#also pls pls let everyone there be wearing masks

[merry-death]

guess who's going to

✨urgent care✨

[lovelettersfromluna]

After Dark

Summary: It’s a universal rule that every ghost face at a Halloween party is hot underneath. Let’s test that theory, shall we?

an: AHHH OKAY! Lemme explain. I made a post about participating in kinktober, and while a lot of you wanted me to, I feel like it’s too late for me to properly participate. HOWEVER, I still want to give you something to kick off the weekend! Something spooky AND smutty for all my ghouls out there. I hope you’re all having a good Halloweekend! Pls stay safe and have lots of fun, I’m sure you all have the cutest costumes planned! Also, I took a different approach to reader, so let me know how you guys like her!! 🖤🖤 p.s I was drunk when I wrote this :p

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+, MDNI, porn with no plot, strap-on sex, mentions of the word “cock”, mask kink, alcohol usage, mentions of latex, riding, cliche house party trope, slight sugar mommy!ellie if you squint??, lmk if I missed anything!

Out of all of three hundred and sixty five days of the year, today was your favorite.

Today was the one day within the year that there weren’t really any rules. You could wear anything, be whoever you wanted, and it was socially acceptable to get drunk while doing so, and there was no way in hell you would ever pass up on that.

No matter the circumstances, you were invited to a Halloween party. Whether it was some cheesy bash that was being thrown at a friend of a friends house, or a more upscale party, you were going out.

And you always looked damn good doing so.

You were always praised on your costumes, every year it was expected of you to top what you did the last, so there was no doubt in the fact that you were putting in maximum effort year after year.

This year? You stuck with one of the classics of course. The devil.

You were dripping in skin tight latex, the black corset you wore that pushed your boobs out perfectly, your soft skin nearly spilling out of the tight top, the tight booty shorts that hugged the globes of your ass, your cheeks peeking out, the gloves that hugged your arms, and the thigh high socks that shined under the moonlight, everything you wore was that delicious shiny material that made you look almost unreal.

And underneath it all? You had painted your entire body red, paired with fake red horns peeking out of your pretty hair.

So yeah, you were almost always crowned as the queen of Halloween.

This year was no different, halloweekend had been kicked off with quite the everything shower, making sure your body was in perfect condition for everything you’d be attending. You had gotten ready with your friends at your apartment, getting a few shots in before making it to the biggest party of the year. Everyone looked forward to it, putting together their best costumes for the party at the house that almost everyone died to get into.

Walking down the streets of the city on Halloween was like Christmas, various characters from movies and cartoons cheering, dancing, all social barriers that were put up every other day of the year were down, the veil being lifted for one night that allowed anything to be game.

The amount of whistles you and your friends received on your way there was almost appalling, not to mention the amount of people who told you they’d let you torture them any day. You thought that was cute.

Soon enough, the sounds of the party were near, and you could see the red lights spilling out of the big house in the middle of the block, and you knew it was time.

Eyes were on you immediately, and it made you giggle as you scoped out the food group that was there tonight. Of course you knew they’d stare, drool over you with their mouths open, begging for just a moment of your time.

But you were a very picky girl.

Ignoring their advances was like second nature, all you had to do, was shake your ass, drink some free liquor, and wait for the perfect person to take up your time for the night.

And as always, that never took long for you.

Your hips swayed to the music, eyes closed as you enjoyed one of the best parts of parties. The alcohol you drank made your body warm up in the best way, made every touch on your body feel so much more intense, all while numbing out everything else. It made you feel alive, it made you raise your arms above your head and simply let the music move you.

It was only a moment, your eyes drifting open to make sure your friend was still in front of you, and you’re sure if you hadn’t, you would’ve missed it.

Across the room, stood a tall figure. She wore a loose black t shirt, baggy black jeans, black boots….

And a ghost face mask.

The figure was turned towards you, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup clasped between a hand, a pretty tattoo bleeding into it. Anyone else would have seen it, and thought that whoever it was, was extremely fucking creepy. Everyone knew that ghost face was one of the creepiest people you could choose to be for Halloween ever.

But it just so happened, that you’ve always had a thing for masked killers.

Although you couldn’t see the eyes of the person behind the mask, you could feel them, and it made you burn from the inside. You bit your bottom lip softly, throwing back the rest of the alcohol in your cup before you turned your body more towards them, giving them a good view of your body. You began dancing, putting on a show for them, your glove glad hands running up and down your body, your neck, your boobs, your waist, practically having sex on the dance floor with yourself, all for this stranger who was most definitely watching you.

You feel like you have x-ray vision, because although you can’t see her face, you can see the way she grips her cup tighter whenever you sway your hips, turning around to give her a nice view of your ass. You see the way she shifts her weight onto her other foot whenever your hand runs over the curve of your tits. When you really know you’ve got her, is when you rest your hands on your friends hips, and pull her into your crotch, your eyes never leaving the ghost face mask. You know you’ve got her because she sets her cup down, raises her long, skinny fingers, and silently calls you over before she makes her way down one of the hallways in the house.

And suddenly, a game of cat and mouse begins.

You almost never chase anyone at a party, you’re always the one that’s being chased. However, there’s something about this ghost face. There’s an aura radiating off of her, one that’s dripping of lust, screaming at you, telling you she’s got exactly what you need, exactly what you’re looking for during these stupid Halloween parties.

So you break your little streak, and as soon as she calls you, you’re following her.

The house is lit up with all different colors, the kitchen was purple, the living room was pink, everywhere you turned was another tinted space that fit the Halloween vibe perfectly.

As you look around for your ghost face, you can’t help but huff softly. It almost feels as if she’s disappeared into thin air, as if the alcohol in your system made you hallucinate the entire thing. You begin to question yourself, a soft pout on your lips as you make your way down the final place to look for her.

But of course, you finally find her leaned up against one of the hallways, and of course it’s completely lit up red.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you smile, making you way towards her. Once you’re standing in front of her, you expect her to take off the mask, show her who it is that’s hiding behind that silly mask.

But she doesn’t

You giggle softly, your hand toying with the hem of her shirt as you stare up at her with big doe eyes.

“You gonna show me the pretty face you’re hiding under that mask?” You purr out, and the ghost face simply shakes her head. It makes you pout, tugging at her shirt gently as you lean into her a bit, but still keeping your body a ways away from hers.

“But…how am I supposed to talk to you if I can’t see you” you whine, hoping that this little pouty act will get you what you want. It usually does, but this ghost face seems far too stubborn for that. She simply cocks her head to the side, as if clicking her tongue and mocking your pout.

It makes your pussy flutter with need.

She hasn’t even said anything to you, but you’re already squeezing your legs together, eager for some kind of friction to soothe the ache between your legs, your lips rubbing together with the arousal that grew with each passing second.

You hum softly, your latex clad fingers running down her arm, reaching her tattoo and tracing the pattern gently.

Hm…you don’t recall that one.

She gives you her arm with ease, allowing you to see her tattoo, that makes you smile softly.

“This is pretty…” you hum before you look back up at her, biting your plush bottom lip softly. “Are there anymore for me to find?” You question, giving her a playful smile. This one gets her, because you can hear the way her breath shudders, see the way her chest rises and falls for a moment.

She’s right where you want her.

You hum softly, your hand slowly coming up to the mask, eyeing her closely as you gently begin pushing it up, eager to see her face. You flinch when she grabs your wrist, stopping you from lifting it up any further. You pout again, it’s genuine this time, not like before. A soft huff leaves your lips before you open your mouth to complain, tell the girl that if she doesn’t want to show you her face, you’ll leave to find someone else who will.

But before you can, you’re being tugged into a random bedroom.

Upon entering, you can see why this place is the spot was so popular for parties. The rooms are clean, and the host went as far as to decorate them accordingly, the same red lights from the hallway lighting up the place. If you weren’t so hellbent on getting fucked by the ghost face, you’d most certainly be gushing over what a wonderful party host this was.

Your thoughts are completely cut off by strong arms wrapping around your waist, and pulling you into an even stronger chest. It makes you moan softly, your head falling back against her chest. You feel her strong hands running up and down your latex clad body, squeezing your hips, your boobs, running along your thighs. You can hear her breathing behind you, and you can almost hear the sweet tone of her voice through it.

You let out a small whine, one of your hands coming down to lay over hers, keeping her close to you. “Wanna play with you…” you hum softly, it makes your ghost face groan, her hands squeezing your plush body before she turns you around, and pushes you onto the soft bed.

It makes you giggle softly, your hands running along the soft sheets as you watch her. She looks like a god above you, standing so tall, the ghostly mask almost haunting as she eats you up with her eyes, head cocked to the side as you lazily smile up at her.

You move to prop yourself up onto your hands, palms pressing into the bed, your legs spreading for her. “So…you’re leaving the mask on, huh? Does that make me the helpless victim?” You pout out, holding back a giggle as you recite the lines from the movie the mask came from. It earns a slow nod from your ghost face, and you have to hold back a moan.

“Well…please play with me ghost face…I wanna be yours tonight” you purr out, your body sitting up as you reach forward, your fingers snagging around the belt loop of her jeans and pulling her closer.

You hear a soft sigh from behind the mask, and it almost sounds like she’s suffering, like she’s torturing herself just as much as she’s torturing you by not touching you yet. Her strong hand slowly comes up, cupping your chin gently and angling your head up, her thumb dragging across your bottom lip. You moan softly, kissing her finger gently, it makes her groan again.

She slowly moves down, bending down until her hands are pushed against the bed, caging you in. It makes you crawl backwards, a soft whimper leaving your lips. When she’s this close, backing you up onto the bed, you can catch a glimmer of her eyes beneath the mesh material of the eyes of the ghost. You can see her long lashes, and big green eyes. It makes your pussy throb desperately.

Because fuck, you’ve never seen eyes that pretty before.

You almost done catch her hands reaching down between you, pushing into the tight material of your latex shorts, fingers pressing against your soaked core. You’re so desperate for her, that the small act makes you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you grind your hips against her fingers. You can tell she’s skilled just by the way she fingers your clit and rubs you slowly, the right fabric of your shorts making it an even tighter fit.

“Fuck…” you hear softly from behind the mask, and it’s the first time you’ve properly heard her voice, it makes you feel like you can cum right then and there.

You blink softly as you stare into her eyes, watching her as she slowly toys with your pussy, making you whine and moan for her from the small motions of her fingers.

“Mmpph…feels…fuck…your fingers…” you moan softly, feeling yourself growing close just from the way she rubbed your throbbing clit. Your hand goes down to her tattooed arm, grabbing it as she begins to speed up. You whine loudly, your back arching as you grind in tow with her movements, and fuck…you’re so close, you feel like you’re going to explode just from a stranger finger fucking you.

And suddenly, her fingers are gone.

“W-what? Why’d you…why’d you stop” you whimper softly while trying to catch your breath, watching as your ghost face began to tug your shorts off. You whine softly with embarrassment, watching as she silently tugged your shorts off, a string of your arousal connecting you to your shorts. You can’t remember the last time you were this wet.

Your ghost face groans softly, mumbling something under her breath that you don’t quite catch. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re quickly being tugged up into her arms as she lays down on the bed.

Now you’re straddling her lap, your bare core dragging along her jeans as her strong hands massage your thighs. You whine softly, because you can feel the prominent bulge pressing against you through her pants. Her hands go to your hips, forcing you to grind your soaking wet pussy against her crotch, your arousal staining her black jeans, making you burn from the inside out.

You moan loudly, your hands pressing against her lower stomach as you watch the way she slowly grinds you down on her as she pleases. You’re eager, so you’re already undoing her belt and unbuttoning her jeans. You almost expect her to stop you, but she doesn’t, and you’re pulling out her pink strap, the length of it making your mouth water.

If you weren’t so fucking horny, the color would’ve made you giggle, but there’s no time for that. You tug her jeans down a bit more, to which she lifts her hips up to help you, and you begin to crawl up her body slightly until you’re hovering over her length, her hand grabbing the shaft as she runs it along your lips, getting it wet with your arousal before she helps you sink down on it.

The moan you both let out is past pornography, the weight of you pushing down her strap rubs against her clit perfectly, and she’s sure she’s never experienced someone riding her so fucking well. The sound of her pretty voice makes you want to cry, because she’s been teasing you so much that you’ll take just about anything she gives you. You begin to bounce on her length slowly, adjusting to her size, your hands pressed against her chest to act as leverage.

“Oh my…fucking god….mmmhhh…a-ah!” You moan out, eyes fluttering shut as you ride her, back arching as your hands go up into your hair, tugging on it, needing somewhat of an outlet to release the pleasure you were feeling. Your senses were on overload, and you weren’t sure if it was the build up of not knowing who the hell you were fucking, or if it was truly that good, but you’re sure you’ve never had a fuck this good in your entire life.

“Fuck…that’s a good fucking girl…bouncing on my cock so well…yeah…that’s it” the voice makes you moan loudly, your eyes opening immediately. She sounds perfect, her voice low and smooth, strong hands gripping your thighs for a moment before they come down on your ass, spanking you hard and making you moan even louder.

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice when she speaks, her voice dripping with lust as you fuck your self down onto her cock. “Haven’t even seen my face and you’re doing all of this for me…treating me special, pretty girl?” She hums out before moaning loudly with you. You can’t help but nod, slowly feeling yourself becoming dumb on her cock.

“S’good…feels so good…I’ll do anything for you” you moan out almost incoherently, saying just about anything that comes to mind in that moment.

As you continue bouncing on her cock, the motions of it all makes her mask come up a bit, and you catch a glimpse of her plush pink lips tugged beneath her pretty teeth. It makes you whine softly, and you realize you can’t fucking do this anymore.

You reach forward, your hand going to the edge of the mask, and you tug it off of her head.

You feel like you’ll lose your breath, keel over and die at that very moment when you see her, because she’s so fucking pretty. Her brown hair is so messy, soft fringe splayed across her face, prettiest freckles littering her red cheeks, those same green eyes staring into yours, pretty lips tugging into a smirk when she sees the way your eyebrows furrow with pleasure, knowing that it was her face that made you feel that way.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” She smirks softly, her words followed by a soft groan, hands traveling up your body and gripping your boobs that were nearly completely spilled out of your top.

“Want you to cum for me, princess…can you do that? Cum all over my cock?” She urges on, her words cut off by various moans as you continue fucking yourself down on her. You want to speak, but you can’t, so all you do is nod eagerly and give her a loud moan, feeling the familiar warmth building up in the pit of your stomach, electricity traveling through your body.

Ellie moans with you, her eyes never leaving yours as she gives you an encouraging nod. “That’s it baby…such a pretty fucking girl…been watching you all night…knew I needed to…fuck…have you…come on baby…cum for me” she commands, and you feel like you’ll turn into jelly just from the way she tells you to do it, so stern, your legs felt like they could no longer hold you up, shaking as your back arched almost painfully, and your orgasm raked through your body.

It was electrifying, the feeling of her cock sliding so deep into you, your walls fluttering around it as you came, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she pushed even deeper into you, her own orgasm visibly washing over her as she pushed her head further into the bed, eyes squeezing shut, curse words flying from her pretty lips.

You both sat there for a moment, Ellie sitting up and pressing her face against your chest as she held you close, hands rubbing against your thighs, soft kisses against your boobs, giving both you and herself a moment to collect yourselves after the intense session you’d just had.

After a few moments passed, you pouted softly as you looked down at the bed and noticed some of the red body paint had smeared onto the bed.

“Fuck…you don’t think the host will be mad about that…do you?” You mumbled softly, trying to avoid the embarrassment you felt at the fact that your fucking costume had ended up screwing you over.

Ellie chuckled softly as she looked down at the bed, humming softly as she pressed another kiss to your chest before she pulled you down to lay down with her, having every intention of keeping you there until enough people left, and you could both go for a shower.

“Nah…I don’t mind” she smirked softly, knowing she’d most definitely be making sure the sheets were changed for you both in the morning.

[chryblossomjjk]

practice | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut

⇢ WC: 8.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: mentions of bad sexual experiences, nickname you guys might find cringey (sorry babes), praise, a little degradation, a little manhandling, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, very brief mentions of anal play, brief mentions of sex toys and masturbation, spitting, titty sucking, protected sex (hes a hoe but not a dummy), jk is kinda a himbo (scratch that last side note), jk running through twice members lmao sorry girlies, pining, maybe unrequited love, maybe not, ill let u decide, oc is in denial in the beginning, oc has that lemon water coochie!!, daddy kink + daddy kink slander (not seriously!), slight corruption kink

⇢ SUMMARY: you usually spend friday nights on your own. tonight, however, your friend and campus fuckboy, jungkook, decides to pay you a visit.

⇢ NOTES: hi friends!! i’m back with my second fic!! i posted this last night but miss ting had a bad case of the typos rip. so I had it beta'd by @kookstempo pls go give her love >:((( ! i found the smut a little easier to write this time. still not that good lol but not as mentally taxing! oc is totally definitely not a little bit of a projection of me haha thisficwassexuallycathartictowrite i hope you guys like it! i would love to know your thoughts! also would be v cool if you checked out my masterlist. love u bye!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s 10 p.m. on a Friday. 

The night of the week that lures college students out of their suffocating dorm rooms with the promise of parties and alcohol. After days of classes, hours of studying, and minutes of sleep, most people your age spend their weekends unwinding, hopping from frat house to frat house.

One of the many perks of living on campus is the social life. Being surrounded by young adults is exciting. It also means that everyone is horny. Ravenously so. Seriously. Anything with a hole or phallic-shaped appendage is a prime candidate for getting fucked. 

Anything and everyone, except you. 

It wasn’t that you couldn’t get fucked, per se. Although abundant, your options were limited. Given the environment, it was difficult to find a guy you actually felt comfortable with. He didn’t have to be in love with you, but he did have to respect you if he wanted to get anywhere near your sugar walls. With that being said, it was slim pickings.

You coped well, for the most part. But it was hard to shake the lonely feelings that bubbled in your chest from time to time. And the feral ones. Nothing a quick rub from your petite, manicured fingers couldn’t satisfy, you suppose…

Besides, all men do is disappoint you. The only two sexual partners you’ve had thus far were subpar, to say the least. Greedy. Disgusting. Selfish. Not an ounce of concern for your pleasure. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you’ve never orgasmed from sex. Not even close. That left a sour, lemony taste in your mouth. Ever since then, your pussy was on hiatus, locked away in the highest room of the tallest tower, until a worthy knight came to save it from this tortuous dry spell. 

You sigh, peeling the honey-drenched sheet mask off your face and tossing it into the trash with vigor. You eye yourself in the mirror with a scowl. Fluffy, freshly plucked brows knit together as you examine your appearance. You’re wearing a cropped white tank top, nipples poking through the little animated cherubs printed on the front. The baby pink Sailor Moon pajama shorts on your thighs left little to the imagination. White kitty ears headband keeping those annoying baby hairs out of your face. 

You’re cute, right?

Atleast you tried to look cute.

Your roommate, Mina, was visiting family for the weekend, leaving you the dorm to yourself. Without your extraverted lifeline, you decided it was the perfect opportunity to stay in and pamper yourself. 

You’ve already waxed your body, head to toe, with that expensive sugaring wax Mina begged you not to get. ‘It was worth it,’ you thought to yourself when you had spread your peach-scented lotion on the smooth canvas of your legs after the shower.

You even gave yourself a facial. Extractions and all. Much cooler and more productive than partying and getting laid.

You take your headband off, ruffling your thick hair until it falls into place. You reach for your candy-flavored Laneige lip mask, spreading it across your plump pout with your middle finger. Another overpriced purchase.

You exit the bathroom, shuffling towards your twin-sized bed and then falling face first into the plush, ivory duvet. So comfy. It wasn’t even midnight and you were ready to hit the hay. 

You had planned to study a bit before knocking out, but the warm shower left you sleepy. Plus, the past week has been hell. Two papers and an impromptu quiz from your least favorite professor. You were a good student. A great one, even. But you were an overachiever to the core, and still found yourself stressing over assignments you knew you aced.

You let out a small yawn, squinting at the brightness around you. Along the wall beside your bed were vine garlands, embellished with little fairy lights and pink roses. They were such a pain in the ass to put up. It took you and Mina nearly three hours, and a mental breakdown on your behalf, to stick them against the drywall in the right position. High maintenance, but cute, nonetheless. Kinda like you. 

The lights dim as your mind turns hazy, eventually turning into a silent black as sleep clouds your vision. Sweet, blissful sleep. You were teetering into the REM phase when-

Knock. Knock.

The booming noise startles you awake, rattling the brittle wood of your cheaply built door. The wall hangings flutter in its wake. 

Maybe you were being dramatic. The knocks were actually soft and melodic. Almost cheerful as they followed the rhythm of a made-up song. But you were pissed. Even the most heavenly sound would ring demonic and evil in your ears at the moment. 

You shove yourself off of your bed with an exaggerated groan, stomping towards the door and yanking it open, fully prepared to yell at whoever was behind it.

Jeon Jungkook. 

His expression is blank, doe-eyes widening as he takes in your expression. Your body language radiates hostility and violence. The silver barbell glimmers as his thick, dark brows twitch in confusion. He blinks before opening his mouth. “Hey,” he utters hastily. 

Under different circumstances, you would be ecstatic.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jungkook?” 

“Woah, someone’s cranky,” he laughs hesitantly. “I was bored. Figured you were, too. Mina is gone, right?”

“Are you drunk or something?”

“What- no,” his plump lips form a pout, the matching silver ring on the bottom corner shining as well. 

You sneer at him, pupils darting over his outfit. Oversized gray hoodie, white t-shirt peeking from the unzipped portion at the top. Gray sweatpants. Your gaze lingers on the tight pull of the material in the front. He doesn’t seem drunk, and he isn’t dressed in his usual party attire. 

“I just want to hang out with you. Why are you acting so sus?” 

You roll your eyes, doing everything in your power to exaggerate your irritation. “Why are you here?” 

“Oh, come on, Bambi. Don’t be like that.”

Bambi.

That stupid nickname. 

You and Jungkook had met at a party after you were peer pressured into a game of beer pong. The super boisterous, super attractive stranger ended up being your partner by default. 

"What do you mean you’ve never played before?" He questioned you, voice laced with devastation when he realized you were about to cost him his undefeated streak. 

Despite Jungkook’s best efforts, Mina and her boyfriend, Taehyung, mopped the floor with you. 

"You know what, I like you. You’re a little bitchy but-,” he slurred at the end of the night, helping you gather the discarded solo cups, "Also innocent. Kinda like a baby deer. What the fuck was that movie?"

You answered him curtly with a scowl. 

"Bambi! Right… I can’t wait to ruin you." He was so wasted that night he ended up vomiting off of the second-floor balcony and onto the class president’s Honda Civic. Not drunk enough to forget the awfully humiliating, yet adorable nickname he had bestowed you. 

“Give me one good reason why I should let you in.”

“I have pancakes,” he beams with pride, bunny teeth peeking out. He raises both arms, showing you the crinkled takeout bags in his hands. “Chocolate chip-”

“That’s disgusting,” you scoff. 

“And blueberry,” he retorts with a squint. “Please? I won’t be annoying, I promise.”

You let out a contemplative noise. It wasn’t what you had planned for the night, but you guess company wouldn’t hurt. Especially his company.

If only you could mute your evil brain. 

“I thought you had plans with whatsherface,” you question, stepping aside to let Jungkook enter your room. 

He kicks his slides off at the door, something you’ve drilled into his head with violent words and empty threats. You remember him texting the groupchat a screenshot of his calendar, tonight being marked ‘PUSSY APPOINTMENT’ with the woozy face emoji next to it. The same one that was inked on his middle finger; it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Tonight was one of many slots in his month with the exact same title. That picture was deleted from your phone as soon as you received it. 

“Sana,” he corrects, face unimpressed like he expected you to keep a mental catalog of all his flavors of the week.

You did. Every time a new name was added to the roster, your heart sank. You would never admit it though. 

“I did, but I guess she has a boyfriend now or some shit?” He plops down onto the baby pink area rug beside your bed, immediately digging through the takeout bags. 

“How dare she?” You gasp sarcastically, taking the styrofoam container that he held up for you and sitting criss-cross on your bed.

“I know, right? That’s what I’m saying,” he laughs, opening a syrup packet and pouring it over his pancakes. 

You cringe, foreseeing a sticky, impossible to clean mess all over your floor. “Please don’t fuck up my rug, Jungkook.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles halfheartedly, bringing the pad of his thumb to his mouth. The tip of his tongue pokes out to kitten lick at the sugary liquid before wrapping his plump, pink lips around it.

He sucks gently and then pulls off with a tiny smooch. 

Wow. 

Are you really that far gone? There was no denying that Jungkook was attractive. But were you really that touch starved that you were drooling over every minuscule, minute movement he made? 

“Maybe she was sick of you stringing her along,” you comment, trying to cover up the fact that you were totally just gawking at him.

“Nah,” he murmurs through chubby cheeks, mouth full of pancake. “She knew it was just sex.”

“Did she though? What about Dahyun?”

“Well aware.”

“Jihyo?”

“Yep.”

“Nayeon?”

“Are you slut-shaming me?” He points his plastic fork at you, bringing the opposite hand to his chest in feigned offense. “Because I feel very attacked right now.”

You playfully nudge his shoulder with your thigh-high sock-clad foot, deciding to drop the subject. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. Jungkook had a reputation on campus. Every girl who involved themselves with him knew what the outcome would be. He was very blunt about his desires and disinterests. Sex being the prior. Commitment being the latter.

But you suppose remaining detached was easier said than done. Something about him was… magnetic. He was bold, yet soft. Obnoxious, but endearing. A sweet talker for sure. And easily the freest person you’ve ever known. Add sex into the equation, and it must be nearly impossible not to fall in love with him…

Hm. That’s enough thinking for the night. 

You need background noise to keep intrusive thoughts at bay. He peeps an ‘I don’t care’ when you ask him what he wants to watch. You take it upon yourself. Sailor Moon it is.

The pancakes keep him preoccupied for a while. You glance down at him every now and then. His eyes sparkle as he watches the cartoon on your phone screen. There’s a little speck of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. His tongue makes an encore appearance, licking it away before fidgeting with his lip. How sinful. 

He starts getting squirmy about halfway through the episode. Antsy hands pull at the strings on the border of the carpet below him. Every now and then he draws a shape and erases it. One of the shapes is a penis, something you’d see on the back of a middle school textbook. 

He scoots with a sigh, pressing his spine against the edge of your bed, and then bending his head back. Fluffy dark strands tickle your legs as he peers up at you. “Can you play with my hair?”

“Why would I do that?” You huff, hot and bothered by the sudden contact.

“It helps me stay still. Please?”

“Oh, um- okay,” you oblige, gulping like you’ve dry swallowed a huge pill. You cautiously card your digits through his hair. It’s so soft and healthy. 

He purrs and closes his eyes. 

He's silent once again, enjoying your touch, even pushing into it a bit. Very cat-like.

That lasts for about three minutes. His inability to not speak every single thought that enters the void of his mind takes over.

‘I just realized they’re all named after planets.’

‘Wait, the moon isn’t a planet, is it?’

‘Why are they dressed so sexy to fight space monsters?’

“Jungkook, shut up!”

“But I’m bored,” he whines. “Is this really how you spend your Friday nights?”

“Excuse me, I’d like to see you take STEM classes for a week and then tell me how you feel,” you contend, leaning over to grab your phone off the nightstand. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on your nipples. It makes your palms clammy. “Sometimes, it’s nice to just chill.”

“You don’t masturbate?” He asks calmly as if he had just inquired about the weather. 

You give him an exasperated look.

“What? That’s how I destress,” he continues, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t you have a vibrator?”

“I- no! Why are you asking all these questions?” You shriek, absolutely mortified.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” He lifts his head off of your lap, craning his neck so you can see his appalled expression, your answer leaving him equally as mortified. “Damn, that’s wild,” he tuts in disapproval.

“I would rather not have to smuggle a sex toy into my dorm room, Jungkook,” you retort.

“You can borrow mine,” he smirks, turning his body to face you, obviously relishing in the reactions he’s pulling out of you. “It’s a Hitachi. It’s really strong too, like, most girls don’t even last five minutes.” 

“Why do you have- you know what, nevermind actually!” You clench your eyes shut, poking your fingers into your ears and shaking your head dramatically. Your reaction is mostly out of embarrassment and partly because the thought of him pleasing women who aren’t you hurts for whatever reason. “I’m done with this discussion!”

“Seriously?” He wheezes, thoroughly enjoying your tantrum. He wraps his long, nimble fingers around your wrists, pulling your hands away. Your skin burns under the touch. “I want to get to know you more.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to know-,” you rip out of his grasp, flailing your hands around in circular motions, “-those things.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” he frowns. 

“About?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, um...” you look around the room nervously, searching for the right thing to say. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black. What’s your favorite position?”

“Jungkook!”

“I think missionary is my favorite. Very underrated,” he says, tapping his chin like it’s an answer only an intellectual would’ve given. “The kind where her legs are pushed alllll the way back,” he emphasizes the ‘all’ by balling his hands into fists and lifting them up by his head, showing you exactly where he likes them. “You hit the g-spot perfectly that way.”

You level him with a scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Unamusement written all over. 

“Why are you so mad?” He laughs. “What? You’re embarrassed to talk about sex?” 

A pause. 

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“Jungkook, no…” you sigh, rubbing your temples in frustration. “I’m just not like you, okay? I don’t like sex as much as you and everybody else on this fucking campus does!”

He hesitates for a moment as he processes your sudden outburst. The first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. You can picture the cogs turning in that thick skull of his. 

He inhales sharply, eyebrows raising up to his hairline as if something clicked. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, cute dimple peeping out from the pull. His head drops as he huffs out a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Jeon?”

“Ah, I see now.”

“See what?” You groan, bothered by his vagueness. 

“Here's what I think, Bambi,” he mumbles in a low tone, sitting up from his spot on the floor so his gaze is aligned with yours. His palms are on either of your crossed legs, fingers curling into your white blanket. Forcing you to make eye contact with him- his pupils are black, nothing like the soft brown you’re accustomed to. “You’re so uptight because you haven’t had sex in a while- good sex, at least.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You say nothing.

“The guys you fuck don’t know how to treat you, am I right? They can’t make you cum?”

Crickets.

Your lack of response tells him the answer.

When you do speak, your words come out shaky. “Well, what makes you any different?” 

He shuffles closer, knocking his forehead right against yours, invading your space. He’s so close that you feel claustrophobic. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“I always make the girl cum.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hums through curled lips as he nods, silver hoops swaying at the motion, nose brushing against yours. “More than once.”

His dilated pupils scan over your body, pausing at your chest for a moment, and then continuing their descent. A hand slides up your bare thigh, the warm touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He grabs the hem of your shorts between his index and middle fingers, tugging gently. “These are cute.” He licks his lips, making them pink and glossy, like he’s ready to eat you. “I’d like them better somewhere else though.”

“Jungkook…”

And then he's kissing you. 

It’s soft, like he’s afraid to scare you away by putting too much pressure into it. Little does he know you’ve been thinking about this for a while.

All your protesting and fighting up until this point was futile. Your hands unconsciously make their way to his cheeks. You swear you feel him smirking. It’s like he can read your mind, knowing exactly how bad you’ve wanted this.

He prods his tongue against your bottom lip, urging you to let him in. You do. He wraps an arm around your waist and guides you down, hovering over you.

“You taste like candy,” he whispers against your lips, hot and needy. Take that, Mina. A sneaky hand cups you through your shorts, right where he knows your clit is. The thin material does nothing to conceal how wet you are. “Do you taste like candy here too? Can I try?”

You’re anxious, but you can’t stop. Not when he’s so enticing. Not when the rumors of his sexual prowess are swimming around in your mind. Jungkook could ask anything of you and you’d gladly obey. You give him a small nod. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he teases through an airy laugh, breath fanning across your face. It smells like chocolate and syrup. He turns his head and presses a gentle kiss on your fingertips. You swoon.

Hooking his thumbs into the sides of your shorts, he pulls them below your butt. He dips his head down, biting into the side of your thigh. A predator sinking its teeth into its prey. Not hard enough to hurt. It’s just enough to rip a whine from you. “Fuck,” he grumbles, pulling your shorts completely off. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

He’s been wanting this, too?

“Let’s leave these on though,” he sighs, speaking in reference to your socks. It was something you knew he found sexy, overhearing a graphic conversation with Taehyung about kinks and other filthy things. That may or may not have been the motivation behind your purchase.

You cringe. Being naked in front of someone for the first time in a long time was nerve-wracking. 

“No panties?” Jungkook asks, looking at you quizzically. “Dressed so skimpy, Bambi. All for me?”

“I didn’t know you were gonna show up...”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he chuckles, caressing your legs with his large thumbs. You appreciate the gesture. 

Cool air brushes against your exposed core when he parts your thighs. His gaze locks onto your dripping center. You whine and cross your arms over your face. Maybe if you squeeze hard enough you’ll revert back into yourself and escape this dreadfully vulnerable feeling.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he starts, words dying out because his attention is elsewhere. Jungkook has seen a lot of pussy throughout his life, but yours has got to be the, “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. So fucking wet.” He settles back onto his knees, hooking his limbs around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

Jungkook watches in awe as he spreads your lips open with his thumb and index fingers, stealing a peek at your shiny center. He takes a long, languid lick from your pussy to your clit. He moans when the wet muscle dips between your folds, eyes scrunching as his feature contorts into a scowl. You recognize that face. That angry face he makes when he tastes something he finds incredibly yummy. It’s the same one he made when he ate his pancakes. 

Have you really studied him so much that you’ve picked up on his subtle habits? Nevertheless, the fact that he actually seemed to be enjoying going down on you was jarring. You’ve never experienced this before. It felt so fucking good. You were already close and he has barely touched you. You let out a whimper.

“Mm, you’re so responsive,” he notes, absolutely loving the little sounds you’re peeping. Much different than the blaring moans and screams he is used to. Despite the ego boost they give him, your shy whimpers are a welcomed change. Each one makes his cock twitch, forcing him to bring a hand down, palming himself through his sweats. “When’s the last time someone ate you out?”

“Never…”

“I don’t see why not,” he coos sympathetically, shaking his head in disapproval. He gives you another lick, tongue pressed flat against you. “You taste like lemonade, so sweet.” 

That had you absolutely drenched.

You move up onto your elbows, watching as he throws your legs over his broad shoulders. He licks the pad of his thumb, this time actually sinful. He presses it right to your bud, rubbing it before pulling the sensitive skin taut, lifting the hood and exposing your clit. 

He tuts his tongue, whispering something so quietly you barely catch it, only making out a breathy iteration of the word ‘tiny’. Heavy eyes flicker up to yours as he places two soft pecks on it, then blows delicately.

“Jungkook, please…”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, “I won’t tease-,” sentiment interrupted with an open-mouthed kiss, “I know how bad you must want it.” 

He circles the tip of his tongue on your clit before suctioning his lips around it. You gnaw onto your lower lip, face twisting up in pleasure.

This is easily a far better form of self care than what you had planned. 

It’s obvious that this is something Jungkook does a lot. He is a photography major, and has never struck you as someone who is incredibly bright, but the way he touched is strategic. He has spent the better part of the past decade perfecting his craft, studying the way women move their bodies when he applies a certain amount of pressure. The beautiful noises they make when he stimulates them in certain spots. He has the exact equation to make you fall apart.

There is a pattern to it. He latches onto your swollen nub, cheeks hollowing with a few harsh sucks, before licking over it, letting his tongue dip into your entrance. You can’t help the subtle thrusts into his mouth with every glide of his tongue. The consistency had your stomach doing somersaults.

He sinks further down, lapping at your folds, never straying too far from your clit, burying himself so deep into your pussy that the tip of his nose nudges against it. A big palm slides up your torso, reaching under your tank top to grab at your chest, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple.

“Jung- fuck!” You croak, high-pitched and desperate. “I’m close.”

You expect him to pull away. He, instead, acknowledges you with an ‘mhm’, nuzzling even further into your cunt. 

You can’t help the instinctual, or more so learned, shame bubbling in your stomach. Your hips jerk away. Legs close tight around his head, attempting to save him from the brunt of your orgasm. He simply pries them back open, nails digging into your inner thigh. You grasp onto his hair, tugging it back as you curse under your breath.

He doesn’t like that.

He pops off of your clit with a sharp, annoyed growl. “Can you stop?” The stern edge in his voice makes you flinch, releasing your grip immediately. “You don’t have to control every situation. Just relax.” 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak.

His gaze softens immediately. He didn’t want you to apologize and he definitely didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. “You can touch me, Bambi,” he grabs your hands and places them back on his head, encouraging them to tangle in his tresses once again. “Keep me here, though. Wanna make you cum in my mouth.”

It’s strange, being pampered during sex. Taken care of. 

You peer down at him. His mouth and cheeks are dewy, covered in your arousal. Even the tip of his nose is wet. He’s not uncomfortable in the slightest. 

You push him down, giving him the green light to continue. The descent is quick. Starting in your stomach before it shoots through the rest of your body. You throw your head back, teeth digging into your lip as you desperately try to stifle the lewd moans threatening to escape.

Jungkook guides you through it, slowing down towards the tail end of your orgasm. He pulls away with a satisfied hum, standing up from his spot on the floor. “Taste?” He asks, squishing your cheeks with his big hand. His tongue licks right against yours when you stick it out, lips closing into a sloppy kiss. “Good, right?”

You don’t really taste anything, but you nod anyway. Maybe a slight hint of citrus. Or maybe you were delirious after the best orgasm of your life. The only partnered orgasm of your life.

His eyes are scrunched, but you can still see the stars in his dark pupils as he smiles down at you. You mirror him with the opposite expression, irises wide and blown out. He giggles, nuzzling into the side of your face and then nipping at your cheek. “You’re like a space girl,” your heart melts at the Sailor Moon reference. “So clueless. I wanna do everything to you. Teach you everything.”

“Like what?” 

“Have you ever squirted before?” 

You freeze. “No… I don’t think everyone can.”

“That’s not true. Everyone can squirt with a good partner and the right mindset,” he proclaims enthusiastically, shooting you a thumbs up. The tent in his pants on full display.

“Right mindset?” You giggle, raising a brow at him. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty intense.” He grabs a half-empty water bottle, your water bottle, off the nightstand, taking a big sip. “I can get you there,” he states, a droplet of water dripping down his chin. “You have to listen to me, though. You can continue your ‘girlboss’ bullshit after I’m done with you.”

You roll your eyes. If any other man said that to you, you would be livid. You would literally rain hellfire upon them. But it’s Jungkook. You know he’s joking, and the soft spot you have for him prevents you from ripping him a new one. 

He smiles when you agree, pecking your cheek before unzipping his hoodie and shrugging it off his shoulders. You watch his muscles work. Toned, firm biceps exposed for your viewing pleasures. He recently recolored the tattoos on his right arm. 

You remember him venting about his parents’ disapproval of them, and his major, when he walked you to your dorm after a party a few weeks ago. It was the only time you’ve ever seen the fun-loving, jovial man feel melancholic. You coin that night the night you developed... whatever it was that you have for him now.

“Alright,” he gestures to the cotton sweater, now spread out on your bed. “Lay here.”

“Why?”

“I mean…” he looks at you like you’re stupid. “You don’t want to get this wet, right?” He counters, pinching your blanket.

Cockiness just oozes out of him. It makes wetness ooze out of you. 

You comply, laying down on the soft material. It’s warm and smells like the delicate linen cologne he normally wears. You bask in the scent.

“I usually use lube for this, but…” he clicks his tongue, knowing you don’t have any. “We can make it work.” Leaning down, he lets a string of spit land on your clit. It tickles as it trickles down your folds. He’s quick to collect it with his fingertips, smearing the moisture all over.

“Take your top off, please. I wanna see those pretty tits.”

It’s barely a top. The jagged, raw hem only conceals half of your perked nipples. How ironic is it that you’re wearing an angel print tank while being absolutely defiled. You sit up, taking it off easily and tossing it on the floor before laying back down. 

“It’s not going to hurt, is it?” You wonder, reflecting on his earlier statements.

“Why, you nervous?” He teases with a lopsided grin. It drops when he sees the apprehensive look on your face. “It shouldn’t hurt, but if it does you’ll tell me, right?”

“Right,” you moan, another drop of saliva hitting your pussy. 

“Hold your legs up, keep them open,” he orders, sucking back the extra spit with a hiss.

Pink nails curl under your thighs, bringing them up to your chest just as Jungkook instructed. He pops his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, bringing them down to tease at your entrance before slipping in, palm facing up.

There’s an adjustment period, his fingers being much bigger than your own. You’re so aroused that the tenderness subsides quickly. “Fuck,” you yelp when he starts gently petting at your g-spot.

He doesn’t jam his fingers into you carelessly, an unpleasant sensation you’ve been subjected to in the past. His digits never leave you. Instead, they move in a sensual curl that makes you purr. Every touch is focused, intricately placed on that delicious spot.

“Pussy so wet,” his voice comes out as strained as his pants. He sounds so turned on and filled with lust. It makes you clamp around his fingers. He lets out the tiniest moan, using his free hand to grab yours, sucking three fingers into his mouth. “Touch your clit for me.”

You bring your hand down, rubbing side to side. “Uh-uh, circles.” 

Immediately, you follow his command. You look so delicious he can’t help himself, bending at the waist to latch onto one of your nipples.

“Please, Jungkook, more…”

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your chest, sending vibrations through the sensitive skin. You nod frantically. “I usually don’t give in this easily, but I think you deserve it. Been such a good girl. You can have more, Bambi.” You know it’s just sex talk. A stream of consciousness fueled by his horniness. All the blood leaving his head to fill his cock, making him more dumb than usual, but you can’t help but feel special. 

“It’s going to build up fast, okay?”

You mumble a small ‘mhm’. How bad can it really be?

Jungkook starts moving his hand rapidly, fingers thrashing up and down. There's so much force behind his movements that your hips lift and dip. 

You’re overwhelmed. Constant, vigorous stimulation right to your g-spot. A strange swelling feeling starts pooling in your lower stomach. High-pitched whimpery moans and wet squelching noises fill the room.

“J- daddy, fuck!” It is so intense you can’t form a coherent sentence. There’s faint laughter in the background. “No, no, no…” you plead, wrapping your hand around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. It’s too good. So good that it made you scared.

His movements halt. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, too much… fuck!” You shout when he continues at the same intensity, your body thrashing wildly. You feel out of control.

“Shh,” he whispers softly. “You can take it. Just let it happen.”

You inhale sharply, doing your best to calm down. It’s difficult when he keeps touching you like that. Your fingers curl into his sweater, bracing yourself. As soon as you stop fighting that full feeling, as soon as you loosen the tense muscles, it’s going to hit you.

You relax and a wave of the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt ripples over you.

There’s an intense, world-shattering, euphoric release.

And then nothing. 

Your head is empty. Your ears ring. Your vision is distorted by white splotches. 

Complete solace.

Your senses come back after a few minutes of heavy breathing. It’s fuzzy, but you can see the ceiling fan swirling above you.

There’s a metallic taste on your tongue. 

You can feel droplets trickling down your inner thighs, a damp puddle under your butt, and a warm set of lips on your temple.

“Welcome back to planet Earth,” Jungkook jokes, pushing away the wispy flyaways that stick to your forehead. You blink absently as you slowly make out his features. You swear there’s a glowing aura around him. “You good?” 

“So good,” you confirm halfheartedly. “You’re so good.”

“You came so much,” he hums in satisfaction, placing a few pecks against your jaw. Jungkook was actually surprised at how much wetness he coaxed out of you. You just kept on cumming. The prettiest waterfall he’s ever seen. Damp fingers brush up and down your bicep, a comforting gesture. “You called me daddy.”

“Shut up,” you groan, covering your face. “Don’t talk about it.”

“I won’t, it was fucking gross,” he laughs, smiling down at you so genuinely that it reaches his eyes. This was just a hookup, you assume, but he’s just so pretty. You can’t stop yourself from pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He reciprocates. It feels so intimate. Too intimate for a pair of friends. You’re so tired but you want more. Everything.

“Take this off, please,” you ball the white fabric of his shirt into your tiny fists, mimicking his words from earlier. “Let me see those pretty tits.”

He quirks a brow at you, standing up straight and pulling his shirt off by the collar. It’s discarded onto the floor, with all the other useless, bothersome items.

His tits are pretty. Chest flushed red from exertion, nipples spiked and tiny. His body is fit, but not overly muscular. Lean and toned. Just what you like.

You snake your legs around his cinched waist, constricting his pelvis flush against yours. 

“Is it my turn now?” He says, loving your sudden burst of confidence. His jaw goes slack when you start grinding on his clothed cock. There’s a slick spot where your bodies meet, heather gray turning dark as the fabric dampens. Jungkook lets you play with him for a bit, rutting against you until he physically cannot stand it anymore. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone so bad.”

“Then do it,” you whimper, growing impatient. He sighs, hand coming down to fiddle with the sweater underneath you. You crane your neck, watching curiously as he pulls a square packet out of the pocket. 

There’s a sharp pain in your chest when you see it. “Did you plan on us hooking up?”

“Maybe,” he contends playfully. All the amusement in his face disappears when he flicks his bangs back and sees yours. Hurt and disappointed. “I always keep condoms on me, you know that,” he explains, voice soft and wary. 

It makes sense. He was sexually active. Very much so.

That scares you. You could possibly be just another girl he’s sexually active with. A last ditch effort to get laid because the first option bailed. The puzzle pieces start coming together.

You look him in the eyes. His pupils are brown again. They look pleading, concerned for your wellbeing. Afraid they’ve tarnished something so delicate. You can’t tell if it’s just your delusions, post-orgasm bliss. All you know is you never want him to stop looking at you the way he is right now.

“Can I put it on?” You ask, pointing at the condom in his hand, desperate to break the tension.

“I- sure,” he retorts, exhaling deeply like he was holding his breath, relieved. He gives it to you, using his other hand to pull his pants by the waistband, stopping mid-thigh. Too rushed and eager to take them off completely. 

He didn’t have underwear on either.

You squint, trying to read the white font on the packet. Large.

You glance up, eyes bulging out of your skull when they land on his cock. It’s big. So aroused that it points straight up, resting on his abdomen. The tip is bright pink, standing out against the background of his smooth milky pelvis. It’s shiny with precum, a little bead sitting right at the slight. Your gaze trails up the veiny underside, following the acute upward curve. You gulp.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, jittery hands tearing open the foil packet. You cautiously wrap your hand around the shaft. It’s so firm. Rock solid and touch starved. It jumps in your palm as you slip the sticky rubber down, making sure to stroke him along the way. “Big, thas’ all.”

He nods, the corner of his lips pulling up in a smirk. He can tell your words are equally as worried as they are complimentative, though. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises, holding on to your ankle to lift your leg, kissing it through your white sock. Gaze locked on you, making sure you’re watching and that you know he can be soft with you.

He bends both of your knees up to your chest, tapping your outer thigh, indicating he wants you to hold them again. Tattooed knuckles wrap around the base of his cock, laying it flat against your pelvis. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath when he sees the tip reaches just below your belly button, knowing exactly what to envision when he’s inside you. His cock so deep it’s in your stomach.

He smacks the shaft between your folds. Filthy, wet slapping noises overpower your coos and purrs. The tip tickles your entrance, rubbing up and down your folds, before he brings it to your abused clit again, flicking it up and down like a light switch. Watching your face intently to gauge your reaction, looking for any prick of discomfort. 

“Put it in,” you frown, growing impatient.

“So needy,” Jungkook teases, gripping his cock right under the crown and pushing in. Only the tip. He uses his fingers as a buffer, trying not to give too much too fast. Pulling back agonizingly slow and then diving back in, giving you a little bit more length this time. It was only an inch or so, but the stretch burned. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill.

He repeats this process, working you open little by little until he’s buried to the hilt. He lets out a pained grunt, overwhelmed by the way your warm wet walls just suffocate him. “Fuck, tightest pussy ever.”

You clench your eyes shut, trying to ease the feeling of getting impaled. Jungkook is so big. The veins that run along his shaft, the thickness, the curve. He leans down and pecks your nose sweetly. His thumb, rubbing tight circles against your clit, provides a decent distraction. You focus on the pleasure instead of the pain.

“Feel okay, Bambi?” He coos, feeling you relax under him. “Can I move?”

With furrowed brows, he pulls out a few inches before thrusting back in slowly. Heavy eyes glued on the way your lips petal around him when he gives you more. The way they resist when takes his cock away. “Good girl,” he praises, voice raspy as he tries his best to maintain a slow, shallow pace. “You take it so well.”

Any pang of discomfort is gone. He prepped you so well that there’s no friction, just seamless glides in and out of your leaking cunt. The upturned tip of his cock tickles that sweet spot in you. You moan, digging your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, arching your back for more.

Jungkook sees your body language. He knows what to do in this situation. One of the most useful sex tips he’s ever learned. He leans forward, pressing his chest against yours, swollen lips latching onto your neck. They suck a sore spot that his tongue quickly soothes over. “Hold on to me,” he commands, wet pout smushed to your skin. 

You let go of your thighs, leaving little crescent indents on the surface, and throw your arms around his shoulders. Hooking your knees into the bend of his elbows, Jungkook hoists you up effortlessly, supporting your weight with his large palms on your ass. The change in position spreads you even further, slides him in even deeper.

“Mmm, f-,” you moan, words cut short when he starts bouncing you up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Mmm, I knew it,” he chuckles sadistically, right into your ear. “I knew you were just waiting to be ruined. So fucking high-strung and- fuck!” He can feel your arousal dripping down to his balls. “Controlling.”

Arguing is pointless. You swear he's in your head, the tip of his cock scrambling your brain around so that you can’t even think straight. All you can think about is him.

You cling to him, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he lifts you in the air. Letting him have his way with you. You’re never felt more alive. 

‘Orgasms are the pinnacle of the human experience,’ you recall Jungkook telling you one day at the library. At the time, you rolled your eyes. Now, you know exactly what he meant. 

“You just needed some dick, huh? My dick?” You nod, drooling against his skin. “Doesn’t it feel good to let go?” All you can get out is a little moan.

A glint flickers in the corner of your eye. Mina’s mirror. It’s leaning against the wall right in front of you. You can see the expanse of his back. The taut skin on his shoulder blades. Biceps bulging as he moves you. His pants slid down to his knees, so you can see his cute butt dimpling when he thrusts up. Muscles working to make you cum.

“Okay,” he huffs, more to himself than you. Your pussy was so good that it derailed his original plan. Jungkook tosses you up a little, getting a more secure hold as he wraps an arm around your waist. The motion makes his cock slip out, the loss of contact makes you whine.

His free hand tosses his soiled hoodie out of the way. You cringe, making a mental note to mop tomorrow morning.

He places one of your fancy, cooling-gel pillows on the edge of the bed, laying you down on top of it. Your hips are elevated, tilted upwards. Giving him a clear view of your glowy core. He catches a glimpse of the only place he hasn’t destroyed.

“What about this?” He coos, pressing the pad of his thumb right against your clenching hole.

You squeak, shaking your head. Baby steps.

“Alright,” he chuckles, hand retreating promptly. “Maybe next time.”

He wants to do this again. Your heart flutters.

You watch as he guides himself back in, stuffing you to the brim in one swift motion. Much less cautious than earlier. His cock hits your g-spot perfectly. The pillow and his curve doing wonders. Your eyes roll back as your head hits the bed. “Like that, right?” He laughs, snapping into you. 

“Yeah, Jungkook,” you moan out, gripping your ankles and bringing them up by your head, just how he likes. “Don’t stop.”

He could’ve busted right then and there. 

“Fuck, keep saying my name,” he groans, eyes glancing up to your perky tits, jiggling freely with every snap of his hips. His pupils sneak down further, watching his cock plow into your tight, wet cunt, leaving it dewy.

You call his name like a metronome, ‘Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook’. Voice airy, following the rhythm of his hips. It makes him move harder and faster, feeling that familiar pooling at the base of his shaft.

Just like everything about him, his strokes are fluid. His hips aren’t locked and stiff. They move in a dip and roll that makes your toes curl. His pelvis mushes against your clit when he thrusts all the way in, balls smacking against the curve of your ass. It feels delicious. Your third orgasm of the night is approaching fast.

“You cumming, Bambi?” He hums, already recognizing the way your thick brows pull together when you're close. The way your hips rut a little, naturally guiding you to your orgasm.

“Mhm, make me cum Jungkook,” you mewl.

He hovers over you, placing his hands on top of yours, bending your legs back farther. Taking long, violent plunges into you. So close to a piledriver. He’s basically fucking you into the mattress, bed frame cracking against the wall beside it. One of your vine garlands falls down, but you’re so close you can’t even bring yourself to care. 

Your climaxes blend together. You first, clenching and unclenching around his length. Moans coming out sporadic and your shoulders off the bed. Legs trembling in his hands.

His orgasm is stunning. 

“Ah- fuck. I’m cumming,” he croaks through snarled teeth, head dropping to watch where you connect. Something he does often, you notice. He doesn’t stop, even after he spills into the condom, fucking you until he’s completely drained. You whimper, sensitive from the overstimulation. 

“Damn,” Jungkook huffs out a laugh, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You fist the wavy strands at the back of his head, a little damp. 

“Thank you,” you speak shyly.

“I know you’re new to this,” he lifts up and looks at you quizzically, amusement tickling his features, “But that’s kinda a weird thing to say after someone fucks you.”

You laugh with him, eyes darting over his face. He has a small scar on his cheek, something you’ve never noticed before. 

“No, I just mean-” you cringe when he pulls out of you, feeling empty. “You’re the only guy who’s ever… I don’t know. You’re just different.”

He smiles with twinkling eyes, tying a knot at the end of the condom and tossing it into the pink trash can beside your nightstand. “You’re different, too,” he mirrors, plopping down onto the bed next to you. “Special.”

Special.

You sigh into his lips when he gives you a soft peck, thumb brushing against the newfound mark of his face. “I’m sorry that I made you do all the work.”

“Nah, don’t worry. Making you feel good makes me feel good.” His words are sweet but there’s a naughty glint in his eyes. “Besides, you can think of this as a practice round.”

“Practice round?”

He hums in conformation, tapping your ass lightly, making it ripple against his hand. “Alright, go take a leak before you get a UTI.” He laughs when you push his shoulder. The same old blunt, shameless Jungkook.

He stops you before you disappear into the bathroom. “I hope this won’t make things awkward between us. Like, we’re still friends, right?”

Friends.

It takes all of your strength to give him a nod. You ponder over his words as you clean up in the bathroom. Why did you feel so... conflicted? You’re so happy, but you’re also kinda sad. It’s like your mood solely depends on Jungkook. His words have the power to pull you in whatever direction he pleases. You stare at yourself in the mirror.

All these emotions must mean you have a crush on him.

You sigh, flicking off the light and then heading back into your room.

Jungkook is hunkered down in your sea of pillows, soft snores leaving his parted lips. Chest rising and falling steadily. Hair messy, fanned around him.

He looks so beautiful and peaceful.

You tilt your head at the sight. He always told you that he never spends the night after a hookup.

The blanket is only covering his pelvis, strong legs poking out from underneath. His sweats are still on his ankles. You giggle, attempting to slide them off without waking him.

“Bambi,” he mutters sleepily, opening his big arms. “C’mere.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. You shuffle into bed, throwing the covers over both of your bare bodies. 

He wraps his arms around you, pecking your forehead before drifting back into slumber.

Fuck.

What have you gotten yourself into?

© chryblossomjjk 2022 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[yeyinde]

in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm." 

(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)

part ii

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery

notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks. 

(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)

*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.

  It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another. 

Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival. 

It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges. 

He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to. 

So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin. 

Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:

Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass. 

Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!  

Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.

A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.

He does that, doesn't he? 

When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke. 

(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.) 

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.

It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still. 

You, uh, don't have to let me. 

His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs. 

S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much. 

You demure.

You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own. 

The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper. 

They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison. 

You don't shy away from anyone. 

Except him. 

Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight. 

Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands. 

You both love and hate these moments. 

When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner. 

Ghost, always Ghost.

His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think. 

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch. 

(You blame it on testosterone.)

One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between. 

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 

"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm." 

The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen? 

You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast. 

It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using. 

It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one. 

Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into? 

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone. 

Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –

"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –

The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–

"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear. 

You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–

"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back." 

You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.

"And everyone else – get off the main channel." 

    Nervous would be an understatement. 

It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots. 

There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior. 

Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.

You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough. 

"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch. 

"Yeah," you agree. 

No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance. 

"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before." 

You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut. 

Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–

Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face. 

You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you – 

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin. 

Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–

"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse. 

Beside you, Soap huffs. 

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

    Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak. 

You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory. 

Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling. 

The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree. 

Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim. 

Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.

But now you wish you had.

The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot. 

You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits. 

On paper, anyway. 

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm. 

You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate. 

You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient. 

Ghost never asked that of you. 

He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face. 

"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving. 

All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum. 

Worthless. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier? 

Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier. 

You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything. 

His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk. 

Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out. 

"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team." 

The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break. 

You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots. 

And Ghost, too.

The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot. 

Up there, soldier.  

He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have. 

And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance. 

Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea. 

It's better this way, then. 

    The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position. 

Right. 

You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end. 

    You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched. 

"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder. 

You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type. 

But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask. 

"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical. 

"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have? 

"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"

You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong. 

It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture. 

"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"

"It's gettin' cold, now." 

Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is – 

Not good. 

Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat. 

"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.

"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"

His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"

And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter. 

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?" 

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible. 

"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."

If you want it. 

He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again. 

If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off? 

And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.

But could you just walk away from this? 

You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own. 

Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need. 

The choice is pretty obvious.

Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons. 

For once, your eyes never leave his. 

For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away. 

His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves. 

His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat. 

"Christ, Princess." 

You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about." 

His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then." 

"Is that an order?" 

"Affirmative, soldier."

With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound. 

"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you. 

The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you. 

They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply. 

His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want – 

His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges. 

"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you." 

You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved. 

"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold. 

"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs. 

His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt." 

Fuck–

Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs. 

"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?" 

"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him. 

He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh. 

"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?" 

You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole. 

Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you. 

He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves. 

One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid. 

He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you. 

You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head. 

"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering. 

It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue. 

You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out. 

You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer. 

He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.

His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him. 

There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart. 

Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips. 

It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue. 

You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit. 

You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you. 

Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too. 

"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt. 

"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.  

You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth. 

Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt. 

"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"

You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck – 

"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering. 

Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth. 

His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice. 

When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in. 

His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it. 

Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.

"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent. 

His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes. 

When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit. 

Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –

Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over. 

He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –

Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.

It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you. 

You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"

"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."

You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer. 

It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back. 

The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core. 

And his groans. 

God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years. 

It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole. 

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"

His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –

His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos. 

It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt. 

His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out. 

His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit. 

Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.

The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you. 

The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again. 

His mouth hasn't stopped. 

He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls. 

You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much. 

"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. 

His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more. 

It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs. 

He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough. 

You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause. 

Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band. 

He's touching himself. 

To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face. 

Fuck. Fuck –

You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears. 

He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist. 

"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"

He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him. 

He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants. 

He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly. 

But he doesn't. 

His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone. 

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot. 

The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more. 

It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach. 

You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts. 

He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him. 

Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.  

A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked. 

    He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum. 

You hate how enticing he looks.

You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth. 

The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough. 

He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care. 

You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day. 

He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours. 

There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back. 

Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified. 

It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them. 

But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir. 

He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need. 

It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him. 

You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles. 

"Y'alright?"

Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"

"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight. 

You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on. 

"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery. 

"Yeah?" 

He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –

Well. 

It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it. 

But it was there. You saw it in passing. 

His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant. 

"We move out tomorrow." 

You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless. 

Right. 

Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers. 

When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back. 

"Roger that, Lieutenant." 

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless. 

(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.) 

    A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful. 

You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet. 

You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning. 

It's a dance. 

The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. 

Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost. 

The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too. 

When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again. 

They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with. 

Sometimes, they mock you. 

Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut. 

"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"

And with that, it's over. Done. 

The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals. 

When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day. 

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty." 

"Roger." 

Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates. 

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression. 

"Alright, bonnie?"

The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time. 

A picture of what you do, what you are. 

Your head lists to the side. "I think so." 

His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms. 

"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate. 

"What?" 

"Before, you know… with Ghost." 

The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?" 

"Curious, is all."

There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense. 

In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting. 

You suck in a breath at the thought. 

It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–

You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.

Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed. 

But you catch it. 

"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission." 

Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage. 

Your breath shudders out of you. 

Mission, you think–

"Better know what you're gettin' into."

You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."  

    He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window. 

He never looks up. Never moves. 

You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family. 

It's an earned break. Deserved. 

You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag. 

Now, it's just another city on the list of many. 

His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight. 

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you. 

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close. 

Your fingers ache to find out. 

"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there. 

You have one, too. 

The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips. 

His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years. 

You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too. 

"Is this seat taken?" 

[burntb4bydoll]

I was asked to write more of the princess treatment headcannons, but this time im gonna do them separately and as dating headcannons instead of platonic :)

Tokio hotel giving you the princess treatment (p2)

Bill Kaulitz

•ok I need to start off by saying THIS IS MY FAVORITE PICTURE OF BILL TO EVER EXIST WORDS CAN NOT DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL ABOUT IT

•anyways…

•he totally loves to take shower’s with you, and he will wash your hair for you. He will just stand in front of you and massage your head for so long. ALSO LETS YOU STAND UNDER THE WATER SO THAT YOU DONT GET COLD??? I LOVE THAT IDEA SM

•he lets you pick whatever you want to watch every time you watch a movie or show together.

• orders your food and drinks for you even if you aren’t too shy to do it yourself, he insists that he should do it

•lets you practice makeup/nails/hair on him if you are ever unsure about what you want

•he sits in bed with you every night and just rubs your back or pats your butt lightly till you fall asleep (pls tell me u know what I’m talking about when i say he pats your butt im so bad at describing thing help)

Tom Kaulitz

•he lets you do whatever you want

•like, if you ever want to wear his clothes he gives them to you. If you want whatever snack hes eating, well its yours now!

•he loves to buy you things

•he buys you flowers, jewelry, candy, your favorite drink, LITERALLY ANYTHING THAT YOU LIKE HE WILL BUY

•likes to do your skincare shit with you, he’ll even wear those ridiculous looking face masks

•calls you “his girl” or “his princess”🤭🤭

•he is so devoted to you, no other girl would matter to him

Georg Listing

•he carries all of your shit for you, he’ll be caught walking around with so many shopping bags and your drink in his hand

•he refuses to let you carry them tho, so dont try

•LITERALLY PICKS YOU UP TO CARRY YOU IF THERES A PUDDLE?? SO THAT YOU DONT HAVE TO GET YOUR FEET WET??

•loves to be your personal clothing rack when you go shopping, he sits there while you try on clothes and holds all of the ones you decide to buy

•if you fall asleep on accident, he’ll wipe your makeup off for you and carry you to your bed:((

•HE HAND PICKS FLOWERS FOR YOU WHENEVER HE SEES THEM OUTSIDE OMFG😩

Gustav Schafer

•bruh hes so whipped

•would let you get away with murder tbh

•he’ll go out of his way to make you your favorite meals, he’ll drive hours to find the ingredients if he has to

•plays with your hair and listens intently whenever you’re ranting to him

•he’ll let you dress him in whatever you pick out from his closet

•buys matching clothes with you so that everyone knows he only has eyes for you🥰

•HE WOULD BE SO SWEET IF YOU WERE SAD

•he’ll turn on your favorite movie and buy all of your favorite snacks. He lets you cry into him and he just rubs your sides and kisses your head until you calm down. Then he’ll sit there and cuddle you until you fall asleep

[barefoothighlander]

absolution - prologue

-simon 'ghost' riley x wife!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of scars, fluff

-word count: 1.4k

-summary: you're a sniper and reconnaissance specialist in the military, secretly married to Simon, as the knowledge of your relationship would compromise both your posts. One night he comes home from a mission and you tell him that Price wants you on the team for an upcoming 141 mission.

next chapter fic masterlist

a/n: this is the first time I've written any sort of fic so pls bear with me, there will be smut eventually, I haven't mapped everything out so don't worry there will be spice. also, I'm not super advanced when it comes to mw lore, aside from the events that occur in the new mw2, but I really love this character and I hope I do him some justice. I'm gonna make a part two, maybe multiple chapters but I'm not sure so pls let me know if you'd read more. :)

this fic was inspired by 'The Captain' by @/as-is-above-so-below which is really phenomenal, so please read that if you get the chance.

It was late in the night when you heard the door open, usually you were a heavy sleeper, but you could always sense when Simon came home. He had been gone for six months on his last mission, somewhere in south america was all he could say about it, before packing up and taking off to leave you alone in your shared flat once again. A mutual understanding had been made during the beginning of your relationship, both of you were military personnel, and you understood that it came with perks, months off spent together, but it also came with its downsides, being separated for months at a time, never knowing what condition the other was in, and living in a constant state of worry about your partner. When Simon proposed, he promised to always come home to you, to never leave you alone like everyone else did, and you believed him, trusted him, and he never broke his promise. His footsteps were light when he came into the bedroom, still wearing his mask, but donning his less formal jeans and black sweatshirt, you caught him lingering in the doorway as you moved to flick on the light next to the bed, casting a dark shadow behind your husband. As soon as your eyes met he lifted his arms to pull his mask off, no longer the ghost, but now standing as the man you so loved. A faint smile crept up on your face as you awakened fully, happy to see him in one piece after being away for so long. You urged him over to the bed with a nudge of your head and he so happily obliged you, kneeling down beside your frame to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips, a deep kiss filled with longing. 

“Hello” you smirked and glanced forward through your eyelashes as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Hi lovie” he responded in almost a whisper.

“What time is it?” “late, go back to sleep, ill be here in a minute” he said, as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek and left your side. You watched him cross the room into the bathroom, and close the door almost fully, you two never closed doors fully when you were home together, a sort of unspoken law that allowed you to never be separated. As you heard the shower turn on you sighed to yourself and fell back against the pillows, turning off the bedside lamp. Minutes passed before you heard the shower turn off, waiting for Simon to emerge from the steam-filled room. Once he did, he quickly crossed to the closet to find suitable clothes to sleep in. Entering wearing a simple pair of sweatpants, rare considering he typically wore nothing to bed as the man was like a personal space heater, constantly burning to the touch. He settles himself next to you under the covers and turned to his side so he could pull you close. Resting his face inches from yours, looking at you like he was trying to memorize your face as if he could ever forget it. 

“Did you buy more pillows while I was gone?” he asked whilst fussing with the various adornments you have thrown onto the bed. You smirked to yourself, “Yes, but only ‘cause I was trying to make the bed comfier” “The bed is comfy” he replied matter-of-factly. 

“Not when you aren't here,” you said as you snuggled close to him, tucking your head under his chin and settling your arm over his waist to allow it to wander over the expanse of his back, feeling over his scars, old and new, silently cursing yourself that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from getting hurt.

“Knife” Simon breathes out. You respond by simply tilting your head and quirking an eyebrow at him. “ ‘sfrom a knife, this cartel was big into watching people bleed”. A meek oh was all you could manage, as you thought about him hurt in the field, a literal knife in his back as he tried to survive. “I’m alright lovie, nothing I haven’t been through before.” He was always this way when it came to his wounds, paying no attention to them after the fact, simply regarding them as an addition to the collection of marks that littered his body. You hated thinking of him hurt, but in an odd way, you regarded the scars kindly.

“You think they’re ugly?” He asks while resting his lips on the crown of your head. “No,” you respond without much thought. He tilts your head to meet your eyes, urging you to explain. “They’re reminders..” you say while looking into his dark eyes. “They prove how hard you fight to come back to me.. I could never find them ugly”. He gives you a simple hmm in response before he arched his neck down to place a kiss on your lips.

“How was it, while I was away?” Simon liked to start conversations later in the night as it meant less time trying to force his body asleep, thankfully you were still awake, which meant he could talk to you rather than staring blankly at a wall or tossing and turning for hours in the hopes of maybe getting a few hours of peaceful sleep.

“Boring” you respond “Went to work, filled out paperwork, trained some new recruits, and practiced grappling” “So nothing interesting happened” he asked. “Well, one thing” you respond moving yourself to look at him. “Price called me” you state, waiting for any change in his face to dictate whether or not you should continue your sentence, he remained stoic. “He wants me for a mission with the 141,” you say. “No” is all Simon responds.

“You don’t even know what it is yet”

“No, you know what kind of missions we get, you’ve seen the paperwork. I don’t want you in any position that could risk your safety”

“Si, every mission risks my safety this wouldn’t be any different”

“Except I would be there, that makes this dangerous”

“How?”

“I can’t do my job if I’m constantly worrying about you, where you are, how you are. It would compromise me”

“Well, what do I tell Price? He doesn’t know we’re married, I can’t just explain to him that my husband doesn’t want me in the field with him, he’ll need a solid reason, and I don’t have one”

“I’ll tell him” Simon grunts.

“You’ll tell him what? That we’re married? You’ll give up that information just because you don’t want to risk me potentially getting hurt, that's bullshit and you know it” you argue as to begin to sit up in the bed, feeling yourself getting angrier at the idea of your husband not trusting your abilities in the field. “It’s not like I would be in the middle of the action, my position is a sniper and reconnaissance, I’ll sit on some rooftop for hours waiting for all of you to clear the way before I even think about pulling the trigger.”

“And what if something goes wrong, what if one of us is compromised? What then?”

“Then we deal with it! Like we always have, we’re a team Simon, I don’t expect your full support on this but I expect a little trust in my capabilities, I have never stopped you from going on a mission just because I thought it was unsafe, I have always trusted you. Please, do the same for me.” You beg as tears begin to prick your eyes.

He stares at you for what feels like minutes as you will him to talk. “Okay”, he says finally. “You’ll come, but this, us, stays a secret. I can’t have the enemies knowing I have any sort of weakness” 

“I’m a weakness,” you ask.

“Yes, you’re a weakness. Because I don’t know what I would do if you ever got hurt. They can use you against me. I won’t let you be a pawn”

You reach your hand up to hold his cheek as you lay a soft kiss on his lips. “Okay” you whisper as you curl yourself into him, finding comfort in his warmth, as his heartbeat slowly lulls you to sleep.

Simon stayed awake, listening to your soft breathing, feeling your chest rise and fall with every breath. Holding on to you like if he even loosened his grip you would fall out. He lay awake thinking of all of the ways he would cuss out his Captain, all the ways he could try to get you taken off the mission, tormenting himself over all the possible outcomes of you joining him in the field, until eventually, his eyelids became too heavy, and he joined you in sleep.

[l0v3tast3]

AHH Hello!!! I absolutely love your writing, it’s so good!!!!

I was wondering…

Y/n always wear a mask to conceal her identity, in hopes the 141 doesn’t find out that Makarov is her father!!

141 had captured Makarov for interrogation, and y/n is there. As the interrogation continues, they start to notice that y/n and Makarov know each other, by the subtle little informality they spoke to one another. And the truth starts to come out, little by little!!!!

✎ tysm i love you :(( i absolutely love this idea the angst potential is just *chef's kiss* i'm sorry this one took like over a month to make oops, also i tried to keep personal details abt the reader as vague as possible, pls let me know if there's something i can fix!!

✎ tags: female reader, military reader, major daddy issues, violence, mentions of blood, hurt/barely any comfort if at all, not proofread im too cool for that,

✎ word count: 2,704

the silence in the cold, gray interrogation room was so thick that you were choking on it. you knew you had just fucked up, badly.

you had done so well so far, too. you're fabricated identity had fooled everyone. the name you had chosen stuck, and no one ever noticed your old one threatening to jump from your mouth when you introduced yourself. you always kept the childhood memories and little anecdotes vague. you stuck to your rehearsed lines better than a world-famous actor. you did every single thing right.

and now, here he was, your own blood, fucking it all up for you, again.

technically, he had made you fuck it up for yourself. it was just how makarov worked; he was a spider weaving a web in the corner, watching, waiting. this man, your supposed father, didn't know anything real about you. he didn't know you as a father should know his daughter. but he knew which buttons to press.

he only knew what to say to you when it would allow him the opportunity of watching you fall a little deeper towards rock bottom.

you knew that the room had cameras covering every square inch, and the microphones ensured that you're accidental admission to your heritage was heard by your entire task force.

there was a red hot pit opening inside of you, caving your insides in like a black hole and threatening to consume your entire being. it was rage, you realized. something you only ever seemed to feel in the presence of one person.

you briefly considered killing him, right there and then. was this really the straw that broke your back? it truly was just another thing to add to the list. you had known he would do this.

no, you were angry at yourself.

on the other side of the door, the four men of the 141 task force were all stood still in shock. what the hell did you just say?

none of them wanted to believe it. they especially didn't want to admit that it made sense. you had done a fucking fantastic job of hiding it, they'll admit that, but even you couldn't hide everything.

price saw the way you tensed when you were passed laswell's photo of makarov in the bar, after you had all put an end to hassan's plan. he saw the way you dropped it and slid it to the next person quickly, as if touching the picture had burned your fingertips.

soap had asked you if you were okay more than once during the plane ride to russia. you were so restless, so different from your usual grounded self. you just said you were having some flying anxiety. he felt stupid now for writing it off so easily.

and kyle, the first one to trust you (and to even really talk to you), he had seen the anger sparking off of you while you shot your way through the tower to get to makarov. floor after floor, bullet after bullet, you had paved a path of blood through the mercenaries. he wondered if someone else had taken your mask and gear and was pretending to be you.

simon saw the fear in you when you all got to the last door. you had been so quick in your endeavor to get here, but he saw you hesitate to follow them in. he saw how you never took your wide eyes off of him, and how you stayed a few steps back, moving far out of the way when price began to escort him out in handcuffs.

and when they had asked you to go into the interrogation room, they all saw how you stopped breathing, and the sweat collecting on what little skin they could see above your mask. you had stuttered when you quietly agreed.

when you stepped into the room, makarov took one look at your eyes, and you knew he recognized you. no, he recognized the hatred. and it made him smile.

now, sitting in the cold metal chair, you realized that it wasn't just one mistake, but a series of them; you had let him unravel you, again. you understood, finally, that he saw you as he did everyone else. he saw you as someone that held him back.

part of you had always known, ever since you were young, still single-digits, and he would only visit you once every few months, if that. you had elected to ignore it. now you couldn't.

you couldn't move. behind you was the door that would lead you to the consequences of your actions. in front of you was the reason for those actions.

this is what you had wanted, wasn't it? it was like something snapped back into place, and you suddenly remembered that everything you had done up until now, every time you put the mask on before leaving your room, every lie you had told and every person you had killed had been to get you here. in front of your father. you remembered that the image of him with a bullet between his eyes was what kept you going.

if you killed him, would it finally absolve you? the gun on your hip felt twenty pounds heavier now. your fingers, folded together in your lap with a white-knuckle grip, felt like lead. would this sin make all the other wrongs right?

a tiny voice was telling you to just walk away, let the team's wrath come down on you and let them deal with makarov, but you had already thrown the table between you towards the wall, he was already on the ground with your hands wrapped around his throat.

you were yelling, no, screaming at him. all the compacted feelings from years and years of being as quiet as possible came up like vomit, spewing out in a mess that could never be cleaned up.

there were more than just makarov's hands on you, pushing and pulling you away from him and dragging you out of the room, kicking and screeching to let you just finally kill him, while two other blurry shapes hauled him back into his own chair.

the heavy metal door shut behind the two people practically carrying you, and they finally let you go. you stumbled a few steps away, whirling around for the next target of your fury.

your captain and lieutenant were standing in front of you, both tensed, waiting for you to do something. you couldn't exactly make out their faces- were you crying?

"what in the bloody hell just happened in there?" price snarled. it was the voice he used when he was face to face with his enemy.

"let me back in there." it was a demand. you needed to kill him.

"that's not gonna happen," simon barked. john and kyle had come out from the interrogation room to stand behind the other two men. "you need to explain, now."

they all stared at you with varying looks of anger and hurt. it wasn't the first time you'd ever had it directed at you, but this was somehow worse than all the others.

every cell in your body was shrieking at you to just run for the door, to somehow get through all four of these men, your teammates, your friends, and kill makarov. but their glares glued you to your spot.

"please-" your voice was trembling, years of grief and agony dripping from every word, "please, just let me kill him. you have to let me kill him." you spoke slowly and quietly, focusing on just trying to get the words out. you took a shaky breath and focused your eyes on a muddy bootprint on the floor. you didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"you don't understand, you just- just let me back in there, please, i'll get whatever you need out of him, but he needs to die!" your voice was getting louder, and you briefly wondered if your father could hear you. "his men are probably already on their way here. don't you get it? if i don't kill him now, he will get out."

the men in front of you were more shocked now than anything at the change in your demeanor. you had been coined the "second ghost" throughout the units, partly for the mask, but also because of your detachment. you were kind, but you always held logic above emotion.

in front of them now was nothing short of a nervous wreck.

despite not moving, you were frantic. you were wringing your hands together, pressed tight against your stomach. your eyes darted from side to side, person to person, between them and the door to makarov.

price took a step forward and you took a step back. he was slow, bringing his hand up as if he were approaching a wild animal. if he was still angry, he was hiding it now.

"come on, kid, let's just get out of 'ere, eh? go somewhere away from him," he said lowly. the other three men watched tensely, not moving, but their hands still close to their guns. just in case.

"no, no- just let me- price, you need to let me back in there!" you were a broken record, you knew it, but there was nothing else to say, nothing else you could think about. this was what you had been waiting for, you were right where you had wanted to be for the past- how many years now? how long has he tormented you for now?

you could feel your father's presence in the next room like bugs crawling across your body. it made your head feel fuzzy and your hands shake. was it from rage or fear? you couldn't tell, so you chose the rage.

it was like bile stuck in your throat, all the pain makarov had caused you finally being unearthed. you wanted to throw it all up and spit it out onto him, lay your organs and hatred alike out on the table in front of him so he could see the decay. you wanted him to rot from the inside out like you had.

your eyes glanced at the door one last time before focusing on price. he was watching you, just a couple of steps in front of you now.

"let me back in there, john." it was a whisper, but still the steadiest thing you had spoken since they had dragged you out.

"no." he said your name quietly, and you heard it as the plea it was, but you're head decided it was done listening.

your body threw itself at him, swinging underneath his arms and onto his back to try and get him on the ground. the room exploded into yelling, and multiple pairs of hands were on you in an instant, hauling you off of price and forcing you face-down onto the ground with your hands behind your back.

cold metal latching around your wrists didn't stop your screaming and kicking, lashing out at the air around you. it didn't work well, because you were being hauled back to your feet and pushed into a separate interrogation room.

whoever was carrying you didn't bother with trying to attach your handcuffs to the table, basically throwing you in and slamming the door shut before you could get back on your feet.

outside the cell, the four men stood in silent shock. what was there to say, where would they even start? would they really be able to hear each other over your muffled screams to let you out?

you didn't know how long you had been in there once the door finally opens again, but you had stopped screaming and struggling to get out of the room. you had sat down at the table, your hands folded in front of you on the cold surface. you stared down at the blood beading and smearing around the handcuffs.

kyle squeezed in through the tiny amount he'd let the door open before he shut it quickly, keeping his eyes on you. you didn't look up, your red eyes staying fixed on one point even as he slowly moved closer. he followed them to see the red rings underneath the steel, and a pang of guilt squeezed his heart tight.

he sat down across from you, folding his hands in front of him on the table, mirroring you. you still hadn't looked up at him, or done anything to acknowledge his presence; you hadn't even moved.

"are you alright?" kyle implored. he kept his voice soft, bending over a little to try to look you in the eye.

it took you a few moments to respond; he almost started to think you didn't hear him before you opened your mouth slowly.

"is he dead?" you croaked.

kyle let out an audible sigh while he leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands up to drag them down his face.

"no, we still need him. you know that."

you didn't say anything after that.

after sitting in silence for two full minutes, he spoke up. "you realize not telling us about this makes you look really bad, yeah?"

"you don't trust me anymore?" you whispered it, like you didn't want him to hear and answer. you knew what he would say.

"you aren't making it very easy."

kyle wanted to trust you still. part of him was angry and confused as to why you had kept something like this from them. the other part, the bigger part of him, knew that you were on still on the same side of it all. and he knew the other three men felt the same, but they couldn't just dismiss this.

"we can work this out, ya' know. you just have to be honest with us," he added after you once again stayed silent.

"be honest?" you echoed. you finally looked up at him. "about what? you heard me. makarov is my father. i want him dead. that's all there is to say."

kyle took his turn to not speak, weighing your words, figuring out where to go from there.

"why didn't you tell us?" he finally asked.

you looked back down at your wrists. "if i had told you i was makarov's daughter before i joined the team, then all i would have ever been is makarov's daughter." you paused to take a deep, shaky breath. it was uncomfortable with your mask still on, wet with tears, but you refused to take it off, to give away the last piece of your identity that was still yours at the moment.

"it's something we should have known," he contended quickly. "we could have used the information you have-"

you cut him off, your eyes snapping back up to glare daggers at him. "you think i know anything more than you?" you barked. something between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat before you could continue. "i was eight years old the last time i saw him in person. i was raised by live-in nannies. he only visited, what, maybe twice a year? and i don't know why he even bothered, either."

your hands were clenched into tight fists, and the same sting that circled your wrists was appearing in your palms. you kept going though; you didn't know if you could stop now.

"every time i get somewhere, every time i start making a life for myself again, he fucks it all up. never showed his damn face, but it was him, it was always-" you finally cut yourself off, not wanting to drag more memories out from the dark.

"makarov may be my father, but i am not his daughter. i swear, kyle, i fucking swear it." you were pleading with him to believe you now. you needed them to understand.

you could see it in the way his eyebrows creased that he wanted to take your words as the truth. but he didn't say anything (what could he have said?).

the door opened once again, and price half-entered the room to wave kyle back out. he avoided your gaze, something he'd never done before. then you were alone again.

[dokoni-mo]

Crave: Part Three || William Afton x GN! Reader

summary: Your first time with him.

NSFW // smut

word count: 8,088

warnings: age gap relationship (reader is 20 while William is pushing 40), allusions to mental illness, allusions to dysfunctional parent-child relationships, talks of divorce and custody battles, smoking, will is a bit delusional, will has scars, corruption kink, usage of pet names, Will is a bit of a creep, obsessive behavior like REALLY obsessive, and possessive, sensual touching, swearing, Michael is briefly in this too, kissing, brief and faint sir kink, breeding kink, aftercare, also yandere vibes for a very little tiny bit, praise, body worship, fingering, virginity loss, premature ejaculation, dom/sub undertones, general smut lol

minors dni // please read warnings!!

a/n: omg omg my first fic back!! I had to polish off the rust (esp with writing smut) but i got so many requests for part three of this I just had to!! anyways I hope yall enjoy!! Ive tagged a few people whom I thought would like to read this, but if you'd like me to not tag you pls let me know! enjoy! (also just a little disclaimer, i do NOT condone this type of relationship irl!! this is just my take on being with Willy)

part one // part two // part four

~~

William could remember the first time he ever laid eyes on you. He remembered it as plain as day and recounted it often.

In fact, it was probably one of the most solidified memories in his mind. Even more so than the birth of his children, or even the day he married his ex-wife. He could recall every single little detail; what clothes you and him wore, what you smelled like that day, how you styled your hair. Every last little bit, he remembered. The first meeting is always important, yes. But this one was much more important to William. In a way in which he doubted anyone but you would understand.

For it was the first time in nearly all his life that William wasn't faking.

From very early on, William knew he wasn't normal. Or, at the very least, what everyone else deemed as normal. Even as a boy, William was hard to excite, or even get some sort of reaction out of. Toys, games, new friends, holidays; none of it was ever appealing to him. He found it all boring. It caused his mother great worry too. William could see the way she looked at him. Even as a boy, he knew what that look meant.

Perhaps that's why he began to lash out in his early years. That's why he was labeled a "problem child".

William had thought that if conventional means of joy and excitement couldn't elicit a response out of him, perhaps other means would. Lying, cheating, getting into trouble. It had some effect, he had to admit. The thrill of it all. He had gotten pretty good at not being caught, too. But, of course he would slip up some times. That's when the trouble arose. William was emotive, at last, sure. But no one liked it. At least, no one liked how it came about. His mother often scolded him. Teachers too. And, if William had a father that gave two shits, he was sure he would've received punishment from the man as well.

It was confusing. Terribly, terribly confusing. Couldn't he finally be happy doing what he loved? That's all his mother wanted, wasn't it? What everyone else wanted, too? For William to find himself, and be emotive?

Then why were they mad at him. Every. Single. Time.

It was frustrating. And, the more frustrated William grew, the more he acted out.

It was a balancing match made in hell. And William grew tired of it all. William accepted that in order for him to have peace, he must comply. Mr. Afton would have to wear a mask of his own face, and be what everyone wanted him to be.

Charming. Handsome. Intelligent. Charismatic. Great husband. Better father. Businessman. Inventor. Successful. Approachable.

William played these charades for nearly 40 years now. Enough to where the lines on his face grew deeper, and the roots of his hair turned grey. He played it through the unpleasant surprise that was his eldest, Michael. Then again at his wedding to that bitch Clara. Again though Elizabeth and Evan's births. Then continued after the divorce. And on through the custody battle. And on and on all the way to now.

Every. Single. Day. For 40 years.

William was tired of it but found no avenue to stop. If he dropped the act now, he couldn't even imagine the headache that would be the fallout of it all.

He had to keep it up. He had to. This was the life he made for himself. He made his bed long ago, and now he had to sleep in it. William was in a prison of his own making. That no one even knew was constructed. He hated that he got Michael out of all of his kids. He hated his business. He hated his neighbors. He hated his friends that weren't Henry. He hated his fancy house, expensive car, and clothes.

This life was his fate, and how unfortunate he was.

Or so he thought.

He didn't want to pay for Michael's college. William would never admit it out loud, but he thought that boy trying to make something of himself other than a minimum-wage employee was a joke. That's why he forced Michael to pay his own way. In reality, he told Michael it was to "make him more of a man", but William knew his son saw right through it. Michael could be smart, sometimes.

Sometimes.

Because Michael was, in fact, a minimum-wage employee at his father's diner, the young man couldn't afford much else than the local community college. Not that that was a bad thing to the young man; Michael didn't care that much. William wouldn't have cared either way, but Michael's compliance made things easier. And, being around other people his age, Michael was out of the house more often. This meant less fights that William would have to deal with weekly. It was a win-win all around.

And, when Michael was home, he would often be accompanied by one or two of his friends. William didn't mind, as long as his house was kept tidy, and no one made too much noise. Any distraction that would take his idiot of a son away from him was welcome.

If William was around when Michael showed up with a friend, William was polite enough to them. A smile and a how are you, perhaps even a question or two. Just small talk, enough to keep up his façade of good dad, better person.

That was until, years into his university, Michael brought you over.

William was in his house that day, doing paperwork at the kitchen table with a cigarette pluming smoke in the ashtray nearby. The Diner was closed whilst the state was doing their bi-annual health inspection. While Mr. Afton preferred to keep himself occupied to his workshop in the basement, he thought that perhaps a change of scenery could do him some good. Smoking in the basement made it stuffy down there, anyway.

He would later be so, so grateful for this decision.

From the opposite end of the house, William heard Michael's keys in the door, twisting the lock to let the young man in. Listening a second longer, William could discern two sets of feet walking along the wooden lining of his foyer, along with two hushed whispers bantering amongst themselves.

Mr. Afton breathed a quiet sigh through his nose.

Great. Michael was home. And dragged some other runt along the way.

William knew that in order to reach Michael's room, his son and his friend would have to go upstairs. And, much to William's dismay, the entrance to the stairs was positioned in such a way that his son and his friend would have to go through the kitchen.

Great.

Hearing the footsteps grow closer and the whispers louder, Mr. Afton leaned back in his chair, tamping out his cigarette in the process. Grey eyes situated on the paperwork in front of him, William put on his well-rehearsed soft, friendly smile, waiting for his son to show himself.

Michael was the first to round the corner, the care-free smile slowly fading off the young man's face as he saw his father sitting in the kitchen. Sensing Michael's presence in the doorway, William looked up from his work and to his son, his fake smile growing to make up for the disgust he felt.

"Dad..." Michael groaned, "What are you doing here? I thought you had work today..."

William chuckled, "Michael, I told you this morning. Inspection, remember?"

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed, looking around the corner of the door and saying a few more hushed words. Whoever his son's friend was, they must be shy. William couldn't blame them too much. Mr. Afton was probably the most popular guy in town these days, with the amount of business the Diner had brought in.

Michael turned his attention back to his father, "I have a friend over. Is that alright? Or are you gonna throw another fit?"

William clenched his jaw, "Of course, of course, it's no trouble at all! Just keep it quiet upstairs, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes again, Michael said a few more words around the corner before making his way to the stairs. William had dropped his gaze for a moment to fill in a few of his signatures. When he sensed that his son's friend had finally shown themselves around the corner, William looked up to give them a friendly smile.

Oh, and there you were.

Adorable, precious, beautiful, darling you.

The world around him seemed to fade away when William laid his pale grey eyes on you for the first time. Instantly, he knew you were the single most breathtaking creature he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. You put his ex-wife to shame ten times over. A hundred times, even. All of his past flings as well. They were nothing compared to you.

You were a timid little thing. William could tell by the pink on your cheeks and your hands clasped in front of you. You had a small, soft little smile; your lips so perfectly round and plump. The way your hair had framed your face made you look as if you were hung in the Louvre itself. Your eyes were kind, looking at the older man with a warmth William didn't know possible. Genuine warmth, too.

The way you looked at him. The way you carried yourself. The way you smelled, even halfway across the room. The way you smiled. The way those clothes hugged you in all the right places. The way your body curved and bent...

William swallowed the saliva building up the back of his throat. Without noticing, his lips had begun to part, but he was quick to fix it with a smile.

You gave Mr. Afton a tiny little wave as you shuffled awkwardly towards the stairs behind his son, your voice barely above a peep.

"Hi, Mr. Afton." You had said, "Sorry to interrupt you..."

Shit. Your little voice saying his name like that. It matched you so well.

William's smile grew as he leaned forward in his chair, setting his paperwork to the side.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, love." He said in his thickly accented voice, "At least you're getting that one out of my hair for a while, yeah?"

William almost never made jokes at the expense of others. At least, not around everyone else. He kept his true feelings in his mind most of the time. He knew most folk wouldn't react too kindly to what he really thought of them. But you...

You didn't seem the type to need such filters. He could see it already. You were the type of person to tell it how it is, and not apologize for it. Just like how he wanted to be.

How interesting.

You let out a little giggle, covering your mouth with your hand. William could feel his jaw clench again. Why were you hiding yourself from him? He wanted to see your smile. Your laugh was so cute, surely your smile is too.

William felt himself still. William wanted to see it. Your smile. That was the first time he had ever wanted someone's smile. And the fact you laughed at his joke about his son...

"Yeah, well, it's not like I wanted to, but someone's gotta do it!" You responded with sarcasm, Michael's groan making you giggle to yourself again.

Without even having to force it, William felt a laugh bubble up from the bottom of his chest. He heard it reverberate off the walls of his shiny, sleek kitchen, and it surprised him greatly. Mr. Afton couldn't remember the last time he didn't have to force a laugh. Let alone a smile. All attempts from others just made him cringe on the inside.

Idiots.

Michael had dragged you up the stairs after your little joke, annoyed by the banter between you and his father. William's eyes were fixated on you as you disappeared from sight, watching as your cute little legs carried you up his staircase.

From your height compared to his kitchen counter, William could deduce that you were much shorter than him. If he had to guess, you'd probably only about come up to his shoulder. From the lingering smell in the air too, he could tell that you took good care of yourself. You were clean. Fresh. Supple. And, from the tiny bit of your personality he saw that afternoon, William already knew he liked you. In fact, it was from that moment on that William would think of you.

He encouraged Michael to bring over more friends in hopes that you'd come back. If you weren't in his house, William found himself wondering where you were. What you were up to. What your routine was. What he assumed to be an infatuation quickly grew. He begun to think of you more frequently. When sitting down for a meal, he would wonder if you would like what he had made. William wondered what such a cute little thing like you was doing in this nowhere town. Did you have dreams away from here? Is this were you wanted to be? He had never seen you in his diner before, he was sure of it. He would've surely remembered such a pretty little thing. Although, his diner was the talk of the town. For both adults like yourself and for children. So where were you?

You became illusive to him. You were full of mystery, and he had to know more. It would never be enough. He wanted more. William began drilling Michael about who you were. This was met by some animosity by the young man, but William didn't fucking care. Eventually, when Michael became obsolete of information, William took to other means. He would eavesdrop around the diner on the security cameras, hoping one of the other college kids in there would utter your name. It was slim pickings, but the thrill of it is what got to William.

Every single little thing he learned about you was priceless to him. He committed it all to memory, as if you would vanish if he had not. You were a plague to him. It was your name he thought of first thing in the morning, and it was the last thing he moaned quietly into the night. His fantasies grew dirtier by the day. He had imagined you in oh so many different scenarios. Different positions. Places. Outfits.

Everything about you was perfect to William. From the very top of your head to the very bottom of your feet. You were his soulmate. He just knew it. Every single little thing about you had been crafted just for him. Everything you did, said, perfection. He could be so, so good for you, just as you'd be so good for him. He made more than enough money to spoil you rotten. His house was big enough for you to move in. Not that you'd need the extra space. Of course you'd be sharing a bed with him. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Couldn't you see it? How you and him were meant to be? Couldn't you picture your budding life together with him? This is what all those years of suffering were for. To lead him to you. You were his everything. His sun, moon and stars. The oxygen he breathed. The food he ate. The ground he walked on. All of it.

You.

His precious, precious little bunny.

~~

William already knew he loved you. He did, he really did. He didn't have to fake that part about him. Loving you came as naturally to him as breathing. And with you pinned underneath him, Mr. Afton felt as if he was on cloud 9.

Sure, this isn't exactly how he'd plan things to go. He didn't want to have his first time with you on his couch. You were better than that. You deserved all the nice things he had to offer. But William wasn't too sure he could contain himself long enough to carry you to his bedroom. He had already waited so long to have you. Surely you wouldn't mind, right?

You didn't seem to, at the very least. As the man continued to grope and squeeze at your chest, his other hand ripping his tie off, he studied your face carefully. His pale eyes never left your pretty little face, not even for a moment. Your cute little hands were gripping the fabric of his couch, and soft little moans escaped past your puffy lips every so often. Your eyes were focused on his arm rather than his face.

He found this to be a shame. He understood that you were probably embarrassed, perhaps even overwhelmed. This was your first time with him, after all. Oh, but it just wouldn't do, little bunny. He wanted your eyes on him.

Where they should be.

After finally getting his black tie off, William used his free hand to slip underneath your chin, using his pointer finger and thumb to tilt it up towards him. Your glossy doe eyes met his, and he could feel an uncontrollable grin creep across his handsome features.

Just look at you. Not even five minutes in, and already so eager to please him. William could see how much you were enjoying yourself already, the pleasure of it all making the ache in his pants all the more tighter.

Patience, William, patience. The night is still young.

You are something to be savored. Not just a quick fix.

"(Y/N), my darling," Mr. Afton said to you, feeling the heat radiating off your cheeks, "keep your eyes on me. I want to see you, love."

William leaned down to kiss you again, feeling how your hands gently found a spot on his chest before he could do so.

"W-wait..." you peeped out, making William still his movements. He pulled away from you for a moment, his smile falling as he looked into your worried eyes.

"What's wrong, my love?" He asked, "Please, tell me. Do you want to stop?"

You shook your head, "N-No! It's just-"

William removed his hands from you, clasping your little fingers around his own, "Please, my bunny. Whatever it is, I'll fix it immediately. Please tell me."

Mr. Afton watched you like a hawk a you looked over your shoulder towards his door, the heat on your cheeks creeping down your pretty little neck at his words.

"It's just..." you whispered to him, "What if Michael walks in on us? He should be back any minute, right?"

Oh, that. The lie he told you. He had forgotten all about that, actually. William was glad you reminded him.

Mr. Afton pressed a small kiss to your fingers to ease your worries.

"Don't worry about him, my love." He said, admiring your features as if they were fine art, "It's all taken care of, I promise. Keep your focus on me, darling. On us. You can do that for me, hm?"

After studying his face for a moment, William watched as you nodded in response, making his smile widen as he kissed your fingers once again.

"Can we maybe just move, erm... this, somewhere else then?" You asked, "Please?"

Oh. So you did mind. William mentally kicked himself. Stupid fool. Of course you would mind. How could he have overlooked that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

William leaned in and kissed your sweet lips one more time.

"Of course, bunny." He whispered to you, finally letting go of your hands. William got off from on top of you and planted his feet on the ground. Once he was secure, he leaned down to you again and slipped you into his strong arms, holding you bridal-style close to his toned chest. He felt his heart swell inside of him as you wrapped your tiny arms around his neck, nuzzling your cute face into his neck. Gently, the older man carried you through his house and into his dark bedroom, using one of his legs to push the door open.

Once inside, William gently laid you down on top of his bed, giving you a kiss before leaving breifly to shut his door. After he was sure that it was shut tightly, William turned his attention back to you.

Heat creeped down his face and neck when he saw his precious bunny on top of his bed. Oh, little one. If only you knew how many times he had pictured you there. How many times your name was repeated over and over like a mantra within these very walls. Even with all the fantasies William had played over and over in his mind, none of them compared to the real thing. Just look at you. So so cute.

And just for him.

Walking back over to you, William was sure to drink in the sight of you on his bed, and commit it to memory. His hands on autopilot, William unbuttoned his purple dress-shirt as he neared closer, exposing his chest to you.

You must've felt awkward being the only one with all your clothes still on. He saw how you went to shrug off your jacket, but was quick to stop you as he took his place on top of you once again.

Silly bunny. That was his job.

"Ah, ah, my darling." He whispered to you, gently taking your hands away from yourself, "No need to worry about that. Just let me do all the work, yeah? Just relax, and let me take care of you."

Mr. Afton saw that his words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Your eyes weren't on him. Instead, they were lain gently on the expanse of his chest, going up and down over and over. The dim lighting made it a little hard to see exactly, but William knew what you were doing. Ogling him.

William wasn't sure how much harder he could get. Look at you. Precious little you, drooling over his chest. What a good little bunny. That's exactly where your eyes should be, little one. On him. And only him. He only had eyes for you, so wouldn't you do the same for him? Of course you would, bunny, of course. By the end of the night, you will. Mr. Afton is gonna show you so many levels of burning hot pleasure you didn't even know existed. Why? Because you'll be his. His bunny. No one else's. And if anyone dared try take you away, then well-

"How did you get these?" William heard you peep out to him, snapping him out of his trance.

He felt one of your little hands pull out of his grip, and gently trace lines up and down his chest and stomach, earning a shudder out of him. Elation ran through his veins, knowing this was the first time you had ever touched him. Touched a man like that, too. Slowly, whilst coming down from his high, William could recognize the patterns you were tracing.

Ah, yes. Those. He had forgotten about those, too. His scars. He hadn't even remembered to warn you first. He knew that at first glance, they did look rather gnarly.

But, still. You didn't seem to mind. You were his good bunny, after all. Of course you'd be good for him. Love him no matter what he looked like. Just like how he loved you.

While you continued to feel up his chest, William shrugged off the remains of his dress shirt and tossed it to the floor. He subsequently leaned down close to you, capturing your lips in another kiss. The following ones trailed down the side of your face and to your exposed neck, earning another whimper of pleasure out of you.

"It's nothing to worry about, love." He whispered to you, pressing more kisses to your skin, "Let's just say the early designs of my spring-lock suits weren't without their... flaws."

"Do they hurt?" You asked him, your little fingers finding a place on his shoulders.

William's breath fanned across your heated skin as he chuckled, "You ask far too many questions, bunny."

William gently bit down against the swell of your neck, earning another gasp out of you.

"Just, relax, little one." He said, his hands slowly working your jacket off of you and discarding it to the floor, "Do you want to stop?"

"N-no! I just..." you trailed off, your voice fading to a whisper "I just want you to be okay."

Mr. Afton picked his gaze up from your neck to look into your eyes, committing to memory the pink on your cheeks. Oh, precious, darling little bunny. If only you knew just how much he loved you. If only you knew just how you made him feel; the gravity of your presence around him.

The older man leaned forward to kiss your neck again, his large hand gently slipping underneath your shirt.

"My darling bunny," William whispered, "you're far too kind. So, so good for me. My bunny. Mine."

The brit's movements begun to get more frantic and passionate as his hand crept up to your chest, groping and squeezing from under your shirt. Your moans became more frequent in conjunction, along with the sheer amount of bruises and marks he was sucking into your soft, warm skin. Your hands found their way across his bare shoulders, one eventually travelling up to tussle into his dark brown hair. William rumbled out a groan from the back of his throat as he continued attacking your neck.

Once he was certain that you'd have plenty of hickeys in the morning, William detached himself from you and sat back slightly. His hand ran further up your chest, pulling your shirt along with it. Once your garment was halfway up your torso, William brought his other large, calloused to the base.

"May I remove this for you, my sweet?" He asked through half-lidded eyes, the tent in his pants growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. His mind told him over and over to just cut to the chase and pound you into the mattress already, but he dismissed the thought. He needed patience. William had waited for this day far too long to piss it away. He wanted to savor it. Stretch it out as long as possible. Not only for his selfish reasons, but for your sake too. You were a virgin, after all. He didn't want to scare you away, oh no. Eventually you'll get the hang of it, anyway. Don't worry about that, little one. William promises to show you how all of it is done. Show you just how amazing he can make you feel, and spoil you rotten in the process. Give you the treatment that only his bunny gets to have.

But, for now, slow and steady it is.

You looked him in his eyes as you gave him a timid nod, making another grin stretch across his face.

"Let me hear your words, darling." He said.

"Y-yes, Mr. Afton. Please... take it off." you responded.

Fucking hell you were so goddamned cute. Sweet bunny if only you knew just how many times he imagined your cute little voice saying those exact words to him. How long he dreamt of it.

Another shudder ran through the man's veins as he pulled your shirt off of you, leaving you bare-chested in front of him.

"Please, love," he whispered, "Call me William."

The tips of his fingers ghosted over the expanse of your chest and stomach, earning a shudder of your own under his touch. Leaning down, the older man pressed more open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and chest and his hands crept down further, stopping at the hem of your pants.

"Though, if you're up for it," he continued, "I'm quite fond of sir as well."

Before you could babble out any sort of response, William gave a few more open-mouthed kisses to the space right above your pants, your hands finding a home in his hair again. Your soft whimpers underneath the brit made his kisses all the more violent, and his hands all the more wandering. They traveled underneath you, coping a few feels at your butt before slowly trailing down your thighs.

It was getting harder by the second for the brit to control himself. He wanted to go slow, he really did, for you. But he wasn't too sure how much longer he could restrain himself from taking you as his. Here you were, right where he had wanted you for so long. Moaning and whimpering underneath him just like he wanted you to. You were already so good for him, even without him having to coach you on what to do. You truly were made for him.

So, perhaps you would forgive him for picking up the pace a little bit.

Could you do that for him, bunny?

"How about we remove these next, yeah?" He asked you through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes, his fingers picking at the hem of your pants.

You nodded in response again. Embarrassed and bashful.

Oh, naughty naughty bunny. Didn't he tell you to use your voice?

"Words, darling." He reminded you, his tone soft yet laced with firmness. He didn't want to punish you, no. Not yet, at the very least. It was your first time, and William was a generous man. He could let you off the hook this time, bunny.

This time.

"William, please..." you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Afton had to take a long, deep breath through his nose to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head, a cold, sharp shudder running down his body. Begging him already? Oh, sweet little one, you were made for him. You were you were you were. You were what he was put on this earth for. Not his stupid fucking business, or being a father. No. Not at all. It was for you. He was put on this earth for you. To be your man. To give you every single little thing your precious heart desired. Money. Fame. Love. Pleasure. All of it. All of it for you. And oh did he have plenty to give you. You were his soulmate, he was sure of it. How else could you be here now? How else would he have happened to find you in this small, puny town? Amongst all these fucking idiots? You and him were meant to be, little bunny. Couldn't you see it too? Just look at you. William fits so perfectly on top of you, doesn't he? And you look so adorable underneath him with that blushy face of yours. His sweet little rabbit. His darling beloved. His sweet angel. His treasure. His love. His. His. HIS. HIS. HI-

...

Oh.

Oh shit.

Pressing a few more kisses to your belly, he snuck one of his hands down to feel around his crotch. The tips of his fingers were greeted by a small wet patch.

Damn. He really got carried away that time. First on his phone call with you, and again now? Could you notice? No, surely not. It was too dim in his room. His pants were dark too, so that made it all the more unlikely. You probably wouldn't care either way.

He was still plenty hard for you.

Composure, William, composure. Don't ruin all the fun before it even begins.

Making sure to settle down the many thoughts in his head, William gently lifted your legs and cute little butt off of his bed. Slowly, he was able to discard your pants off of you, giving your shins and thighs a few small kisses as his hands returned to the hem of your underwear.

"This too, love?" He asked.

Out of instinct, you nodded again, "Yes, but... what about you?"

William breathed out a chuckle. Silly bunny. Don't tell him you're becoming the impatient one now. As adorable as it was, William had to still go slow on you. Patience, little one.

"That'll be soon, rabbit." He told you, one of his fingers hooking underneath your underwear, "You are a virgin, yes?"

He already knew the answer to that. He just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yeah, I am... Is that a proble-"

"No, no, little bunny, no." He said in response, gently sliding your underwear down your legs and discarding it on the floor, "I just have to make sure you're prepared. Besides..."

William shifted his weight down so he was face-to-face with your lower half, guiding your thighs to rest on his shoulders. Looking up at you, he pressed his kisses into your soft flesh, throwing in a few bites for good measure as he cupped your heated sex in his palm.

"Your body is so beautiful, my love." He said, "I want to savor every part of you. My needs can come later."

William watched as your whined and squirmed underneath him as his hand made contact with your lower half, his cock aching inside of his pants yet again.

"I will warn you bunny," the brit said, "It may sting a little to start with, yeah? Are you okay with that?"

You swallowed the saliva that had been pooling in the back of your throat, "Y-Yes, that's okay. I trust you."

William let out a satisfied hum, "Good bunny."

Slowly, William trailed his hand downwards, the tip of his middle finger inching close to your hole. Mr. Afton had to swallow the saliva that invaded his mouth at the sight, worried about drooling on you and making a fool of himself. If he could focus, he would be able to tell that his hands were trembling with excitement. Oh if only you knew how long he had dreamed of this day. He was already halfway there. Halfway to making you his. He just had to make sure his precious bunny was ready first.

He didn't want you in any pain when he filled you up with his love.

William gave you a few seconds to get ready before he pushed his finger inside of you, immediately making your back arch and your hands find his shoulders and hair. The grip you had on his grey-brown locks was tight, but compared to the elation he felt while inside of you, it was nothing. A pitiful drop in the bucket of his ecstasy. You were so warm around him. So so warm and tight. A million times better than what his fantasies made him believe. And a trillion times better than those sex toys he bought.

Mr. Afton let his excitement get the better of him just a touch as he begun to pump his long, bony finger in and out of you. His other hand gripped as your thigh, squeezing it as his lips placing gentle kisses on the flesh of it as a form of silent praise.

The noises his finger made going in and out of you were sinful, and echoed off of the walls of his room. Or perhaps, his shared room now. It'd only be a matter of time now before he'd ask you to move in, if all went according to plan. He was pleased to see that you eventually loosened up around his digit and you started to become more comfortable, once all the residual pain had subsided. This is when you started to moan for him. Quiet at first, but gradually got louder and louder as he found the more tender parts of your insides.

William's eyes would often flutter shut as he heard his sweet bunny's sounds underneath him. He was elated that you were enjoying yourself. If William knew he did one thing right in his life, he knew he was pleasing you like you wanted. He could die happy knowing that. That he got one chance with you; got to hear his bunny's sweet songs just once.

But, no, no.

William was a greedy man.

He wanted more.

And he would get more.

"That's it, my beautiful little bunny," he praised you, his deep accented voiced husked with his lust, "Just like that. You're doing so amazing, my darling. So perfect for me..."

William forgot to give you a warning as he inserted another finger into you. But, with the moan that escaped your lips as he did so, he was pleased to see you didn't mind. And, he was even more pleased with the way you found your own rhythm with his fingers, helping him to finger-fuck you all the better.

"Ah- Ahh! Oh my god, Mr. A-Af- William..!" you cried out to him, your grip on his hair becoming tighter as he found the most tender part of your insides.

You were playing with fire, little one. Did you want him to have another accident?

"Oh, my sweet bunny," he groaned, trying to shift his weight to relieve some pressure off of his crotch, "yeah, that's it. Keep making those pretty sounds for me, love. Make them for me."

"W-William, I-I feel-"

"Shh, my darling, it's alright. Let it happen. Make a mess all over me, my love. I want you to. I want it, bunny. Cum all over my fingers, goregous. Don't dare hold back on me. So, so good... my precious bunny. My bunny."

The pace of William's fingers quickened the more he said, until he felt you spasm around you and a flurry of moans escaped your lips.

He did it.

He finally did it.

William has waited for so long, and he had finally done it.

Halfway there.

Halfway to go.

Mr. Afton helped you to ride out your orgasm by pressing his fingers into you a few more times. Once you had settled down, and your moans had turned into soft, breathy pants, William took his fingers out of you, pressing reassuring kisses into the plush of your thighs.

"So good, little one," he whispered to you, "You did so well, my love. Perfect, absolutely perfect."

After a few more kisses, to allow you to catch your breath, William sat up again on his knees, looking down at your sweat-gleamed, adorable little face. You were still breathing pretty hard as his hands found his belt buckle, the clink of the metal making you look up at him again.

"William... please, I need you so bad..." you breathed.

Mr. Afton's breath hitched in his throat, "I know, love, I know. And you'll have me. You've been such a good bunny for me... 'Gonna make you feel so good, my adorable little rabbit."

A rush of relief washed over William as his belt was shed to the floor, along with his sleek black trousers, making him groan. He watched as you little eyes kept flickering between his tented crotch and his face, not sure of where to look to be polite.

Silly bunny. You were allowed to look anywhere you wanted.

As William finally was able to pull off his boxers, he breathed a sigh of relief. His cock had been aching for what felt like hours now, and he was finally able to give it some relief. He could feel how he throbbed against the cold air of his room as he looked down at you once again, drinking in the sight and committing it to memory.

William knew he was a well-endowed man. Hell, that's probably why he was so popular to begin with, at least amongst the women. None of that ever mattered to him before. He didn't care. Yeah, he had a big dick. So what?

It never mattered to him, that is, until now. He could see how scared you were when you looked at him. See it in your eyes, how you worried how something like that would fit into you.

You needn't worry, sweet bunny. William would never try to hurt you. Not ever. It'll fit, sweet one, don't worry.

Don't you trust him?

Mr. Afton gave a few pumps to his length, coating it in the slick of his pre-cum as he lined up at your entrance. He could feel waves of excitement and need wash through him as the tip made contact with your flesh, making him let out another shaky breath. Though in the past the brit found missionary to be rather boring, he found himself to not mind it with you. It allowed him to be close to you. To see your face, and hear you well. All he ever wanted.

Besides, he could always try new positions next time. If you were ready.

"It might sting a little again, bunny." He warned you, "But it won't for long."

"O-Okay..." you said, "Just... Can you hold my hand? Please?"

William felt his lips part, "Yes, my love. Yes, of course."

Shifting his weight briefly onto one arm, William slipped one of his large hands into your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. His other hand was firmly situated next to your head, careful to avoid pulling on your hair.

"Good?" he asked.

You nodded, "Yes.. I'm ready now. Please, William..."

"As you wish, darling."

Excitement bubbling in his veins, William gently pushed his hips forwards, the tip of his cock entering inside of you. Along with your gasp, the man above you let out a low, breathy groan of pure, raw pleasure, a shudder making its way down his spine.

Holy fuck. It was so much better than he had imagined. You were so much better than he imagined. He was sure of it now, more than ever. You were made for him. You were pure perfection.

And all the more reason to make you his.

Get to work, William. His bunny is waiting for him.

Careful not to squeeze your hand too tightly, William let out another breathy groan as he slowly pushed the rest of his length into you. At the feeling of being fully sheathed inside of your hole, William felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to save-face. You were breathing rather hard underneath him, your other arm having come up to drape across his bare, scarred shoulders for extra support.

As you he felt you slowly start to relax around him, Mr. Afton pressed soft, loving kisses to your jaw and neck, the hand next to your hair stroking it softly.

"Th-That's it, love..." he whispered to you, "So good for me... My adorable bunny."

You whimpered underneath his touch, "William, I... i-it's okay to move now. Please..."

Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, William gently pulled his hips back, then thrusted up into you. He watched as you bounced slightly underneath him, a low moan escaping your lips. With all the conformation he needed, William was quick to find a steady rhythm inside of you. He never found himself to be that vocal in the bedroom from past experiences, so the brit continued to surprise himself with every groan and sigh that escaped past his lips. But, then again, it was quite different now. This was you.

And damn did you make him feel amazing.

After finding a good pace, William was able to angle himself better, trying to find the most sensitive part inside you. With one lucky guess, he was able to see how you threw your head back in pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as you moaned for him.

"Ohh goddd, William..! F-Fuck, right there!" you cried out for him, your encouragement making him pick up the pace.

"Yeah, bunny?" he goaded you, "Does that feel good? You're so fucking cute. You- hahh - you feel so fucking amazing, my love, fuck..."

The brit could feel your peak drawing nearer with every clench of your walls around him, his cock twitching back in response as it continued its barrage of your most sensitive parts. This only made him snap his hips into you all the more sharply.

"(Y/N)..." he cried out to you, "(Y/N), my love. So fucking good for me. So, so good... You're perfect, (Y/N). Perfect, my bunny. Perfect."

"W-William, I-I'm gonna-"

"Me too, bunny, me too. Please, bunny - fuck - please, together, my love. Let me fill you up, my darling. With my love. Let me show you how much I adore you. Will you, my love? Please, please."

"Yes, Will! Oh my god, yes please!"

With your sweet words ringing in his ears, William made one final push inside of you, sinking in as deep as possible. Mr. Afton groaned loudly as he could feel your orgasm around him, his following not long after. He was able to manage a few tiny, sloppy thrusts inside of you as you both rode out your high, feeling as how your insides became coated with his orgasm; no, with his love.

So, so much love.

And, you, finally

were now

his.

At long, long last. He finally had you.

Happy was an understatement. Overjoyed even more so. No, William was a new man. He was now yours. Your man to protect and take care of you. And no one else's. Just as you were his now, and no one else's.

His.

It took a good while for William to catch his breath again, as well as you. Once he did so, William found the strength to pull out of you, one last ripple of pleasure washing over him. You were looking up at him through your glossy eyes and heated face, a small, dumb smile on your face as you breathed heavily. He was able to get one more kiss on your lips before he shifted his weight off of you.

"Wait here, love." He said, "I'll get something to help you clean up."

As much as it pained him to leave you without him, William knew that aftercare was important. Especially to the inexperienced. In the past, he was never fond of doing too much of it, but with you, it came naturally to him. You were such a good bunny for him, it's the least he can do to show his appreciation.

The brit was quick to disappear into his bathroom and grab a towel, feeling the cold air around him in the dark. By the time he returned, he saw that you had already turned on your side, and had wrapped yourself in nearly all the covers on his bed. Creeping closer to you, William saw that your eyes were closed; soft, steady breaths escaping past your little lips.

Damn. You were asleep already. William knew tonight would wear you out, but damn.

Looks like he still has it.

And you were far too cute to wake up now. It would just be mean if he did so. Very well. You win, bunny.

Placing the towel on his nightstand, William peeled back the last little bit of blankets you allotted him and slipped into bed behind you. You being much shorter than him, he found it easy to meld his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your little waist and pulling you close to his chest. You were so warm, and he couldn't help but take a long inhale of your scent. He was hoping to talk to you a little more after, and tell you how amazing you did, but this was fine. He could do all the in the morning. You were too cozy for now.

But that couldn't stop him from giving you some praise.

"You are perfect, my darling." He whispered into your air, as soft as he could as not to wake you, "Just as I knew you would be. You're going to learn just how much better I can make you feel, sweet thing. This is only the beginning."

William pressed a few soft kisses to your hair.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you to get you here. I just couldn't think of any other way to get us alone. But, you'll forgive me, right?"

You didn't answer, of course.

"Oh, I know you will. If you ever find out, that is, bunny."

There's some things you're better off not knowing, anyway.

"Get plenty of rest, love. I'll be right here, I promise. I promise."

How could he ever leave you now?

"I love you."

Goodnight, little bunny.

~~

tags: @guinea-pig16 , @the-official-memester , @randomwriteralan , @mrsrogerwaters , @laylaaftonshit , @cherry-slushee , @insert-memical-username , @mrssafton , @horrorking2000

apologies to any blogs tumblr wont let me tag!!

[moldybonessmell]

Spider-squad winter outfits headcanons post!

you can tell i drew different charas in separate days oh wow

So i kinda posted few days ago about recent lack of atsv content Hobie content specifically so i had to deliver myself, amirite? Tho i decided to not stop on Hobie and did the entire spider-squad or perhaps, spider-quad? *badum tss* im funny see

also it's like -38C/-36.4F in my city and i be wearing like four layers at all times so i got inspired can't believe i still love winter when my ass be freezing this bad

So here's my headcanons for spider gang winter outfits!

Let's imagine they all have a mission in winter...

Gwen

She can't really wear her hood bc of wind but everyone teases her about looking bald without it lmaoo so she got one of these knitted hoods instead, also wears one of these fluffy soft jackets

Was wearing uggs until she lost one of the boots during a fight LOL so she got these uggs with velcro fasteners + leg warmers

pics: 1) found-store on Pinterest, 2) wglwkjg on Pinterest, 3) pey on Pinterest, 4) ·˚ Isabella·˚ on Pinterest

Miles

I see him wearing something kinda like his og itsv outfit but winter version with one of these gigantic puffy jackets and nike sneakers with fur inside + a hat with pompom

Let's imagine his jacket is opened, i didn't realise in time it makes his spiderman-outfit not-so-spider looking

pics: 1) Hipok on Pinterest, 2) Nordstrom on Pinterest

Pavitr

He got one of these fluffy earmuffs (because his hair needs to be looking perfect at all times!), a puffy cropped cord jacket, a pair of these puffy winter shoes (these have a ribbon so you don't lose them flying around a city) and a BIG scarf with mittens (he definitely lost one of these tho)

He's the least used to cold out of the squad, but he's being very brave about it and wears a socially acceptable amount of layers

pics: 1) Campus Gifts on Pinterest, 2) WTI Designer on Pinterest, 3) true deals club on Pinterest, 4) liisa rita on Pinterest 5) EtsyCA on Pinterest

Hobie

In contrast with Pavitr he would wear a disturbing amount of layers, definately one of these mfs who wear layers instead of one warm thing

He's got one of these plaid "winter" coats that are thin af but swears he's warm cus it gets hot during fights (nobody believes him cus they watch him start to shiver in real time) (Pavitr crocheting a scarf for him was the only way to make buddy dress fairly properly for cold weather)

At least Hobie got a warm hat, right? Yes, spikes on the mask do just go through it, but it's warm, right? -right? ("it's a ventilation, mate!" or whatever lol)

Got layers of sweaters over each other: a turtleneck-sweater, a cropped one on top + a vest over all these

Would wear his usual boots just with warm socks under

pics: 1) People on Pinterest, 2) Natalia on Pinterest 3) Fur Hat World on Pinterest 4) OLUOLIN on Pinterest 5) Elena Ilieva on Pinterest 6) EtsyCA on Pinterest

Disclaimer: english is not my native and i was SWEATING trying to find how all of these clothes are called in english so if i messed up some names ignore it pls or let me now how they are called correctly

Okay, this is all! Hope you liked it!

[vere-licious]

Would they be an Alpha, Beta or Omega?

Some thoughts by yours truly (dont take this seriously pls)

Ais - Alpha

◇ LOOK ME IN MY EYES AND TELL ME THIS MAN ISNT AN ALPHA

He is the epitome of an alpha

He is THE alpha

He is cocky cause he smells good ouh he knows he is the shit and thats why Leander wants him dead

◇ Doesn't use scent blockers like many monsters and also does not care enough to do so. Im not good at describing scents but just imagine the scent of the beach in the best way. Its warm and sunny and you just finished swimming and you smell your skin and you just get it (when Ocudeus takes over he smells like a stinking beach, fishy, ppl living by the beach if you know you know)

◇ His scent is pleasant and not overwhelming so at all so unlike other Alphas (Ahem Leander) so he would be very popular if it werent for that stellar reputation of his!

◇ He is a very territorial alpha despite his easy going attitude and so you are not leaving his presence without drowning in his scent. Thems the rules. He fully nuzzles your throat, wrists or whatever he can reach.

God help with any other tries to push their scent on you. They dead now.

◇ Was rut buddies with Vere, his rut is a mess to say the least. Lasts too long, his stamina is never ending and he will milk his partner dry. Basically consider yourself booked for the next week and more cause you are not being let outside when you two are together 🫡🫡

Leander - Do i even need to say it...ALPHA DUH

♤ He is the epitome of the charming alpha stereotype that makes the betas and omegas swoon

♤ Sweet and rich and oh so gentlemanly so polite and a charmer woow. Alphas hide your mates when he goes out!!!

♤ He smells like whatever alphas stereotypically smell, what ao3 says yall, warm and musky with a hint of his axe cologne.

♤ Despite his charms, his scent can be a hit or miss for most cause its so strong. He comes into a room and everyone knows who just entered. A little funfact is that when you really step on his buttons his smell becomes really unpleasant, acidic and overwhelming can be two words to describe it. It makes you choke on your spit and scramble to get away from it and its fully on purpose.

♤ Does not wear scent blockers and likes to even flaunt his scent, its one of his charms he says (Whatever you say bby)

♤ If any theory about dead Leander or necromancer leander being real i want to think he would stink and would try to cover it up as much as possible. He smells like death. A walking corpse. Maybe he is one.

♤ Always has someone to spend his ruts with. He is a very wanted alpha after all

Mhin - Beta

♧ I bet if any poor soul is reading this and think that Mhin are an omega or an alpha...hear me out

♧They are the mf in the middle of it all

♧ Born a beta with a sensitive nose, every day is hell on earth for them. Stuck in the middle of it all with alphas and omegas everywhere its a miracle they have not given up to wearing a mask that covers their nose everyday. (Dont ask them about leander he was an exception)

♧ Their scent is very pleasant and sweet and so clean (great description i know). They smell like you just washed your bedsheets and now you are rolling on them kinda clean.

♧ Imagine if betas are not affected by others pheromones and are just so neutral to everything. Mhin responds to alphas trying to choke them with their unpleasant scent to assert their dominance with just a :| cause WTF ARE THEY DOING? You look constipated, unclench your neck.

♧ They maybe helped Leander with his rut once and said never again, they couldnt walk the next day

♧ Wears scent blockers cause they dont want to be detected during work

♧ Extra points that Ais scent is the most pleasant one that they have ever smelled on an alpha and that makes them BIG mad.

Vere - Omega

♡ The most expensive and bougie and cut-throating omega (very literally) you will ever meet. Dont try to pull any alpha bullshit of asserting your blah blah blah. He will straight up kill you.

♡ Beautiful, gorgeous and with a scent that can temp the devil, Vere dares not to hide his scent and simply flaunts it under everyones nose.

♡ I imagine him having a stronger scent than most of omegas with beautiful hints of amber. Its warm, its hot, its everything you imagine Vere to be.

♡ He fucking hates Lander cause he has a more sensitive nose than Mhin themselves and Leander STINKS to him.

♡ Ais on the other hand...Hmm Yeah..

♡ The oni is the only person Vere has ever spent a heat with because Vere enjoys sex yes, but heats are entire different thing. Thats when you are the most vulnerable and the fox man has it difficult to trust almost anyone. So if he spends a heat if you you are BLESSED.

♡ His nests are top tier tho, full of cozy furs and pillows and its heaven to sleep on. His favorite activity is to make them with you. Just your little face as you try so hard to rearrange the pillows and get the softest materias for him makes his heart race. Wash and feed him and take care of him during the heat and he will be yours forever.

♡ Remember that i said Vere has a sensitive nose? Yeah you gotta smell like him all the time or else someone is dying (Leander with his sticky alpha pheromones)

Kuras - ???

☆ This is where i struggled cause...Kuras is an angel right? It would be funny if he didn't have a secondary gender.

☆ Maybe this is me being boring but i think thats funnier.

☆ There is no scent around him. No scent blockers. He is just like 👁👄👁.

Because of his lack of scent he is very hard to read, scents betray underlying emotions sometimes and i think its hilarious to him when someone tries to figure him out and what he feels. Unlike Mhin who are an open book, Kuras has a perfect poker face.

☆ This also has the potential...Cause image you are having a heat or rut and he will guide you through it with soothing touches and words cause in his eyes your helplessness and how you simply give into the urges is absolutely adorable. Tsk Tsk silly little human.

☆ TOP TIER man to have in your ruts or heats. He will wash you and feed you and take care of you, make sure your nest is comfortable and all.

☆Will dutifully stay by the door each morning before he leaves for work so you can scent him. He think its cute that you are so thorough about it.

[elulsdr]

WHAT DO PEOPLE THINK ABOUT YOU?

PILE 1 PILE 2 PILE 3

hey guys, it's my first pac ever so i would love to have your feedback. this pac also has random messages too rather than what do people think about you.

it's mainly about the messages i got. i hope it resonates⭐️ (i swear i'm better at personal readings LMAO)

PILE 1

people think you're very self oriented and love to have the power over them. maybe you have leader qualities and they can see that. i'd say they think you're more likely to choose logic over emotions. they think you're def the overthinker one. they know you know you're worth and know when and what to say something. they can feel that you like to be seen as cold hearted and powerful. in your head being numb equals having power. people think you're very materalistic as in, whatever you wear you make it seem expensive. people think you're very soft inside but don't let a lot people in. sometimes they can sense that deep down you're really insecure and they can see the other side of you. where you're not sure of anything you do, you don't trust yourself enough. sometimes you come off as really complex and a lot. you seem to be stuck on something. you want to let it go but can't really do it cause you get used to it. so that's why people can sense your imbalance energy. you could be indecisive or air headed these days. still, people know you have the strength to get over it. you could intimidate people at first but when they see the real you -which you dont show it to many they love it. maybe you got hurt on the past, that's why you put a mask like that. you could be very obsessive, and passionate about the things you love. you come off as competitive too.

PILE 2

oooh my broken heart pile.. if you recently gone through a breakup, doesnt matter if it's romantic or friends. people see youve been thru ALOT. you show it to everyone whether youre aware of it or not. people can sense the broken energy. you keep trying to explain your feelings? or what happened between you and the other person and they're like, can she move on already?? but it's cruel to think like that. cause i feel like this relationship somehow connected to your inner child. maybe the relationship helped you with healing your inner child that's why you felt those emotions that hard. people think you're sensitive and a romantic. everything i said was in the past, your energy now seems very refreshing and stepping ahead. also i have a really bad headache rn, are u ok? take care of your health and make sure you sleep enough. you have many sleepless nights. anyways, people see your steps to a better life. although you might got addicted to the new me concept and ignore everyone who tries to help you or tries to talk to you. you're like, i don't want your help i've been by myself all this long i can take care of myself from now on. they are a bit annoyed by this. they think you're a bit stubborn. DEF a hopeless romantic. don't try to burden everything and try to move on with your life asap. take your time to heal. and take people's help -only the ones who really care tho. aww i just got the 3 of swords. pls keep your precious heart safe bby. your love is enough and you will find someone that loves you as much as you love them. (wow pile 2's photo says the exact same thing, i didnt mean to do that lol)

PILE 3

hey pile 3, why do you feel so alone even if you're out with your friends? you like to ask people for advice but somehow you don't trust them as much as you trust yourself. i mean good for you but people -maybe your friends can tell that you're faking your feelings sometimes? maybe you feel the need to be happy around everyone even if you feel like shit. they can tell that. there's this person you are stuck on. it seems like you arent able to let them go. people really wonder about you guys. you could be a heartbreaker too. you and your friends are sarcastic people. people could get annoyed by the fact that you guys have fun lol. people think you have it all and you will have it all. they dont like the fact that they cant get a piece of you, your space, your time. it's like, there are people who want you but you got someone else on your mind who you seem to cant have. you like to learn more and more. you're very smart and people like that. but there's just this unknown people love about you. you have the friends, you have the grades, you have the face but what is it that makes you sad(?) and broken? people wonder the shit out of this lmao and you don't give them a chance to understand it. you tend to zone out a lot during the day and your thoughts makes you go nuts. people just seem to curious about you. they don't know enough. the more you don't give them the chance the more they wonder. people feel that you have tons of other shit to do than answer their questions. they know they don't deserve to steal your time like that.

[urszn]

❨ POPSTAR GF ❩ — park sunghoon

CHAP ll. “runaway popstar” written + smau

warnings: anxiety attack, cursing duh, if i missed anything pls let me know! (not proofread)

word count: 892

SUNGHOON wasn’t the type of guy to go out on a sunday night, he knew he wasn't going to be happy waking up early in the morning rushing to get to his lectures at six and then going straight to the ice rink to practice

but he still went with his friends even though he insisted he needed to finish his essay that wasn’t due until next week

heeseung had been working hard perfecting her album, and sunghoon felt bad saying no to his friend especially since it was heeseung and he knew that if he needed something he could count on heeseung to come to the rescue

jake was also spamming his phone begging him to go with them and he couldn’t decline.

“holy shit guys” jungwon says jumping up and down with excitement as we entered the vip section, i look around seeing people with their lightsticks, chatting to eachother with big smiles on their faces

heeseung glanced over at me and nudged my shoulder “thought you were busy” i rolled my eyes “thank you for inviting me hee”

“wait! we get to meet y/n right?!” sunoo asked, we all look over at heeseung as he shrugs his shoulders “who knows” was all he said with a slight smirk on his face

suddenly everyone seemed to be quiet, some people whispering to their friends while pointing over at the entrance where three people were standing at

“oh my god” jake squeezed my arm “i love hyunjin, wonyoung and jisung” “they’re coming over here, never thought i’d be this close to them” jake rambled on

i glanced over at them as they walked our way, they were all dressed up in designer clothes and seemed to be accompanied by another person

he seemed to be dressed…less extravagant than the others, yet he still looked better than whatever i was wearing, he had a black mask and hat covering his face, maybe he was a body guard or something like that?

as the venue filled up with many more people, i looked over at heeseung who was by my side

he was now talking to hyunjin

“when did he go over there,” i asked jungwon who was on my left side “he got called over there by hyunjin not that long ago, i think you zoned out” he continued “you were staring at them when heeseung went over there, i think you should quit staring, they might think you’re a little creepy” i slowly nod

a couple of minutes pass by and heeseung is still talking to them, “hoon, is that you’re phone ringing?” i look at my pocket seeing the contact name chaeyeon

holy… “shit i forgot to tell her that i cant hangout with her today”

“wait i need to answer her but it’s loud i’ll be back okay?” i tell the guys “she’s about to start though!” jake says “i’ll be back i just need to answer her real quick, i’ll be back i promise” “go quickly”

i quickly pass by people to the exit nearby and call chaeyeon back

“where are you?! it sounds loud” was all i could hear her say, i plug my other ear so i could hear her better, yet it was still loud “wait i’m trying to get somewhere quieter!”

“hoon?” she says “wait-“ suddenly my phone was on ground broken “watch where you’re-“ oh…

“i’m so sorry! i’ll pay for it!” the girl says leaning down to grab my now broken phone, her hands seemed to be shaking “it’s okay” i say panicky finally realizing who she was

she was meant to be on stage right now, performing, but she was here with me outside her own concert, crying

“are you okay?” was all i could ask — i know, i know what a stupid question to ask, but i didn’t know what else to say “hey aren’t you supposed to be on stage and not out here crying”

“yeah, yeah i’m so so sorry, really i’ll pay for it” she says looking down, her voice seemed normal but i could tell she was trying to hold back her tears “you don’t have too” i replied back

i scan over the area and my eyes land on a bench nearby, “hey how about we sit down, okay?” i say as she nodded

“do you need water or anything?” i asked “n-no” she said before finally breaking down into tears and all i could was comfort her

“it’s okay” i reassured her “i-i just saw someone and-“ she stops for a bit trying to catch her breath “i-i panicked!” “i..i don’t know why i’m crying”

she then “oh my god my manager will be so mad” “and my fan” “and friends” she panics, crying even harder now “hey it’s okay, they’ll understand” i say before hugging her

and that’s how we stayed for a bit

“how about you go home, i bet you that everyone will understand” i whisper quietly but loud enough for her to hear “you don’t understand, everyone is going to hate me!” she tells me

“c’mon, i’ll walk you there, and i’ll explain everything to them you don’t even have to talk, okay?” she slowly nods

i stand up reaching my hand out for her grab and she looks at my hand hesitantly before grabbing onto my hand.

back to masterlist! - previous - next

(📰) TOP NEWS ! after sunghoon gets forced to go with his friends to a concert he ends up bumping into a crying y/n aka the person who was supposed to be on stage performing, not knowing what to do he hugs her out of pity trying his best to comfort her, perhaps he shouldn’t have? because the next day he wakes up to one million followers on twitter and instagram and a text from y/n’s manager asking him to fake date her.

PERM TAGLIST: @ddeonudepressions ⋆ @zuyairus-deactivated20230507 ⋆ @sunoksunny ⋆ @taejays ⋆ @hanniluvi ⋆ @haknom ⋆ @trsrina ⋆ @tyunnie-gyuu ⋆ @ririlovesrenjun ⋆ @xiaoderrrr ⋆ @r-westillfriends ⋆ @placinggum10 ⋆ @gakrufbd ⋆ @nanabbg ⋆ @son4taa ⋆ @redm4ri ⋆ @strwberrydinosaur r ⋆ @dreama-little-dreamof-me ⋆ @lcv3lies ⋆ @aspaia ⋆ @schmocolateschmchip ⋆ @seungcheolswife ⋆ @ixomiyu ⋆ @dimplewonie ⋆ @jeongintwt ⋆ @esther-kpopstan ⋆ @uwuheeseungie

[luckyfrogtarot]

Pick an Autumn Snoopy 🍂

The autumn equinox is soon so let’s see what it might be bringing in for you!

Pile 1: Pile 1 you could be one to put others before yourself. You could be surrounded by people who follow some strict set of rules and they might apply those rules to you too. You could try to please them by following their rules and pretending as if that doesn't go against what you believe or what you'd like to do. For some of you it could also be that you are emotionally more mature than some people around you and you have to pretend to not be so as to not hurt their egos. Mostly because this person or people always want to be right and it would be tough for you to go against them. This person/people could quickly get defensive and it could cause verbal spats between the both of you. This could lead you to wear a mask around this person or these people. It could even leave you feeling quite isolated at times too. This probably won't be for everyone but for most or some this is a work place or boss I'm talking about here. What does this have to do with the equinox? You ask. It seems like this equinox is bringing you time to consider rest and rejuvenation. Maybe you're able to vacation, go to a spa or even spend some time alone at home taking a bath. Something about water and relaxing in or around water will be good for you. There is a sense of you "detoxing" from this person or people that day(s). You're going to be able to slough away any unnecessary energy they may have placed on you over time. By this I mean any down putting ideologies or just in general bad vibes. It will be a time for you to focus on yourself and pamper yourself. You could be buying yourself your favorite beverage and maybe some bath products or candles. Whatever it is you do that day it will be to help you cleanse. Whether you do that physically through a bath or energetically with flames (safely pls) you will feel a lot lighter afterwards.

Pile 2: Pile 2 your excitement for Halloween is coming through strongly. You're excited for all of it the trick or treating, the dressing up, and the candy. You're home or room is already decorated and you might continue to decorate if you find more home accessories. Now moving on you could be someone who is fairly young. A student perhaps who has a lot on their mind about their future. You don't necessarily have to be young to have chosen this group. What is shared in this group is that you guys have the future on your mind. You have a lot of racing thoughts. If you are a student you're thinking about next year, the next classes, what school to attend, do you want/need a masters? If you're not a student you could be thinking about your next step in life should I change jobs? Should I move states? The thoughts continue I could keep writing. This equinox will be a time for you too calm these thoughts. Meditation might be helpful, it doesn't have to be meditation though. I know not everyone likes to meditate or some people find it difficult. Anything that strengthens your intuition and trust in yourself is going to be helpful. The cards show that logically you are really intelligent and as such you are thinking of all the possibilities of your choices. That's good and helpful and you could find your answer(s) in trusting yourself and the process. You'll be able to use both your intuition and logic this equinox to make decisions that will bring in the best for you this fall.

Pile 3: There is a beginning coming in for you. Pile 3 you could have been working on something up until this equinox or around this time. You could be scared to show what it is you've been working on. For a lot of you I'm seeing this is something creative. Posting your art or music on social media might be some of the things you guys want to do. The point is several people will be watching you and what you've worked on. You're worried these people are going to judge you or hate you or your work. There are several cards suggesting that you will be more accepted and love than you think. You are showing up as the empress; you are knowledgeable, creative, and intuitive. People will enjoy seeing you shine. If you do find yourself receiving discouraging comments or energy you will more than likely be too busy following your dreams to pay attention to them. You know exactly where you’re going too btw. The scene in Brave where Merida follows the Will o the Wisps comes to mind. You could either need to find your inner Merida or you will find her. Independent of your gender you will be finding the courage to carve and follow your own path.

(You got three songs so that’s why I assume you might be an artist of some kinda esp w mona lisa there)

[wizardpigeon]

on austinshow (?) in generation loss

(austin viewers pls forgive me if thats not the name he actually uses bc i do not watch him so idk im using the one they introduced him with and assuming its good)

i know a lot of people interpreted austins whole thing with the wife and kids as him being forced to lie by showfall but honestly the whole time my perspective

was that he was actively lying To The Viewers because he knew he'd have a better chance if he appealed to a wider audience/didnt reveal that he was gay,

like, i know he was introduced as

Austin Show | gay

but they cant see that, and the puzzler immediately calls him out for lying, and throughout the episode repeatedly asks him the names of his children and how many he has, which austin fucks up multiple times, so i assumed that he was intentionally trying to mislead the audience to protect himself, and showfall had the everyone prompt him as much as possible (and maybe got him to mention them more himself) in order to point out that something wasn't right about what he was telling us

now, i also want to point out, (and this is from another theory ive seen tying back to the mind control) that austin doesn't have anything on his head, and one theory i saw is that everyone else, barring sneeg until the hat, had something on their head in that episode,

ranboo with their mask

niki, vinny, and sneeg with hats

charlie and ethan with their glasses

rats with masks,

and jerma/puzzler with the prosthetics although that ones a bit more meta since based on charlies commentary it actually looked a lot more real/seamless in person than on camera

but austin isnt wearing anything, and hes arguably the most freaked out, like sure niki is sobbing but she switches the second shes in the spotlight she switches to being collected and upbeat, the only other person we see as visibly disturbed as austin is sneeg during the hat sequence,

throughout the entire carousel scene austin is looking around, visibly nervous, and like others have pointed out, he kept staring at frank, who since the reveal of the filter thing, everyones been pretty agreed on is probably like, a full on rotting corpse that they were just carting around,

so i think that while showfall had some influence on austin, his actions more than anything, they didnt have full control over his words, and they were definitely letting him see at least some of what was going on,

whether they were allowing him to lie and behave so nervously is anyones guess, it certainly makes the program more interesting, but the way he talks so desperately about his many wives and children reads to me as something a queer person would probably do if placed in some kind of saw esque game show where we had to appeal to the largest majority of viewers to survive

i like the way people have taken it as showfall stripping him of his identity, but to me, i read it as them outing him, which, also in my mind works closer with the theme of what fans/fan culture will do to "celebrities" (see kit connor with heartstopper however many years ago that was), and the fact that showfall outed him without care that his situation was dangerous just drives this further home for me

[captain-mj]

thank you for monster handler part 5! I love ghost ruffling soaps hair so much :3 and how to deal with kids when parents divorce? hilarious

can I pls request part 6?

Of course! Also, did you guys know this was originally PriceGhost? They were never endgame, but they were there

Soap saw Ghost's hands later and frowned. They were bandaged, clearly done by himself.

Had he missed something while he was checking him? Now that he was thinking about it, he hadn't made Ghost remove his gloves. He had been moving around a lot.

Soap felt like an idiot. The bandages were clumsy and he wondered if Ghost wasn't good at it or if it was the claws making it hard to do. He reached over without thinking and started to fix them.

Ghost's skin felt so cold without his gloves. Soap wondered idly if all of his skin was that cold. It explained why he wore so many layers.

Neither said anything else about it, but he saw now that the knuckles were busted. "What happened?"

"Got in a fight with a punching bag. I won." Ghost's wings made a small twitch. Soap pretended to not notice they were not nearly as tightly tied as they should be.

"Next time, you can come to me."

"That would be giving you what you want."

Soap glared at him, noticing how close they were to each other. "Come on, Ghost."

Ghost stared at him. Soap found them hypnotizing. He remembered one of the recruits on their first mission had referred to them as empty. Soulless caverns. Soap had no idea what he was talking about. There was so much there. Multitudes. They were such a pretty brown too.

"Ghost."

"I will… come to you next time." He sounded very soft. Not soft like a teddy bear, soft like a fresh wound. Put too much pressure and it'll tear.

Soap nodded. "Good." He felt a small flash of pride that he had managed this tiny bit of trust. "Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?" Ghost was British. It was smart, he could lure him in.

"Okay." Ghost watched him the entire time. Mostly likely to check he made it right. Regardless, Soap made it and handed it to him. Ghost did this funny thing where he held the cup and let the heat soak into his fingers. Since he had bandages, his gloves weren't on, so Soap could see the gentle way he pressed closer, like a snake sneaking warmth.

Soap watched him while he fixed himself a cup of coffee. He sat with him again, hoping this could be something they did. Maybe they could get matching mugs.

Ghost looked… not peaceful. Hard to say a man looked peaceful when you couldn't see the majority of his face. But his eyes were closed and he didn't look stressed.

There were lines along his cheeks and around his chin. Probably from where he had to wear the muzzle during meetings. They didn't look too deep, but they were right over his Glasgow scars and Soap internally winced.

"You're staring."

"Sorry." Soap muttered.

"You get why I wear the mask right? Not exactly pretty. Monstrous." Ghost smiled, but it was… sad. Clearly it was something Ghost was sensitive about.

Soap frowned, trying to think of what to say. Ghost looked human there. The skin he saw was the same color as the skin around his eyes. He saw, right at the edges of his shirt, that the skin started to streak with the telltale inky black that likely led to his wings and his hands. Personally, he did think Ghost was beautiful. Ethereal, unearthly. But that wasn't what Ghost wanted. Ghost wanted to be human.

"You look like a regular British bloke. Don't know what you're talking about." Soap sipped his coffee. 

Ghost paused and stared at him. Soap didn’t acknowledge it. 

Eventually, Ghost disappeared. 

That was fine since it gave Soap an opportunity to talk to Price. He went to his office and closed the door. 

“I have some questions.” 

Price nodded. “What’s going on, Soap?”

“So Ghost.” Soap got comfortable. “His care. I don’t… think I’ve been doing it very well. After missions, he gets… weird. Jittery and tense. He almost jumped out of his skin when I tried to talk to him. Scared the shit out of everyone around him too. I was wondering if you did anything to help?”

Price stared at him for a moment, as if checking something before nodding. “You need to wear him out. It’s the adrenaline. Its hard for him to come down from him so he needs an outlet.”

“He apparently went training afterward. Does stuff like that normally work?”

“Yeah, that’s good. Just be there for him when he crashes. He always does and he always does crashes hard. I find being quiet with him helps.” 

Soap started to write these things down. “Good. Good. What else?”

“Soap, you read the file.”

“Yes and the file is lacking. It’s a bunch of rules. I’m supposed to take care of him. I want advice.” 

Price sighed. “Fine. First, keep doing what you’re doing. You’re becoming faster friends with him than anyone else I’ve seen. Second, treat him like a giant cat.” 

Soap frowned. “Explain.” 

“You can’t push too hard. Let him come to you. I’m sure you’ve noticed if you hang around for a while, he appears right? Always acting as if he just happened to be in the same room.” 

Now that Price had pointed that out… It wasn’t uncommon for Soap to be in the bases free areas such as the lounge or the mess hall and Ghost happened to be across the room. Ghost never acted like he was paying attention to him so he hadn’t really put it together. 

“Third, he likes the base of his wings scratched. Save that. Don’t use it too early. If he turns his back to you and you’re alone, try it. “

Soap felt like he learned forbidden knowledge. He couldn’t wait to try it. “His… ear thingies. What are those?”

“Feathers. They aren’t actually ears at all. We think Roba was trying to emulate a horned owl with them.” Price sighed. “Also, he won’t admit it. Roba used to keep bright lights on him. He’s sensitive to him. If you want to show you care, dim the lights for him.”

Soap thought of all the bright harsh leds in the base. Yikes. His room would probably be hellish for Ghost. 

Not that Ghost would be in his room. 

“Alright, now what exactly did you do to wear him out? Laps? Sparring?”

“We fucked.” 

Soap paused, waiting for the laughter. 

There was none. 

“What.”

“We had sex. It was the only thing that worked for a while.” Price stared at him. “He initiated. I just… I don’t want you to think I took advantage of him.” 

Soap stared for a while longer. “Oh… Should I…”

Price laughed. Ouch. “He’ll eat you alive if you tried. It’s part of the thing I mentioned. If he initiates, that on him.” 

Soap decided this was too much information. Far, far too much. “Okay… I’m… i’m gonna…” He left without another word. 

He ended up going to the training room. 

Ghost didn’t appear. 

Soap felt disappointed. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

That was... such an odd thing to think about. Did Ghost think that's what he was going to do that day?

Soap groaned. He had told the man to strip. No wonder Ghost had look so alarmed. Had he thought Soap would just jump him?

No. Soap would...

Ghost's dark brown eyes popped into his head.

Wouldn't...

The way he moved so flawlessly. The dorky tattoos.

This was just because of what Price said I mean really...

"Johnny."

Soap jumped and whipped around to look up at Ghost. "Oh... hey... buddy."

"Spar with me?"

"Of course, Simon!"

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

Adding a tag list!! Just comment

[linabirb]

Deep Cover ENG Translyrics

*shaking* hhi so i've mentioned a few times that i actually sort of. write translyrics a-and i wrote these like. in an hour. i am not insane btw. i am so normal.

a note: we don't have an official eng translation rn and i do learn japanese and can speak it a little bit, but i am definitely not fluent, so there can be some mistakes and also these lyrics might not be the most accurate because i changed some stuff to add more rhythm (?) to the lyrics and just because i thought it sounded cool. but i still tried my best to keep it as similar to the original ones as possible!

also i do write translyrics often but i don't have that much experience with translating stuff to english so. um. pls be nice ;w;

i wish i could add a recording of me singing it to show how they're supposed to sound, but. my voice is too weak for this song djdkkd i think these should sound good though :'D

(UNDER)

Feeding off of you, don't say it's over

(UNDER)

I've achieved my goal, but it's still getting colder

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

My rage can't be stopped, can't be stopped!

You're so lame!

(UNDER)

The queen is here, that's the role she's playing

(UNDER)

You think a thief like you can save them?

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

My love can't be stopped, can't be stopped!

It's so hard!

I wonder who should I get rid of?

Oh, you're guilty? It's what you deserve

That's why I have become your fangs and claws

The hero that everyone has been waiting for

My answer? You should already know

"Stop it, please" Oh, please, I thought you wanted more

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live

(UNDER)

Put your mask on, king, and don't stop faking

My faith's too strong and you'll never break it

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

It's true, I forgot, I forgot!

I'm so bored!

(UNDER)

Your memories are lost inside this prison

(UNDER)

Wish to defeat me? How funny, what's your reason?

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

Let's go and knock this damn door down!

That's why you have become my reason to live

What you're waiting for, go and choose "Not forgive"

Empathy is an illusion, don't listen to it

Evil is evil and that's what you have to defeat

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live

(UNDER)

(UNDER)

What I'm looking for has to be correct and just

This hopeless future, I want it to be crushed

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

I'm the one that you can trust

That's why I have become your fangs and claws

The hero that everyone has been waiting for

My answer? You should already know

"Stop it, please" Oh, please, I thought you wanted more

Why would you stop me now?

A mission, a motive and a goal, that's what I need

I beg you, beg you now

Please give me my next reason to live (x2)

(UNDER)

Number one! A parasite, good for nothing

(UNDER)

Number two! A slut that has no shame

(UNDER)

Number four! A queen wearing a fake crown

(UNDER)

Number five! Cutting them open, failure of a savior

(UNDER)

Number seven! A liar wanting to stay hidden

(UNDER)

Number eleven! A useless prison warden

It's so dumb, it's so dumb, but

Can you stay behind, stay behind, just shut up

Translation notes:

"Feeding off of you" is a reference to Kotoko calling Haruka a parasite and "don't say it's over" is a reference to Haruka's relationship with his mother and "wanting her to hug him again as she once did".

"The queen is here, that's the role she's playing'' I really wanted to keep the "queen game" part, but I just couldn't make it sound good, so at least we have this :')

"You really think a thief like you can save them?" The original one had "stealer" but I thought "thief" sounds better in this version!

"It's true, I forgot, I forgot!" At first I wanted to keep the "can't be stopped" bit, but I just really couldn't come up with anything related to it and then I thought that Mikoto having a part that sounds different would be really cool in a way.

"Wish to defeat me? How funny, what's your reason?" Please feel free to correct me, but I genuinely don't know if Kotoko is asking Es if they want to "defeat" her or if she's talking about Es assuming that Kotoko wants to "defeat" them, it doesn't help that she also says "Laughable justice" after this, but I went with the first option.

"This hopeless future, I want it to be crushed" The original lyrics mention the "dirty future" and I. Have no idea what she means by that, so I went with this.

"Number one! A parasite, good for nothing" LISTEN, HER SAYING EVERYONE'S NUMBERS LIKE THAT SOUNDS COOL. Also, I really did want everyone's parts to rhyme, but I just couldn't come up with anything and all my ideas sounded weird, so I decided to keep it this way, sort of like Kotoko is yelling at them and really calling them out?