next to you on the couch. 

A small laugh bubbles from your lips as he pulls you to him and kisses down the side of your face, murmuring for you to explain what’s going on in the thing you were watching. You ramble on about the story, telling him that it’s the end of the world and these guys are trapped in this house, and that one is friends with that one but hates the other one, and blah blah blah. He loved you to death, but he just couldn’t care less about that right now. He hums along with a stream alternating between  “mhm” and “oh yeah.”

Your laughter increases as his kisses become more distracting. He nips at the skin of your throat and litters your soft skin with love bites. His tongue laves at your neck as his nose coasts over your flesh. After a while, your own interest in the movie begins to dwindle. You turn your head and plant some smooches on his face, enticing him to tilt his head upwards. The two of you meet in the middle, connecting your lips.

Mouths move in sync, tongues brush each other, and soon enough, your seat’s been abandoned in favor of your true favorite spot. You’re parked on his lap, the lush flesh of your ass flush against his semi-hard bulge. His hand slithers up your back underneath your shirt to rub up and down your spine while pulling you closer. Your breathing gets heavier, and you’re practically panting when you two finally pull away for a break. Your lips are wet with spit and a little puffy from making out. He drags his thumb over your bottom one as he smirks at your glazed eyes.

“Think you’d be ok with finishing this later?” he asks.

To his pleasure, you’re quick to accept the offer with a nod. “Seen it before anyways,” you admit and lean back in for more kisses.

He chuckles into your mouth and boosts you up without even turning the tv off. He’s stumbling to the bedroom, and you’re latched onto him like a little spidermonkey or something. He knew well by now that being carried took your brain to that sweet spot of utter submission, but today you were on something else entirely. You were getting whiny between kisses. He was having to support you extra because your hands were trying to slide in between the two of you and get at his pants. He assumed it was cause he got you riled up before picking you up, but he didn’t lament about it too much. He wasn’t thinking with his head right now.

All your squirming around nearly made him trip and topple the both of you to the ground. He grunts and shifts you around, trying to get you to settle down at least till you reach the bedroom. You wouldn’t let up though, continuing on with your impatient hip rocking and greedy fingers. He’s sure he’s about to fall over and one of you is moments away from serious injury, so he totters a few steps over and secures you against the wall.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d just got back from a war or something,” he breathes.

You laugh, but keep up your neediness. “Just want you so bad. Missed my daddy all day,” you murmur.

“Yeah? I know it’s hard being away from me. Your little head’s just not cut out for all that thinking is it?” he coos condescendingly, “This is how you're meant to be, just attached to daddy, letting him take care of everything while you tag along.”

“Mhm,” you nod and kiss him again. He can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Yeah, so how bout you do me a favor then and stop wriggling around so much. You wanna get dropped on your head so thinking isn’t even an option anymore?” he teases.

“No. I just…” you whimper defensively. A smile spreads across your face as you hide your face at the base of his neck. “I just want you… really bad.”

That was a tone Leon knew well by now. That was the tone of the guessing game. It was the voice you used when you wanted something but were too shy to just ask for it. So Leon had to decipher your signals and figure out what that thing was. Luckily, this time around it was pretty simple.

“Really bad? Like pinned down in the middle of the hallway while I’m stuffing you full of cum bad?” he asks.

“Sorta…” you say.

With an amused shake of his head, he thinks a little more. The stuffed full of cum thing was a given. So what was off? He was thinking through this as if searching for a missing puzzle piece. He runs through different scenarios before it clicks. He laughs a little. It was kind of obvious once he had it.

“Oh, of course not. There’s no way you’d choose to be out of my arms. What was I thinking?” he says, exaggerating his cadence, “So you want it standing?”

You nod, and with the right answer, that little smile feels so much sweeter. He leans harder into you, keeping you by pressing you between him and the wall. Giving you a few messy kisses, he finally undoes his pants and pushes them down to his mid-thigh. He was fully hard now. You could feel it as he rolled his hips against your center.

“Lucky you’re wearing a skirt, nice and easy for me,” he hums.

He bunches up the fabric around your waist before dragging his fingers over your panties, feeling how they were damp. He smirks against your lips while applying more pressure, seeking out your swollen clit.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chides, “Is this how you get while I’m not with you? Can’t think of anything but daddy cause your pretty pussy’s just crying for some more attention.”

“Yeah, need you to make the ache go away,” you say in a breathy whimper.

“I know you do,” he coos.

It’s a bit difficult in this position, but Leon manages to remove the last barriers of cloth separating the two of you. He lines up his dick with your entrance and slides home. Now it’s his head that falls on your shoulder as he groans. His stance didn’t really allow him to ease in. He was balls deep in the first stroke. You let out a long satisfied moan.

Taking a moment to readjust, he gets his elbows hooked under the bends of your knees. You’re basically bent in half, his cock to your cervix. This angle felt even deeper too. Your walls pulse around him as you work to accommodate the length.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Every part of you clings to me,” he grunts before taking a step away from the wall.

Losing the stability behind your back had you rocking and shifting more, causing his tip to nudge against all those sweet spots. Your thighs quiver as Leon gets into a rhythm and figures out how to bounce you on his cock like his. The sound of your skin meeting floats down the hallway. You whine and whimper, your eyes roll back as your head tilts the same direction.

He could tell you were loving it. Your favorite place to be combined with your favorite feeling in the entire world. There was nothing his sweet girl loved more than being stuffed full of cock and held by him.

“Feeling good, princess? Is daddy fucking you just how you wanted?” he asks.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” you whimper and nod dumbly.

“Good,” he says. He focuses on working himself in and out of you. His mind is locked on the sensation of your slick coating his shaft and collecting at the base, dripping down to his balls. But more words fill his mind and rush to his mouth to be let out. “This is why you’re so needy, right baby? You just need some cock in you or you get so frustrated. Can’t even think straight without your fill, can you?”

You shake your head wildly. Your legs tense over his arms. His hands dig into your back to keep you supported. You see his biceps flexing beneath his sleeves as he uses his strength to hold you up. He rocks you on his cock, back and forth, sliding himself in and out. You’re gasping and trembling more noticeably now. He knows you’re approaching the peak.

“Doing so good for me, precious,” he murmurs, “Keep squeezing me like that so I can fill you up just how you need.”

Your noises become more desperate. It feels as though you get even tighter. Leon slams into you deeper than you could remember. But then again, in this state, your memory wasn’t worth much. Pumping in and out, he sees your eyes squeeze show, your mouth widening into that cute familiar shape it always made when you came.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess for daddy,” he groans.

You do as he says, following your orders. You seize up and moan, long and loud. He tightens his grip and takes a step closer to the wall to ensure your high isn’t cut by falling. His hips don’t stop though. He feels that tensing in his belly. Gritting his teeth, he pounds you over and over until he has to stumble back to the wall.

You hit the surface with a thud, but he’s a little too busy to notice. He growls and whimpers into your neck, hips working at a more strained pace as he tries to grab that brief euphoria. A few thrusts later and release is washing over him. He fucks you full, going deep and staying true to his word about filling you up. He pumps every last drop in.

You slowly slide down in his arms till he lets go of your legs and your feet can touch the ground again. Looking up at him as he comes down, you watch his features melt into the relaxation of post-release. You lean up and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes open and look down at you. A lazy smile spreads on his face and moves in to return the gesture.

“So how’d I do?” he asks with that smug look you loved so much.

“Perfect like always,” you answer, genuine in contrast to his teasing. You step forward on wobbly legs, grabbing his hand to finish your trip to the bedroom together. He leans down and smacks a kiss on your neck.

“Clearly not perfect enough if you’re walking on your own now,” he purrs in your ear.

You smile and look down. “There’s still time to fix that,” you offer.

“Of course there is,” he agrees with a light swat to your ass. He pecks your lips once more before following you through the entryway to your shared room.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #smut

[tojisun]

“shopping for your brother?”

you trip at hearing the question, your lips parting in surprise as you whip to look at the clerk. she blinks at you amidst her own shock before turning her eyes down to your hands where a faux fatigued boonie dangled between your pinched fingers.

you watch as she glances back at you before shooting a look towards simon, having seen the two of you walk in together. he’s standing on the far side of the shop, attracting electric looks from everyone – you couldn’t even blame them because even your mouth is watering at the sight that he makes.

still, the insinuation that you couldn’t possibly be simon’s partner stung. forgotten insecurities are rising once again, rippling against the quiet elation that once filled you up.

“um,” you begin, clearing your throat at hearing your voice brokenly taper off. “it’s for, uh, my boyfriend.”

the clerk stares at you for a second before her cheeks fill up with red, the blush descending from her forehead to her neck.

“bloody hell,” she utters. “i’m so sorry.” she scurries away after that, disappearing into their storage room where you think she’s going to stay until you and simon leave.

and you’re willing to do just that. you drop the boonie and walk towards simon, trying to ignore the bitterness that is stinging in the back of your throat. simon uncrosses his arms – tattoos and muscles obscured by the expanse of paper bags that he insisted he pay and carry for you – and holds his hand out for you to take. you look at it, hesitating, before you shake your head and walk out on your own.

you can’t hear him follow you but you know he is there, quiet in his assessment of both the surroundings and of what happened to make you upset. you blink the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, trying to hide your distress as much as you can.

but it is futile because the next thing you know, simon’s pulling you away from the busy stretch of the mall and into an obscured exit point with dim lights and narrow halls. he drops the bags onto the floor before tugging on your wrists with firm gentleness.

“what happened?” his voice is gruff but worry is evident in his tone.

“it’s nothing,” you say, sniffing. “just tired.”

he hums, and you know that he doesn’t believe you. you sigh, turning away from him as you mutter, “i dunno why you like me.” you chew on your words, hoping he wouldn’t understand. but you feel him stiffen before you, his back tensing like he is preparing for a fight.

you know he is angry – not at you. never at you. and seeing his protective nature spark up just at the mere mention of your insecurity makes your lips wobble, your eyes blurring as tears pool once again.

you hear him let out a sharp curse before he’s pulling you in his embrace, tucking your head under his chin and engulfing you in his arms. he’s so big and all muscles, but he’s so, so warm. you nuzzle your cheek on his chest, letting out a content sigh when you feel his lips press on the top of your head.

“you know that i love you, don’t you, sweetheart?” simon asks, thinly-veiled desperation curling at his words.

you nod, shy all of sudden. he clicks his tongue.

“use y’r words, love.”

you peer up at him, your pouty lips quivering into a small smile at meeting his intense gaze, his beautiful eyes tracking the details of your face like he can’t get enough of you.

you see simon’s reverence and feel your heart melt.

“yeah,” you finally reply, swiping your tongue on your chapped lips and feeling your cheeks warm up at the way his eyes zeroed in on the action. “i know it well, si.”

he grunts before he is bending forward to press his lips over yours, your eyes fluttering close to savour the kiss. he is gentle as he guides you through it, prompting you to part your lips just enough for him to deepen the kiss – tongues swiping against each other and soft moans being engulfed by both of you.

you are panting by the time he pulls away, his eyes dilated in pleasure. you wonder if you look just as debauched, just as desperate for more.

“wanna take this somewhere else?” simon murmurs, just the sound of his grave voice already making you tremble.

you scramble to say yes, your words lilting together in your excitement. simon chuckles and presses a quick kiss on your lips before he’s picking up the shopping bags and herding the two of you out.

#suns.f #a little soft drabble bc well im pining and projecting and i cant even lie that im in luv w this man #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #suns