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[devil-in-hiding]

farmer!reader who is ovulating, loves thigh riding and wearing sundresses

so one particular day after having a big lunch the boys decided they needed to get some firewood to make a bomb-fire. price decides to stay back and help reader clean up after lunch and while they did finish cleaning up reader¡ notices price on the couch with his head towards the janky old tv that barley has signal and the way he’s man-spreading with his see white tank top and tight jeans on reader!¡ starts feeling a pool of heat as she watches how his pants cling to his thighs so she decides to make her way towards price to lift her dress over her hips and sit on his thigh while subtly grinding against him she thinks he’s not paying attention to her but he secretly very into it. he’s also ignoring her trying to see how long she would last until she says something and after about 15 minutes or so she feels embarrassed she’s just been basically humping his leg leaving wet spots and whining about how much she loves getting on his thigh and babbling about how good it feels but after a while she she decides to get off of him since he’s been staring only at the tv rock hard ignoring her and as she about to go up the stairs price tells her that she didn’t finish so his tv show wasn’t done and she wouldn’t be allowed to leave until she came no matter how long it takes.

sorry this makes no grammatical or actual sense i’m writing this while fighting sleep and high

-🩰

hnngggggg please for the love of god thigh riding is so fuckin 😩😩😩

god this goes hand in hand with big boy price gaining weight on the farm because those fuckin thighs in worn jeans is just drool worthy

so it’s no wonder that you innocently climb into his lap, sitting on his knee just how he likes, and in just a way you can grind against his thigh, and he’s no idiot, he can feel the minuscule shift of your hips, and the growing wet spot spreading across his denim, but he pays no mind, keeping his eyes focused on a random episode of law and order from your dvd case

he can tell your getting frustrated, chest flushed and frustrated little grunts leaving your lips, movements picking up in speed ever so slightly, and he can feel your eyes looking to him, searching for any type of praise, encouragement, but he ignores it, even though he wants nothing more than to rip your useless panties right off and bounce you on his cock, use your tight cunt as his personal cocksleeve for the rest of the evening

but he likes watching his pretty woman turn into a teary eyed begging mess, doesn’t happen often, so he relishes in it when it does.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋

this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍

Wandering Hands

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)

warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI

a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao

very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33

wc: 2.7k

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

Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands. 

It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you.  He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?

To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours. 

"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him. 

You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss. 

Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile. 

“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.” 

“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.

The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”

Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water. 

“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.” 

His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.

“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle. 

In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.

“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.” 

“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.

Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.

“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress. 

"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach. 

"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes. 

"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-" 

"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."

"...or go to the sauna-"

"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."

"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"

He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini. 

"If you insist, cariño." 

~~~

The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back. 

There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day. 

You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets. 

Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring." 

"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?" 

He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck. 

"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise." 

You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time… 

"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone. 

"Promise me."

"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."

He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours. 

"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."

You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit. 

He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water. 

"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien,  okay?" 

So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands. 

"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you. 

"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Miguel meets your eyes. 

"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.

"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface… 

He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you. 

Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.

"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-" 

"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused. 

"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!" 

Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope. 

"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."

You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well. 

"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her. 

"Pasta, baby."

"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."

A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"

You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh. 

"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit. 

It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected. 

You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase. 

"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."

Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."

They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."

Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."

"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out. 

Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog. 

As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear. 

"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?" 

"You're being mean."

"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax." 

Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him. 

"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?

"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”

"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."

You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy. 

When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure. 

You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours. 

"You're teasing." He hisses softly. 

You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart. 

"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up. 

"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."

You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length. 

"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-" 

That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face. 

Content. Relaxed, even. 

~~~

Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer. 

"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.

"I said I would call, didn't I?" 

You hum. "...suppose you did."

"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?" 

Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-" 

"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways. 

"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."

"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-" 

"Gross, Jess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??" 

You wince at the vulgarity of her words. 

"....Ouch." 

She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot

[ridher]

jj maybank running into the sweet new girl when stopping by a local smoothie shop

it was only your second day on the job, the first one where you were on your own to serve those strolling the hot summer beach packed with both kooks, pogues, and the occasional touron.

you hadn't even had a chance to make any friends beyond the other young girls you worked with, but even that wasn't more than friendly conversation. you'd gotten a job straight after moving to the south side of kildare — your family needed the money.

it was getting a bit stressful as soon as it hit late afternoon. the crowd of people in line along with the heat beating down during its prime hours, plus being so inexperienced, was overwhelming and starting to get to your performance.

pushing through, you get to what seems like the last group of people for a bit. by now, pieces have fallen from the messy updo of your hair and a thin sheen of sweat coats your body — even through the lenient dress code that allows you to wear a dainty tank top and jean shorts.

still, you greet them with a sweet smile that's mostly directed at the boy in front with brown, curly hair, sporting a bandana around his neck. your lips part to recite the words you'd been trained to welcome customers by when a blonde boy pushes his way up from behind and flashes a crooked smirk.

"um, what can i get you guys today?" you hesitate and it comes out less confident than when said to all the customers before.

"yeah.. let me get a uh— y'know, what do you suggest?" the same boy responds, arms crossing while his brows pinch like he's thinking awfully hard.

based on the expressions of the group accompanying him — two other boys and one girl — this behavior from the sun-tanned boy isn't an uncommon occurrence.

"this week's special's been my favorite recently." something about the attention of his intense eye contact has you nervous, shifting in your stance and brushing loose strands of hair from your face.

"shit, aight, gimme four of 'em." his haze only briefly darts to the little stand showcasing said smoothie before he agrees.

"wh—" the other boy behind him is ignored when he attempts to speak up, the girl only rolling her eyes and directing her attention elsewhere.

nonetheless, you get started on four of the same drink, back turned to the group as you move about — mind full thinking about the smallest interaction between you and the boy.

soon enough, you arrange the smoothies across the counter and ring up the price on a company tablet. that's when you finally look back up at the boy with a small but genuine smile and relay the total.

hassling the previous leader for money, he places the cash on the surface between you two, tonguing at his cheek with an almost amused look when his lips turn up slightly.

the smoothies get distributed and their change is returned, yet that one boy lingers across the counter.

"jj. you're new, yeah?" he finally asks, sticking out the hand that's not holding a drink.

you nod, shaking his hand and checking behind him to make sure nobody is waiting on the exchange before pulling your hand away and telling him your name.

jj nods, not so subtly taking in your full appearance with a sip from the straw. his eyes finally land back on yours and his expression is ever so smug noticing the flush on your cheeks.

knocking on the counter with his knuckles, he shakes his head to himself and starts to walk off in the path his friends went.

"i'll see ya 'round." drawing out your name at the end of his departing statement and winking, jj finally leaves.

it's all you can recall the rest of your shift, especially when you catch his stares from various spots across the beach before being punched in the arm or smacked on the back of his head by what you see now to be his group of pogue friends.

you can't help but smile to yourself, knowing he's just as intrigued by you that you are him — even if it just makes the hands on the clock move faster daydreaming about a cute surfer boy.

[charliemwrites]

Part 10! of SpecGru reader. This is a little short, but I was so excited to post because NOVA.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex - oral, female receiving

Nova is your partner for the day – running drills as guest instructors for recruits, working them so hard they don’t have enough air to make any stupid, sexist remarks. The two of you spend all day flirting like a new lovesick couple, your hand drifting low on her back while she teases you with double entendres. Press her up against the wall outside the dining hall after lunch, licking the taste of apple off her lips while she tangles clever fingers in your hair.

Don’t care about who might be watching, or who cares. Not like your captain does. The opposite really, as he sidles up behind you while you’re spotting Nova in the gym. He slaps your ass so hard it damn near echoes, smirking at your scandalized face while she quickly reracks so that she can laugh.

“How are my girls doin’ today?” he chuckles.

“Right as rain, cap,” Nova answers, beaming when he cups her cheek.

“Can’t be anything but good with our star girl around,” you reply, winking at her. Bark a laugh when she smacks you in the thigh.

“Yeah?” he asks, a note of sincerity in his voice now. “Those shitheads leavin’ you alone?”

You blink, realize that there has been a distinct lack of 141 overtures today. No wonder you’re in such a good mood. An orgasm in the morning, your pretty, hyper-competent girlfriend all day, and no shitty former teammates? That’s practically a vacation lately.

“Do I have you to thank for that, sir?” you ask. Remember him saying something about talking to Price yesterday.

“You can thank me later,” he answers with a little smirk.

“Gladly, sir.” He’s getting more than that at this rate.

“Just wanted to check in on you two,” he continues, tweaking your nose, “and there’s an intel brief at 1600.”

“Yessir,” you and Nova reply together.

He chuckles again, gives you both one last fond look, then takes his leave.

“Finish up in here, shower, and get there a bit early?” Nova suggests.

You turn back to her, wipe a bit of sweat off her forehead with your forearm. She huffs in (only half fake) disgust and lays back on the bench again. She’s still got half a set to finish.

“Yeah, I want to steal Price’s usual seat,” you answer.

“You petty little tart,” she chuckles.

You lean your elbows on the bar and lean over her, arching your eyebrows playfully. “I’m your petty little tart.”

“Have always had a sweet tooth,” she muses.

You laugh and get off the bar so that she can continue. Of course, you’re keeping a close eye on her – but lord, she’s distracting. Thick thighs and solid abdomen, her tank-top is even sticking to the flexing muscles. And her arms. You’re not even being subtle, drinking in each deliberate rise and fall of the metal bar. Following droplets of sweat down her biceps…

“You mind?” she huffs, though not without amusement.

You jolt a bit, flushing as you help her rerack again. She sits up, a mischievous curl to her full lips.

“What’s got into you, huh?” she asks, tilting her head.

You shrug as you switch places, trip up a bit when you realize just how nice the view is. Even thoroughly sweaty, she smells a bit like coconut. Damn.

“Not you, unfortunately,” you reply absently.

She chuckles, tapping a finger against your forehead. “Tell ya what, love – you do five extra reps and we can make that happen.”

You’ve never flown through a workout so fast.

--

You damn near stumble into the shower stall, lips and tongue tangled with Nova’s. The flimsy curtain flutters haphazardly behind her as you reach blindly for the knob. Ice cold water drenches your back, but it does nothing to cool the desire blazing in your gut. Not when she’s peeling herself out of her compression pants, shimmying out of her damp shirt, and wriggling out of her sports bra.

Don’t even care about your own clothes, dropping to your knees in awe. She’s absolutely gorgeous, your girl. Pretty brown skin interrupted by pale patches like scattered clouds, meeting of earth and sky right there in front of you. Something divine about that, you think vaguely. She certainly looks the part, all strength and confidence, dark eyes smoldering like coals. Interrupted only by slashes of scar tissue and the SpecGru tattoo on her forearm.

You’ll never get tired of looking at her.

“C’mere, love,” you murmur, hooking your fingers behind her thigh and gently urging her closer.

She laughs a bit, though there’s a breathless edge to it that makes you perk up like a dog.

“You’re still dressed, daft thing.”

You shake your head. “That can wait.”

Despite your deal in the gym, there’s nothing you want more right now than to take care of her. Just leave her a shaky, whimpering mess, until your shirt is wet with her rather than water or sweat.

“Let me take care of you, baby?” you breathe, hands skimming up her soft thighs. You caress your thumb over her labia, licking your lips at the stickiness already gathered there. “Please, Nila.”

She shudders hard. You groan softly, trailing kisses over the bundle of tissue protecting her lower tummy. Can feel her twitching a bit from the ticklish sensation of your hair brushing her ribs.

“Y-your sure?” she asks. “I haven’t washed off yet…”

“Don’ care,” you mumble, scraping your teeth over the sharp cut of her hip. Tease eager fingertips over her leaking slit, playing in the trim curls. “I gotta taste you. Stay hydrated ‘n all that.”

She tries to scoff, but it’s overtaken by a wobbly moan when you suck a modest mark into her inner thigh. Keegan’s going to pout when he sees it; that’s his favorite spot to claim on all of you.

“Yeah, babes,” she gasps, “g-go ahead.”

It’s probably pathetic, how quickly you faceplant into her pussy. Can’t bring yourself to care when the taste of her bursts across your desperate tongue. A bit of salt, but all her, earthy. You lap at her with the flat of your tongue, starting at her dripping entrance and working slowly up until you curl the tip over her slippery, swollen clit. Again and again. Until all your thoughts whittle down to this, to her. To the helpless clench of her empty cunt and the involuntary buck of her hips. Nothing to calm your thoughts like taking care of your angel.

“Fuck, baby,” she moans, blunt nails scraping over your scalp.

Your eyes roll back as shivers chase down your spine, moaning into her cunt just to return the effect. Love how her head tips back, knees quaking. You scoot in a bit closer, hook her knee over your shoulder to offer some stability. Then focus your attention on that button of nerves, sucking it gently into your hot mouth.

“F-fingers,” she whimpers, “fingers too, love. Please.”

As if you could deny her anything ever. Circle worshipful fingers around her entrance, groaning lustfully when slick begins dripping down your wrist. God, she always gets to fucking wet. When she tilts her hips with a needy whine, you test one finger inside her, rubbing gently against her walls. But she keens, clearly wants more, so you stuff a second finger inside her, curling them as you flick your tongue over her clit.

“Fuck!” she cries. “Yeah, just like that. J-Just there, babe.”

And you’re useless to do anything but acquiesce, setting a steady rhythm that leaves her squirming on your mouth and hands. Feel like you could get off on the noises she’s making alone, your own pussy drenched and aching. But you can’t be bothered to spare a single thought or movement for yourself, hands and mind too full of Nila.

Your dedication is quickly rewarded by the telltale squeezing of her pussy, the increasing pitch and volume to her voice. Don’t dare change a single thing, as desperate for her to cum as she is. Could live forever between her thighs, just like this, listening to that voice break for you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m… c-cum – fuck!”

You moan as she drenches your chin and neck, quick to support her weak legs so that she can ride out each and every wave of her ecstasy. Suckle at her sensitive clit and circle your fingers around her spongy g-spot until she’s shuddering, gently tugging at your hair. You pull away reluctantly; don’t want to overstimulate her (when she doesn’t want it) but pussy-drunk all the same.

Give her a second to catch her breath, dotting kisses like stars around your pretty Nova.

“That was perfect,” she coos, “come up here for a kiss? I miss you.”

You make sure she’s steady before standing, smiling, stupidly charmed. “I’m right here, sweetheart, nothing to miss.”

“Miss you anytime I’m not kissin’ you,” she replies dreamily, looping her arms around your neck.

You pepper kisses along her jaw until you reach her puffy, bitten lips. Tuts softly at their swollen state before she thoroughly distracts you by licking the taste of herself from your mouth.

“Spoil me,” she sighs against your lips.

“Not spoiling if you deserve it,” you reply, hugging her close.

She giggles brightly, tucking her face against your flushed neck. Stay like that for a moment, gently swaying. Then she nips gently at your collarbone.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

First | Previous | Introducing...

Masterlist

[faithsxoxo]

pairing :: chloe price x reader note :: band au, you’re chloe’s manager and she’s the drummer ;) warnings :: very very implied nsfw

Chloe whips her head towards the door as it slams open. You stand the doorway, absolutely fuming.

“What were you thinking?” You exclaim, storming towards her.

“Careful, if you glare any harder you might pop a blood vessel,” Chloe leans back in her chair, absentmindedly chewing on the straw of her drink. She barely glances at you before returning to her phone.

“Listen,” you begin, already losing your patience, “I don’t care what you do in your spare time. That’s not my job. However, when your reputation is involved, that makes it my problem.” Chloe rolls her eyes.

“I went out and screwed a couple girls, so what? My ‘reputation’ shouldn’t matter to true fans,” She punctuates her sentence by kicking her legs up onto the table.

“Maybe this never occurred to you, but you’re not the only person in the world Chloe Price,” You spit. “Your public appearance may not matter to you, but being caught in scandals affects all of the band. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for them.”

Chloe’s face crumples for a moment, but she recovers so quickly you almost think you imagined it. “Whatever,” She grumbles, turning away from you. “I get the point, you can fuck off now.” With a sigh, you turn around and walk out. You feel a pang of guilt, before washing it away. It’s not your fault she’s a raging cunt.

•

“7 minutes, going on in 7 minutes,” The headset crackles into your ears. You push into the dressing room where the three girls await you. Chloe is holed up in the corner, headphones leaking her punk rock playlist. Steph sits at the vanities brushing on finishing touches to her colorful face.

“You all ready?” You call, stepping over heaps of discarded clothes and accessories. “Just about,” Steph calls.

“6 minutes, 6 minutes all,” the radio calls again.

“I hate that thing,” Rachel grumbles, pacing the length of the room.

“Jesus, cool it Rach. You’re making me nervous,” Steph turns to face her.

“10,000 people in a stadium. To see our stupid fucking band,” Rachel sighs. “How am I supposed to cool it?”

“It’s really not a big deal, you’ve done this before,” you reassure, patting her arm lightly.

“5 minutes folks, 5 minutes on the clock. Can the band please meet behind the curtains, I repeat can the band join us on the stage,” The radio calls.

Rachel swears. Steph steps to her and wraps her arm around her shoulder.

“Come on Rach, no biggie. Just pretend they’re not there.”

She sighs.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

•

You stand slightly off stage, watching the scene unfold. Thousands of roaring fans carrying signs and lights filled the stadium, all of them reaching for the trio.

Cash Register Fire.

The band that you had put your heart and soul into getting signed. They deserved it, putting hundreds of hours of time into their music. You remember the first days of being with them, hanging out in their studio apartment. You sighed softly, recalling the sweet memories.

•

Laughter fills the room.

“Oh fuck-,” Chloe cries out as her cymbal crashes to the floor. You clap, leaning against the back wall.

“Very convincing. The records will love seeing this,” You giggle, shaking your head.

“Get used to it,” Chloe smirks, throwing her arm around you. “It’s part of the brand.”

“Chloe, don’t scare her off yet,” Rachel groans. “Nahhh,” Steph calls. “She’s already used to our bullshit.”

“Chloe’s bullshit,” Rachel corrects.

Chloe steps away from you, and you almost want to lean back into her.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chloe rolls her eyes.

•

Huh. You furrow your brows, pondering the moment. What had changed between you and Chloe? You crane your neck to see her on stage. Blue hair, tattoos, piercings, Chloe’s the definition of punk rock. Your cheeks flush. She looks incredible in that tank top. You catch yourself, shaking your head and stepping back. No. You cannot be thinking this about Chloe fucking Price. You turn around and walk away before you can think anything worse.

•

Finally, the show closes and the trio step backstage. “Holy shit you guys, you did amazing,” You exclaim, feeling prouder than ever. “You think?” Rachel sighs. “My voice cracked like 3 times.”

“Shut the hell up,” Chloe moans, punching Rachel in the shoulder. “You sang great and you know it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rachel rolls her eyes and pulls away. “Cmon, I’m fucking starving.”

As she pulls Steph away, you grab Chloe gently. “Er- nice work tonight,” you mumble, awkwardly. “Your drumming is… cool.”

“Cool drums. Uh- thanks for the feedback.” She runs her fingers through her hair. You nod slowly, avoiding eye contact.

“Listen- uh. You wanna ditch?” Chloe suggests quickly.

“…What?”

“Ditch. Y’know, go somewhere. Celebratory dinner or whatever,” She says.

“Oh. I mean, don’t you want to do that with the rest of the band?” You ask.

She shoves her hands in her pockets, embarrassed. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” She shakes her head. “It was a stupid idea anyway.”

“No! No, not at all,” You’re quick to respond. “I would love to go get something to eat.”

Her eyes widen, before falling back into her mock-annoyed expression.

“Yeah- I mean, yeah, I knew you were gonna say that. Okay, um, dinner.” Chloe grins slightly. “I know a place.”

•

You and Chloe pull up to a small diner on the edge of town. “Two whales,” You murmur.

“My mom owns the place,” Chloe explains. “But, uh, if you want to go somewhere else we can.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, this sounds nice. I’ve never been out here before,” You smile gently.

You both head inside and situate yourself in a booth.

“So.. not that i’m opposed to this, but what’s with the sudden change in attitude?” You question, smirking slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chloe grumbles, turning away.

“Oh? What, are you trying to rope me into a new scandal of yours?”

Chloe narrows her eyes.

“Again, my reputation isn’t your business. Just stop worrying about me,” She growls, crossing her arms and turning away.

“You mean doing my job?” You roll your eyes. “I’m not having this conservation with you again.”

“Then fucking don’t!” Chloe exclaims. “Can’t you fucking leave me alone?”

You slide out of the booth and glare at her.

“Fine, maybe I fucking will.” You grit, before storming out of the diner.

•

You sigh, burying your head in your arms. You had been working with CRF’s marketing team all morning trying to cover up Chloe’s newest ‘business’. After you had left her the previous night she had been spotted completely wasted in the closest bar. You almost felt bad. A knock on your office door makes you perk up. “Hey. How’s my favorite manager?” Rachel smiles softly.

“Ugh.” You groan, covering your face with your hands.

“Yeah, I know. But, listen, Chloe is.. not doing too well right now,” She informs.

“Okay? Can’t you handle that?” You grumble. She winces slightly.

“She locked herself in her room and won’t come out. We were hoping that she might let you in.”

“Why the hell would she let me in?” You question.

“Didn’t you use to be close? I know it’s a bit of a rough patch right now, but she might appreciate you trying,” Rachel replies with a nervous grin.

“I’ve been fucking trying. That’s all I do,” You shake your head in annoyance.

“Whatever. I’ll go see what she needs.”

•

“Chloe,” You bark, banging on her door. “Let me in.”

“What the fuck do you want?” She shouts, voice muffled from burying her face in her pillow.

“I want to know why you’re moping around. You’ve got everything you could possibly want, what more?” You fume.

Chloe pulls open the door with a huff.

“I do not have everything I want,” She growls.

“So what, you’re privileged enough to have most of it,” You cross your arms and narrow your eyes. “What else could you possibly want?”

Her gaze softens for just a moment, before returning to her glare.

“Something I can’t have,” She whispers.

“And what could that possibly be?” You roll your eyes.

Chloe suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you closer.

“Are you that fucking dense? Do I really need to spell it out to you?”

You gasp softly.

“Chloe..” You murmur.

Before you know it, her lips are on yours. You let yourself melt under her touch, wrapping your arms around her neck.

“Fuck,” She mumbles against your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Maybe I don’t know,” You whisper, “But you can show me.”

She smirks and pulls you into her room, locking the door.

“Yeah, I’ll show you.”

[raffe156]

Room for one more

Pairing - Price x OC Tank (F!reader)

Summery - Testing the limits of a one man tent…

A/N- little Drabble based on those single tents @atomiccrownpoetry mentioned, I’m sorry it took so long! Though I’ve tagged it as Tank an I read it as Tank and some of you will do the same, I don’t mention her by name so can be read as Price x F!reader 😌

Warnings - Smut (18+) Voyeurism kind of , Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26) unsafe sex, p in v

✨As always comments and feedback welcome ✨

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank

“You should get your head down kid, you look shattered” Price rubbed your back, he towered over you his hand lingered between your shoulder blades.

He was right it had been a long day of recon and you weren’t about to get into another argument with Soap over who ate the last digestive biscuit.

It was you but you weren’t about to admit that. Tonight was the last night of a 3 day stay in the desert and you were ready to go home.

“Yeh you’re right” You stood up stretching your back.

“Listen, one more night of this and I promise you fresh sheets and a real pillow.” Price squeezed the back of your neck a smile on his face. Everyone cheered at the idea of getting their heads down in a proper bed, but you knew he didn’t mean the beds back at the base. The thought caused a stir in your stomach and it was enough to get you through the next few hours.

You said your good nights and walked back to your single tent with Farah in tow.

You chit chatted as you both stripped down to your under layers outside your tents. Even though the temperature dropped at night, inside the tent was insulated and the last few nights had been so warm you had slept with just the mesh panel.

“Was it you that ate the last of those biscuits Soap loves so much?” Farah laughed as she turned you around to braid your hair just like she had done the last few nights. You gave her a knowing smirk as you handed her the comb. She laughed shaking her head.

“Sooo you and Alex eh?”

Farah didn’t need to see your face she could hear the grin as clear as your words.

“Asimat!” She tugged the braid playfully. You held your head laughing.

“OK OK ‘ana asf!” You pleaded.

“Never mind that, what about you and the Captain eh? Ya ‘iilahi, I see the way he looks at you, like a starving man looks at a meal…”

“Farah! Asimat!” You could feel your face flushing.

She tied a bobble around the braid a cocky look on her face. You both eyed each other, before bursting out laughing the sound echoed across the campsite and off into the distance.

For a few minutes the two of you weren’t soldiers in the night, but just two girls braiding each others hair and laughing about boys at a sleepover.

***********

You lay in your tent listening to the sounds of the desert, the distance chirps and hoots.

Just as your mind was finally drifting off you felt the air shift, turning your head slowly you watched the zip of the tent door curl down to reveal the pitch black night, the warm breeze blowing in as a dark silhouette moved closer inside. You knew instantly who it was the air bringing in the smell of dampened fire and cigar smoke.

You blinked a few times trying to make out where the nighttime visitors face was.

“You awake kid?”

“Yeh…I’am now”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Don’t think you’ll fit”

“I will…move over”

“Move over where? It’s a 1 man tent”

“Good thing I’m just 1 man then eh?”

“….”

“Just move over” a growl more than a whisper now.

“Someone’s gonna see you, I thought you said we have to wait till we get back home? You fully lectured me about it?”

“I know what I said…just move over”

You did as you were told, moving on to your side allowing your Captain to slide in next to you. It was a tight fit as he zipped the panel shut behind him, you could feel the air trapped inside get heavy.

“Come ere” Price pulled you into him, you threw your leg over his waist.

“Oh I’ve missed this…can’t wait to get back to mine, don’t plan on letting you leave the bed let alone the bedroom” He let out a little chuckle as he kissed the top of your head.

“I know it’s not the same….but I’ve wanted to be close with you like this since we arrived Kid, it’s been driving me insane…”

“I’m more than happy with this, I’ve missed you too Boss”

You stretched your body out over his, your hands finding their place to settle.

He was in his joggers and a T-shirt, he must of walked the distance from his tent to yours in his socks you could feel the tiny grains of sand against your legs. You tried to pull them off his feet with your own.

“What are you doing? You’re not taking another pair of my socks!”

“No you’ve got sand on them, take them off”

You felt a little rumble of a laugh come from his chest.

“If you want me to take my kit off all you have to do is ask love”

“Shut up! You’ve got sand all in my sleeping bag take them off now!”

“Oh using your big girl voice are we? Hmm I like it” He pulled you on top of him your body sliding over him with ease, legs either side. You tried to sit up but your back was pressed back down by the roof of the tent.

“John what the…”

He cut you off his hands pulling you down into him, his mouth finding yours in the dark. His kiss was hungry and needy, it had been a few days since he’d been able to show any real affection towards you. You had made do with the odd pat on the shoulder, his hand lingering a minute longer than needed, standing just that little bit closer during briefs, his legs looped with yours in the back of cramped vans and trucks.

You allowed him to devour you in the darkness.

Lifting your hips slightly Price pushed his joggers down just enough to pull his cock out and rest it on your underwear. You instinctively rolled your hips back into him feeling the sturdiness of his erection as it pushed against you.

You felt his hand pull roughly at your underwear, he wanted them off but knew there wasn’t the room or the time so pulled to the side would have to do. His fingers brushed against your folds as he pull the fabric away. Without needing to be told you eased the tip of him inside you savouring the feeling as you pushed through, you could hear the little grunts of frustration and swore there was a whimper or two as you sank yourself down taking him down to the base. It was a snug fit.

“Fuckin ell” he whispered as you slowing rocked your hips back and forth your chest pressed to his. A pathetic whine left your own body. You desperately wanted to sit up, wanted to feel his hands roam up your body, to cup your breasts, you wanted to see his face, see the same desperation in his eyes, to watch as his teeth clenched and gritted together as you rode him, but there was no room for fancy moves or position changes, this was it packed in tight, close quarters.

You tucked yourself in under his chin your head slightly tilted, Price held you close to him as you slowly picked up the pace, his other hand firmly on your backside rocking you back and forth grinding your clit on his pubic bone.

The thought of being heard or even caught made you want to be that little bit louder, just a few feet away your entire squad slept it made your system flood with adrenaline.

As if he had read your mind, Price gripped your backside tighter. You let out a moan.

“Need you to stay quiet love, can’t have you waking the whole camp up now can we…what would they say if they caught us like this eh? I promise you can be as loud as you want when we get back home…” he mumbled as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You couldn’t take it, you pushed yourself up rolling your hips faster and faster. The roof of the tent rubbing against your back.

The air inside the tent was heavy and damp with condensation, but you didn’t care your bodies were buzzing, you could feel it right there building inside of you both. Each craving for this closeness, this connection for days.

Price placed his hand on the side of your neck. He was close, but you were closer and he knew it your body gave you away.

“That’s it….cum for me love…aww…good girl…that’s its…” he gripped your neck that bit tighter your moans came out ragged and broken from trying to stay quiet, but even though you were coming undone you couldn’t stop your hips from rocking back and forth your body wanted more your insides pulsed and fluttered around him, begging to come again.

Price couldn’t hold out any longer and began desperately bucking his hips up into you, cursing between gritted teeth with each thrust. The sticky wet noises filling the tent, someone would definitely be able to hear, the rush of being caught surged through your body again making your hips match the speed of Price’s thrusts. This caused you both to fall apart very quickly. You buried your head in his neck to stifle your cries.

“Fuckkkkkk…” Prices groaned as he came inside you, his thrusts slowing as he became more sensitive.

You both lay there trying to catch your breath, your bodies pulsing as your heartbeats tried to regulate. Once the blood had stopped rushing in your ears you tried to listen for any movement outside the tent, hushed voices or footsteps, but all you could hear were the distant hoots and howls of the night.

“Think we’re good…” Price kissed your temple as he slowly unzipped one of the panels to let some air in.

*************

You woke up at 6:00 alone having no idea when Price had left you, but you felt his socks at the bottom of sleeping bag pulling them on you sorted yourself out and grabbed your toiletries bag, the makeshift showers weren’t too bad and you definitely needed one.

As you unzipped your tent you were met with the familiar sleepy faces of your squad. Soap half hanging out of his tent with a brew talking to Gaz, his Mohawk fluffy and sticking out in all directions. The pair of them clocked you and grinned. Your heart sunk. They had heard you last night, but before you could speak or plead your case Ghost and Price walked over to the huddle of tents.

“Morning kid…want a swig of this?” He handed you his cup of coffee you took it looking him dead in the eye.

“Can we have a word…in private?” You whispered. His face changed a serious look on his face. He nodded guiding you away from the others.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I think Gaz and Soap heard us last night they were talking this morning and gave me this look…I don’t know but they know something” you held the cup of coffee tight.

Price smiled resting his hand on your shoulder he leant forward so he was eye level with you. You wanted to slap the beard right of his face.

“We weren’t the only ones at it last night kid, have you noticed anyone missing this morning?”

A wave of relief washed over you, thank god!

“So if it’s not us they heard who was it?….” It only took a spilt second to realise who was missing.

“oh my god….Farah and Alex!” You spilt half the coffee onto Prices boots as you whipped round to look back at the camp.

“Correct…and Soap said they were pretty loud so even if we had been heard everyone thinks it’s them” Price chuckled as he took back his coffee.

Just as you turned back to Price you heard cheering and whistles, Alex had crawled out of Farah’s tent, bed headed and shirtless a weak smile on his face. Soap slapped him on the back offering him a coffee, close behind Farah appeared looking more triumphant than anything as she light up a cigarette. She waved at you and the Captain.

“She’s ballsy that one” you smiled back at her as Price lifted his coffee mug up at her in salute.

***********

A few days later you get a text from Gaz

[viaoverthemoon]

Temptation

Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: Your parents come to visit you and your boyfriend Leon and don't realize the sexual tension in the room <3

Tw: implied future sexy times, suggestive touching, suggestive talking, painfully oblivious behavior

18+!! Not really, but it'd help my sanity. MDNI!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

Enjoy! <3

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The counter digs harshly into your back as Leon presses you against it. His hands grip onto your hips, flushing them against his as he grinds into you.

Your moans are swallowed by Leon's mouth as he kisses you, his tongue tasting every inch of you. You place your hands on his chest, gently pushing him away as you catch your breath. "Leon... we can't,"

He leans down to your neck, breathing in your scent before placing sloppy kisses on the skin.

You groan, trying to push him off of you. "Lee, we don't have time-"

He grunts and you gasp when he dives his hips into yours roughly.

"We will if we hurry-"

He doesn't even get to fully finish his sentence before the doorbell rings, startling the both of you.

You gasp loudly, pushing Leon to the side. You ignore the way he stumbles as you run to the mirror that rests on the wall of your living room. "Fuck! I told you they would come early!" You fix your hair and scan over your appearance. Lucky enough, Leon hadn't left any hickeys that you would have to hide.

You turn around rushing for the front door when the doorbell rings again. "Coming!" You yell, glancing at Leon and giving him a look that says, 'get your shit together!'.

You reach the front door and take a deep breath before opening it.

"Hi mom! Hi dad!" You reach out for a hug, which they both happily return.

"Oh, (Y/n)! We've been so excited to come and see you! Gosh knows we've been trying to come here forever! But inflation of course- and these high as hell gas prices! Universe knows ain't no body paying 40 dollars for a full tank-"

You listen to your mother ramble on and on, smiling nervously as you lead them to the kitchen. By now, Leon has himself together. He takes the food out of the oven and smiles at your parents.

"Ma'am. Sir. Pleasure to see you again."

Your moms runs to him after he puts the hot pan on the counter, throwing her arms around his neck.

"There's my future son-in-law! Now how many times have we told you to call us by our names!" Your dad walks away while laughing, heading to the living room as Leon pats your mom's back softly while making eye contact with you. His gaze is nothing short of mischievous.

"Sorry ma'am. I'm rather formal."

Tonight's gonna be a long one.

☆

The entire night, your parents somehow don't catch the knowing glances and sly touches that happen between you and Leon.

Leon looked at you multiple times when he would make a dirty joke that just managed to pass as another one of his horrible quips. He brushed against you at random times. Not sexually, just to feel you. And it drove you wild. When it was time to eat dinner, Leon kept his hand on your leg, sometimes moving it up a little too high just to see your reaction.

You're surprised your parents never noticed your jumps or when you felt your face heat up and your legs clench. Yet, they never showed any knowledge, continuing to talk and ask the two of you invasive questions until it was time to leave.

They'd left tired and satisfied, giving the both of you a hug and giving last minute advice before heading out.

It isn't until you're washing the dishes when you suddenly feel a presence behind you. His hands land on your waist, his lips finding their way to your ear.

"Now, where were we?"

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This is definitely... something. I have no idea where this idea came from. ANYWAYS, I wrote this while listening to one of those 'pov: you're hot' playlists. :)

Hope you enjoyed!

Requests are open! <3

[loveydovey-leviathan]

iwaizumi x gn!reader

.

iwaizumi hajime is hopelessly in love with you, that much is certain- and it’s in everything he does for you. he lets you buy stupidly overpriced cereal that’s only priced so absurdly because of the little toys they have inside, and you already have an entire shelf of them at home. he always orders your favourite flavour of ice cream because you always ask for a bite of his food. he wears short sleeves and tank tops around the house because he knows you like touching his arms. he listens to everything you say and remembers the details of every single story, even if he couldn’t give less of a shit about the people in them. he loves you to heaven and back, you so much as say please and no matter how much he grumbles, anything he could ever give you is yours.

but maybe there is a limit to how much he can give you. maybe he’s spoiled you too much (he has).

“you're pretty,” you say with an innocent smile. like you haven’t been teasing him with this nickname since you both laid in bed. he doesn’t even try to turn his head to look at the time because he knows that whatever he sees won’t do him any good.

“stop it,” he grumbles, shoving his head further into your chest. he feels you softly combing your fingers through his locks, and he silently curses the effect you have on him. already, he’s starting to feel sleepy.

“my pretty princess~” you chuckle.

“go to sleep, [ ___ ]” his voice is muffled from his position, and his arms wrapped around your waist tighten as a warning, but he doesn’t do anything else to stop you. and apparently, that’s enough of a sign for you to keep going.

“my pretty little haji,”

“wha- little?” 

“yep,” popping the ‘p’ at the end. “my handsome, gorgeous, beautiful hajime,”.

to that, his face starts to flush. and he turns his head away so you can’t see him.

it’s not as though he doesn’t like being complimented. of course he does, especially by the love of his life. he’s just a bit… awkward to say the least. growing up with a pretty boy, watching people gushing over how handsome oikawa was when he was right there didn’t exactly do wonders for his self-esteem. 

“haji? you okay there?”

his thoughts are interrupted by your voice.

“m’fine,” he mumbles.

“besides, you’re the pretty one here,” he says in an attempt to woo you, and so hopefully you don’t pry into the topic.

it doesn’t work, for the most part.

“thank you, haji. but i still think you’re prettier,” 

he knows you know what he was thinking. it’s one of the many reasons he fell in love. the way you always seem to know how to cheer him up. how you never take any of his harsh words to heart because you know he doesn’t mean any of them. the fact that you see all he does for you; he doesn’t need to write you love poems or speak sugary words to show how much he loves you. 

and he sees all you do for him as well. when you finish the food he makes even if you don’t like it. how you make lunch for him every day because he always forgets. when you text him throughout the day just to check up on him or just to hear his voice. the little post-it notes you leave in the mirror before you go to sleep so he sees them the next morning when he gets ready for his early day run. he sees it all. 

and he thinks life really couldn’t get any better, laying in bed with his lover late at night as they praise him endlessly- just because they want to.

[thetravelingtyper]

Comfort Character Part 2 (Simon Ghost Riley x real-life fanfiction author reader)

Three months into his newfound existence, your life starts to return to normal.

Part 1, Part 3, Masterlist

AN: Deciding to remake and continue this as a fun writing practice, I was a different person when I started this and it feels wrong letting it rot.

When Simon Riley fell into your very real life you were stunned but you somehow quickly adapted to the ex-soldier. He was in his early thirties, an older contrast to your young 26, but you shook it off. However, what you could not shake off was the English Mastiff of a man who insisted on following you everywhere like a love-sick puppy. In the months following his new existence, you had been afraid to look at the COD games. 

The moment you woke up that fateful night, untangled yourself from pale arms, and went to your computer in a daze, you opened Tumblr and found Simon Riley wiped from a fictional existence. Now your character Spitfire romanced an equally handsome, but specifically not Ghost. The new character, still an English SAS member became instead Wraith. Mind you this was funny as hell if not a little disorientating. You also found that Soap, Gaz, and Price were written out of online history. No matter how many times you searched for them you found nothing. Then a figure behind you scared the hell out of you as reality quite easily picked you up and carried you back to bed.

---

Now, three months later, you discovered the man was your roommate, and thankfully had leftover funds from his ‘time’ in the SAS. Everything you had written had indeed come true, and yet, you often traced the chain around your neck, a heavy band sat against your heart. He had not explained that. His past was dark, yes, but the man you found often taking long baths and reading American Gods with Nebula curled in his lap was softer. He made easy conversation to the doorman and your landlord fawned over him like an old woman with a beloved grandson.

The only person still in shock was you, as everyone around you had Simon written into their past. Well, one of the only ones, other than the immediate people around you he was a bit of a shock to everyone else. The first time you went jogging through your medium-sized city you had been just jamming to some classic rock. Then the mastiff that materialized caused you to scream startled, eyes shot over to you in the park.

“You shouldn’t have those so loud Love.”

“WHAT THE HELL SIMON!”

You hit his arm, the muscle hurts you more than him. There are wide eyes that are just realizing the tower of a man. In the casual park, he is massive. 6 feet and 4 inches of traced muscle with broad shoulders and a wicked deposition. Instead of a balaclava a black face mask covers the lower half of his face. Your eyes take him in as your eyebrow shoots up. You wrote a more ‘conservatively’ dressed character, and yet this Simon wears a workout tank top and gym shorts. It does nothing to hide coiled muscle and his tattoos. His eyes only see you, a jogger comes up beside you, Simon steps even closer his form seeming to tower over you and walling you off from the world. 

“What are you wearing?”

Your question comes out breathy as the surprise wears off, tiredness burns your muscles and you naturally lean into his form, head against his chest. You swear the man steps closer, an arm closes around you. His eyes simmer and scan around, in them, Ghost appears tempting anyone step into his territory. Passerbys wisely give you two space, to which your guard dog grins.

“Like what you see Sweetheart?”

Your face heats up, and you move to pull back.

His free hand shoots up to cup your chin and jaw,

“No, you don’t pet.”

His arm at your shoulders drops to your lower back and he pulls you flush against him, and you squeak. His hand then drops down to the silver chain around your neck. You hear the grin in his low voice,

,

“You are mine.”

You gulp and give a nervous laugh, heart skipping but craving more of his warmth. He preens when you wrap your arms around his middle, fingers dipping into muscle,

“Yeah, I know.”

Thanks to Covid your work position has remained work from home, much to the delight of your school and your roommate. He never addressed the rings by the way. You could tell from your records (you sure as hell made sure to check) that you remained single. When your ruined date had the nerve to show up at your apartment demanding a second chance, the ex-soldier who appeared over your shoulder was a bit hard to explain.

---

“Is there an issue here?” Simon’s arm shot to the door frame above you and he hovered at your back. He did not press against you, respecting your position here, but instead offered support physically if you needed it. His eyes sharpened and glared down at the man in front of you, whose eyes widened in shock and the man froze.

Simon tempted him, an eyebrow-raising in mock invitation, he wanted to see how stupid this man was.

The answer he found was very, very stupid.

“You slu…”

The mastiff shot from behind you and in a second the man was pinned to the wall by the shoulder and throat, noticeably hanging by Simon’s strength alone.

“I will give you a chance to not finish that before I get angry.” 

You resumed breathing with the following heartbeat, still in shock. Simon’s voice was calm, his breathing steady. But you could see the tension coiled in him, he moved like lightning. Your heart shuddered, and your date fell silent, terrified. \

The mastiff turned back to you, awaiting command. Your finger twitched, this felt real for the first time in days since he came. But you felt safe.

“Let him down Simon, he’s not worth it.”

You reached an open palm, accepting your fate and new existence for the first time.

Simon’s eyes burned and the Mastiff rolled over on his back at your feet.

“Affirmative.”

The soldier followed you in leaving your ex-date scrambling down the stairs in terror.

[inkformyblood]

tangled up in you (COD Mermay 2024)

SoapGhost, Mer Ghost x Human Soap. Mature, lime. (Minor GhostRoach - Roach is alive)

“Will you look at that?”

Ghost, despite everything instinct thrumming through his skull, woven into the seams of his ribs that demand he keep his attention on the man swimming in front of him, turns to look where Johnny indicates. It takes him a moment, the sunlight bleeding through the water brighter than he is used to, but he can make out the fluttering shapes of kelp twisting around each other.

“It’s a plant,” he offers. Swimming closer, Ghost places himself beneath Johnny, letting the man sprawl along his back as he continues to inspect the kelp. 

The suit the other wears is, apparently, a technological marvel, a fact which Simon is reminded of everytime Johnny drops into the enclosed ocean cove to visit him, frequently in a new set of colours. This one is red, or, at least, is what Johnny knows of as red. Brighter than the blood that wells up when Simon’s claws nick through the sturdy fabric to the soft give of Johnny’s hips beneath, darker than the flush that burns over what he can see of Johnny’s cheeks through the full face mask whenever Simon answers in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Simon loves him even so, heavy cumbersome suit and strange mannerisms and all.

“—know it’s a plant, ye bampot.” Johnny thumps his fist against Simon’s chest, his teeth bared in a grin. “I did pass all my science courses to work here, you know. Not just some eejit Romeo come barrelling over the walls to serenade my mermaid Juliet.”

“You haven’t serenaded me at all,” Simon tells him and Johnny curses at him, his cheeks flushed that self same shade of red but not, his eyes as bright as the sky above. 

He’s heard Johnny singing before, the roaring ballads in the showers of the scientific institute that echo through the open corridor, spilling just enough out of a propped open maintenance door that Simon could hear it, and he’s wriggled the loose bar out of one of the drains to follow Johnny into town, earning himself a deep gouge on his tail for his trouble when a broken spur caught him on his way back in. He’d heard Johnny sing then too, his arm slung around a man Simon knows as Gaz, holding each other upright as they worked their way through most of the library the small machine had.

But none of those would be the same as Johnny singing for him.

“You’d not be interested in my singing.” The tips of Johnny’s ears are pink, freshly exposed thanks to the recent disappearance of the sides of his hair. It looks sharp and Simon wants to touch it, to feel the difference between the longer piece on top and the shorter sides. It’s fascinating , the small differences between them. Simon’s own hair grows according to his environment, much like himself and his fins. He isn’t as big as he could be, constrained by the size of the tank he’s in and, when he returns to the ocean, he’ll dive deep and grow to his full size, something huge and marvellous for Johnny to witness. 

Simon doesn’t bother correcting him yet, rumbles low in his throat before he tips his head back, giving the kelp a once over again. He can’t see what is so compelling about it.

“Why the interest in the kelp?” There’s a sharp note Simon can’t keep out of his voice, a worry of a kind. He’s here for study, stays because he’s not yet bored of the scientists, and if Johnny’s attention is captured utterly by the plant life, that will take him away from Simon’s tank more and more often. It had happened before, Price pulled away from him to the confines of the office, Roach shuffled so sideways into other research projects he’s barely visible beneath the weight of them. He’d manage and come back to Simon after all of it because his bug is a survivor.

“Nah, it’s just…” Johnny shifts, worrying at his lower lip. Like this, Simon could rip his throat out and Johnny wouldn’t even try to get away from him. Instead, he leans up at catch the shiny zip of Johnny’s suit in his teeth, the longer strap exposed in the water and moving like the kelp. 

Johnny’s hand presses over his eyes, his thumb laid along the side of Simon’s nose as he tries to push him away. “Stop that. No undressing me yet, I want to try something first.”

Begrudgingly, Simon lets go, holding Johnny far longer than necessary as the other man propels himself forward with a few strong strokes. The warmth of his body has barely faded from the smooth surface of Simon’s palms before he follows him, his tail slicing through the water as he gains on Johnny, sinking below him to follow his movements. It would be easy enough to slam into him, to hold Johnny down and peel the suit from him, even cracking the mask he wears so he can breath so Simon could taste wouldn’t take too long; a couple of bites along the seam, a tooth puncturing the glass and it would be done. He would know Johnny completely and utterly in a way no one else could.

Simon is hungry . 

And he loves Johnny.

Both things can be helplessly defiantly true.

“Just, gimme a second alright?” Johnny grins down at him, his brow pinched despite the expression, and a shiver runs down Simon’s spine, the frills on his back fluttering in response. That’s the look of a plan coming into fruition, the ending of something and the beginning of new ideas to take root and rot and flower in the confines of Johnny’s mind.

Simon nods, sinking down further. He settles on the sand, drawing his tail beneath himself and watches Johnny make his way into the kelp. The sunlight filters through the water, shattering it into flickers of light that spin across Simon’s palms as he presses them deeper into the sand. He isn’t made for soft things like daylight, better suited for the cold crushing deeps where he can grow, his colouration bleeding over his form until he becomes something else. He doesn’t remember much of his youth, too dark to pick out anything of substance except a gnawing pain in his belly and copper in his mouth that would never fill him, but he remembers one other mer, larger than him in every way, her stripes regimented over her arms where his follows the pattern of his bones.

He thought she was beautiful.

“Ready for you, Si!”

Simon rises in an instant, pushing himself off from the sand with a dull haze following him, the surface disturbed by his movement. He reaches the kelp where Johnny had vanished into and pauses, tipping his head to one side, working his teeth against each other.

“Are you stuck?”

Almost doesn’t seem possible and yet there are thick bands of kelp draped over Johnny’s arms, another thrown around his waist.

“Yeah.” Johnny reclines back into his self-inflicted bower, completely unphased by his current state of capture. Simon drifts closer, his fins caught in the gentle current of the water, drawn wide and billowing.

Johnny continues in the same tone, bright and breathless, his chest rising and falling with every word. “You could do anything to me right now.”

There’s no warning light on his monitor, no holes in his suit, so Simon leans closer, peering over Johnny’s shoulder to inspect the free moving kelp behind him. He isn’t caught, just pretending to be so. He draws back, lowering his face so he is level with Johnny’s through the glass and smiles. Row upon row of curved teeth are visible in the reflection and Simon’s eyes are dark against the pale flash of his markings, something made to hunt and feed, a terror from the deep existing in the light because he chooses to, a beast in human form. “I already can.”

There is no other way to describe it; Johnny’s eyes bloom. 

Algae devastates the surface of the ocean, blots out any hope of light reaching further down, and Johnny’s pupils expand to restrict the colour to a thin line around the edge. His mouth hangs slack, displaying the blunt edges of his teeth. 

Simon chuckles, the sound flaring through his gills, and he snaps his teeth lazily. Johnny’s gaze doesn’t shift from them, instead, somehow, focusing more on the void just behind them, the danger they could be. Johnny’s fingers twitch, craving his pencil and notebook if Simon had to guess, desperate to document this moment in something more tangible than his memory, more clear than his dreams that would leave him trembling and sweat-soaked.

“Instead of playing, I could just hold you down when we fuck?” Simon draws back, out of the detestable kelp, and waits in the open water. He peels a stray frond from his arm, his lip curled at the sensation of it clinging to him; oddly cool despite Simon’s lower body temperature and slimy, the imprint lasting far longer than the touch had. It doesn’t take long for Johnny to free himself from his meagre restraints, throwing a handful of curses at the plant matter he’s surrounded himself like talismans, flitting out into the open and into Simon’s arms like he wants to be eaten. 

“Well, Si? Don’t keep a man waiting.”

Simon won’t eat Johnny, not yet, maybe not ever. It’s far more interesting with him alive to surprise him, after all.

[denofbloodandlove]

Predator(s) and Prey

**Please note this is a complete work of fiction.  There are trigger warnings in this.  This particular story is 4 pages it is a bit long. Enjoy** Kate paced back and forth like a caged animal, her eyes constantly darting towards the giant three paneled frames that housed nothing but clear glass.  Beyond it: woods.  What the fuck had she been thinking when she signed up for this? She knew better! But fuck she needed the money.  Kate was beyond broke, so when she read the add that hung in the college square for the thirty somethings that were still lost as fuck in life, she jumped at the chance. The add simply read “You are the prey, we the predator” “Five thousand for the night, per predator. More details when vetted.”  Every single slip, every little column of paper stared at her as it swayed in the breeze.  Not a single person wanted in on this, but fuck, Kate hadn’t eaten is days, all her money going towards the ridiculously priced art supplies she needed for her one stupid class.   Kate had no one, unlike most of the people at the overpriced school, she was alone in this world, struggling to be an artist.  “Fuck it Kate do it.” Grabbing her phone, she texted the number that was neatly printed on the little slip of paper.  Within seconds she got directions to the place she was now at.  All it said was to be there promptly at 4 pm, so she could get ready.   Ready apparently meant that she would be pacing in this giant over expensive living room with giant glass panes overlooking the most forbidden forest she had ever seen.  But from her artists eye, it was beautiful.  Lush green trees grew thick together, so thick that it made the low light look black.  Kate could barely see through the branches, different shades of greens worked together creating a green waterfall of beauty.  Nerves ate as her, her fingertips in her mouth as she chewed down the quick of her nails.  She should just leave, right? What the fuck did that paper even mean?  Her red converse shoes would be wearing a hole in this nice hard floor soon.   “You already look perfect for the part Kate.” A deep voice echoed from a dark corner of the room, so farl she had to squint, her heart thumping in her throat.  Kate hand wrapped around her throat defensively as she stopped her pacing. “He….hello? Wh..wh..whose there?” She stammered over her words as fear ate at her, she could feel the pulse in her throat grow wild.  Her eyes hurt from being so wide, staring into the darkness.  And she watched in terror as a giant of a man stepped forth. Dressed in all black, the man was head to toe in tactical gear.  Pockets lined his pants, pants that ended in thick black combat boots, the kinds that hunters would wear.  His black tank hugged his rugged body, the skin that was visible was covered in vibrant tattoos.  Ink covered every inch, all the way down to his knuckles, the shirt he adorned was covered by some kind of black vest that held even more pockets.  In his ear hung some small piece of wire, it reminded her briefly of an earpiece.  But her mind was disjointed, not putting every detail together.  “Whadda mean” Kate stammered as she backed away instinctively, her ass hitting the glass she was just pacing in front of.   “You.  You answered the add.  The perfect little prey.  Already so scared.  I can see how the blood is flushed under your skin, giving you the perfect shade of pink. Your eyes wide, your breathing labored.  Did you know that panic makes the body feel dizzy, your muscles tense, tremble.  Your brain becomes too aware of possible threats and begins to become hyperactive. The midbrain, the amygdala become too overwhelmed.   You can feel it.  The fear. We can see it.  Taste it.  Savor it. Tonight, we will own it.  You answered, we called.  Predator.  Prey.” Kate began to hyperventilate, his words rattled around in her empty brain.  What the fuck did she do? What did he mean? Too much was going on, sucking in deep mouthfuls of air, spots began to dot her vision, she felt fuzzy all of a sudden. He was right, whoever he was. Panic, fear, terror coursed through her blood.  “It’s okay though Kate.  You texted, that initiated the contract.  Twenty thousand has already been funneled into the account you provided.  Four predators for the night.  Rules are, you run, we chase and we capture.  And when we do capture, we own.  There are no safe words. No limits.  No escape really.  Just primal urges and fear.”  The man held his hand up, showing a metal glint that shown off the lights, with a simple click, the panel that she was plastered against slid open, forcing Kate to fall flat on her ass on the massive deck outside. Scrambling backward, Kate almost crab walked backward only to fall off stairs that led to the soft grass.  Following her out the man smiled down at her, his grin more wolfish, predatory.  She was frozen in fear as he stood above her on the deck, his arms now crossed over his chest.  With another flick and click, lights that shown behind him went dark, immersing him in shadows that moved.  An inky blackness that moved and multiplied.  Blinking her fear filled eyes, her brain was playing tricks on her.  One suddenly became four. Four men, four giants, four horseman stared at her with hunger.  As one, they moved in sync, each reaching up and grabbing that wire to place it in their ear.   “It….it was an earpiece” Kate whispered to herself.   Shock flooded her already tight system.  Her nails dug into the soft ground as she tried in vain to calm herself.  “You have thirty minutes, it’s a head start to begin running little mouse.  The sun will begin setting in that thirty minutes, and then we hunt.” As one, the four men silently disappeared into the darkness, leaving her seemingly alone in the dying of the light. Tears sprang from her eyes, fat drops flowed like rivers down her cheeks as she bought her knees to her chest.  Kates arms wrapped around her knees to hold herself together as she cried in fear.  She could feel the hot sun on her bare shoulders, as if it was making fun if her. Slowly dying, allowing more of that dreaded darkness to consume everything.  Just like it did them, the Predators.  Her heart thumped hard in her chest.  Was she going to be hunted to die? No, they pai her.  Why would they pay her just to kill her? Plus they, whoever they were put a very public add out, one that could be traced.  Right?  Her mouth was so dry, her breath coming in too fast, she had lost semblance of breathing through her nose, her body taking over and panting out of her mouth. Swallowing she began to rock back and forth as she tried to think, to remember what he said.  They were going to taste? What did he say? Claim? What were they going to claim? She had nothing.  Nothing to give.  But. Kates breathing stopped as her mind finally fucking clicked.  The fact that she was hungry from not eating, sleep deprived from school and fear coursing through every single fiber of her being, her brain was sluggish.  It took longer for her to realize what they were talking about.  They were going to claim her, claim her body as theirs.  In the most primal way.  They were going to fuck her, rape her, fill her with everything.  Her brain screamed for her to run, run away now and as fast as she could.  Her heart the muscle that stopped momentarily began pumping so fast in her rib cage it hurt. But her cunt was suddenly dripping. A flood of juice gushed down, coating her in thick honey.  She had only been with two people her entire boring life. And both were less than mediocre.  So boring she didn’t even remember their names.   Kate shook her head as her body began a war with itself.  Fight or flight.  Fight. Flight.  Fuck.   “Tick Tock Kate.  Thirty minutes in now twenty.  You not running will only make it worse.  We chase, releasing energy.  If we don’t chase, where do you think that energy will be directed?  The dark voice whispered from the darkness of the house that now stares at her like a menacing creature.  A nightmare that was sent to terrifier her.  Kates feet kicked out sliding against the grass, her hands moved, her ass slithered across the earth, scrambling for purchase, but fear made it hard for her to gain footing.  With a low groan she heaved herself over.  Her converse slipping, running in place slowly, then picking up speed.  Her arms pumped as she began to finally run. And she swore she could hear a low “Good girl little mouse” as she ran to the thick trees. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Licking his teeth, he grinned.  Fuck she was perfect.  Ass that was round, tits that were bigger then any of their hands, when he’ll get to grab them, they will spill out of his palms.  Thighs that were thick, legs that were long, and hair that fell in thick waves.  Waves that meant he could wrap his hands in and hold her in place as he shoved his fucking rock-hard dick down her throat.  Her other holes used by his team.  Ripped open and stretched to the fucking max as they fucked her senseless.  Tilting his head, he barely glanced left or right. He and his team had gone over this hundreds of times, making sure that whoever answered their add would not get away. Move right, left, and middle. Goggles on, the light will be gone soon. Her eyesight shit, Fear will make her sloppy.  First one gets her sweet pussy.  Remember the rules.  Knives not too deep, ropes and bondage tight enough but not to cut off circulation. She must feel the pain.  She signed up for this fellas.  Lets hunt.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Adrenaline rode Kate hard as she ran. Her muscles burned as she tried in vain to dodge branches and brambles that tore at her skin and clothes.  She could feel what must be a million tiny cuts along her flesh as she ran blindly through the thick foliage.  She could not hear anything, except the pounding of her own heart, the rush of her own breath.  The light was now miniscule, filtering through the thick trees, limiting her visibility.  Her legs felt like lead suddenly, her blood like molten lava she tripped over her own feet and began to fall.  Her hands hit first, debris embedding itself into her soft palms.  Her knees crunched against pebbled and detritus shooting pain up her spine.  Yelping she rolled, hitting broken shrubs from a life that grew too fast for little things.  Rolling, she finally came to an agonizing halt.  Fresh tears dotted her eyes, her poor addled brain confused.  Blinking rapidly, silence descended.  Not a single thing made a sound.  It was as if the forest itself was waiting for something to happen.  For her heart to explode, for her brain to leak from her ears.  For her to shove her hand down her pants and fuck herself into a screaming rage.  Gods this was so fucking weird.  But the night decided for her when a twig suddenly snapped from behind her. Rolling over she kicked her feet, her foot she realized was shoeless, lost in the tumble through leaves and dirt. Her toes dug into mud, giving her some form of grip but as she was just beginning to hurl herself forward, a tight hand gripped her ankle and yanked her down.   Loudly screaming, another set of hands wrapped around her throat, silencing her.   Kate kicked out, eliciting a heavy grunt and she fell forward, the hand at her throat loosening momentarily, giving her enough time to push and run. Laughter echoing behind her.   -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He had her in his palm, felt her erratic pulse under his fingers, beating like a hummingbirds wings.  So fast it felt like she was flying under his palm.  The night vision goggles shown her pupils were blown, so large they enveloped any color she may have had.  The sun was completely gone now, she was running blind while they watched.  He knew like him all their cocks were hard, ready.  They couldn’t wait to capture her, string her up, cut the clothes from her body and fuck her raw and hard against the woods.  Sweat beaded his brow, his lips and down his spine. “Go around, track her and surprise her.  She’s headed towards the cabin.   -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kate was lost, dazed, terrified, tired. She had fallen too many times to count, her hands hurt, her knees bled and somehow, somewhere she twisted an ankle. Her hands clawed at the trees surrounding her.  She couldn’t see shit.  But she was not expecting a tight hand in her hair wrenching her head back hard enough she saw stars.  Screaming in horror, she tried to kick again but heard a tsk.  Each ankle was lifted, legs spread.  Her knees bent and bucked under the intense strength.  In her ear, she felt a puff of hot air, followed by the words “Found you little mouse.”   Hands gripped her roughly, keeping her immobile as they worked quickly.  Her other shoe was ripped off, something tight wrapped around her ankle, then the other and she was suddenly dropped.  Her bad ankle giving out. Her hands, arms though were still held tightly, her wrist burning suddenly with abrasiveness.  Screaming into the night her slow brain once again caught up too late she was being tied up, her back arched as her arms are wrenched up and back.  Her back slammed against the tree rough bark speared her thin shirt.  Tears flowed freely from her eyes as her heart exploded behind her sternum, but every single fucking sound stopped when her heard the sound of zipper teeth echo into the night. Part 2 coming soon.

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 3 - Post #10: Good old-fashioned shootout

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 2.6K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

 X. Unlike the exclusive mooring of Vos’s yacht with HK sentinels, security lights, cameras, and sensors everywhere, the hangar bays in this section of Daiyu Spaceport, where Gwellis Bagnoro’s ship is located, are unnervingly deserted. And you definitely get the impression people are being paid to make themselves scarce. There is no legitimate reason why the corridors need to be this dark. 

You’re glad for the silence, but it feels almost too quiet after the noise and chaos of the city streets. 

You arrive at the hangar expecting to see the Onodone waiting for you, but there’s no one in sight. In fact, it’s eerily still without the usual maintenance crew droids.    

The grim surroundings did not prepare you for the caliber of this forger’s ride. Apparently, Gwellis Bagnoro can find enough suckers like you to pay his outrageous prices because his corvette is in pristine condition. No mismatched parts for this ship. 

Poor Nito usually salvaged everything needed to sustain the Razor Crest through its continual state of repair. 

With containers stacked high on either side of the ship, you’d think the Onodone would need help loading all this cargo. They create a sort of labyrinth around the hangar bay. How did he expect to fit this inside a gunship?  

Something feels off. 

Maybe he’s just waiting for you on board? Even as the thought occurs to you, your boot catches on something soft yet solid, and you stumble forward.

Looking down to see what you’ve tripped over in the dim haze of the hangar’s overhead lights, you see a station agent crumpled on the flight deck with a knife stuck in his gut. 

“Mando!” you shout.

But it’s too late. You hear a ting of blaster fire right before the fueling tank next to the ship explodes, knocking you off your feet and showering the hangar in flaming debris. You get slammed hard into the side of a cargo container from the force of the blast. Your ears are ringing, your vision is blurring at the edges, but you can still see the onslaught of blaster fire breaking out around you.  

Looking over your shoulder, you see the Mandalorian, who’d managed to stay on his feet. He’s crouched, taking cover behind a diagnostic panel directly in your line of sight, loading his rifle from the bandolier across his chest. 

“Is this Vos?”

“They’re Guild,” he calls out in response.

“The Crest?!” 

You’re terrified about what might be waiting for you back at the ship. Mando’s precaution of leaving it docked on a nearby moon didn’t seem so paranoid after all. 

“If they knew where it was, they wouldn’t be waiting for us here.” 

He’s got the rifle up, adjusting the scope.

“Thermal imaging, you said?” 

“What?!”

“In the visor?” he stills the muscles in his shoulders, taking aim. “You said your visor has—”

“Yes,” instantly recognizing what he’s planning. “And night vision. I can adjust the settings.”

“It impact your aim? Still good?”

“Fuck, yes. I have a laser sight,” you’re already screwing the barrel attachment onto one of the Westars.

Mando nods his approval.  

With one shot, he takes out the electrical in the hangar bay so it all shuts down. The lights go out, the doors fall closed, and the docking clamps thud onto the deck. Through your visor, you can see they’ve got the high ground, hoping to pin you in place until their crew on the deck can flush you out. 

If they were hunting the Child, they wouldn’t shoot to kill. They needed you alive for questioning. 

Well, one of you, at least.

The Mandalorian crouches around the diagnostic panel to take aim at one of the snipers firing down on you from the catwalk overhead. You’re able to hit another gunman positioned above the cockpit. But there’s at least three more of them—two of whom are situated on top of the corvette. 

Should you scale the cargo containers to get a better shot and risk exposing yourself?

“I’m going to—” you call out before you see the Gand bounty hunter launch himself over a stack of containers to bear down on the Mandalorian with a raised halberd. 

Mando’s able to block it with his rifle, but his opponent continues swinging relentlessly. He catches another blow with his vambrace and kicks the legs out from under his attacker.

But the other hunters have flanked him. And there’s more blaster fire coming at him from above. 

You can’t remain here, paralyzed with indecision, so you take a deep breath, sink low, and slip out from behind the container in a lunge, blaster held out in front of you. 

The gods are kind. Several more hunters charge towards Mando, their backs unguarded as they pass your position. You quickly take them down before they can reach him, still grappling with his other attacker. 

Unable to get off another clear shot, you begin climbing the cargo containers. It’s fucking terrifying how readily your brain reverts to autopilot—letting the adrenaline push you forward despite the threat of exposing yourself to sniper fire. You try to retain as much cover as you can, scrambling around the ship’s intake vents. 

Then, you hear the ping-ping-ping of blaster bolts hitting the Beskar armor and forsake all caution, climbing with whatever handhold you can find, fingernails cracked and bleeding. 

There’s a gap between the wing where you can see an opening up to one of the bounty hunters splayed across the exhaust turbine. But you’ll have to step into it to fire. If they look down at you, they’ll have a straight shot, same as you. 

Your heart is pounding against your eardrums, but you have to drown out the panic and concentrate.

All you can do is prepare your grip, make sure you’re ready on the trigger, and pray they can’t see your movement in the darkness. 

With your first shot, you merely clip the sniper's helmet. Shit! You can't see their body armor with thermal imaging. And you've revealed your position.

They respond by shooting wildly, a spray of bolts that erupts in every direction. Your second shot gets them in the chest, but not before their own blaster fire takes out another sniper posted on top of the ship’s sensor array.

Which meant there was only one shooter left. 

You look around to check on Mando. He’s dispatched the rest of his attackers in a pile of bodies strewn across the flight deck. 

That’s when a sharp, lancing pain burns across your scalp. Your hand claps over the side of your head, just above your ear, and you groan as raw, wet tissue squelches under your fingers.

That’s how close you came to dying today. You can heal from almost any wound, but not if your brain is splattered across the hangar bay.

Hot blood starts to trickle over your cheek and down your neck. You’ve gotta nail this fucker before you get too dizzy to see straight.

At the moment, you don’t feel dizzy at all. On the contrary, the pain brought everything into crisp focus. 

You launch yourself off the ship and start running in sporadic bursts and turns as soon as you collide with the ground. Serpentine! You can almost hear your drill sergeant yelling it at you. 

The last shooter is hiding somewhere on the other side of the hangar. You can’t be sure—but you think they’re embedded in a tangle of suspended cables and tubing. No way to climb up there without getting gunned down.

Here goes nothing. 

You shoot at the ballasts holding the whole mess together, and a section of the braided cables collapses to the floor. To the credit of this bounty hunter’s strength and determination, they continue firing at you while dangling from a metal coil one-handed. 

But you’ve got the advantage. All you have to do is wait for your shot from behind the safety of a cargo container. You line up the little red dot, and—there’s a nasty thud when their limp body falls to the deck. 

Behind you, Mando’s whipcord fires, and hand over fist, he drags a sobbing Trandoshan hunter into his waiting blade. 

“You take care of the others?” he says, wiping the knife on his boot.

“Yeah. We’ll be long gone before they regain consciousness,” you reply, clicking the safety back on and holstering your blasters.

He tilts his helmet from side to side, and an irritated sigh erupts from the modulator.

“Do no harm? I feel like you, of all people, Mando, should support the sanctity of my oath.”

“There’s a time and a place—Thulani!”

He cries out in horror when his headlamp falls over the gash sliced across the side of your head. Which stung like hell.  

“Is it bad?”

“I—” his voice chokes in his throat, reaching for your chin. “I can see your skull.”

And immediately, you vomit up all five glasses of Spice liquor onto his boots. 

Fortunately, he’s pretty tough—a hardcore Mandalorian, right?—and despite how disgusting you must look with sick clinging to your lips, he catches you in his arms when you stagger forward.

“Tell me what to do.”

The sound of his voice is so soothing—deep and strong. His muscular arms cradle you, one wrapped around your shoulders while the other surrounds your waist. Solid as iron but gentle, holding you tightly against his chest. 

“This feels pretty good,” you sigh. “I think the adrenaline crash is just—hitting me hard. Will you, um, hold me like this until I finish healing?”  

“Whatever you need. Anything.”

“I’m sorry I got vomit on you.” Ugh, so embarrassing. He would probably not be in the mood to fuck you after this. “It hasn’t even been a whole day, and I’ve already ruined the mystique.” 

“Fuck the mystique. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

You shift in his arms to find a perfect little nook for yourself. “I’m definitely seeing the advantage of a helmet now.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, “I’ve got some expertise in that area if you’re in the market.”

“Could—could you tell me how it’s going with the—”

“The gigantic gash in your scalp?” Mando scoffs, delicately tugging the visor from your face to get a better look. “I can’t see the bone anymore, but…there’s some burnt flesh...hanging…open.” 

“Am I at least earning some warrior cred with this?”

“I told you you didn’t have anything to prove to me,” he says earnestly. “There’s got to be something I can do?”

“Just hold me.”

His arms tighten around you, and it feels like the only safety you have ever known.

“It’s gonna look like I’m gone for a minute,” you whisper. “But I promise I’ll still be here with you. Okay?”

He nods.

You let your head rest against his neck, then close your eyes, take a deep breath, and call upon that feeling of surety. When the "you" that was you disappeared and was subsumed by the infinite. That pulse of power surging through every fiber of your being.

Don’t let yourself get distracted by the throbbing shock of the wound as it seals shut. Or the searing heat as the tissue reconnects. Or just how thick Mando's biceps are...

All those tiny nerve endings that had to be repaired. You can’t make the hair regrow, but vanity is the least of your worries at the moment.

Okay. Yes. There. That should do it. 

Now, what you really need is a fuck ton of electrolytes. 

“You can let me go,” you open your eyes and smile up at the Mandalorian through your visor.

“No,” he says, pulling you closer.

“Mando, we can’t flee the scene glued together.”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs from somewhere in your thicket of blood smattered, vomit crusted hair. Aww, is the Mandalorian going soft on you?

Suddenly, the whoosh of the corvette’s boarding ramp echoes throughout the hangar, causing you both to turn and draw. 

“Don’t shoot!” the Onodone inches his way down the ramp with his hands extended, the vocodor swinging from his neck. “They got here right before you did. There was nothing I could do!”

“That’s as may be,” you march up the ramp with your blaster not exactly aimed at Gwellis, though not precisely lowered either. “But I tell you what. I’m willing to let you make it up to me.”

--------------------

“I didn’t expect you’d be such a tough negotiator.”

“After he sold us out? Like hell, I was going to pay fifty-thousand fucking credits.”

“Alright, but making him hold the mirror while you stuck that needle in your eye? That’s cold-blooded.”

Without the reflective tissue, your eyes no longer glow with a violet sheen. To all the galaxy, you would appear to be an unremarkable human woman. 

But Mando had been right. As you removed the guanine from your cells, it felt like stripping away your identity piece by piece. The last remaining connection to your homeworld.

The Mandalorian might have chosen to forsake that little boy, the man he would have been—but you found you couldn’t. So you’d left some tissue under the lenses in the hopes that you might be able to coax it back to regrowth. If anyone asked, you could claim the faint remaining glimmers resulted from some kind of chemical exposure.

Would Mando think you’re a fool for holding on to the past? How had he—

But he hadn’t let go of the past either. 

You wouldn’t be able to see those memories if he’d really let go of who and what he was before, like he claimed. And while it might not be conscious, intentional resistance to his Creed, it proved that oaths and tenets can’t change what’s in your heart.

 “Whatever,” you jeer. “He can go cry into his money.”

“We don’t know it was Gwellis,” the Mandalorian shook his head. “It could have been any one of Vos’s henchmen. Someone who recognized me at the club. Or Bril, for that matter.”

“I like Bril!” You raise an eyebrow at him. “You need more people in your life who aren't afraid to make a joke at your expense.”

His helmet turns to look at you, and you can just sense his indignation. 

“If you’re rolling your eyes at me, Mando, I can’t see,” you smirk. “Besides, you had the entire populace of Daiyu City buzzing the moment you set foot planetside. You knew we would catch heat before we even made it to the club.” 

And nothing has changed. Making your way back through the concourse, his gleaming armor draws the same stares and excited whispers. “Gwellis is right. Subterfuge is not ‘the Way’ of a Mandalorian. I’m beginning to think you welcome everything ending in a shootout.”

“It’s a lot more straightforward than spending the next two weeks pretending to be...” he grabs the newly made ID from your hands. “Kasya Hawat?”

“Something tells me Mandalorians don’t engage in a lot of intelligence gathering either.” You pull off the wig you wore for the ID photos and toss it in a nearby bin. 

“That’s why I pay informants.”

“Touché,” you concede. “It’ll be worth it, though. We need someone on the inside, and we don’t know Ubaa Dir’s people. That could change. But for now, my circle of trust doesn’t extend past Team Razor Crest.” 

This last part, you say more to yourself than the bounty hunter. You’re not exactly thrilled about the prospect of working as an exploited minion for the Tagge Corporation, living in some squatter’s settlement attached to a refinery in the middle of nowhere.

“Worth pulling out those gems embedded in your teeth?” he asks wryly.

“I’m thinking Kasya’s backstory includes working in a Zeltron pleasure house during her prodigal wanderings.” You wink at him, “I might even be able to keep the moondust hair.”

**********************

Keep reading - Post 11: Well, Hell's Bells

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

[cthulhusstepmom]

It's a pretty unanimous conclusion that Ghost can't find out about the reptiles, for his own sake, at least until Hugo and Wee Man have found forever homes. Soap isn't stupid, he knows that he won't be able to keep it up forever, he's just asking for a little more time is all. Naturally this leads to some shenanigans.

One day in early summer, Soap's sitting at a rickety picnic table near where he and Ghost go to smoke. It's isolated from the rest of the base and it's pretty solidly established as Ghost's territory so he doesn't have to worry about people. On the table is Peach, the beardie with mbd named in honor of his boy at home, enjoying some natural uvb and dandelion greens. He's arranged a meeting with the people he's found for her next weekend and he's spoiling her nonstop until then. All of a sudden there's a tickling in his hindbrain, the sort of feeling you get when a big cat is just out of sight. It can only mean one thing. Ghost. Panicking only a little bit, Soap frantically does the only thing he can, he shoves Peach up his shirt. What follows is probably the most awkward conversation he's ever had with his Lt. which is a shame because the fair weather has put Ghost in a truly legendary good mood. Soap is a highly trained operative, he's stared his torturers in the face and laughed at them but the pain of razor sharp little bearded dragon claws scrabbling at his chest and catching on totally regulation nipple piercings is enough to make his eyes water.

A few days after Peach goes to her new home he ends up filling the vacancy in the rescue hotel, it never stays empty for very long. This time the poor critter is a baby blue tongue skink rescued from an abandoned apartment building in a warzone. The private that brings him the lizard looks about as nervous as can fucking be, he can't really blame the poor lass what with Ghost looming in the corner like the specter of death itself, deadly silent and exuding enough malice to curdle their breakfast on the table and turn the fish belly up in their tank. Thankfully the box is discreet with a few nondescript airholes cut in the side. The private thanks him stutteringly and flees the rec room like her heels are on fire. Ghost doesn't say anything, simply raises an expectant eyebrow while Gaz and Price studiously drop peas into the fish tank. Soap just shrugs "care package" he says with a cheesy wink. Ghost scoffs and it's seems like it's put to rest, though his Lt. sticks to him like glue for the rest of the day.

The closest he'd come to discovery was late one night. He'd screamed himself awake about a half hour before and, unable to get back to sleep, is just cuddling on his bed with Wee Man. A quiet, almost hesitant knock on his door brings his attention away from the snake. It's so quiet that he almost writes it off as his tired brain playing tricks on him. But then whoever it is knocks again, a little more firmly this time. Quickly, Soap disentangles himself from Wee Man, leaving him to explore the bed, anything he could get into is locked and he's too big to get into any crevices anyway. Cracking the door open he doesn't know what he expects but it sure as hell isn't Ghost, dressed down in loose pajama bottoms and an old ratty hoodie with a soft black balaclava hugging his face. He suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that he's just in boxers.

"Ghost?"

His Lt squints a bit at his name, almost as if he wasn't sure he'd get this far.

"Couldn't sleep, heard you were up..." probably the most tactful way to acknowledge his screams of terror "...can I come in?"

Cold panic flushes through Soap, only made worse by the scaly nose he can feel start to nudge his leg. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Wee Man, social butterfly that he is, is trying to force his head in between the crack in the door and Soap's leg.

"Och I dunno, it's a right fuckin mess in here right now." He hedges trying to gently maneuver a living rope of pure muscle longer than he is tall with just his bare foot. The crestfallen, vulnerable expression on Ghost's covered face makes something in him cry out. His Lt. starts to say something but Johnny doesn't let him finish. "But if ye'll lemme put some pants on I can make ye some of the chamomile tea ye like? We could go to yer room if ya'd like, might be able to see the floor too." He winks, seeing the exact moment Ghost notices his state of undress, the tops of his cheeks going the slightest bit rosy. And maybe it's that time of night where nothing quite feels real but he could swear he sees his Ghost smile a relieved smile.

"I'd like that."

[thisisew]

Mr Mechanic {Toji Fushiguro} **So this is actually my first written work (not just shitposting anymore), I'm warming up to the idea of sharing some of my fan fiction. This is based off of a chat.ia, authored by @sxgarcore -> He's a mechanic and you need his help. Let me know if you want a Part 2!** Warnings: just a little nsfw... not that much at all. Like I said, I'm warming up lol.

It had been a blistering, sweltering day. The perfect day for a ride, but the absolute worst day to break down on the side of the road. As you had. In the middle of who knows where, the soft purr of the engine had stuttered twice, only giving you moments to pull off the freeway before your sleek bike died completely. Now, you knew your motorbikes, but you were in no shape or form (or place with the tools necessary) to even think about trying to fix whatever was wrong with your metal baby. So here you are, panting, practically dripping sweat as you finally roll your bike into the mechanic of the nearest town. Thank whichever Gods that there was one.

The day was cooling only just now the sun had begun to set, and your protective biker's jacket had long been stripped off and tied loosely around your waist. Leaving you in a grey, fitted tank top. The way you pant as you roll into the garage looking for help is comical, and it alerts said mechanic who is under a beat up, old dusty truck. He rolls out from under the car, using a rag to wipe grease from his hands. 

"Can I help ya sugar?" He asks, and you pause to catch your breath as his eyes run up and down your figure. 

"Well?"

You wipe some sweat from your brow and smile as best you can given the circumstance.

"My bike… broke down some miles down the freeway. M'so glad I found you!

His eyebrows jump in slight amusement and he chuckles. "Alright. It happens." He crosses his arms over his wide chest, muscles tensing in a way that finds you suddenly very interested in your nails as you fidget. He walks towards you with concentration and you step back so he can take a look at your bike. You feel awkward standing in silence, it's not even like you can go somewhere, you are stranded in the garage with a ridiculously hot and greased up hunk of muscle. Shit.

"I've been working on her myself… I really should've known better than to take her out for this big a trip… I was hopeful though." You sigh in disappointment, gazing longingly at the machine before you, thinking back to the weekend when you had thought it a good idea to tinker.

He doesn't reply straight away, just assesses the bike with meticulous focus. You wonder how meticulous he is with other things… you wonder if he has a girlfriend. He breaks your train of thought. "Here's the problem," he points to a part with a fracture through the side. "This is gonna need to be replaced… and she ain't cheap. It'll be a couple of hundred bucks." He stands, looking you over with what you think could be the slightest tinge of pity.

You swear slightly under your breath at the price, even though you should know by now having a bike isn't cheap. You try your best to remain polite. "You know, I love my bike… but sometimes I swear to God she does my head in." As you speak, you unwrap your jacket from your waist and chuck it over the seat of your bike, needing to fish around for your wallet that is in there somewhere. As you look for your wallet you don't notice how he smirks as you swear under your breath, or how his gaze dips hesitantly down your back.

"What's your name?" His question feels slightly out of the blue, but you reply nonetheless. It makes you feel slightly giddy that you get to exchange names. You swear again as you dig around for your wallet and Toji's gaze is now directly on your ass as it sticks out slightly. He eyes the curve of your butt under your jeans and feels bold. "Question… you single? Just, curiosity of course." He says as if he's the politest, most gentlemanly guy in the world.

Your eyes snap to his, a nice pink flush on your cheeks which you purposefully choose to ignore. "You coming onto me or something?" You ask a bit incredulous. Lord knows this man is not without ladies… and yet, here he is alone in his garage on a nice evening.

"Yeah, I am." He chuckles, stepping closer. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

You give him a onceover. You wonder how often he plays this little role of his, all hunky and brooding. It gives you an itch of irritation when people play it so cool, so you reply in kind. "Nope." You pop the 'p' after giving him a once over and he grins with teeth at the attitude.

"Well then, you free tonight?" He asks leaning down. You have to look up at him, you quickly realise he's too tall for you to look at all intimidating  and as he continues to close the distance between your faces you shuffle and hold up a hand. 

"Hold up, big guy. You're gonna need to try a bit harder than that."

An actually laugh escapes him (rude), and he wraps a free strand of hair around his finger as he looks down at you. "Try me, babe." You feel the defiance in you beginning to crumble due to the soft rasp in his voice, his dark eyes and his really, really distracting shoulders and arms. It's all you can do to whisper a reply. "I'll have you know I'm tougher than I look, to handle that is." You don't know if you’re cringing or feeling good about the reply but the amused twinkle in his eye tells you he thinks it's pretty cute. 

"I think I can handle it… you." He's back to all smirks as your breath shakes in exhale.

His arms land on your bike behind you, trapping you. You can feel your heart stuttering slightly at his intense gaze. The way he leans into you - nosing just brushing -  sends your mind blank, eyes flicking to his lips, the small scar at the corner. His lips barely graze yours as he mutters to you. "I need a yes…" there is a slight twitch of his jaw, and you realise he is waiting- no, holding himself back.

You feel a shiver up your spine as you whisper a reply. "Please." 

The words are barely out of your mouth before his lips seal against yours, his large, rough hands cupping your jaw and tilting your face up to meet his at a deeper angle. You feel as though the breath has been stolen from you, and you just know your face his bright pink as your hands curl into his hair. He groans at the touch and his body pushed up against yours. Your lips part slightly as you feel his tight muscles against your soft curves, his hands now leaving your face and running down your sides. His fingers squeezing spots here and there along the way. He pushes a thick thigh between your legs and you have to grip his tank so you don't fall back onto your bike. A small noise escapes you at the friction between your thighs, breath stuttering.

He grins against your mouth, breaking the kiss and moving his lips down your neck in soft, kisses. He seems to realise his height is a problem for this, and in a swift movement he has hooked his hands under your ass and hoisted you up into his arms, making a approving grunt as you automatically hook your legs around his waist. He plants small bites down you neck easily now, panting softly as he sucks and nips at your soft skin. Each shuddering breath you make because of the action strokes his ego and you feel his hard, needy erection pressing firmly against your hips.

Your mind feels slightly static, a bit disconnected from what's happening but also completely aware of every slight touch and move. As if it’s too unbelievable so it is obviously just a really, really realistic wet dream. He's carrying you somewhere, pressing some button that has the garage doors closing with a grating whine of metal scraping against metal. Just as you whisper his name, you're plonked down on a workbench, papers crumpling. You try to ask if they're are important but he huffs. "As if I give a shit about that right now." His hands roam your thighs as he stands back to look at your flushed, slightly dazed expression.

"Look at you… if this is what some making out does, I'm about to wreck you." He grins wickedly, lust so evident in his eyes you feel your pussy throb, clenching around nothing. Yet.