#have either been dismissive and cold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thexsilentxwordsmith · 2 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction.

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says.

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit.

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement.

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge.

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore.

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?”

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together.

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth.

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him.

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth.

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand.

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his.

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment.

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed.

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready. But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own.

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent.

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both.

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie.

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case.

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back.

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up.

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken.

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it.

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed.

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

2K notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 11 months

Note

Hello! I loved your last hobie fic btw it was really good!!

Imagine that in hobies universe you died but when he travels to miles universe he sees you alive 😭 and then the reader introduces themselves to him the same way they did in his universe

Keep feeding us with these ATSV fics 😈😈

Have a great day!!!

Thank you for enjoying my Hobie Brown stuff anon cuz he’s been invading my mind recently. I hope to god this is okay for ya. 🦦

Hobie remembered first meeting you as though it were yesterday, you were within an alleyway vandalising the walls with your spray paint, he happened to be passing by when one of your masterpieces caught his eye; it was of him…well him as Spider-Man clocking a cartoonish Osborne -appropriately adorned with devil horns and a tail- in the head with his eyes crossed out in red spray paint as though he were dead.

It got a good chuckle out of him that was for sure and from that alone he knew he had to know you more on a personal level. ‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ He asked aloud, making you jolt, you were pretty sure you had chosen a spot where you weren’t going to get caught by the authorities or those that’d grass you up for expressing how you truly felt about Osborne and all those just like him. You shrugged, looking up at your finished product before looking back over at Hobie, ‘dunno yet,’ you told him truthfully, ‘my working titles are either anarchy incarnate or death to capitalism.’

Hobie hummed in approval, but he thought you could do better, ‘how about anarchy is the death of capitalism?’ He suggested and he couldn’t never forget the light in your eyes upon hearing his working title, that in the midst of your excitement you had grabbed him by the arm, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it, you’re a genius man!’ You cried before realising what you did and immediately removed your hand from his arm, ‘sorry about that.’ Hobie dismissed your apology by slinging an arm over your shoulder. ‘Nah, don’t give me that shit, you shouldn’t have to apologise for being yourself for that’s what they want you to do.’

‘I don’t think I ever got your name.’ You said. ‘Hobie. Hobie brown and may I get to know the name of the amazing artist behind this.’ Hobie gestured to the spray painting. ‘Y/n l/n.’ You replied. ‘Well y/n, I think we’re going to get along quite well.’ And you did.

So when your untimely death happened, Hobie felt as though he were Achilles having lost his Patroclus. He cradled your body into his arms even long after you had said your final words, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’ and much longer after it had already gone cold. You had told him that you were heading out to go spray paint with some people you’ve met and the worst soon came when despite knowing that you didn’t have to, you still went out of your way to act as a distraction so that the rest may escape; which resulted in the way that it did.He knew he should’ve gone with you that day because then maybe you would still be alive and taking the piss out of him for worrying about you but he didn’t, so you weren’t.

Ever since then Hobie had made it his goal to keep fighting for not only his chase but yours as well in your memory. He made you a memorial in the exact same place where you first met, always paying it a visit whenever he felt as though he needed you with him, which has lead him to start talking to your spray pairings as though they were actually you. There was without a shadow of a doubt that you were quite possibly one of the greatest artists to have ever lived, alongside with being an avid inspiration to many to the youths who felt as though they had no way of expressing themselves when feeling slighted by the society they were born in. Hell you even inspired him! So much so that there were a multitude of songs he would perform that depicted a individual with stardust in their eyes, a rebellious fire in their heart and a insatiably need to insight the themes of anarchy within anything they touched.

After your death Hobie kept a good portion of your things; such as your spray cans that would never get used, your clothes that still clung onto the very last essence of you much like he did and even kept the picture you took together after helping you finish a project you had been wanting to pursue for a long while; and who would’ve thought that it would be him, not as Spider-Man, just good old Hobie Brown with the message, ‘keep fighting the good fight, my little anarchist.’

So when he caught himself walking down a alleyway much like he did long ago but this time in a completely new place, he felt as though he was being hit with a wave of de ja vu when his ears picked up on the familiar hissing sound of a spray can. It was like he was back there again and if his memory serves him right, he knew what was to come next the moment he, Gwen and Miles made it into a clearing where they were greeted with the sight of someone’s back as they were deeply engrossed with their own handy work. ‘You’re going to love them Hobie, they’re like super cool and awesome.’ Gwen told him but her words went in one ear and out the next as he stared up at the spray painting of Miles as Spider-Man mid swing; it was beautiful without a doubt but they style in which it was drawn was all too familiar.

‘Whatcha gonna call that?’ Hobie had said without realising it until you jolted before turning to look directly at him, regaining your composure, ‘dunno yet.’ You shrugged and your voice sounded like an echo to the past for Hobie who so desperately wanted to pinch himself in that moment. ‘my working titles are either a bright new era or rising above all expectations.’ Hobie didn’t say anything for he knew he was going to say something that would only scare you away, just because you were another version of his y/n didn’t mean you shared the same memories; to you, he was just another spider-man from another reality, he wasn’t your Hobie despite how he wish he was but he knew he couldn’t put that on you.

He also couldn’t blame you for being alive while his version of you was dead. It wouldn’t be fair on you for being blamed for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with and it wouldn’t be fair on him either, as despite how many times he made himself believe that he has accepted your death, his heart would remind him that he truly hadn’t. You were such a pivotal part of his life that he couldn’t seem to let go of. ‘Hmm, both titles sound cool but I think we can do better.’ Miles pipped up, breaking Hobie out of his headspace that was running rampant with all the best memories you shared together. ‘How about…the bright new era of rising above all expectations?’ Hobie interjected.

You made a face at the suggestion before a wide smile spread across your face as you lost yourself in your excitement and grabbed ahold of his arm like you did when your first met, ‘that’s it! That’s what I should call it! You’re a genius dude, thank you.’ But before you could remove your hand from his arm, Hobie grasped your hand and held it firmly. ‘I don’t believe I told you my name, it’s Hobie by the way.’ Your excused his actions as an exchange of formal greeting and grasped onto his hand with the same about of force. ‘Nice to meet you Hobie, I’m y/n.’

‘I know’ is what Hobie desperately wanted to say but kept it all contained under a strained smile.

#spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv imagine #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #atsv x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown imagines #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie brown imagine #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader

5K notes · View notes

littlegingerperson5 · 22 days

Text

pretty in pink

MDNI

dom!ellie x sub!reader

A/N: this is one of my first times writing dom ellie so…don’t off me😭

Warnings: strap r! receiving, hair pulling, spit kink, restrained by Ellie’s hands, spanking, probably more but idk x

There you sat, cross legged in your nightdress as you painted your nails a pretty pink, humming along to the sounds of your favourite artist, you smile contentedly as you you dip the brush back into the bottle before admiring your pretty nails as you start to wait for them to dry.

Meanwhile Ellie is just coming through the front door a scowl on her face and a wet patch that’s been growing in her boxers for the past three hours. You may have sent her a few pictures of you with your silk dress pulled up just enough to show your bare pussy with a cute little smirk on your face, you just wanted to give your girl a little treat.

But Ellie didn’t see it that way, in her head you wanted to tease her with your perfect body, knowing she still had a few hours left of her shift. “She is so cruel” she thought to herself as she kicked off her shoes and quietly tip toed to her wardrobe, strapping her harness to her waist “teasing me?” She whispered to herself in shock.

You hear your bedroom door creak open as you finish your top coat, the girly smell of nail polish filling the room “is that you Ellie?” You say, starting to blow your nails dry.

You somehow smell the presence of her musky fragrance before you seen her “on the bed” she says sternly, your head whips around in confusion, your eyes growing wide as you see her girthy transparent cock hanging on her pelvis, she looked so pretty, still fully dressed, in her blue denim jeans, her zipper down, belt hanging open around her waist and a white tank pressing to her muscular body, least to say your pussy instantly started to throb.

Squeezing your thighs together you stutter “w-what?” in confusion, why was she that mad at you.

She walks over, her tough guy persona slightly melting away as she looks into your pretty eyes until then she remembers how your photo tortured her all day, her anger quickly building back up.

She gently grips your chin with her cold fingers, her green orbs peircing your soft eyes “get on the bed and keep that pretty dress on” she pats your face dismissively.

You really wanted to but your nails, they looked so pretty, you didn’t wanna mess them up “b-but” you flash her the blush of colour that adorned your hands “yeah they’re cute babe” she rolls her eyes impatiently “they’re still wet mama” you plead.

Ellie’s clit dances against the base of her harness, her breathing faltering at the pet name, she pulls herself together “I don’t give a fuck” her fingers land in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you to your feet, her lips land on yours, silencing your unanimous squeal of surprise and moan of pleasure, you can’t help but whine into her mouth as your palms land on her chest, fingers pointing straight, trying not to ruin the gel.

“Ellieuh” you moan into her mouth, her tongue swiping your lip, your cunt throbbing desperately, she pulls away softly as her palms land on either side of your face, her eyes so soft “tell me you want this” you feel your slick drooling onto your lips as you whisper out “I want this mama.”

And with that Ellie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around her waist, her palms on your ass, her dick pressing against your centre as you grind softly onto her while she walks you to the bed, laying you down on your pink bedding, her face just above yours as her chapped lips meet yours, massaging your mouth with hers.

“tongue out” she instructs before wrapping her lips around it and sucking as she bobs her head up and down, her drool running into your mouth as you moan out in a daze, your knees at the sides of her waist and her tip teasingly rubbing against your clit with each soft motion of her hips “ffuck” you whisper to yourself, slowly grinding onto her.

Ellie’s mouth lands onto your throat as she licks up the side of it, both your palms pressing to her shoulder blades, the teasing was fucking killing you as she forces two of her fingers into your mouth, smirking to herself as she pushes her fingertips in and out, hitting the back of your throat, causing your eyes to water as you choke on her.

You try to pull your head away but she doesn’t let your breath properly without giving one more harsh thrust to the back of your throat, causing a pathetic sound to leave you as she pulls out, your spit still connecting her fingers to your mouth, only breaking the connection as she simultaneously pushes her tip inside you as she licks up her fingers, savouring the taste of you and making your eyes water from the stretch “what’s wrong baby? You too tight?” she asks cockily as she tilts her head to the side, raising an eyebrow, her fingers still loosely hanging in her mouth.

You close your eyes, remembering yourself to breath as you inhale and exhale through your mouth shakily, loving the burn of the stretch “no mama, love it” you open your eyes softly, meeting her eyes “love you mama.”

“love you too hunny” your body jerks up as you push your face into her neck when she pushes another inch into you, causing your air to get caught in your throat, it hurt but it was the best fucking feeling ever, you were drunk on it, something in your mind snapped, desperate for more as she took her time with you “more d-daddy” you begged, bucking your hips up but she catches your actions, pressing you into the matteress and pulling out of you, making you whimper in fear of what she’s going to do next.

Her arm wraps around your lower back and grips your hip, pulling and flipping you over till your face was in the mattress. Giggling at your gasp as her fingertips dig into your hips and lifts your ass in the air, leaning her pelvis forward so her cock teases your entrance ever so slightly.

Before you can even get a syllable out she’s giving orders “hands behind your back” and so you weakly connect your wrists at the bottom of your spine “good girl” she coos, one of her hands binding them together until she decides that you’ve had enough. She pushes into you almost half way as a gutteral moan leaves your throat “fuck!” you’re squealing as she stops midway inside you.

“m-more pleaseee” you beg.

“aw baby I don’t think you deserve more, no not after that stunt you pulled today”

“I was being nice” you breath out, eyes close and cheek pressed to the pillow.

Her palm connects harshly with your cheek “you were being a fucking tease” you knew you were but it was fun, you missed her and you just needed her attention, you’re just a girl that missed her girlfriend.

Pain surges through your body again as her palm coonects with your flesh “say it, fucking say it.”

“Fuck fuck” you squeak your eyes and on the girl behind you “i was being a tease” you practically whisper, broken by her already “im sorry daddy please”

“aww it’s okay mama, i forgive you” your sigh in relief is stopped when your brain practically shuts of as she rams her full length inside you “ughh!” stretching you out and causing tears to prick at your eyes.

She’s completely ignoring you as she pounds into you mercilessly making you leak all around her, making your face rest in a wet pool of your saliva, making your belly feel fucking full as she lands harsh slaps to your ass every few pounds into your womb “not gonna be a fucking tease again huh?”

“n-no fuuuck no” the band in your belly is tightening ready to snap “never”

“good girl” she says softly in comparison with her thrusts “such a good girl” you’re squeezing onto her so tightly, your legs shaking as your pretty mouth forms an oh shape, eyes close in bliss and leaking, you’re so so fucking close as high pitched whines leave your mouth, to fucked out to talk as her bony pelvis meets your asscheeks continuously and harshly.

“fucking love you” she pants breathlessly, her eyes dart to where you both connect, taking in the sight of you squeezing around her “fucking love this pussy” her nails dig into the flesh of your hips, leaving the promise of bruises your in your delicate skin for the next few days, the pain making your head spin and your heart skip a beat.

“Don’t stop” you squeal and her fingertips connect with your fluttering clit as she glides smoothly across it “ellie, ellie, ellie” is all you can say, your entire body on fire, sweat dripping down your forehead.

That cute little face you pull is all too familiar to the auburn headed girl “you gonna cum?” she says and you can fucking hear her teasing smile “yesyes pleasee” you whine.

“lemme see them pretty eyes” and instantly you lift your heavy eyelids, willing to do anything for her at this point “pl-” you sob “pleasee.” She give a loving sqeeze to your wrists and a pout of sympathy “cum for me mama” and instantly you squeal her name, your felt as if your soul left your body as you coat her length in your pleasure, warm tears stream down your cheeks while she fucks you through it only slowing down when you fall limp against the bed, gasping for air.

“fuckk” you whisper to yourself “fuck” slowly coming to your senses.

“yeah?” Ellie asks, smiling to herself at how you react to her touch “yeahh” you sigh, giggling from the aftermath of her, a playful slap lands on your cheek “yeahhh” she mocks you, chuckling along with you as she pulls out of you slowly, admiring your slick that connects you to her “fuck” she sighs to herself now as she leans down and places a gentle kiss to your sensitive clit “elliee” you whine “sorry babe I…” she trails off, her tongue brushing your bud once, making you whine “couldn’t help myself” she smiles, stepping away from the bed and undoing her harness as you close your eyes and snuggling up under the covers.

You expect her to lay in besides you but your chest swells with love when you feel her tug at your wrist “these look so pretty baby” she coos at your sleepy self, unscrewing the pink bottle of nail liquor “lemme..” she paints over the smudged spot that was definitely her fault, her hand holding yours so gently as her brows furrow in concentration “there” she pecks the back of your hand and blows gently onto them as you watch her with heavy eyelids “can I paint your nails?” you speak softly “uhh hmm” she fakes contemplation while her eyes dart between the bottle and you “pleasee” you beg with doe eyes, she mutters something to herself before nodding her head “of course angel” and you squeal in excitement, rolling to her side of the bed and kissing all over her face, making her smile like a love struck fool as she watches you giggle to yourself as you cuddle her hand to your face “thank you mama” she fakes an eye roll, trying to keep her tough composure “yeah yeah” but the crinkle on her eyes from how hard she’s smiling as she watches you hum to yourself painting over her nails melts away her persona as she places a peck to your forehead, completely lost and in love with the woman you are, always and forever.

(then you paint her nails while both of you are bare booty naked bc that’s cute asf😍)

@williamellieslilho @yourelliewillms @bready101 @moonalumi @heygrimace @elliesmama @pascals-doll @infiniteinquiries

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #wlw #lesbian #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie x black!reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x female reader

946 notes · View notes

famwhy · 11 months

Text

Bereavement

noun

/bɪˈriːv.mənt/ The state one is in when losing someone important to them

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

42! Miles X F!Reader, 1610! Miles X F!Reader

Synopsis: Miles is missing, and all you can think about is getting him back. Upon finally finding him, however, you're taken aback by the copy that stands beside him—the same copy that was staring at you with wide, shaking eyes full of... disbelief?

Note: this one's for my cousin. The idea actually came to me while I was rewatching the first spiderverse lmao. Who knew Kingpin was such a source of ideas?

part two.

You saw it—on the control panel—42. Miles had been transported to Earth 42.

You belonged to 1610; which meant that Miles also belonged to 1610.

He was in the wrong universe.

Your best friend was stranded in the wrong universe.

Now, if you were a rational person, you would've called for back-up—maybe even gotten Hobie's help like Gwen had. But you weren't a rational person—and could anyone blame you?—your best friend was probably in danger, of course you would act without thinking.

The watch wasn't hard to swipe, everyone was too caught up in what had just happened with Miles to care for guarding their little 'goober' dimension devices. Tracking him down wasn't terribly difficult either, not after you knew which world he went to.

All you really needed to think about was where exactly you had to open the portal—but luckily for you, Margo was willing to help.

"You owe me for this, by the way." Her head tilted your way, lids narrowed in a sassy look you dismissed with a wave of your hand.

"Yeah, okay, what're his coordinates?"

With a roll of her eyes—that you very much thought was quite rude—she gave you just what you needed; his exact coordinates.

The assortment of colours and geometric shapes appeared before you with a few taps of your finger against the cold device, flitting across the room in a bright blur of pure chaos that hurt your eyes to look at—

—but you would endure it; if only for Miles' sake.

"This is stupid, by the way—" you turned, facing the girl who insisted on making a snide comment every five seconds, "—you're not even a spiderperson."

"Says the girl who's speaking to me through a VR headset and isn't actually here right now," you growled.

"Careful, I can shut this whole thing down right now and tell Miguel what you're planning," she returned your apprehension with crossed arms, brows furrowing even further.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sighed, "it's just— I'm worried about him. Please don't tell Miguel. Miles has saved me so many times, it's time I save him for once."

You assumed you must've looked rather pitiful for her features to have softened up, arms falling limp by her side as she, too, gave a sigh; though hers sounded like it stemmed from a different type of exasperation to yours.

"Just... go. Before I change my mind—preferably."

You gave her the brightest smile you could muster, hoping to god she could see all the appreciation in it—and there was a lot—before turning back around to take a step into the portal.

"Miles! I'm here to—"

As soon as you walked through, you were met with a dark room—though, that wasn't what caught your attention. Instead, your wide eyes landed on that familiar hanging bag, beat down and bits of its material flaked off.

Chained up to it, was your very own, Miles Morales. And stood directly opposite to him was... also Miles Morales?

Alright, you were aware of this whole 'spiderverse' thing but you didn't think it would be this trippy.

"...save you?"

They were both staring directly at you, however, the expressions situated on their faces were vastly different.

Miles—your Miles—had his eyes blown wide, shaky pupils not leaving your form for a second, even as he started frantically shaking his head from left to right, he still remained in eye-contact with you.

The other Miles also had his eyes blown wide. This time, however, it wasn't in warning—no—his pupils were dilated and his form stood rigid; still as a statue.

"Cariño..." he whispered; so much breath in his voice, it barely sounded like words were coming out.

"Y/N! You have to get out of here!" Your Miles yelled, pulling at his chains as though it would get him any closer to you.

You scoffed. "And leave you? I don't think so."

"Don't worry about me! You have to—"

"Cariño."

You blinked, casting your gaze back over to the other Miles—who now stood much closer to you than before. He was just an arm's length away, in fact, how did you not notice him approach you?

"Mi vida, oh Y/N..." his voice was soft as he spoke—quiet and coated in an emotion you were unfamiliar with—hand moving up to your cheek to gently trace a cold, steel claw over it.

"Hey!" The sound of metal chains clicking grew more frantic from behind him. "Stay away from her! Don't you dare hurt her!"

Either the Miles in front of you was ignoring your friend on purpose, or he genuinely didn't hear him, because he continued to do as he was doing—continued to give you shivers from the icy material against your cheek.

Then, all too suddenly, he flew into your torso, engulfing you in a hug so tight—so inextricably emotional—you stumbled back a little from the sheer intensity of it all.

"You're alive..." he breathed out—and it was then that you finally understood what the tone of his voice was. "You're really, truly alive. Oh mi cariño, I've missed you so much."

"Wha—?"

"Lo siento... lo siento." He buried his face into the crook of your neck and the surface of your skin slowly grew wet, your collar soaking up. "I didn't get there in time, I couldn't save you."

You and your Miles shared a glance.

You saw your reflection in his eyes; the look of shock on his face; the scenes that flashed through his pupils. You saw a fear in him, one unlike anything you had ever seen before.

You saw your near-death experience replay right before him.

"Te quiero—" the other Miles—the one holding you—grounded you once more with his words as he pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes and continue, "—you know that, right? I'm so sorry for not saying it before. If you hadn't— if you never— I'm so sorry."

The phrase shocked you, sending an electric pulse down your spine and rendering you utterly immobile.

"I always have. For the longest time. It's always been you. It's always—only—ever been you."

If what he was saying was true... then—?

"Y/N!"

Suddenly, the metal against your hips was replaced by the familiar silky material you were used to; the one worn by your Miles.

"Miles," you breathed out, looking all around you to see the shattered glass that flew in the wind—scattering in all different directions as the warmth of the inside abandoned you.

"I'm gonna need you to hold on, okay?"

You nodded.

Then, you glanced behind him, catching sight of the familiar geometric mask of the Prowler—sharp claws out—coming in hot and fast and furious.

"Miles—!"

"I know, mami, I know. I need you to trust me for a minute, alright? You know I'll never let you get hurt."

You nodded once more, nails digging into his dark suit as you buried your face directly into his chest. You felt yourself flow through the air, swiftly moving as the wind worked against you, pushing back on your hair as though you were its worst enemy.

It was nice. It was fun. It was... bound to go wrong.

One moment, you were safe, all coddled up in Miles' arms as he swung through the sky—the next?—

—you were falling.

"Y/N!"

(Note: I feel like I need to address this because some people seem to be misunderstanding what I'm doing with Margo.

First of all, Margo is not AT ALL being mean in Bereavement. The whole of that fic is written in the Reader's perspective (and I'll prolly end up writing something in both Miles' perspective too) - this makes her an unreliable narrator so you can't trust the way the story is being told to you is 100% accurate to the true events.

At the start, the Reader is frustrated because she knows her best friend is stranded on another universe - this makes her unfairly take out her frustration on Margo when she thinks lines like 'who always seemed to have to say something every five seconds' (paraphrased).

Margo thus responds accordingly (as she should) and although she threatens to tell Miguel, she never actually would because she is legit one of the only real ones in the movie. So no, to those commenters that were accusing me of making her 'aggressive' cuz she was black - that is not what I'm doing at all. I am writing the Reader's perspective after just having lost her best friend.

Margo is the only one helping. She is literally being kind to the Reader. If anything, the Reader is the one being rude to her but again, that's because her best friend is missing which isn't an excuse but definitely an explanation.)

#miles morales #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #female reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles morales

6K notes · View notes

myun-saidthoughts · 3 months

Text

🥀 Astrology Observations 🥀

🦋 Water house synastry increases or creates co-dependent behaviors

🦋 When dealing with 12th house synastry and unrequited love/dismissive behavior from one person (as the planet person or the person who has more Pisces/12H/Neptune influence) often times, they may struggle with over emphasizing "synchronicities."

Example: Their name randomly pops up on your FYP/Twitter or what not and even though they haven't spoken to you in weeks or months even, falling into a dilemma where you tell yourself this is a "sign" to text them or that they are thinking of you may occur.

Example: If you find yourself constantly checking their social media, you might start interpreting their story posts as covert expressions of their feelings for you. In turn, you might even resort to dropping subtle hints on your own social media, hoping they'll notice and reciprocate the attention.

Example: You may accept the fact that this person no longer thinks of you but they could post one (1) vague story, comment, picture, tweet and if that said post could have *any* relation to you, then a part of you (or all of you) may believe that it's confirmation that they like you again or that they are thinking of you again, regardless of outside or external factors that have happened.

Falling into a delusional hole is likely and unless there are consistent clear and prominent signs or words that they are not thinking of you or that they are interested in someone else, a part of you will fixate and wonder if what they are posting is for you, about you or to you.

🦋 Virgo Moon criticize's themself harder than they criticize others

🦋 Sagittarius Sun + Taurus rising creates a very optimistic, grounding, and stable individual regardless of trauma or hurt. (Needless to say everyone has their breaking point)

🦋 Capricorn Moon men with a water rising + have polarized emotional feelings. They become extremely uncomfortable with feelings yet emotions run high and they could have outburts

🦋 Capricorn Moon individuals have a very harsh relationship with their mother, either she was cold, dismissive, strict or uncommunicative. A part of their soul felt un-nurtured or cared for in a way that they needed.

🦋 Moon square Neptune in a birth chart indicates a mother who struggled(s) with addiction, reality, or with mental health. The tighter the orb the more severe or prominent the mother's behavior was towards the child.

🦋 People with natal 4th/8th/12th or have prominent Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces placements that have harsh aspects towards Neptune/Pluto/Chiron/Lilith may prefer intense water house synastry

🦋 Sagittarius, Virgo + Aquarius in a birth chart can indicate a highly intellectual and intelligent soul. They may have a gift of photographic memory.

🦋 Heavy Libra/Leo/5H placements all give off the same aesthetic in my opinion, very feminine, they attract more than they chase

🦋 Mars oppose/conjunct (sometimes square) Moon + Venus synastry creates intense and obvious attraction between one another, you may experience a heightened desire for intimacy with them, possibly leading to an increase in your usual level of sexual expression; especially if you are objectively very attracted to them.

🦋 Mars conjunct/oppose ascendant synastry can create jealousy or dislike towards the ascendant person if both parties are the same sex. (Especially if there has been one awkward encounter where Mars's confidence was affected because of Mars's own personal core wounds)

🦋 Leo Moon/Venus need their partner to show them off. Their partner has to openly and loudly claim them, not in an annoying or suffocating way but in a way where they feel instantly validated or wanted; to the point where everyone naturally notices

🦋 Scorpio/Pisces + Neptune aspecting the MC/ASC) rising's have similar facial features

I've noticed that Scorpio + Neptune aspecting the MC/ASC can creates that emo aesthetic (also heavy Pisces individuals as well can fall into that aesthetic too)

🦋 Jupiter in the 8H indicates your family (or others around you, people/partners) has or have had wealth, whether that be from your/their parents, grandparents, and so forth.

🦋 Malefic planets like Pluto's or benefic planets like Jupiter placed in the 2H/8H house showcases dealing with an extreme theme when it comes to money; in some point of life

Pluto in the 2H/8H showcases extremities of having money then losing it all, becoming obsessed with money, or receiving high sums of money and becoming careless with it; power trips could occur where you can't be given your money because of higher authorities or officials (2H) or because of family issues with tax documents and trusts (8H) etc. Truly the themes here that can manifest are endless and as always aspects/full natal charts paint the better picture.

🦋 11H Moon individual's give so much to their friendships, it's as if no matter how many times they get burned by someone, their soul still asks and searches for a the kind of friend they are.

(Bonus if they have 12H placements too then the search for authentic, considerate and kind souls feel like a never ending battle that they keep losing too and no matter how many times they feel burned they still keep searching)

🦋 Moon conjunct Pluto in a composite chart creates the same intensity as 8th House/Pluto synastry; the relationship can't be light.

🦋 5H synastry increases the chances of partying with one another. You may see them out often or make plans that involve the night life/parties. Childlike fun behaviors can also occur and with one another energies are lifted and there is no negativity.

🦋 With past life connections: when you are with them, 1 hour feels like 10 minutes; before you know it 6 hours pass and you don't even realize it.

🦋 Heavy Aries placements (especially Sun or rising + chart ruler) tend to prioritize the gym and their body. Working out comes so natural to them.

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #12th house synastry #8th house synastry #8h synastry #12h synastry #8th house #astrology notes #pluto synastry #astrology oberservations #astology thoughts #astrology houses

1K notes · View notes

glitterypinkconverse · 10 months

Note

can you write one where y/n flirts with earth 42 miles and shit but hes not into it at first but when she flirts with someone else he gets jealous? then at the end she confronts him and they get into a fight then he confesses during the argument

─ ⊹ ⊱ JEALOUSY

e-42!miles x fem!reader

summary after many months of miles not showing interest in you, you finally decide to move on. but he’s not having it.

request by anonymous ! 🎧 been away by brent faiyaz

a/n this was so rushed i’m sorry 😭😭 you can tell at the ending but it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these writings so 🤷‍♀️ enjoy!!

warnings angst, jealousy

“Morning Miles!” You chirped, watching as he came to sit next to you for Spanish class. He ignored you like he normally did, causing you to roll your eyes.

You’ve been getting tired of him ignoring you constantly despite sending visible hints that you, the only girl in the whole entire school who would talk to him, likes him. Something about his snarky behavior, his accented voice, and his overall appearance drew you closer to him.

It all started when you guys were assigned to sit next to each other resulting in becoming Spanish partners, which made you slowly develop feelings towards him.

And him too.

Though he never expressed it, he loved the comments you made to him, the way your eyes glistened when talking to anyone (he especially loved it when they sparkled when talking to him), and your overall personality attracted him towards you. And he didn’t know why.

What he did know though, was that something was off. From his peripheral vision, he didn’t see you sneak any glances at him. He didn’t hear your voice the whole class apart from the good morning you said to him, and when it was time for class to be dismissed you didn’t say goodbye to him.

You quickly got out of your seat, rushing towards your friends and completely ignoring him. He shrugged it off as you had something important to tell them, but this treatment went on for a week.

You completely ignored him, and he hated it so very much. Even when you had to turn and talk to him, you didn’t say anything to him except for the few words in Spanish you two had to recite to each other.

He got curious one day after class and followed you the way you used to do to him. But a few steps behind, of course.

The sight he was met with was his girl flirting with another guy, laughing and having the same sparkle in your eyes the way you do with everyone else.

It all hit him like bricks when you reached up and moved the hair out of that random guy's face, and topped it off with a giggle that you would only give him. He clenched his jaw and walked away, attempting to keep his calm.

He couldn’t bear you flirting with other guys that wasn’t him, he couldn’t bear the thought of you talking to other guys that wasn’t him.

He wanted to be yours, and he wanted you to be his.

A week passed with this treatment, and it was paining you as much as it was paining Miles.

You could feel him getting cold again, and you hated it. He probably saw you flirting with that other guy, but you didn’t care. That’s what you told yourself, at least.

“Miles,” you said in the middle of class out of nowhere, causing Miles to become curious.

“Hm?” Miles responded, his usual only response.

“Can we talk after class?”

“If you’re not talking to that white guy, sure,” his words were like poison. He was watching you? You ignored it and rolled your eyes and huffed, his usual behavior coming back.

The rest of the class felt like it went on forever, your leg anxiously bouncing and two eyes pierced through your head the whole class. His eyes.

You knew that the conversation you two were about to have would either result in going back to completely avoiding each other, or maybe it would work it out for you two.

However, you couldn’t get your mind off of him. Miles was the only thought for the rest of the class, and it didn’t help that you felt his sharp gaze on you the rest of class.

It was only when the bell rang you were dismissed from your thoughts, quickly turning to Miles who was already staring at you and motioning for you to lead the way.

“What’s with the hurrying mamí?” He asked as you were leading him through the crowded hallway, although he was dying to hear what you wanted to say to him.

Maybe he could finally tell you how he felt.

You came to a stop when you two exited the school, Miles turning to you.

“Why are you such an ass?” You suddenly asked, causing Miles to be taken aback.

“I’m the ass? The hell are you talking about?” He questioned back, a cold glare on his face.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! You ignore me the whole year, and then you follow me when I talk to some guy that I barely know.” You crossed your arms.

“Yeah, cause, that guy isn’t good for you. He’s bad news, Y/N.”

“You don’t know shit. You can’t be saying this shit while you don’t even speak a single word to me.”

He scoffed, then crossed his arms mimicking you. “Yeah? I talk to you plenty. More than I talk to anyone else, in fact.” He mimicked.

You two were now causing a scene outside the school, but you didn’t care. You had to let him know how you felt. Even if you still had feelings for this cold blooded ass, you were sick of the way he was constantly ignoring you.

“Miles for the love of god, I’ve given you so many signs! But you haven’t reciprocated any of them! So for you to be constantly following me, looking at me, and getting jealous of other guys is bullshit!”

He was quiet for a few seconds, which made you even more angry. How could he be quiet while you were being so vulnerable to him?

“Maybe I just feel protective over you,” he shrugged. You were left agape, now knowing how to respond. His lips couldn’t help but form into a smirk, knowing he said the right thing. He sighed before he started knowing you wouldn’t respond, “Escucha Y/N, I might not show my feelings well but I know damn well you like me, and it just so happens that I like you too.”

You were shocked, this emotionless man felt the same way that you felt about him? You had to be dreaming.

“Cut it out, Miles, we both know you’re lying.”

“Mamí, you’re the only girl who talks to me, who gives me attention. You happen to be pretty cute too,” he smirked. He knew you weren’t going to respond, so he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you out onto the sidewalk.

“Let’s get food, shall we?”

#x reader #across the spiderverse #miles molares #miles morales x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales #42 miles morales #miles g morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #prowler miles #miles morales prowler

5K notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 5 months

Text

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.” He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

1K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 6 months

Note

Meaner callous Gojo with cursed spirit darling pleeease :(

Gojo Satoru

TW: slight NSFW, noncon/dubcon, blood/gore, death of curses, abduction and captivity, mentions of previously maltreated captives and their deaths

gn reader

“Huh? I didn’t see you.” The man with the white hair said casually, holding a drippy head by the scruff of their scalp – having torn it clean off the body that now lay gushing in a pool of its own sticky red insides. Still warm but lifeless.

You’d been hiding amongst the other remains. Your mind struggling to cope with the chaos surrounding you, so lost that the thought of running away hadn’t even had the time to surface yet – having left you wading around in the blood and guts aimlessly – soaked through and through with death and chilled to your own weary brittle bones.

The end was imminent, and you couldn’t wrap any of your thoughts together to either accept or deny it.

He dropped the head in his fist with an unceremonious splash and took long strides – in front of you sooner than you could bat an eye, much less crawl away or decide if you were going to try and fight him off before it was too late – before he had his long fingers curled around your throat, lifting you up off your feet.

“No wonder~” He laughed. “You’re so weak; I couldn’t sense your cursed energy at all~”

He was frivolous while you cacked for air, kicking your feet beneath you, trying to pry his hand from your neck with such weak effort it was pitiful to watch.

And yet he remained unfazed by the pathetic struggle, only offering a slant of his head while eyeing you up and down – his orbs going from a stark neon to a simple sky blue as he released his technique. Holding you up simply with his own sheer strength.

“Hm…” He hummed then, tilting his head to the other side, now with a thoughtful pout on his lips. He brought his other hand up to rub his chin as though he was debating something. “Be a shame to kill you, really…”

You remained gasping for breath as he mused – but only for another short moment until you felt him pause in his squeezing, loosening the chokehold right before your head could squish free from the rest of your body.

“You’ll make such a pretty new trophy.”

He was smiling, but it was far from kind – though he let go of your throat entirely, letting you drop to your hands and knees, spluttering with coughs – staring at your own reflection in the crimson bath beneath you. Able to spot how terribly panicked you looked before you felt him loop an arm around your stomach – lifting you, then beaming the two of you away.

You’re still in shock when you’re dropped to a different floor someplace else only a moment later – and though the marble is much colder than the blood you’d been sitting in prior, it isn’t the reason you’re shaking. Rather, it’s the recurring flashes of fellow curses being leveled like trampled grapes – in the dozens by a single sorcerer who hadn’t even broken a sweat. One who’d bore a smile the entire time.

“Come on now, pretty curse-” The man dismissed, seemingly completely disconnected from the turmoil of your trauma. “Say hie to your new home~”

This time he grabbed you by your tunic, holding it by the neck as he dragged you along further into the room with him until he sat down on a plush sofa there – pulling you into his lap to straddle him.

You didn’t resist – you didn’t do anything – shell-shocked into a plaint stillness while struggling to accept the truth behind all the stickiness that had your skin coated and shivering with growing cold.

His face was also splattered with different shades – some red, some blue, some purple. You wonder what shade yours was with a tremble in your throat as he reached out to thumb your chin, angling it as he got in close with his lips tugged in a grin.

“The last pet I kept ended up dying of hunger. It didn’t behave right, so I had to starve it.” He revealed – bright eyes gleaming – rendering you further scrambled in thought, unable to grasp what he was saying or that he was even talking to you.

You just blinked blankly in return.

“Can you talk? Or are you an even weaker curse than I thought?” He asked then – cocking his head down and sideways – leering up at you with an eerie twinkle that made you tense with a small whimper.

You hiccupped, lip quivering – suddenly reeled back to reality by the bite of his blunt nails digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “Uhm- I…” Your voice was weak in your throat, breaking before it amounted to much more, feeling so thin under his heavy gaze while he peered at you without blinking. “I talk…” was all you were able to squeak out in the end.

“Oh- good. I was afraid you couldn’t understand me. But I see~ you’re just in shock ‘cause I obliterated all your friends.” His smile widened, and you paled even more in light of it.

Swallowing thickly. Now with the numbness of the shock finally dying down, you were allowed to process your fear more entirely – resulting in tears welling and running down your cheeks in quick rivulets – breaths picking up speed until they tripped into each other on their way free.

“Oh- don’t cry~” He chuckled, watching you break down – your swiveled eyes looking at your blood-soaked hands, trembling at the sight.

He ran his hand up from your chin to cup your face, his smile tugged into a toothy smirk – amused by your meltdown – and even happier when your eyes snapped to return his, glistening with fear and the blitz of panic.

“Be a good little curse for me, and I won’t hurt you like I did the others.” He offered suggestively, planting his forehead against yours while getting lost in that beautiful look riddling your face.

Completely relaxed and comfortable – flirty as he rubbed the small of your back almost soothingly, gliding up slowly beneath the fabric of your tunic. He used no pressure – being featherlight with fine fingertips – as though in mockery of how he’d easily reached in and torn hearts out of ribcages only a moment earlier.

You swallowed again. Feeling caged by the serene blue staring back at you.

“How… how do I do that?” You asked him timidly, and he marveled at how human you looked – chewing your bloated lip with such pretty misty eyes peeled at him.

You weren’t much of a curse at all, he thought with another laugh – licking his teeth at how obediently you sat in wait on his lap – more like a little animal than anything else – wounded in the hands of its hunter.

“Follow my lead.” He answered your question hotly, his eyes glinting with something playful but equally sick and sadistic as he stroked your lips with his blood-stained fingers – eagerly watching your little nose twitch at the scent while he pushed two of the digits onto the wet bed of your tongue. “Can you do that, pretty curse?”

You offered only an uneasy whimper, tasting the cursed blood with cinched brows.

It visibly aroused him, making his lips tug at the corners – leveling you with his keen stare as though daring you to do anything but submissively lick the fingers clean.

There’s always been something very sweetly satisfying about forcing a curse to please him. Due to them being purely selfish in nature, it becomes torture in and of itself to make them serve anyone other than themselves.

But strange as it was, observing you, he couldn’t decide if it pained you the same way he’d come to recognize after breaking his many previous pets…

Maybe you’re just a little slow on the uptake. You do seem a little confused, as though his cruelty has you asking yourself why at every turn instead of making you feel the normal rage that most curses fall instinctively to. They all always look at him with such searing hatred, but you’re just… he can’t exactly place the expression as you allow his fingers to rest on your tongue.

Suppose… well… you look as though you’re getting a little shy.

It's a funny thing to witness in a curse. It would have been normal if it were chagrin, but it doesn’t really have that temper to it.

“Wow~ I didn’t know curses could be this humble~” He drawled then, still playing with the wet warmth of your plushy tongue. “Most of you put up a fight- too proud to understand your own good.” He squinted his eyes, finding it more and more strange how you hadn’t tried to bite him yet – even as he split his digits like a scissor and traced the points of your teeth. “Guess you’re just better at knowing your place, huh?”

He withdrew from your mouth and dropped the hand to your collar – dancing the pale spit-slicken digits there as though to remind your throat of its former grip around it.

You flinched when he pulled you onto his bulge; breath caught in your throat and kept there as he pressed his smile onto your lips in a kiss.

His chest rumbled with something guttural, sighing into your mouth with rowdy hunger.

You fumbled, taken aback – but he followed until you accepted it. Then his hand ran further up your back, lifting your shirt on the way.

“Up with your hands~” He guided, and you, though trembling and confused, listened all the same – raising your arms so he could pull the article off over your head. “Good curse~” He purred – right before laying his tongue out flat on your newly exposed skin, licking along the blood stains on your chest.

You’d probably cringe if it didn’t horrify you first. How he moaned at the taste and strengthened his hold, grinding up into you with his hips – pressing you down against himself.

Lifting his head, he attacked your lips again and you allowed it, tasting the blood left on both your tongues as he pushed his inside along yours – exploring your mouth with sounds so hungry they made you whimper in return.

Your bottoms were ripped off suddenly, leaving you naked while cold fingers peppered over the fat of your hips until stationing themselves there firmly, carding into the plush and rolling you over his clothed bump. Hissing at the feel, he bit your lip. And while you whined from the sting it left, he tore open his jacket and wrung it off fast, tossing it somewhere behind you.

Beneath it, he revealed a pristine silk button-up – as white and shiny as his hair – looking out of place against the blood splatter on his skin.

“Come on, make yourself useful-” He groaned with heat, nodding suggestively to his chest, taking your hands and placing them close to his throat – again, as though trying to tempt you into doing something stupid.

But you ignore the bait, undoing the buttons instead of throttling his neck – as though the thought didn’t even cross your mind.

He kept you riding his crotch – his mouth going to your chest again, sucking your nipples into his mouth. Making your job hard, where your hands kept stilling with the need to clutch something.

But eventually, all his buttons were done up – opening to a firm torso of chiseled alabaster abs. No scars to prove he’d ever struggled. Just fair skin lacking a single lasting blemish.

“Like what you see?” He snickered lowly, having caught you staring.

You didn’t know what to say, but either way, any words were caught in your throat as he spun you on your back, bearing down on you with his hand returning to your neck.

He’d found it strange, but now he found it worrying. Vision clouded with heat though still trustworthy, he couldn't help but conclude that you weren’t going to fight him at all.

But that just didn’t make any sense.

“What makes you so eager to please, huh?” He asked then, a lilt in his voice as he crept closer – leaning until his bangs brushed your forehead. “What type of curse are you, exactly…”

You pressed your lips together, bowing your head – having dreaded the question.

“It’s embarrassing, I’d rather not say…” You tried, but the sorcerer wouldn’t allow it – holding you captive with his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking.”

You trembled some but had it on your tongue, and then he tightened the fist on your throat and squeezed the truth out of you.

“Weakness...” You finally let slip, feeling the humiliation tickle up your spine – making you goosefleshed where you lay naked beneath the all-powerful six-eyes whose stare only urged for more detail, compelling you to indulge him.

Your lip quivered but then gave in yet again.

“Made from the self-loathing of weaklings whose only method of survival is to manipulate the strong into pitying them.”

The shame of it made you go flushed.

“It’s... the life of a leach.” You balled your little fists and nibbled your lip. “It’s pathetic…”

It took a while for him to accept it – stunned by what a ridiculous type of curse you revealed yourself to be. But then he loosened his grip again like before, humming out a light chuckle he couldn’t help.

“You’re the only one I didn’t kill.” He said then, audibly and visibly finding it very funny.

You blinked, confusion taking your face – once again looking up at him and regretting it, feeling the weight of those severe comet blues rest heavy on you – life-threatening in and of themselves.

“Seems being pathetic saved your life.” He stated – as though in a compliment.

You weren’t sure of its intentions, finding yourself to be so very small lying there beneath him while confessing to being such a lowlife.

“But there’s more to it, isn’t there?” He cocked a brow, leaning in even closer until his nose bumped yours. “You feed off of the strong. Isn't that right, pretty curse?” His voice edged with something smug and something carnal – watching your round eyes hang off his. “You want me. Isn't that right?”

You took a moment but then nodded real pitifully – your lips brushing each other. He could see so clearly now, swirling in your big eyes – how badly you wanted him.

He chuckled under his breath, whispering against your lips, “Behave, and I’ll make sure to keep you well-fed.”

1K notes · View notes

earthtooz · 10 months

Text

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one.

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.”

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief.

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key.

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving.

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated.

(if only he knew).

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?”

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.”

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz.

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?”

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is.

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration.

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away.

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively.

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you.

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

#this was awful </3 #blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff

2K notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 7 months

Note

Im so sorry I didn’t see this till after request were closed but so idk if you gon see this but, f!reader had her nipples pierced? I’m sorry but I feel like price would be obsessed with readers piercings like if she had a tongue piercing too? Manz would go crazy. Smut? Dw if not <33

✦ 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 6: NIPPLE PIERCINGS

cds!john price x recruit!reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: three months into your sas training course, chief directional instructor captain john price drills you on cold-water-shock survival.

cw: f!reader, cold water shock, power imbalance (recruit x directing staff), secret relationship, breast/nipple play, p in v sex, cream pie.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 7: INCUBUS ⇾

It wasn’t as though there hadn’t been sufficient warning, but three years of service in the British army was nowhere near enough to prepare your body for the brutal battering that SAS selection subjected it to. Your blisters had blisters, and your body pulsed with a bone-deep ache every time you managed to crawl into bed upon dismissal.

You had been sufficiently warned… About everything except this.

Freezing cold water drips from your nose as you hoist yourself out of the pool at the base of the waterfall. Cold-Water-Shock training was a standard part of SAS selection– the ability to control your own discomfort and maintain a level head whilst also teaching the fundamentals of surviving sub-zero. January weather meant temperature levels were unsurvivable past a handful of seconds, and you could feel why.

The process was simple. Fully submerge yourself into the icy depths before raising to the surface and keeping your chin above water. Next step; breathe. Regain composure and steady your breathing to fight the effects of cold-shock. Recruitment Staff would then ask you a handful of simple questions to assess competency before heaving you out of the water.

You’d passed, you felt, with flying colours. The savagery of the otherworldly Brecon Beacons had failed to shake your resolve, answering the questions with ease. Even now, drenched to the bone and involuntarily trembling, you maintained a strong eye contact with Chief Directional Instructor Price as he eyed you with a stern expression.

It’s momentary— barely there. You’d have missed it had you blinked. Price’s thick eyelashes, made damp by the sleet that had been battering the group all morning, dipped below your face. Sapphire blue irises glint in the low light when they zero in on their target. You hadn’t worn a bra this morning given you’d been forced out of bed at the arse-crack of dawn and expected to be in the van within five minutes… They’d left you little to no choice.

Regardless of this reasonable explanation, you suddenly begin to regret your decision to forgo the cover, Staff Price gazing at the way your grey t-shirt clings to your pebbled nipples and the exposed shape of the piercing balls either side of each mound.

“That’ll be all, 16,” he says, that raspy grit to his voice warming you from the inside-out. That fever encroaches on the apples of your cheeks when you realise he’s yet to pull his eyes away.

“… Yes Staff.”

✦✦✦

“You did that on purpose.”

John’s voice, husky and full, was surprisingly even considering how tight your pussy walls clenched around his thick, veiny cock. You wail quietly at the soft breath that dances across your assaulted skin, nipples so incredibly sensitive. Sucked and nibbled and licked, the tender skin screams when Price drags the flat of his tongue over your pierced nipple with a delighted hum.

“N-No—“ you choke out, the overstimulation of your nipples sending another shockwave of bliss down your spine. You know you’re squeezing him, because John ruts up into your fluttering pussy with a far less composed groan. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to!”

“You’re not foolin’ anyone, Love,” John murmurs, gently taking your pebbled nipple between his teeth and rolling it.

You see stars— swirls of technicolour dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly you squeeze them shut against the cataclysmic pleasure that seeps between your thighs. When John jerks his hips up again, you can hear how wet you are. It’s sloppy, disgustingly soaked, and Price loves it.

“Fuckin’— Hah-“ John moans against the supple flesh of your breast, wrapping his lips around it and sucking on the hypersensitised skin. This time, when you arch your back from the bed with a wail of his name, he begins a slow and leisurely pace with his hips.

Burying your fingers into the short-crop of his hair, you brace against the ticking bomb of your orgasm as it approaches. Each long stroke of John’s hips makes another disgustingly wet sound, your cunt greedily sucking him in and creaming around his throbbing dick as he flicks his tongue back and forth across your abused nipple. His other palm, battle calloused and rough, squeezed the other breast, thumb equally torturing your second nipple.

It comes in waves; cresting, crashing tsunamis rather than soft laps of the ocean on a beach. A prickling heat that singes away the Beacon’s icy cold from your toes and creeps up the inside of your thighs. Your heart slams against John’s lips, your hands pushing into the back of his head to keep him there while you chase what could only be described as liquidation.

“Ohmygod—“ you slur, and it’s as though the edges of your vision blacken. In truth, you’re not sure what you call him as you come apart on his cock, sobbing out a hapless string of garbled noises that don’t sound anything like his name. Toes curling either side of his hips, you fail to brace against the overstimulation that rips violently through you.

“Fucken’ ‘ell—“ he groans deeply, a guttural growl that seems to vibrate the atoms in the air around you. The deliberate, methodical thrusts of his hips suddenly pitch to a sloppy, desperate gallop. John’s hands grasp the bed sheets so tight you almost hear the threads strain against the pull.

He cums, coating the inside of your cunt with a rumble of your name that sounds so foreign to your ears with the afterglow buzzing in your eardrums. John continues to fuck you through it, taking pleasure in the way you squirm and squeal and cry until his cum seeps between your legs, coating the inside of your thighs with his seed.

Sharp, heaving breaths echo in his small quarters, and you’re almost certain that his fellow DS had definitely heard you this time. But when John places his damp forehead to yours, eyes closed as he relishes in the bliss of being so close to you for just a moment longer, you struggle to find it in yourself to worry.

“You should wear a bra,” John mumbles, pressing a kiss to your lips— but missing in the haze of post-orgasm-bliss and settling for a peck on the corner of your mouth.

“Why?” You muse, still a little breathless as he works his lips down your chin and over your jaw. The gruff, burly Chief of Directing Staff was so affectionate when the door was closed. You knew that this thing you had going on was more serious than a thing when you stopped being anxious about getting caught and being kicked off the course— instead stressing about John offering his tenderness to another recruit. “If this is how you react to seeing me with a wet shirt and no bra, I’ll dunk myself in that water every damn day.”

In a moment of sobriety, John pulls back to look you in the eye. His aquamarine irises hold a heavy seriousness that makes your breath stall for a moment, afraid you’d said something out of line.

“Love, I completed that whole trainin’ session with a rock hard cock.”

A beat.

Just before peals of laughter burst from you. John rolls his eyes, turning onto his back on the mattress. Still, he’s unable to bite back the smile that pulls on his lips.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

2K notes · View notes

vampiresfromxenon · 7 months

Text

I Wanted To

Astarion x gn! Reader/Tav

Almost 3.5k words

Tags: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, angst, biting mention, no use of y/n, words of affection (so much sappiness), soft! Astarion, they’re in love your honor!!

CW: Slight mentions of SA and trauma (extremely minor, incredibly light piece)

Summary: You and Astarion decide to start your relationship over once you both confess your feelings. It's a mutual decision to take things extremely slow, celebrating little victories of intimacy here and there. Tonight, you can't hide your words of affection as he becomes more comfortable and vulnerable around you.

It’s been a few months traveling with this rowdy crew, and you can’t help but smile thinking about how much you love them all. Granted, they all piss you off on the daily, what from Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to kill each other, to Gale eating your favorite pair of enchanted gloves, but you can’t help yourself from smiling every time you think about how close you’ve all grown. One particular member in the party you have become very close with stands out a bit more than the rest, and thoughts about him are enough to make you unsettlingly giddy.

For the longest time, you and the pale elf fought your feelings, too cold to warm up to each other. You both had a wicked past, something that tainted your current perceptions of love and romance. His may have been far more extreme than yours, but regardless of that fact, your feelings and emotions were still valid. For a short few weeks, you found yourselves being extra intimate, dismissing it all as stress relief and nothing more. Those little excursions were merely there as a form of self protection: He gained your trust and protection, and you felt less alone and vulnerable at night. Or, so you thought, until you noticed how distant he was, his eyes never meeting yours every time he sought to pleasure you.

It wasn’t until recently that these barriers slowly began to be chipped away for the both of you, your infatuation not only becoming more real, but unfortunately, more terrifying. One night, you approached him, being brave and understanding if he had other thoughts about what you two could be. It was late, most of the camp either asleep or preparing for bed. You approached him, a soft hand on his shoulder, even though he was well aware you were there. What you were there for though, remained a mystery to him. He turned, smiling at you, taking your hand and kissing it affectionately. As your heart raced, you began a discussion with him, asking his thoughts and feelings about your ‘connection’ rather than just bombarding him with an overwhelming confession of love.

He seemed stunned to say the least, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was strange for him, his cold heart beating a little faster, feeling a little warmer at the sight of you in front of him, actually seeing him for him and not just another plaything. All these feelings were bubbling up inside him because, for the first time in a long time, someone not only asked him what he wanted in a romantic relationship, but they respected anything he said on that subject matter. In all his nervousness, he felt that he could be honest in his reciprocation to see how far you two could go, this time with real feelings. That was a few weeks ago, and all this time since has been magical.

You haven’t intimately slept together since just before that night, instead establishing boundaries and focusing more on the non-sexual ways to be intimate, loving, and kind. He loves the way your hand brushes his, the way your fingers interlace with his as he moves in to hold your hand. You love the way his hand lands on your back, stretching to your hip to pull you closer to him, especially when meeting new people from town to town. While you still struggle with eye-contact in general, it feels easier around him, especially now since he has found himself to be more comfortable actually looking at you, taking in your appearance and being more present in your conversations.

For many nights now, you’ve been cuddled up nicely in one or the other’s tent, fingers interlaced, hands gently wrapped around hips, legs occasionally intertwined. He still continues to feed on you, though he makes sure to gain your permission before bed each night. On the nights where you felt too tired, too drained mentally even, he would leave you be, hoping to keep you as comfortable as possible. Those nights were just as romantic, as you could feel his breath against your neck as he cuddles you tightly, his lips on your shoulder as he falls into the soft rhythm of sleep.

Tonight didn’t start off any differently from any other night; you both gathered in his tent, doing your nightly routines as per usual (always before promptly passing out until the next morning hit you like a boulder). Most nights he would wear a nice, silky pajama set, one he purchased from an unreasonably expensive fashion designer in a small village. You didn’t have as luxurious of pajamas, but yours still covered most of your body, keeping you feeling safe and snuggled up each night.

Neither of you expected that this night would change everything.

He’s standing off to the side of your shared bedroll, changing into his pajamas while your back is turned to him, fiddling with the blanket you both share. You notice just how used this blanket is, and you realize that it might have been the only thing giving him comfort, the feeling of security over the past 200 or so years. Astarion was far from one to share, whether it was his feelings or his belongings, and it isn’t long before you have a second realization: you are possibly the only person to have ever slept with that blanket besides him. Your fingers gently roll the decaying fabric between your fingers, taking in all of his memories that have been exhausted on the threads.

You hear him walking over and you drop your thoughts about the blanket, not wanting to pry into more of his distressing past. He kneels, picking up the blanket and sliding next to you, your bodies touching in an instant. Turning your attention away from the blanket, you look up to see your love is shirtless, moving around in the bedroll, trying to be more comfortable at your side.

You know just how insecure he is about his scars from Cazador, that disgusting, vile, treacherous bitch, but it was so lovely to see him stepping out of his comfort zone. While you’re quick to notice this new change, he’s even quicker to notice your reaction. Diving back into his comfort charm, he smirks at you, loading a phrase to protect his vulnerable side.

“Like what you see, darling?” His eyes flutter to the side a bit, and you immediately notice his withdrawal from the conversation. With a calm and gentle hand, you caress his cheek, turning his attention back to you.

“I always love what I see…” You smile, your eyes looking at him in such a way that your face beams with pride, though you try to find a balance between that and neutral so as to not overwhelm him. To see just how much he trusts you, is willing to open up to you and be vulnerable… Your heart can barely take it. In a quiet voice you’re sure to check in on him, wanting to make sure he feels secure in his choice. “Don’t feel you have to do this for me though, okay?”

His hand reaches up to hold yours against his cold cheek, his stare suddenly becoming more present. “I wanted to.” His voice is low, his hand taking yours off his face as he leans in gently to kiss your palm. He kisses your forehead before moving to lie down, making himself comfortable in your small space.

You sit there for a moment, considering your options. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you want him to be aware that you feel the same sense of shared comfort. As he turns to the side, looking at a book he left on the ground earlier, you move to remove your shirt, tossing it off to the side. He moves the book away from you both so you don’t roll into it in the night. Turning back to face you, he pauses, taking in the sight of your bare chest. He looks up at you, tilting his head, nearly asking you the same question you just asked him.

Before he can say anything, you lean slightly closer to him, your voice a loud whisper. “I wanted to.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s flattered by this display of intimacy. You begin to crawl under the old blanket with him, and he pulls you close, his hand around your waist. The feel of his cold, soft skin against your bare back is enough to send shivers down your spine, and you realize that this must be so close to what heaven feels like. His free hand reaches up and caresses your jaw before tangling in your hair, gently playing with it as he knows it helps you fall asleep.

Your hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down as he continues to relax in your care. You lie there for a while, trying to sleep, but something is keeping you awake. Perhaps it’s the looming threat that you could all die soon in brutally vicious ways, or the fact that you don’t want to waste a single second enjoying this time with your new lover. Suppose you’ll never truly know.

Regardless of what is keeping you up on this night, you begin to feel a little restless, unable to lie there in that position for too much longer without your arms going numb. You sit up a little, leaning on the arm you’ve been lying on, trying to not wake your companion. However, his body shifts with you, and it appears that he is still just as awake as you are.

“I didn't wake you, did I?” You whisper in a worried voice.

“Not in the slightest, my dear. Unable to sleep tonight, as I am sure you understand.”

You sigh, still leaning over him slightly, his hand that was once on your waist now drawing circles on your shoulder blade, the hand in your hair now resting on your hip. You want to speak, but you find yourself getting lost in the way his face looks in the moonlight peeking through his tent flap. It frames his face so perfectly, almost as if this scene was sculpted by the Gods. He notices your sudden distance, and he is quick to check in on you.

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice, once again tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“Sorry… Yes, yes. More than alright.” You reassure him, not breaking your focus. A beat; he attempts to determine what’s on your mind. Thinking he’s found it, he smirks.

“Admiring how beautiful I am?”

“Yeah… Just looking at creases around your eyes…” You say in a loving tone, not even remotely aware of how backhanded the comment you just made sounds.

He begins to shuffle, pushing you away, offended by your lack of sincerity. “Alright, there’s no need-”

“No! Not like that.” You chuckle, snapping back into reality. You grab him, pulling him back to you, his head pressing back into the pillow below you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” You can’t stop yourself from laughing a little at the sight of your pouting partner underneath you.

You notice just how unamused he is, and you abruptly stop laughing, clearing your throat and composing yourself in a more serious manner. Your hand reaches up and the pad of your thumb brushes against his crows feet, your mind falling back into your feelings of love and adoration for him.

“The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh… The way your eyes sharpen when you’re glaring at me, like you are right now… The way they soften every time I walk in the room… I love those wrinkles, they’re such a beautiful part of you.” He relaxes again, taking in your words, though still unhappy at your mention of his wrinkles, making him feel old. Though, no matter how much he hates his aging characteristics being brought up, he will never turn away any form of flattery.

“Well, augh. You really are sweet, aren’t you? But I’m sure you like more of me than just my dreaded wrinkles.” He was definitely fishing for compliments, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t aware of just how much you wanted to smother him in loving words. You lean forward and kiss his crows feet on both sides, surprising him. Smiling, your thumb traces over his eyebrows, taking in their shape and feel.

“My eyebrows, really? Nothing else catching your eye?” He whines, his hands going back to resting on your shoulder blade and hip. He can feel your body shake as you laugh, your head falling forward towards his chest as you continue to giggle from his pouting. You bring your head back up, focusing on his face once more.

“One thing at a time, dearest.” You pause, analyzing the shape of his eyebrows. Just how sharp they are, how often he uses them to his advantage when he is charming people. As you continue to gaze at them, he raises one of them, making your heart go crazy.

“You’re so expressive. Your eyebrows are so perfectly shaped, the way you use them like a weapon… I know it’s silly, I know they’re just eyebrows, but they’re your eyebrows, and they mean so much to me.” You trail off, your face flushed with embarrassment as you realize just how overly sentimental your words are. He smiles at you, knowing just how hard you’re trying, and appreciating every second of it. You kiss his eyebrows before quickly moving on.

Your fingers trace along his face, noticing his mole. By now he’s exhausted, you’re three for three with things he’s sensitive about. “Darling, if this is your way of making me feel less upset about not being able to look in mirrors, I must say it’s starting to work.” His words deceive his face and body language, but you still try to abide by his wishes.

Wanting to show your love, without spending too much time on it, you mention how much the mole under his eye suits him, how he would almost seem incomplete without a beauty spot. The usage of ‘beauty’ in ‘beauty spot’ convinced him to let it slide, but the ice you were dreamily skating on was wearing thin. Kissing his mole, you move on once again.

The skin of his nose was soft as you trace the pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose… it’s so sharp. Don’t laugh, but one of my favorite feelings is when I wake up and your nose is either on my back or my neck. I can feel your breathing on my skin, your nose pressed against me while you sleep. It’s so calming, having any little part of you so close to me.” He looks at you a little confused, mostly due to the fact that you’re still here appreciating him. The things you’re saying, they’re so small and insignificant, yet you enunciate each word like it’s the most important thing you’ll ever say. Each word has a purpose, a meaning, and they fall out of your mouth effortlessly; something he still has yet to learn how to do.

You kiss the tip of his nose, your fingers tracing down his face to his smile lines. Oh his smile lines. You just can’t help but adore his smile lines, no matter how much he absolutely hates them. He hates them because they age him, but you love them for all the same reason. To know he laughs, smiles, has any semblance of being happy is enough for you to be overjoyed at the sight of these lines that prove the existence that he has been able to enjoy life enough to have physical proof on his face.

“Don’t you dare.” He teases, though you wish he could bear with you for just a moment to explain your thoughts. Figuring you could do it another time, as tonight has already had enough excitement, you kiss his smile lines and spare him from your honeyed words.

Last, but certainly not least: his lips. Your thumb traces over his lips which are closed together, gently pushing up just enough to where you wonder if he was trying to secretly kiss your thumb. As you continue to run your thumb over his lips, reminiscing on all the times your own experienced his, he takes you by surprise.

Removing the hand from your hip, his thumb graces your lips, and you find yourself trying to inconspicuously kiss at it like he did to you just moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, but he uses his finger to silence you, gently shushing you.

“My turn.” His voice is smooth and tender as his thumb continues to trace over your slightly parted lips. “Your lips… They have always been so soft and inviting.” He pauses, still staring at them.

“I must admit, I despised them at first.” A confused expression crosses your face just before he continues. “They would taunt me on a daily basis, the one thing I couldn’t have no matter how much charm I threw at you. When I was eventually graced with them, I loathed the way my name would be cried out from them, almost as if you were saying it like a prayer. It tore me apart, wanting something I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, or even felt like I deserved…” He trails off, though his gaze remains constant on you.

“How do they make you feel now?” You softly ask, just barely loud enough for even yourself to hear.

He thinks on this for a moment, searching for the proper word.

“Safe.”

He leans up to you, cupping your cheek as he kisses you, the most delicate and loving kiss you two have ever shared. You both pull from the kiss, exercising restraint and respect for your pre-established boundaries. A hand resting on his chest, you encourage him to lie back on the pillow once more, which he does. You lean forward, kissing every part of his face that you mentioned, as well as a few spots just because you wanted to. Kissing his lips again, you pull apart just enough to whisper against his lips.

“I admire everything about you. Every aspect of you is just so lovely… Thank you for being here, with me. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

He smiles, his fangs poking out this time. His hand moves a strand of hair out of your face as he clears his throat.

“And thank you for all the kisses.” He says, resuming his usual charm. You try to hide your slight disappointment, but you know he is trying his best and you can’t expect him to always meet you halfway, especially in this time of healing.

“Always.” You whisper, lying down next to him as he wraps his arms around you, holding you closely. It’s late, and now that you have this feeling lifted off your chest, you find it easier to sleep. Your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing finding its usual pattern, your lover wrapped up tightly with you.

When you’re on the edge of falling asleep, you feel his head tilting down towards yours, which is resting on his chest. His lips kiss the top of your head, his chin then resting on that same spot. A quiet voice breaks the air, unaware that it still has an audience.

“I love you.”

You freeze, unsure of whether or not you have actually fallen into a dream state, or if you just heard him correctly. In this state of grogginess, your body shifts as you attempt to determine the truth.

“Shit. Did you hear that?”

“Mhm.” You sleepily groan. He lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s talking to you in your sleep like he has before. Settling further into the bedroll, making himself more comfortable, he pulls you tighter, finally deciding to rest.

“I love you too.” You break the silence, your voice more awake this time. His eyes flash open, his red irises laser focused on you. You can feel his heart pounding as you rest on his chest, and you lean over and kiss just above his heart.

“Safe.” Is all you can say before promptly passing out, your warm skin slowly heating up his own. He sits there for another moment, taking in the events of today. It was a lot, to say the least, but he felt comfortable and confident in his decisions, and that was almost truly a first for him. His hand finds its way back into your hair, stroking it as he begins to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time feeling comfortable, guarded, protected, safe.

Author’s Note:

He’s extremely OOC, I’m 95% sure lmao but I love making characters total softies, even if we don’t see that side of them in the media they’re from. (I'm still in the very beginning of Act 2 so I'm learning a lot about him through this site too)

I’ve never experienced love, I’m also sure that’s obvious- I’ve always wanted to do something like this with someone though (look at their face and kiss all my favorite spots). While I was writing this, I felt so awkward writing such sappy dialogue, but I realized that moments like these aren’t smooth and rehearsed; feelings get mushy and oftentimes people say dumb and dorky things because they’re just so in love. I hope it gets translated that way at least hahaha

My Spotify is fucked because I listen to specific songs on repeat whenever I write. I have probably about 4-5 hours of “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday logged on there now because of all the time planning, writing, and thinking about this fic- I got this song from Neil’s Astarion playlist, it’s so sweet and loving :)

Edit: So many people are saying he’s actually pretty in character so thank you for the validation because I was nervous 😭

2K notes · View notes

slutmegeto · 6 days

Text

meraki.

requested! okay, hear me out…a yandere gojo and geto setting their eyes on their pretty student?

tw. yandere, noncon, dubcon, (somewhat) pwp, teacher(s)/student relationship, age gap (reader is a first year), unbalanced power dynamics, forced oral (male receiving), choking, gagging, grinding, mention of masturbation, use of pretty/angel/baby, use of slut, praise kink, inexperience reader

pairing: satosugu x f!reader

they scared you more than you liked to admit. but the truth of it was inevitable.

they scared you—terrified you even. their eyes always on you, always watching; the smiles on their faces never quite reaching their eyes. not in a way that was sincere anyways. cold and calculated, focused solely on you.

it made your chest tight and your stomach twist with nerves and give you enough sense to avoid them. both of them. which was increasingly hard given that one was your teacher and the other a teacher of your relatively small school. sure, the campus was somewhat big but the fact that remained the same; there was only three teachers and two of them made you feel anything but safe.

avoiding them wasn't easy. but you tried your best.

though, even that seemed futile in the end.

nobara is chatting your ear off about something you can barely pay attention to, fingers working quick to gather your things so you can get out of the classroom as quick as possible.

it's like this every time the day ends. your morning starts with training, then lunch and the afternoon is just class; sat at your desk, nobara beside you and megumi and yuji in front. of course, gojo stands at the front of the class, droning on about something before he inevitably loses track and rambles on about something else.

it's like this everyday. nothing is particulally different about today. you avoid gojo's eyes the entire class, head bowed, eyes zone in on your notebook where you diligently take notes, passing off as a worried student focused on her studies. you can feel his gaze, but you do your best to ignore it.

you'll rush out of class and geto will be making his way through the hall just as you turn the corner. he'll smile at you and greet you with a sickeningly-sweet call of your name and you'll nod, rushed, mumbling out a greeting before picking up the pace of your step to get to your room as quick as possible.

you'll deny nobara's offer to hang in the courtyard, and you'll eat dinner an hour later than everyone else like you always do. just so you can avoid running into them.

it'll be the same it always is. of course it will be.

but you can't help the knot that twists in your stomach and the nerves that have had you on edge all day. they're worse than they normally are, making it hard to focus and for your heart to calm. you feel like you've been tense all day, heart pounding and chest tight with no relief in sight.

all day.

nothing different had happened. not a single change in routine that has existed for the better part of half of the school year. everything had been exactly the same and you have no reason to doubt that that fact won't remain the same for the rest of the day either.

but you're anxious. nervous. that anxiety wells and seems to skyrocket the second gojo dismisses you all, shaky fingers working as quick as they can to gather your things and get out of there.

you're right behind nobara, the boys having just left, bag clutched to your chest as you mumble a half-hearted goodbye to her. and you're just at the door, right about to walk out, before his voice stops you.

"y/l/n?"

your whole body freezes, tensing, as his voice calls out for you mockingly sweet. you raise your head, staring at the wall ahead of you, before gathering the little bit of courage you can find to glance at him over your shoulder.

his black sunglasses hang low on his face, bright blue eyes peering over the edge directly at you as he grins, all toothy and bright but it seems anything but genuine to you in that moment.

"y-yes, gojo-sensei?" your voice is low, shaky and the realization that you were in fact alone with him makes your shoulders feel heavy with the weight of your reality.

"i need to talk to you," he explains, feigning nonchalance as he turns to his desk, fumbling with things. "can you stay behind a minute?"

you glance back in the direction of the door, distantly hearing nobara curse at yuji for something, and your heart leaps at the desperation for some sort of excuse. but one look back at gojo and fear has you seizing, only able to manage a small nod before forcing yourself to turn and head back to your desk.

he thanks you, telling you he'll be a minute as you sit down, fingers digging into the edge of your desk.

it'll be okay, you tell yourself, eyes squeezing shut as you try to calm your racing heart. it'll be okay. he just needs to talk to you! and once he's done, you can go to your dorm and—

"ah, suguru! perfect timing!"

all your soothing words go out the window the second you hear satoru's voice, eyes snapping open to glance over at the door only to see geto, the second years teacher, standing at the entrance. he's smiling lazily, eyes drifting from gojo to you, where his smile seems to widen at the sight of you and then your heart falls to the pit of your stomach when you see him turn, moving to shut the door.

you're jumping to your feet before you can even realize it, heart lurching as you stumble back, trying to create as much distance between you and them as you can.

gojo turns to you, raising a brow in surprise, just as you watch geto's swift fingers lock the door and turn around to stare at you.

"y/l/n, is everything—"

"i... i have to go," you force out, desperation bleeding in. "nobara—i forgot. we made plans to—"

"sorry, y/n," gojo cuts in, and you blink at his use of your first name, eyes falling on him. "i... me and suguru really need to talk to you. nobara will just have to wait, kay?"

you feel like you're going to pass out. this... this is not good.

you're stumbling back, not liking the way gojo is moving around the desk to make his way towards you. but in your panic to get away from him, you hadn't noticed geto leaving the door and moving so he's behind you. you don't, at least, until you feel yourself stumble back into a warm chest, movements stilling as you glance behind yourself, only to find him staring down at you.

geto grabs you by the arms before you can try and run, grip tight, a warning you realize, nails pinching into you as he starts to steer you forward. your heart is pounding so loud you can hear it, shaking your head as you try to fight his grip but it's useless.

geto is far stronger than you. that much is clear.

he doesn't stop until you're both right in front of gojo, who, still grinning, leans down so his face is level with yours.

"you okay, y/n?" gojo asks, head tilted in concern. "you look a little peaked."

"she's shaking too," geto hums, and you hate the way you can feel his chest rumble against your back.

"aw," gojo coos and you wince. "why are you so scared? we just wanna talk to you."

"pl—... please," you whisper, gripping the edge of your skirt tightly in your fingers, knuckles white, trying to stop the tremble of your body or the way you feel like your legs are going to give out beneath you. "please."

"poor baby doesn't even know what she's begging for," gojo laughs, glancing up at geto who smirks down at you.

you let out whimper, flinching back, unfortunately into geto, as gojo moves to straighten out.

then, geto's hands shift. they leave your arms, and you blink, confused, until you feel them fall against your waist, the movement causing you to jump. you're frozen still as his fingers move to unbutton the jacket of your uniform, slowly, tauntingly.

"you see," gojo speaks up then, pulling your eyes on him. "it hasn't escaped our notice how you seem to avoid us."

dread filling you, you're dead weight as geto maneuvers you to pull off your jacket, slipping it off your shoulders and down your arms before tossing it somewhere behind him.

"and it hurts our feelings you know?" gojo frowns, feigning hurt as he pouts down at you. "seeing our precious student run from us like that... when, truly, we just wanna help you. you mean so much to us... you're our precious student afterall."

you gasp as geto's hands slip under your white blouse, hands pressing against the bare skin of your stomach as he envelopes you completely. his shoulders hunch around you, much larger than your frame, head hanging over your shoulder as his hands draw patterns across your skin. he's gentle, slow, causing goosebumps to flesh out, hands falling on his arms.

"so, we're gonna show you just how much we care about you today, okay?"

geto's hand is wrapping around your left breast, clad in your bra the second gojo's word finish and it feels like you snap out of your stupor then. he squeezes, harsh, and you cry out, your hands wrapped around his arms pushing them away, wiggling as you try to escape his grasp. you feel geto chuckle behind you as you do, shifting in his grasp, before his arms tighten and suddenly you're lifted up.

"no!" you cry out, voice screeching, legs kicking out wildly. "let me go! no!"

gojo grabs you by the ankles, grip bruising as he forces you to stop kicking. geto is walking forward, a arm wrapped around your middle, the other still squeezing your breast, before you feel yourself slammed on top of a desk.

your desk.

your legs are suddenly spread open by gojo, pushing them apart before he steps in between them, forcing them to stay that way as you cry out in refusal.

your hands beat against geto's arms but it's futile. he's way too strong. they both are.

"stop it!" you scream, hoping that if you can't fight them off on your own, maybe someone will hear you. megumi or yuji, or even nobara... if not them, maybe the principle... "let me go! get off of me! no! stop—!"

your cries are muffled by a hand pressing against your lips. it's geto, having let go of your breast as to wrap around your mouth. he presses hard, leaving muffled cries to escape your lips as you try and shake your head.

"she's sure got a mouth on her, huh?" geto laughs, and you let out a growl in response, bucking your hips up.

"can't wait until she's screaming our names," gojo agrees, and your eyes widen in disbelief as he grabs the edge of your skirt and lifts it, flipping it up to reveal your bright pink panties with little hearts all over them. your face burns as you feel both of their eyes zone in on your crotch.

"well," geto groans, "isn't that just adorable?"

gojo looks like a mad man, desperate as he leans forward, taking off his glasses, and lowering his face before pressing it directly against your clothed pussy. a muffled scream of indignation leaves your lips, muted behind geto's hand, as you both see and feel gojo breathe in deeply, nose pressing directly against your clit.

"mm! n-no!"

leaning back, gojo's eyes are dazed as he stares past you at geto. "she smells... heavenly."

geto lets out a moan, nails digging into your belly, as he leans forward, as if trying to get whatever whiff of you he can get himself.

"here," gojo calls a second later, stepping back and grabbing your legs by the ankles again. "let's get her on her knees."

you try to fight, but it's futile. even as you squirm and scream, geto keeps his hand firm around your lips and the both of them manhandle you easily to your knees, before finally, geto pulls his hand away, still behind you; the both of them now fully towering over you.

mouth free, your lips part instantly to scream but you're cut off by a sharp slap against your cheek.

it stings, and your hands fall to your red cheek in disbelief, staring up at your teacher. it's one thing for geto, still equally as horrible, but for some reason it hurts even more to have your own teacher, the man who taught you everyday, to treat you like this.

to do this to you.

"it'll be a lot worse if you don't stop screaming," geto calls out and you slowly glance up at him. "don't get us wrong. we'd love to hear you scream but we don't want to risk anyone hearing. you'll have to wait until we're in a more private place."

the meaning of his words is not lost on you — 'you'll have to wait' means there'll be a next time.

you... you don't want a next time.

"we don't need to remind you that we are the two strongest sorcerers," gojo then speaks, the barely concealed threat clear as you blink up at him. "and i know you both are aware of our abilities... you're still afraid of curses, aren't you?"

inhaling sharply, you curl into yourself.

gojo's hand falls on top of your head, mockingly compassionate; "we don't want suguru to bring out one of his curses just to get you to cooperate, do we?"

the tears finally fall then. having welled up in your eyes the second geto had touched you, but refusing to let them fall in a futile attempt at strength. though, you feel like nothing in that moment as the tears finally break free, a whimper leaving your lips as you shake your head.

"aw, it's okay," gojo mumbles, ruffling your hair. "there's no need to cry."

"we don't want to scare you if we don't have to," geto adds as you turn to him with blurred, watery eyes. "all you have to do is be our good little girl, okay?"

ignoring the violent shake of your body, you nod.

"words, angel. we need to hear you say it."

"y-yes," you force out, voice trembling, pitching in your distress. "i... i promise i'll be a g-good girl... sensei's."

they both beam, eyes twinkling at your submission, you continue to sit there, forced on your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks and snot nosed as they shift. you're careful not to move, not to try and sit up, as geto moves so he's stood in front of you as well. they're intimidating, incredibly so, stood in front of you, your head crained back to glance up at you, face lined with their crotches.

"we appreciate your words, angel, but we need a little more from you for us to believe you."

your eyes widen at gojo's words.

"just to make sure," geto tries to assure. "have you ever sucked a guy off before?"

your face burns at his words, mortification burning through your entire body. eyes lowering, you grip your skirt once more, a way to comfort yourself, and shake your head. "n-no... i... i haven't."

you don't see the way that makes the both of them sparkle with delight.

"look at that, suguru. i told you i was right," gojo grins, practically dancing in the spot. "our pretty baby is too innocent for her own good."

geto laughs. "which means we get to teach her."

"exactly."

"please..." you whisper, "i... i'm scared. i don't... i don't want this."

"oh, angel, it's okay," gojo coos, crouching to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin in languid movements. "we'll take you every step of the way. there's no need to be scared."

he's pulling away a second later, and you watch as the both of them unbuckle their pants, pushing it down to their knees, before pulling their cocks out from their underwear. your eyes widen at the sight, having never seen a penis in real life before; only ever in the porn videos you watched sometimes at night to masturbate.

but even then, you know both of them are... large.

gojo's is longer and leaner, veiny and pink at the top. you see a bit of pre-cum at the tip, and it's hard, standing straight against his toned stomach. while geto's is slightly shorter, it's thicker, veiner then gojo's and standing up, just as hard as gojo's. your chest tightens with fear at the prospect of what they want you to do with them.

"you're gonna suck us off, okay?" gojo explains, thumbing at him and then geto. "we're gonna train you to take all of us in that warm, precious little mouth of yours."

"you might gag at first," geto shrugs, "but we'll train you out of that too."

the fear has you not thinking straight, forgetting their earlier threat as you try to shuffle back. you barely make it a second before geto is grabbing a handful of your hair and tugging you towards him, pressing your cheek directly against his cock as you sob.

"pl-please!"

"it's okay, baby, we'll take it slow."

geto pulls you back, hand still gripped in your hair and gojo leans forward, hand falling on your jaw and squeezing.

"open up, pretty," gojo orders.

you press your lips together, shaking your head best you can in their grip. "mm-mm—"

squeezing, gojo's fingers press against your cheeks, your face twisting in pain as geto yanks, hard, on your hair.

"open. now. we won't ask again."

eyes clenching shut, you open your mouth, only a little at first before geto is shifting, pressing his length directly against your lips. he forces himself forward, hips jutting forward, your mouth being split open without warning as he sheathes himself into your war, hot mouth.

your eyes bulge as he hits the back of your throat, gagging, your reflex causing you body to tense as you feel like you're going to throat up. your hands move to press against geto's thighs, trying to pull away, but he holds you there for a second.

"relax," he hisses, "relax. it'll make it easier."

you can't listen. your eyes water as you gag, slapping his thighs as you feel like you can't breathe, panic welling within you.

he pulls away a second later and you gasp, coughing as spit dribbles down your chin and the tears well down your cheek. you're convulsing on your knees, trying to pull away from his grip on your hair, choking and gasping for breath.

then, a second later, you're gagging on another cock, this time hitting further down the back of your throat and you realize gojo's grabbed your hair as well to fuck into your mouth.

being longer, your reflex is spasming and you're coughing around his cock, nails digging into the skin of his thighs.

he pulls away and then thrusts back in a second later. your eyes shut as you try to ease your throat and focus on breathing, body twitching in response.

"that's it," gojo groans, "relax your throat. like suguru said."

he thrusts a couple more times, before your head is turned to the left once more, and geto thrusts into your mouth. he rocks himself, both their hands tangled in your hair, the sounds of your spit and choking all you can hear over their moans.

"fuck!" geto hisses, "that's it! wrap your lips around me!"

"she looks so fucking hot like this," gojo calls, eyes focused on you.

your face is red, eyes watering, mascara dripping down your face from your tears and spit slipping down the length of your neck from your chin. you looked completely fucked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try to take both of them, hands still digging welts into their thighs.

you're shifted back to gojo, him using your mouth for a minute before giving you back to geto. and that repeats, both of them using you to their disgression, moaning in response, calling out your praises as you're used as their glory hole until their movements become rocky, sharp and jutted.

"fuck! i'm almost there!"

"you can cum in her mouth," geto oblidges but you barely hear him. "i wanna cum on her face!"

gojo mumbles out his thanks, geto's hands leaving you as gojo grabs you with his free hand, forcing your head back and forth around his cock. geto, position his cock right across your fingers, pumps himself, and you're back to pushing against gojo's things, throat burning.

"just—fuck!"

gojo's movements halt, keeping his cock pressed to the back of his throat as he lets out a muffled groan, and you feel something warm and bitter flood your mouth. your face twists as it does, trying to pull away so you can spit it out but gojo's grip remains tight, holding you there.

his pubic hair tickles your face, only able to breathe in the scent of him.

"don't forget—ah, about me, pretty!"

a second later, that same warmth is splattering across your face, geto angling so his cum spurts onto your eyes and cheek.

gojo finally lets go then, and you jump back, coughing and sputtering as you blink, trying to catch up to what happened. you're trying to spit out the cum, but then a hand is forcing your jaw shut and another is pinching your nose. you hadn't been able to catch your breath before and you panic, forced to swallow the cum that had been forced into your throat.

the hands pull back and you gag, pressing your palms to the floor to steady yourself, knees burning from pressing against the hard wood. the taste is bitter and overwhelms your entire sense, wiping at your face only to feel sticky, pulling back to see geto's cum on your fingers.

"fuck," geto whispers, "she looks so pretty."

"covered in our cum," gojo agrees, "our little cumdump slut."

you stare back at them, hurt and bewildered, trying to rub geto's cum off of your face.

"what..." your voice is practically gone, faint as your throat burns from their misuse, staring back at them. you want to say something but you don't know what to say.

"look at her, suguru, she looks hurt."

"poor little girl."

"she feels left out."

"we should reward her. she proved herself after all."

reward... you didn't like the sound of that.

you shake your head and try to pull away, but as it's been this entire time, you're not strong or quick enough; your movements even slower now after their abuse. geto grabs you with ease and gojo is brushing your hair out of your face as they lift you to your feet, hands lifting your skirt and grabbing your panties, pulling them down.

you don't have the fight left to stop them, a pitiful whine leaving your lips as you're shimmied out of your panties, a cold wind hitting your pussy.

your skirt is left on, and then you're being sat on geto's leg, your legs on either side of his thigh and your bare crotch pressing against the soft material of his pants.

you hadn't even realized he'd pulled his pants back up.

gojo's chest presses against your back, and as geto's hands grip your hips, keeping you steady, gojo's work to unbutton your blouse. he does so with ease, swift fingers working fast before he's pulling off your shirt, left in only your bra and skirt.

"isn't she so pretty, suguru?" gojo asks, presenting you to his eyes.

"beautiful," geto whispers, thumbs caressing circles into your sides.

flushed and dazed, your hands move to try and stop them and gojo easily pushes them back down.

"here," gojo mumbles, "let's get that bra off of you, huh?"

"i don't...—"

he doesn't listen, fingers unclasping your bra and slipping it off your shoulders, leaving your breasts free. goosebumps flood your skin once more and your nipples harden at the cold hair, left bare and completely vulnerable.

gojo doesn't waste anytime, hands moving to grab both of your breasts with his much larger hands and squeezes, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips.

geto moans at the sound.

"it's your turn, baby," gojo whispers in your ear, voice low and guttural. "you're gonna ride suguru's thigh."

eyes widening, you meet geto's eyes. "i... i don't—ah!" gojo pinches your nipples and your back straightens, overwhelmed by the new sensations you were experiencing. "i don't know how!"

"it's okay," geto soothes, his voice softer than it had been this entire time. "i'll guide you." and for emphasis, his hands tighten around your hips, and he pulls, guiding you forward. you forced to comply, and your back curves as your pussy drags across the material of his pants, pressing against your clit as you gasp.

"oh!"

"that's it," gojo smiles against your neck, pressing a kiss there, "like that. good girl."

geto pushes back, and the sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt as he drags your pussy across his thigh. the firmness of his toned thigh combined with the material of his pants has you seeing stars, head falling back against gojo's shoulders as the bliss wells in you.

masturbating by yourself has never felt this good.

even as you're forced to grind, neck sucked and kissed by gojo, his hands squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples, pulling, the pleasure is undeniable. geto's hands move you, rocking you back and forth, the movements turning smooth as your pussy grows wet, leaving a trail of your juice on geto's thigh.

"oh! oh, god!" you cry out, and gojo is quick to let go of one of your breast, hand falling to your mouth, forcing it open to press his fingers against your tongue, pulling at your lips painfully and muffling your cries. "mm! ah!"

you start to move with geto, chasing your high as it overhwhelms your senses, unable to think of anything else. it's enough that geto can let go, grabbing your hands instead and sbegins uck on your fingers.

it's sinful the way he does. letting his tongue drag across your palm, wrapping around the tips of your fingers, sucking in a way that has you ashamed to even witness.

"that's a good girl," geto praises in between sucking. "get off on my thigh. just like that."

"you look so hot," gojo moans, "look so pretty. our pretty little slut."

his fingers force themselves further down your throat, and your moans gag on his fingers, body twitching as the coil starts to tighten and you see white in your vision.

"you gonna cum?" geto asks, leaning forward to suck on the nipple gojo's hand neglected, holding your hands against his chest. "gonna cum, angel?"

you nod in gojo's hands, "ah! yesh! yesh im gonna cum—mm!"

"go ahead," gojo edges, pulling at your nipple, twisting. "cum on suguru's thigh like the filthy slut you are."

your vision blurs and the coil snaps then, egged on by their words and actions, movements jerking to a stop as you twitch on geto's lap. gojo's hand moves to cover your lips completely, fingers soaked in your spit, muffling your cry as you orgasm. geto suck on your other nipple, using his tongue to swirl across it, the pleasure blinding as you experience a feeling you never have before.

they help you ride out your high, gojo pressing kisses along the side of your neck as geto shifts to bite along your breast, the pain mixing with the pleasure as you spasm in his lap.

as the pleasure fades, their movements slow and gojo's hands leave your lips as you slump forward, exhausted and used.

gojo and geto glance at each other, watching as you slump against geto, before a moment later, your body begins to shake, sobs pouring from your lips as everything catches up to you. even if you are crying against one of the men who'd done this to you, you have no strength to try and pull away, letting them hold you as you like, sobbing.

you're ashamed and violated. they'd forced you, used you to their whims, and still... you'd gotten off on your own teacher's thigh. you'd cummed from their actions and had even grinded yourself. you felt like filth, exhausted and mortified.

and scared.

"don't cry, angel," gojo brushes your hair back as geto moves to brush off the crusted cum dried on your face. "it's okay. we understand you didn't mean to hurt us."

you let out a cry at their twisted words, using your vulnerability to twist into a story that fits their needs.

"besides," geto moves to continue. "now that we understand each other, everything will be better from now on, right?"

you just press your face harder against the crook of his neck.

"what a cry baby," gojo laughs, dragging his nails across your back.

"our cry baby," geto corrects. "you hear that baby, your ours now?"

"ours to use as we like," gojo clarifies as if that's needed.

"exactly. and next time, i wanna cum inside her."

"me too. we need to train her ass to take us too."

a sharp slap is delivered across your bum for emphasis.

your sobs grow louder in response, as geto and gojo simply laugh, petting your hair and rubbing your back.

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere geto #yandere satosugu #jjk x reader #getou smut #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.yandere

482 notes · View notes

thexsilentxwordsmith · 6 days

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 5 of Truth or Dare Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Things are getting complicated, truths are being revealed, and a decisions are going to have to be made regarding the future. So much hangs in the balance and emotions are high as reality makes this about no more games.

Word Count: 9.8 k

Warnings: light mentions of smut (nothing explicit), pining, mutual pining, heavy angst, forcing a decision

Captain Price bristles at the private’s words, taken aback by this impromptu revelation, but he hides it all behind his usual stone cold stare. A gruff exhale exits his lips as he runs his fingertips over the perimeter of his mustache. “Don’t care ‘bout what happens on off hours,” he says full of contempt at being dragged into this bullshit. “It’s none of my business and it’s none of yours either, so best just drop it private.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go; the captain is supposed to march over to the lieutenant’s quarters and break up your little lovefest right this second at hearing his confession. At least that was what the private was hoping for when he decided to make this visit. He needs something more.

“But sir,” he says more exasperatedly, “it isn’t just after hours. The first time I caught them, the lieutenant and sergeant were going at it in the munitions depot when I walked in; you remember that day you sent me to fetch Lt. Riley. They’ve even been engaging in activities in the field as well. During our mission they neglected their watch duties to screw around like some fucking teenagers. Is that what you call acceptable, sir? Is this how you run your operations?”

Goddammit, now it is Price’s problem. Messing around when off duty or on leave is one thing that can be easily overlooked as you are both adults who are engaging in activities with consent, but risking it all when out in the field is another matter altogether. There are protocols and you are supposed to be professionals. And if this bit of information gets out it could have dire consequences for the validity of this task force.

“Maybe I should bring my concerns up to someone higher,” the private mutters in the silence that follows as Price mulls over everything in his mind.

“What did ya say?” the captain fires back as he rejoins the conversation, his firm glare boring holes into the private.

Immediately the young man regrets having uttered it aloud, but there’s no going back now. “I just… I-if I need to, I-I will have to go above you, sir,” he stammers out as he tries to maintain his resolve.

Fuck, this is bad.

Price sits forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving the private even though he tries to divert his gaze; each time he brings it back Price is ready to meet it head on. “You will leave this be private,” Price threatens, his voice firm. “This is not under your jurisdiction, nor is it in your ability to decide who needs discipline in these matters. I will take care of it as I see fit; I am the one in charge, not you. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I should at least get to know that you are going to do…” the private tries to argue some more, but the captain is having none of it.

“You’re dismissed,” Price barks as he points a steady hand towards the door.

“But sir…” he tries to protest again and again he is cut off.

“I said, dismissed private, or would you rather I start my disciplining with you,” Price says unyieldingly, staring him down with a glare that means he is seriously done with this conversation and with being disrespected.

Quickly the private gets up from his seat with a furrow-browed nod and a rushed, pointed ‘yes, sir,’ that he mutters through his gritted teeth before he turns on his heels and stalks to the door to fling it open and stomp off into the night, leaving Price alone in his office once more as he slams it behind him.

With the immediate quiet that follows, all Price can think about is what the private has revealed to him. To have the highly trained professional that is Simon Riley abandon everything to mess around with anyone during a mission is unheard of, but it being you makes this even more complicated. This is territory he has no prior knowledge on; something big must be happening for everything to be turned on its head and he doesn’t know what the fuck he is going to do about it all.

Though he knows he cannot just let this go. At least he has the weekend to think it all over, but he knows come Monday he is going to have to act or risk too much because that private is not going to let this go, that much is clear.

The captain decides that that is enough for the night and packs it up to head out. As he leaves out and turns to get back to his own quarters, his eyes linger over to where a specific officer is housed. “What the fuck have ya done Simon?” Price questions aloud to himself as he steps off into the darkness with much weighing on his mind, pondering the next steps of what actions must now be taken.

Back in the lieutenant’s room, hours pass in the blissfully exhaustive ecstasy produced from your union. Both of you slumber on peacefully, wrapped in one another, entirely unaware of anything outside the confines of the mattress until something unfamiliar makes Simon stir awake.

Intaking a full, deep breath, he fills his lungs with a flood of air as he comes back into consciousness, his eyes fluttering open in a mild panic from movement at his side. It takes him a moment to realize that it is you rolling back over to face him that has caught him off-guard; he forgot that you would still be in his bed. Mystery solved, he calmly settles back down into his pillow and watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, admiring how tranquil you look as your dark eyelashes rest delicately against your cheeks.

It’s been a long, long time since he’s slept beside anyone; he’d almost forgotten how comforting it can be to have another laying beside you. A weak smile spreads across his lips as careful fingers reach over to the side of your head so that he can tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

God, you’re beautiful just like this. How did he get so god damn lucky to have something so pure sleeping soundly next to him? You let out a whispered sigh and suddenly he is caught up in a whirlwind of feelings that have been in hibernation for years as his fingertips linger delicately against the soft flesh of your cheek a moment more. He wishes he could kick himself for not trying to get closer to you sooner, if only to have you here lying next to him as if it has always been this way.

Those copper eyes drift to the plain black and white standard government issue clock tacked to the wall. It’s nearly five in the morning; still too early to be conscious just yet, but once he’s up there’s no going back down. He takes a few more minutes to silently appreciate your sleeping form by capturing the image of you like a polaroid in his mind and then decides to just let you sleep until the last minute before he wakes you up to send you safely on your way.

Who said you needed to rush off anyway?

As carefully as all 6’4” of him can, he eases his way out of the bed and creeps bare-arsed to the en suite bathroom so that he can grab a quick shower, though he’d like nothing more than to keep the scent of you on him a little longer. It won’t do him any favors to go around base today with the fragrance of sex covering him like a beacon to draw people’s unwanted attention.

Cautiously he eases the bathroom door to where it is slightly ajar, not risking shutting it since he knows how bad the damned thing squeaks, and only then does he flick on the fluorescent lights to illuminate the space. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the harsh brilliance, he opens them and immediately catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror that faces the door.

Even though he still carries the signs of sleep in his distinct features, he can already tell that he is different somehow and he walks closer to his reflection to get a better look. Everything is exactly where it should be, but his eyes seem brighter, more full of life… as if he is happier than he has been in recent memory. He stares back into them as if he is looking at a different person, a reunion with an old friend he hasn’t seen in a long time.

And he doesn’t know what to think. It is a gift from you, after all…though you don’t even know you’ve given it to him yet.

Simon shakes his head and chuckles to himself, not fully ready to accept this drastic change to his appearance just yet, as he pulls from the mirror and walks the few steps to the shower to get it going. The pipes running to the showerhead squeak to life as run for a few seconds when without warning he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind as a warm, naked chest presses into his back. It momentarily takes him by surprise as he is still getting used to having someone around, but he eventually settles into your embrace.

“Was tryin’ not to wake ya yet,” he mutters as he runs his hand over yours that is against his stomach.

“Heard the shower kick on,” you murmur sleepily into his shoulder as you place your lips to the smooth skin near his shoulder blade, “thought I could do with getting clean myself, so I wanted to join you.”

It isn’t a total lie, you do need to wash up after the mess from the night before, though you wish you could be honest and say that you just wanted to be close while you still can. You know you are going to have to leave soon if you want to make it back to your quarters without detection, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of disappointment that looms like a gray cloud at the back of your mind that you will have to part ways.

Simon holds your palms pressed rigid and flat against his abdominals so you can’t let go as he leans in to check the temperature of the water with his free hand. The heated liquid rains down onto his palm perfectly warm, but not too hot, and being satisfied he pulls you both inside the cozy oasis.

He moves you in front of him so that your back is directly under the shower head, letting the heated water run through the length of your hair and down the curves of your bare back to keep you warm. It feels like you’re still in a dream the way the steam rises around your bodies in the tight space, the condensation clinging to your skin like a warm blanket. Maybe you are still asleep in his bed, you feel barely awake as it is, and if that’s the case you hope you don’t wake up cause you don’t want to leave the fantasy just yet.

The soothing water lulls you into a drowsy calm as Simon holds you close against him while he naturally rocks you both back and forth with slow, easy movements as he gently tries to help you wake up. He cannot help admiring the flush in your face brought on by the heat or the way the droplets trickle over your soft, delicate skin. Reaching out, his hand connects with your cheek as he strokes his coarse thumb over your jaw and up to the corner of your mouth before dragging it heavily over your bottom lip until he has them parted.

“I swear you’re a fuckin’ dream, pretty girl,” he whispers as his hand on your face brings it in towards his so that he can gently connects your lips.

Memories of confessions from the night before spring back to the surface, admissions of possession that he doesn’t want to take back even though that mind-numbing haze from being inside you is gone. You can hear him sigh heavily as he breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against yours.

If only he could wake up like this every day. Could that even be a possibility for someone like him? Inside the steam-filled oasis that cloaks you both from reality, he allows himself to fantasize just a little. Maybe…maybe…

Simon lets you go only to grab the soap from its place sitting on the edge of the tub, ready to clean up the mess he made. Taking care of someone other than himself is an oddly comforting sensation to him and even though you try to protest that he doesn’t have to, he still takes the time to wash you down anyway before tending to himself.

He leaves you inside the shower to finish up as he steps out into the bathroom, wrapping a towel securely around his hips, making sure to leave a towel for you as well before he heads to the mirror. His rigorous actions between your legs last night left a rather rough patch against your thigh that he caught sight of in the shower and checking his face in the foggy bit of glass above the sink, Simon decides it’s about time to shave.

…cause he is definitely going to get between those legs again soon.

A bag of random toiletries lies at the edge of the sink and he rummages around in it until he locates his razor. He steps up to the counter and turns on the sink just as the creak from the shower handle rings out and the water is shut off. From the mirror he can see you step out and wrap the towel he’s set out for you around your chest.

You ring out your hair behind you before you move to his side and turn to rest your butt against the edge of the countertop. Looking down, you spy the shaving instrument in his hand.

“Gettin’ rid of it?” you ask with a hint of disappointment as you reach up and run your fingertips over his jaw. The steam from the shower has already softened the hairs so they don’t prickle roughly against your touch as you outline his face.

Suddenly he can’t find his voice; every single time you touch him it’s like the first time all over again and it makes his head spin. Clearing his throat he looks down at you. “It’s a bit too rough, innit?” he says, tapping at your thigh with the abrasion on it. “Don’t wanna hurt ya again.”

Why did it sound more deep a sentiment than it should have been? A lump wells in your throat as you realize he is doing this for you and you alone; it’s just a shave, but to have him care about your wellbeing is very special to you. Especially after the confessions from the night before; clearly he has meant it: you belong to him now.

“Well, if you must…but, I wonder. Can I?” you ask with a smile as you reach for the blade in his hand.

Simon pauses before giving it up to you. This is a new one for him and he is a little unsure, but curious enough to see where it leads. You move your body between him and the counter so that you can hop up and sit yourself in front of him. Opening your legs, you pull him in close.

“You trust me, don’t you?” you ask barely above a whisper as you situate him in the middle of your legs.

More than anyone, he thinks to himself as he silently stares back into your eyes. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, he just drops his hands by his sides and tilts his jaw up.

Your ankles link behind the small of his back as your hand grasps his chin to keep his head steady so you can place the razorblade to his cheek. The sharp edge of the blade pushes into his skin and is dragged slowly down the line of his face until it reaches your hand where you pick it up to move on to the next section. It’s like an intimate dance, the risk of it all as the blade continues to pass over his skin, but you skill keeping him safe from cuts, making his heart race so you can feel his pulse under your fingertips.

“Just hold still,” you say as you feel the sensation of his hands moving up your bare thighs, running up towards your hips that have peeked out through the slit in the towel. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ya won’t,” he says in that gruff tone without hesitation and you can feel the warmth rise in your face.

There is steam still lingering in the air from the shower; it is fogging the mirror and adds a filmy haze to the atmosphere. The aroma of his soap is strong between your bodies, both of you coated in his usual plain, clean scent. It’s nice just being here like this with him.

Another pass of the blade and more of that thick stubble comes right off under your careful hand. You move the blade over to the sink to rinse it again and that’s when you feel it, a stabbing against your thigh from within the confines of his towel. His damp, hair-covered chest rubs against your forearms as he moves in even tighter to you.

“Like the way ya look, all serious like when you’re workin’ hard at somethin’,” he says in a breathy whisper as you finish another swipe of the razorblade across his jaw. “Didn’t know how good you’d be with a sharp object in your hand.”

“Well, if you keep moving I might not be so precise. I’m almost done,” you scold him, but Simon isn’t deterred just because you have something sharp in your hand. He has something just as deadly prodding into you too.

His strong fingertips jab themselves into your hips, stabbing into the meat hard through the towel as he presses himself into you and suddenly it feels like you can’t quite catch your breath. He hums deep in his chest, a low, guttural sound that makes your clit throb as those long fingers of his twirl the loose, wet strands of your hair between them.

“I’ll give ya ‘bout another minute to get it done,” he says as his gaze lingers longingly on your mouth. “That’s all I can wait.”

Suddenly the room isn’t the only thing that is obscured in a haze; your mind is misfiring terribly now as you hurry to finish the job while also being sure you don’t miss any spots. You rinse the blade for the last time and quickly check him over, flashing him a satisfied smile at your handiwork.

“I thought we just got clean for the day?” you ask as he takes the blade from your hand and sets it on the countertop beside you.

He doesn’t answer the question with words, instead letting his mouth do something else to convey his thoughts. His kiss is softer now with the missing stubble, though just as passionate as it always is and it takes your breath away.

“I like the way you kiss me,” you murmur against his lips.

“Good, cause I don’t plan on stoppin’ anytime soon, sweetheart,” he groans as his fingers reach up to your chest to find the edge of the towel; with one small tug he has it undone. It drops down around the sink as he leans in more aggressively to capture your mouth.

There’s still enough time for another shower, right? Fuck, at this point he’ll make time.

Dawn is just beginning to break its first soft light over the base as you step out of the shower for the second time and hurriedly get dressed. Simon meets you at the door with a knot in the pit of his stomach; time’s up whether he is ready or not and if you want to make it back undetected it has to be now.

“Got plans later tonight?” he asks as he pulls you to him one last time.

You look up into his face and shake your head. “Not that I know of. Gonna be a light day today. Why?”

Simon pins you against him with his arm around your waist as he tilts his head down to kiss your lips. “Just thinkin’ ya might want ta be in later,” he says, giving one last peck before he opens the door and you immediately take off in the direction of your personal quarters.

He keeps his eyes on you till you’re out of sight, trying to wipe away the slight upturning of the corners of his mouth. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he grumbles under his breath as he shuts the door.

The rest of the day is spent in a blur, punctuated by the few times you just happened to catch a glimpse of Simon through the days as you go about. Your mind constantly wanders back to what he meant by you might want to stay in later, so when Soap asks if you’re gonna come hang in the rec with them for a bit of Saturday fun, you decline and stay put in your room instead.

It’s a little after 9 o’clock when there is a heavy knock on your door, loud raps that echo through the room and make you put away the book you are failing to distract yourself with under your bed. You hop off the mattress, your heart fluttering in your chest. Making it to the door and pulling it open you immediately come face to face with the person leaning against your door frame: Simon.

“Ya gonna let me in, luv?” he asks. “Or ya just gonna fuckin’ leave me out ‘ere all night?”

You cross your arms and furrow your brow as if you are agitated, but it doesn’t last more than a few seconds before you are breaking character. “Couldn’t stay away for one night, could you?” you pick back.

There is a visible smirk beneath the thin fabric of his lightweight balaclava. “ ‘S part a my routine,” he says as you grab his hand and drag him inside. “Too used to it now.”

“Well far be it from me to stop you,” you say with a smile as you shut the door and bolt it behind you both while Simon quickly rips off the mask and pulls you into a kiss.

“Knew you’d cave,” he breathes against your mouth.

“Maybe I like you around,” you say back.

Maybe I like bein’ around, he thinks as he kisses you back harder as you lead him over to your bed.

Sunday evening is spent in the same vein except with you both switching off again so that you are the one to come over to his to spend your evening together. Cause he is right, this arrangement has become routine now and your day just doesn’t feel complete without seeing him. Unfortunately though, it being Sunday you both decide to call it earlier as your duties will call you to work early in the morning.

One lingering goodbye later and Simon is once again watching you walk away, secretly making a wish that maybe you’ll get the chance soon to spend more time together when something breaks him out of his thoughts. As he shuts the door behind you, suddenly he can hear a distinct buzzing coming from somewhere near his bed. He knows that sound; it’s his cellphone. It’s late and he never gets a call at this time, so quickly he grabs it up off the nightstand near the bed and as soon as he is able to get a look at the screen, his heart sinks into the floor: Price is the one that is calling.

He picks it up. “Yes, sir,” he answers in his usual stern tone.

There is a pause over the line before the captain speaks. “Lieutenant,” Price says, “I apologize for calling, I know it’s late, but I need to see you in my office tomorrow morning. 0800 hours. There are some things we urgently need to discuss.”

This strikes Simon as odd; never has the captain called him this late to inform him of a meeting the next day, so why would he be doing it now? Something feels off about it all and though he has no information other than that his presence is needed, there is something in Price’s tone that has his blood running cold.

“What’s this about, sir?” Simon asks, keeping his voice metered as his heart begins to race.

Price sighs. “I would rather wait till the mornin’ to talk further as this is something that needs to be discussed in person.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon agrees.

“That is all lieutenant, enjoy the rest of your evening,” the captain says in a rush and with that the line goes dead, leaving Simon confused and slightly worried.

Time seems to drag on endlessly as anxiety keeps him up the entire night tossing and turning as he stares into the ceiling. He thinks about texting you just to see if you’re up, but he talks himself out of it. His needless worries shouldn’t bother you, even though he knows you’d answer him in a heartbeat. No, he just needs to get through the night and then in the morning everything will be settled; it’s going to be fine.

An hour before he is supposed to meet the captain and Simon is already up and dressed; his office is less than a ten minute walk from Simon’s, but he wants to be early. It’s better to just get this over with so he can enjoy the rest of his day and make plans to see you later. With twenty minutes still to go he heads out and makes his way across the base.

With a knock on the door, he waits until Price looks up before entering the office.

“Early as usual,” the captain greets him.

“Better than late,” he says, before nodding back behind him. “Ya want me to shut the door?”

“Not yet,” Price says and Simon leaves the doorway to take his seat in one of the chairs facing the large, wooden desk.

He’s sitting for just a few minutes before Price’s eyes dart up to the door and he can feel the shadow of another person standing there. “Ah, yes, come in and shut the door. Now that you are both here, we can get started,” he hears the captain say as he turns his head to see who it is that has arrived; he had been under the impression that this was a solo meeting this whole time.

Suddenly his heart stops as the person comes into his line of sight. It’s you, the blood draining from your face as you see him sitting there. It’s clear you have been caught off-guard by this as much as he has. The atmosphere becomes tense and strained as you take a seat next to Simon. Captain Price sits tall with authority as he stares back at the pair of you, a grave look in his gaze.

“Do you know why I’ve called you in here?” Price asks, looking first at you, then the lieutenant.

Neither of you feel keen enough to say anything, but you finally speak up first, if only to break the anxiety bubbling under your moderately calm surface. “No, sir.”

Price takes a hesitant breath. “I have been informed over the weekend about you both engaging in acts of misconduct,” he says firmly. “You’ve been seen cavorting with one another on several occasions. Now, there are things that can be overlooked and if it were up to me I woulda simply turned a blind eye and pretended to know anything, but it has been brought to light that these ‘activities’ were done while out in the field on your latest mission. Is this true?”

The hair on Simon’s arms is standing on end and he feels like he is about to be sick, the bile violently churning in his stomach as his worst fear is realized. Instantly he feels guilty and begins to blame himself; this is all his fault. After all, he was the one to break protocol back at the safehouse. His careless actions have caught up to you both and now you will have to face the consequences.

Price turns his attention to you as there is no hiding the guilt on your face like Simon can behind his mask and though neither of you have spoken yet to confirm, there is no need. Your body language mixed with his lieutenant’s silence alone tells him that the accusations that were made are indeed true.

“You both understand that this is out of my hands,” Price emphasizes the point. “If this reaches anywhere outside this base my authority will be brought into question and this operation cannot afford that. Not to mention that I risk the possibility of losing either one or both of you if things escalate. What the hell were you thinkin’, doin’ that while deployed?”

The lieutenant doesn’t have an answer, at least not one that will make this all go away. The problem is that he wasn’t thinking; all he knew was that for the first time in a long while he wanted something so bad that the consequences didn’t matter in that moment. Now he has to pay for them and unfortunately that means you do as well…and that is what is breaking his heart.

He has dragged you into hell with him.

“You both have crossed a line that I can’t pull you back from,” Price continues with a defeated exhale. In all honesty, he wants nothing more than to let this go, but there are too many variables at stake. “The one who reported this is threatening to take this up the ladder as far as they need if I do nothing. My hands are tied on the matter.”

“Sir, if you’ll let me explain, perhaps we can come to an agreement…” you try to reason with your captain, but that is not how this will go.

Price can hear the tremble in your voice and he knows he’s struck a chord. The look he gives you is one full of remorse. “But in the end we’re all adults here and that means ya have a say in what happens to yourselves. If you want to request a transfer or, hell, apply for a discharge, I can’t stop you; that is a decision you have a right to make.”

The wind feels like it has been knocked from Simon’s lungs and though he can see Price talking, his mind will not allow him to fully comprehend what is being said.

Amidst the stunned hush that has fallen over the room, Price slowly pushes his chair out from the desk and makes his way to stand. “I know I’ve sprung this on you both without so much as a warning, so I’ll give you some time alone to make your decisions. Otherwise, I will have to make them for you and that is something I want to avoid.”

With that he steps out of the office, closing the door behind him, and thrusting you both into an uncomfortably tense stillness. It lingers for far too long as Simon battles internally with what to do, struggling to accept that his happiness has imploded as it always does, but one thing he keeps coming back to is the fact that no matter what, you will be forced to separate if one or both of you decide to stay in this line of work.

The taskforce means everything to you just as it does him and this is so much bigger than simply exploring the depths of a crush. This is your entire life, all the blood, sweat, and effort you’ve both put in to be here; it’s all you’ve worked so hard for. It is all you both have ever known.

Can you really give that all up? It’s too soon to be having this type of life-altering conversation.

Out of the turmoil in his mind, he hears you calling his name. “Simon? Hey,” you call out to him again to get his attention; it feels like he is a million miles away even though he is still sitting right beside you.

He can’t bear to look you in the face and keeps his eyes locked on his shoes; his gaze is so avoidant that it is painful, especially after how close you both have become. Still, you try your hardest to lighten the mood even through the ache making your chest tight.

“Not the best way to start the morning,” you chuckle uncomfortably.

More silence follows, more agony. He’s going to have to say something at some point and when he does it’s all going to come crashing down. As long as he is quiet he can suspend the moment for as long as possible.

“Listen,” you say, “I know this sounds bad, but we can figure it out. I mean, I don’t have a problem with requesting the transfer if I have to.”

That’s the last thing he wants; you can’t leave. If you leave it will kill him. “Sweetheart… don’t…” Simon speaks up for the first time since you entered the office and it sounds like he’s being tortured.

“Would a transfer really be so bad? Who knows? It could just be for a short while until everything cools off,” you remark, still hopeful, but he simply shakes his head.

Simon pauses. “No, ya can’t do that,” he says and you can feel a lump forming in the base of your throat that makes you almost gag.

“Isn’t it my decision? Don’t I get a say in what I do?” you push.

Another drawn out pause. “Ya don’t wanna do that, I know ya don’t.”

“Don’t speak for me,” you say harshly as you know where this is headed and you can’t stand even the thought of it. “I can choose to do what I want.”

“I can’t let ya do that,” he denies you again, his words firm. “I can’t let ya fuckin’ give up everythin’ for me, no matter how much I may want it. Ya forget I read your personnel file when ya arrived, I know ya worked your ass off ta get ‘ere. You made it all the way ta sergeant by the sweat of your brow. Don’t fuckin’ throw it all away jus’ for somethin’ so new.”

More pauses. Why is there so much silence present now? It hurts to have all that quiet be filled with sadness where it was only comfort before.

“So, this is it then?” Your heart is shattering into pieces, you can physically feel it crumble as you suffocate on the sadness. When did this get so god damn complicated?

Simon bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste copper. “I don’t know what else ta fuckin’ do…” he says quietly. “This is all so sudden, I don’t ‘ave a plan. I just know ya can’t leave and I need more time.”

He’s not as quick to act on this as you are and you can’t fault him for that. In all honesty he isn’t wrong; this is all happening so fast that it’s overwhelming and nothing really feels like the right decision. So, even though it pains you to concede to his argument, you do and the heartbreak wins. Yet you cling on to the hope that maybe there is a way out of this. He did not say outright that he is completely done, only that he needs time to think.

You can give him time, right?

“Please, Simon, just look at me.”

Those brown eyes drift up to meet yours and the agony of this whole fucked up situation is written in his gaze. This is supposed to be something wonderful, not something that has casualties, and he is being ripped apart by duty and what he wants most. He wants to scream, beat his fists, break anything, but it won’t do any good; he is like a man cursed…somehow this was always going to happen.

“ ’m sorry,” he says and a heavy bit of silence follows as you sit there just looking at one another.

Overcome with emotion, you swallow hard. “I know,” you retort as you reach out to take his hand in yours. “I know.”

Simon slides his long fingers in between the spaces in yours and holds on so tight to your hand it’s almost painful. Irrationally he thinks that maybe if he squeezes hard enough not even fate can take you from him, but that isn’t the case. There is no stopping what has to happen and though you both can prolong the moment, you can’t stop time.

Releasing his grasp, he lets you go and all at once you feel like you’re drowning. He leaves your side only for a moment to reopen the door as a sign that a decision has been made. Several more excruciating minutes pass, but eventually Price reenters the office and again takes his seat. There is a gloom that sits in the room now like a fog and he knows without even having to ask that a decision has been reached and it is one that clearly was not reached happily.

“It’s over, sir,” Lt. Riley confirms with the short response; any more than that and he may fall apart.

Price nods in acknowledgement. “In that case, I think it best to send ya both out on separate missions very soon. It’ll show that action has been taken in case anything else comes from the allegations. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter; I know it could not have been easy.”

You nod back firmly in agreement and Lt. Riley does the same.

Price quickly dismisses you both and you immediately bolt up from your seat to make it to the door in a flurry of quick steps, too overwhelmed by your emotions to sit still another second more beside the one thing you can no longer have. You can’t seem to catch your breath and even though you make it outside of the stifling atmosphere inside the office, it does not lessen.

Your feet carry you forward to where you have no clue; there is no rational thought left with you right now. All you know is that you need to put distance between everything and everyone that you can before you shatter because it hurts like you are being torn in half from the inside and if you are going to rupture you want to do it where no one can see.

But grief is a volatile and disastrous thing; it consumes and destroys and confuses. Right now, your mind is scrambling to feel something other than the pain of your loss, any other emotion it can experience that won’t murder it and it settles on the emotion that is the opposite side of grief: anger.

Halfway across the site you spot that familiar mohawked head near the mess hall and a rage builds in you. You and Simon had speculated before about Johnny’s knowledge of your situation, what if he was the one that told Price? Intentional or not, what if he is the reason all this is destroyed? There is not a shred of proof, but your brain is desperate to find someone to blame, anyone to throw all your anger on and that just happens to be him. Before you can stop yourself, you are already bounding his way.

Johny looks up as you come within earshot, turning his back to the building. “Hey, stranger, ‘aven’t seen ye ‘round much this weekend. Wonder why that is?” he says with a knowing smirk, but it drops from his face as he sees the look on yours.

Without warning you grab Johnny by the collar and manhandle him until you are able to haul him forward and slam into the wall behind him, knocking the wind from his lungs as you crush him up against the concrete. “Was it you?” you spat the question with fury into his face. “Tell me now or so help me God…”

“What the fuckin’ hell are ye talkin’ ‘bout?” he asks back as he struggles under your tight grip around his collar. “Have ye lost yer mind?”

Blinded by rage, you pull him back only to shove him harder into the wall. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you say, the venom in your voice full of acid. “Were you the one that ran like a bitch to tattle on me to Price? You better have a fucking good reason why.”

Johnny pauses and stops struggling against your grip, confused. “Wait, what?” he asks. “Someone’s gone te Price ‘bout somethin’? Ye gotta explain everythin’ cause I don’t get it; seriously, what’s this about?”

The tone of his voice causes you to really discern the look in his eyes: he is genuinely confused by your statement. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about?” you question.

He shakes his head. “No and I’m bein’ serious.”

In the time you’ve known him, Johnny has always been straight with you and you do genuinely trust him to tell you the truth. He may be a pain in your ass sometimes, but honesty is always something that you have shared. If he says he doesn’t know, he must really not know.

“Tell me, what’s happened?” he asks, his brows drawn together as he stares back at you with serious concern.

You choke back the emotion gathered in your throat as your eyes sting. No sense in hiding anything; he’d probably find out eventually anyway if gossip gets around. Besides, keeping this inside makes you feel like you’re rotting. “Price knows about what me and the lieutenant have been doing in secret and what we did while we were on our last mission,” you admit as you hang your head.

Johnny is silent for a moment. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he says with a chuckle, which he immediately regrets as you pop your head up to give him a heated glare. “No, I… look, jus’ listen ta me for a moment.”

Releasing him from your grasp you take a step back, the anger subsiding to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. Tears burn around the rims of your eyes at how lost you feel and how easily you are flying off the handle; it makes you worried. How are you meant to control this? How are you meant to survive?

Johnny straightens himself up and continues. “Yes, I knew ‘bout ye and the lieutenant…cause I was the one that orchestrated the whole setup. I seen tha way ye two kept eyein’ each other an’ I decided that ye both needed a push in tha right direction. Why the hell would I get ye together only ta get ye in trouble with Price?”

You divert your gaze again. “Well, it’s all over now,” you can barely say aloud; just hearing yourself speak it into existence feels like being stabbed in the chest. “Whoever ratted us out is threatening to go above Price’s head if they need to. There’s nothing left for us to do, but end it or shit’s gonna get worse. It’s already done.”

Fuck, you can’t hold back for much longer and the last thing you need is to cry, but a pair of strong hands clasp around your shoulders to bring you back from the brink of your sadness.

“Look,” Johnny tries to reassure as he is genuinely worried about your wellbeing. “I’ll figure out who it was that stuck their bloody nose in it, alright? Jus’ leave it ta me; I’ll get ye a name and hell, I’ll help ye gut the bastard if ye need. We’ll figure it out, honest.”

Somehow you don’t think anything will come of it, but at least it is something. Right now hope is a drug you have to take just to get through.

Days pass the same way with little variation in your mood. You try to stay as busy as you possibly can, filling your schedule to the brim with as much work as Price can give you. He doesn’t mention it, but everything he assigns you seems to keep you from even crossing paths with your former lover and for that you are grateful. Then a few days become a week and a week becomes two, but time does nothing to stop the ache in your chest and at the end of each day, when you return to your room and the quiet hits you, it’s impossible not to shed a few tears into your pillow as you pine for the company you once had.

Thankfully mission assignments finally go out and you can spend your time consumed in preparation to depart to fill the void that settles in your chest. It’s a couple of days before you are meant to leave and information makes its way through the grapevine that Lt. Riley is headed out tonight with his team and god if it doesn’t kill you not even to get the chance to say goodbye.

You can’t even finish your lunch today; you are so upset by the news that you quickly toss your food into the trash and head out. You’re so wrapped in your thoughts you don’t even hear Johnny calling to you until he has caught up to you outside of the mess hall and is grabbing your elbow to drag you alongside him. Where are you going? You have no clue.

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, not up for whatever bullshit he’s trying to pull today.

“Jus’ keep walkin’,” he says, his head constantly on a swivel as if he is looking for something. You try to protest, but it gets you nowhere as he keeps booking it across the base with you in hand until you both reach the munitions depot where he finally comes to a stop and lets you go.

You look up at the building. “Why are we here?”

“Keep yer head and jus’ go inside,” Johnny says as he gives you a shove towards the door. “Ye only got a couple minutes, so ‘urry the hell up.”

You stare at him with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is he talking about? You really aren’t in the mood for his shit, but you also don’t have the energy in you to fight him on it; you let out a weighted huff and grab the handle, pulling it hard so that the door swings open and you head inside.

“What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?” you question yourself.

There is movement and you hear the sound of boot steps. “That would be me,” a gravelly voice sounds at your side, making you jump.

You are thrown into respiratory distress as you turn around where you’re greeted with that familiar mask and its wearer is just standing within reach. “Simon,” you breathe his name like a prayer, forgetting decorum.

“Wrangled Mactavish inta helpin’ me, said he’d bring ya and guard the door,” Lt. Riley says as he stands there, unsure of what to do with his hands. “I-” he sighs, “I had ta see ya ‘fore I leave.”

Suddenly the room is spinning and you can’t figure out which way is up. After the agonizing chasm of space that has been put between you it is disorienting to be this close again and you aren’t sure what to do. Do you run into his arms? Do you keep your distance?

It doesn’t make sense.

“I know I shouldn’t have brought ya ‘ere like this,” he says, “but I…missed ya.” He pauses and sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose through the mask. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’. I’m supposed ta follow orders no questions asked, but…”

Standing there, waiting on bated breath, you stare back at him with those big doe eyes until you are able to speak and break the silence. “But what?”

More silence follows your question as he steps closer and closer and closer. Then he stops and there are only inches between your bodies. He reaches out his hand and the backs of his gloved fingers brush against your own with a touch so delicate it doesn’t seem humanly possible, most of all from someone like the lieutenant.

“Priorities are changin’,” he admits as he takes your hand into his grasp hesitantly, eyes unable to look anywhere but at the connection as if he isn’t sure if he should touch you at all. “I never experienced somethin’ like this before. I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Are you saying you want to go against Price?”

His sight lingers on your conjoined hands as his jaw shifts under the mask, struggling to find the words. As he clears his throat, his gaze finally draws back to your face to meet your eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything, you can read the sentiment in his gaze: he is being tortured by being forced to choose between his duty to this task force and what he wants above all else.

“Listen, yeah? As long as we follow orders, we get ta stay near each other. Fight it and who knows what the fuck’ll happen. I…” he pauses, the pain of confession hard to stand, “I don’t know if I can risk not bein’ able to see ya at all, sweetheart. Even just a glimpse cross the way.”

“You think that is better than one of us leaving?” you want to ask, but the question dies on your tongue and in its place is only a bitter taste in your mouth.

You know if you say anything at all it’s only going to make it harder- for the both of you. You are just two soldiers bound by a need to do what is right and nothing is going to change that. Fuck do you want to scream, to rage at what you are being strong-armed into doing against your will, yet your exterior stays a calm mask against the storm inside. The situation puts you between a rock and a hard place and though you don’t want to admit it he is ultimately right; if all you get is to have nothing or what you had before all this mess started, then you would choose the latter.

At least you can still be around one another; at least you can still see him. Even if every time you do it is going to shatter your heart all over again.

Lt. Riley feels like he is being ripped apart as he catches the agonizing pain in your eyes. “I need ya ta know, if circumstances were different…”

You stop him before he can say more by gently placing your hand against his covered lips; you cannot bear to hear anything else about ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. It’s too painful right now to dream. Accepting reality is the only thing that is going to help you survive now. The lieutenant’s eyes drop to the floor as he comes to terms with the fact that some things are better left unsaid.

Removing your hand from the fabric of his mask, you can feel that recognizable mass welling in your throat and you know you are going to have to leave soon or risk him seeing you cry. That is an image you don’t want to leave him with, not if this is what he has to see before he goes.

“I’m glad I got to see you before you leave,” you say while forcing your best smile for him. “It was hard thinking you’d leave and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye at least.”

He nods as he cups your cheek. “Ya be safe, yeah?”

You lean into his touch and close your eyes; god, it’s hard not to enjoy his touch. “You too.”

Time is slipping away fast like sand through a sieve and he knows that you only have a few short minutes left that you will go unnoticed so he blurts out the question that sits on the tip of his tongue and he can’t stop it from coming out. “One last kiss?” he asks, though he hates himself for doing so.

A ragged breath is pushed out of your lungs as your eyes flutter open. The question is surprising, but you already know the answer; you can’t say no because to deny him would mean denying yourself and your heart won’t let you. His hands paw at your face as his eyes beg.

Your heartbeats mesh together as you press your body against his until they become one rhythm. He keeps his hands locked to your face as you reach up and slip the bottom of his mask up over his lips and rest it on top of his nose. It feels like you are holding your breath and time stops as you again capture his unwavering stare.

“Make it count,” you breathe.

You can feel the shudder from his desperate inhale as he collapses into you like the burst from a dying star, crashing his fiery kiss onto your mouth with an intensity that makes your knees buckle, but he has you. His arms keep you up as he aggressively steals your lips over and over again, pinning his mouth on yours until it burns, stealing your breath, tasting your kiss, letting that gnawing ache that had been festering in his heart eat him alive.

His intensity is matched with your own as you kiss him back with everything that you have. You need the feeling of his lips to be imprinted on yours for as long as they can and you push so hard he cannot catch air. But just as quickly as it started, it has to end.

“Eh, ye need ta ‘urry guys,” the sound of Soaps voice calls from the door, forcefully thrusting you both back into reality. Lt. Riley grips around your biceps and pries himself from you with everything he has and with that he bounds away as you fall to your knees and enfold your arms around yourself like a hug, the tears streaming down your cheeks in heavy, engorged droplets.

He is gone.

The time away does nothing to ease the pain of your separation. Being off base makes your absence in his life even more prominent. You are in his head constantly after that last kiss, haunting him like a ghost that he cannot get rid of and though he knows he should, part of him won’t let go; he can’t. No, that’s not entirely it. Even if he could let go, he won’t.

The lieutenant’s days spent on assignment pass by agonizingly slow and he begins to realize that as much as he enjoys what he does, that it is no longer holding the same importance in his heart as it once did. That feeling has been replaced by something else and that is the way he felt with you. He had thrown everything outside of work to the wayside because never believed that he would get a chance at bits of normalcy in his life. Until you…

What if he is throwing away something that could fulfill him more than his work with the 141? Could he live with that? Whenever he finds himself with a free moment, he spends them silently contemplating that question, mulling it over incessantly in his mind even though he keeps returning to the same conclusion: he can’t live with it.

He would rather regret leaving all this behind if it meant he could be with you than to regret letting you slip through his fingers. And he desperately wants to tell you that he finally knows what to do.

The thought eats at him until one night, as he lays awake staring at the pitch black ceiling, he can no longer take it and without thinking he is digging through his pack to grab his cell phone and just like that the small, square device is in his hand and he is turning it on. As the light pierces through the darkness, missed call after missed call pops up on the screen all from… Mactavish?

It’s only been off for a few hours. What the fuck is going on?

Lt. Riley hurriedly moves himself into a quiet corner away from the others sleeping and quickly redials the number. The repetitive ringing continues until they instantaneously stop and the young sergeant answers with an urgency in his tone that makes the lieutenant’s heartbeat pound in his ears.

“LT, fuck, been tryin’ te get a hold a ye fer a while now,” Soap says over the receiver. “Don’t ye ever answer yer god damn phone?”

The lieutenant tries to speak quietly so that he won’t draw any prying ears into eavesdropping on this conversation. “What the hell sergeant? Ya think I just have all the fuckin’ time to chitchat?”

Soap ignores the lieutenant’s agitation; this is more important and he is risking a lot by even having this conversation at all, so it’s gotta be quick. “ ‘Ave ye spoken te Price? Laswell? Anyone back ‘ere?” he asks as if insisting on a swift answer.

“No,” Lt. Riley confirms. “Haven’t had a need. Why?”

“Fuck, so no one’s said anythin’ te ye yet?” Soap questions as if the fact is distressing him.

“ ‘Bout what? Today, Mactavish,” Lt. Riley says with a hint of unchecked panic in his voice. Nothing about how Mactavish sounds is making the lieutenant feel any better, not the way whatever it is has him flustered like this.

“We ‘ave a situation,” he says firmly and what comes out of his mouth next makes the usually calm and collected lieutenant nearly drop his phone as his entire body goes numb. “The sergeant and her team deployed right after ye, as ye know… all was fine until a few days ago.”

Simon can’t breathe as Soap finishes his sentence. “...we’ve lost contact…they’re all currently MIA.”

Tag list: @flameohotpotatooo @shadowtfpcod @xnyx1n @igotmajordaddyissues @essentialbeats-blog @mishaglass

405 notes · View notes

marcsburnerphone · 8 months

Text

wish I wasn't so hurt

Captain John price x f!reader

Summary:being johns’ wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst,(hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is full of guilt, reader is struggling to process her feelings

Part two!! Find part one here - Part 1

—----------

The cafe was quiet and warm when you entered, a few couples here and there were tucked away in booths chatting mindlessly. There was a dull ache spread throughout your chest and head from crying, ordering your coffee You couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy that sat on the barista's face.

You found a booth somewhere in the corner and dug your phone out of your purse and powered it on after having shut it off to stop the continuous buzzing it’d been doing in the car. To say the least it almost overheated and you couldn’t get to the silence button fast enough.

4 missed calls.

2 voicemails.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“I have lost my mind, I know.”

“Where are you my love?”

“Please just talk to me, or text either please.”

“I know I was wrong, it wasn’t my intention.”

“Fuck em.” This one was from Simon and it made you giggle.

A part of you wanted to message john and let him know you're okay to ease his mind, yet you didn’t instead you tucked your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. Maybe being this upset wasn't reasonable but the way he dismissed you with such harsh words intending to scare you, it was hard to get past.

Had you pushed too far? If you would have just left this could've been avoided, the anger that was spreading in your heart, the trouble of processing how to feel or move forward from this. To be fair John had never done anything to scare you or make you feel unsafe after all these years, even when he came home with blood still on his boots his eyes and voice were nothing but tender and loving. This is where you found trouble, how could he have changed so fast? How had he been so cold?

—--------

Back on base he was suffering, his heart ached with shame and remorse. How could he speak to you in such a way? Often he fell victim to his anger but this time so did you. He checked his phone continuously since you left here and it’d become clear to him you'd stopped somewhere before going home. He just wished he knew where.

The bowl of food hadn't been picked up from where your shaking hands had left it, the thought itself made him nauseous. He was fearful for the first time in a long while, for someone with so much control the thought of you leaving had him ready to crumble to the floor and maybe that's what he deserves.

The Men that were usually rowdy and causing commotion had fallen silent in his presence as he went for a cup of tea in the common area.

Price didn’t understand the blessing he held in the palm of his hands, to find someone as loving and caring as you was a once in a lifetime thing especially with the career he possessed. Bloody hands that get to go home to welcoming warm ones, a soldiers’ wish.

—------------

You sat around trying to pinpoint where the confusion in how to feel was but hopelessly gave up and decided it was time to head home. The chilly air outside made you shiver on the way to your car. The drive home was draining, music filled the silence followed by the wisp of the heater. You'd sleep in the yard to avoid anything john if you weren't so scared of the dark.

As your car arrived on the familiar gravely ground to your home, a deep sigh escaped you. Clutching your keys you headed to the door and jumped at the voice that came through the camera thing.

“Love please I’m sorry, where were you? I was worried?” The frantic yet somewhat calm voice of your husband came through. You thought of replying, yet you didn’t.

You walked inside, locking the door behind you and reset the alarm system. Your feet carried you mindlessly upstairs and to your bed, sleep came easy yet painfully that night but nevertheless any sleep was good sleep.

—-----------

John had never experienced your complete silence and couldn't take it. He decided he'd leave base early in the morning in hopes to resolve this with you, he wasn't even cleared to leave base but he couldn't really 100% be here if the idea of you hurting on your own was weighing on his mind.

—------------

Back at home was exactly that, you were wrong, any sleep wasn’t good sleep, the bed that you’ve slept in many nights without John had somehow felt emptier. Your head was pounding from a lack of sleep and crying, you waited for the ibuprofen you'd taken to kick in and just laid silently in bed . After a while you became lost in thought and missed the sound of tires on gravel but the slam of the door snapped you out of it.

Like a child you acted like you were sleeping instead of running out of bed into his arms like you normally would. His heavy boots climbed the stairs into your bedroom, you were sure he noticed your breathing pattern was one of an awake person but couldn’t find a reason to care.

“Darling.” He whispers and you feel the dent of his weight crease on the bed.

“I don’t want to see you right now John.” But you had wanted to see him, you were just scared this time you’d see him differently.

“Please, my love, talk to me.” It was a plea as his hand went to your thigh rubbing small circles into your soft skin.

“No.” Tears began to well in your eyes again, thankfully you chose to lay facing the window.

At that he raised from where he was sitting and rounded the bed kneeling beside your head, it broke his heart to see your puffy eyes and fresh tears streaking your beautiful face. His hand raised to caress your face and you stubbornly pulled away.

Instead of that he placed his forehead on yours not minding the way his rickety knees would ache tomorrow.

“You scared me.” You whispered, voice quivering with emotion.

“I know, I’m so sorry. I’d never hurt you willingly a day in my life. I just- I don’t know what came over me.” He kissed your forehead and then the tears that he was causing.

“No you don’t understand John.” You flipped your body the other way, suddenly feeling overwhelmed in his presence.

He wasn’t going to leave you too hurt although you wished he would. There was just enough room on the bed for him to lay beside you. He formed his body to yours holding you firmly.

At this you sobbed, the weight of your cries was devastating, as his body shook with yours he pulled you tighter to him.

“Your my wife and my equal I was beyond wrong I- I’m ashamed of my behavior you didn’t deserve that nor it will never happen again I promise i’ll never be the man that makes you hurt please forgive me.” he whispered into your hair soothing your erratic breathing back to somewhat stable.

“John.” you said between hiccups.

“Yes my darling.” he didn't like when you called him by his name but at least you were speaking to him.

“Im tired.” he was fucking hurting inside.

“Then sleep.” he nuzzled his nose deeper into the scent of your shampoo, you just nodded your head and let your eyes close, exhaustion showed no mercy as you immediately fell into a deep slumber.

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

the love on part 1 was amazing thankyou all from the bottom of my heart.

feedback and reposts are deeply appreciated;)

There will be a part 3;)

#john price #captain price x female reader #task force 141 #captain john price #john price x reader #angst #cod mw2

2K notes · View notes

theoldsports · 5 months

Text

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #the hunger games

945 notes · View notes