#im so thirsty for this man and his arms

[greythunderkat]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we have more of domestic Jason but now with him needy of touch? 🥹

the reader got out of bed early to go drink water and he wakes up from a nightmare needing her and he thinks she left him and he starts crying in panic, but then she appears and calm him down with kisses, words of affirmation and lots of love.

Thank u! I love ur writing btw!!

I don’t know if this is what you have in mind, the ending might be a little half-assed but I was half asleep whilst making this 🦦also thank you for enjoying my writing! It really means a lot!

Your side of the bed had barely gone cold which indicated that it hadn’t been long ago that you had left but it was the reason why you’ve left that haunted Jason, who was fresh out of a nightmare and drenched in his own sweat and finding difficulty in calming his uneven breaths.

He had meant to reach out to you for comfort.

Only to be greeted by air just as palm of his hand then hit the lukewarm mattress below.

It was enough to break Jason’s resolve as his innate belief that everyone he ever cared for was destined to leave him- especially you- began to worsen with every passing second the longer Jason allowed himself to be poisoned by the possibilities that you were gone. Disappeared. Or worse yet; taken.

‘Y/n?’ He calls out softly.

‘Baby?’ He tries again, a little louder this time, not having realised that his eyes had started to tear up and blur his vision of his dark room, or that a lump in his throat had started to form, making it difficult for him to swallow down his overwhelming anxiety.

‘Don’t leave me here…please don’t leave me all lone.’ Jason pleads with the darkness of his room as though that would be enough to give you back to him. ‘Haven’t I done that enough?’ He then asks as he clenched the bedsheets between his powerful hands, trying to bound himself to something to combat his discomfort in being left alone with his mind for too long. ‘Being left alone when I was proven too difficult to save? Too far gone to be helped? Am I just that broken to be given just a sliver of happiness?’ He cries out at he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes as he chocked back his own sobs.

Despite building himself a strong body that could endure punishment, the pain of that of an broken heart had been so excruciating it had Jason keeling over in bed, wanting nothing more then to tear it out of his chest as though it burned him; Or was it in fact just phantom pains from a heart that had been hollowed out by the hands of another.

The door to the room opened and golden light flooded in, eradicating the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. ‘Jason?’ Your voice called out and Jason never felt more alive than he did in hearing you say his name in that angelic voice of yours, so much so that he didn’t notice that he had begun to cry harder but out of relief this time. ‘I thought- I thought you left. I couldn’t feel you. I tried reaching for you but you weren’t there.’ He began to say but was cut off when you brought him tightly into your arms.

‘Im sorry that I kept you waiting my beautiful boy.’ You cooed as your fingers reached up to comb through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp now and then to assure him of your presence. Jason didn’t hesitate to bring you into his lap as he buried his head deep into your shoulder, wiping his tears against your sleep shirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he was holding onto you as though you were bound to disappear once he lets go. ‘Where did you go?’ He asks. ‘I got a little thirsty and so I went to get a drink of water.’ You explained, kissing him anywhere that was made available to you.

‘You’ve been strong for a long, long time and I’ve never been more prouder of you for holding out as long as you have with everything you’ve been through, it never fails to amaze me how resilient you are Jaybirdie.’ You felt his breathing even out as he began to lean back into the bed, still holding onto you. ‘You’re truly an incredible man for being able to stand on your own two feet and still find it within yourself to fight.’ You softly told him as you continued to hold him in your arms as he squeezed your waist in response. ‘I’m so unbelievably lucky to have someone like you in my life and I will do everything in my power to make you believe that.’ You promised him.

‘Even if it’s impossible and might take forever.’ Jason says, starting to feel the lull of sleep as it began to weigh heavily on his eyelids.

You smile softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. ‘Even if it takes an eternity I would still find a way to prove just how beautiful you are.’ You replied, nuzzling into him as his bodily warmth began to ease you into a sense of security. ‘You are the most beautiful man I have ever met Jason Todd.’ You moved to look him in the eyes. ‘A butterfly may not be able to see the colour of their wings but that doesn’t retract the fact that they’re undeniably beautiful.’ You added as you pressed a couple of kissed to his forehead. ‘Now gets some sleep my beautiful boy, I’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘You promise?’ Jason asked, biting back a yawn.

‘I’d be stupid to break a promise I made to you.’ You responded, thinking all was said and done when Jason brought a hand up to your face, showing you his outstretched pinky. ‘Pinky promise me that you’ll be here with me when I wake up.’ He says and you smile softly at the inherent innocence of that of a pinkie promise but still went ahead and linked your pinky with his, pressing a kiss to his calloused and scarred hand with reverence before resting it on his chest. ‘I pinky promise that I’ll be here when you wake up. Was that good?’

‘We’ll see in the morning when I get to wake up to you chipmunk.’ Jason replied, holding you more against his chest and fell asleep but you weren’t complying as you soon followed him into dreamland, your pinkies still linked to one another as a reminder of your promise.

[disneyprincemuke]

forever wouldn't wait for us * fem!driver

logan's moving out

pairings: 4lyfers x fem!driver

notes: hi please give this attention im not even kidding how difficult it was to write this like i'm actually kinda sad

(series masterlist) | (📂 the sophomore year)

liam scowls, throwing his head back. he points his hand towards logan, sat on the couch, fiddling with a rubix cube he’d found underneath the couch. “you’re not even helping!”

“i didn’t know kidnapper took my rubix cube,” logan mutters.

the girl passes him, walking between the couch and the coffee table, snatching away the rubix cube from his hands. “you don’t even know how to play with a rubix cube,” she mutters, “and this is mine.”

logan huffs, rolling his eyes and throws his arms into the air. “you never let me have anything.”

she furrows her eyebrows. “you moved into my furnished apartment at the start of last year.”

“there’s gotta be something in the living room that’s mine,” logan frowns, looking around for something to take with him.

“what time are we drinking?” oscar throws his head back, looking over from the dining table. on the table is a set of uno cards messily strewn in different directions. on his right is lily and to his left is ylona with a small grin. “you guys are taking too long.”

“we wouldn’t be taking so long if everyone helped like they promised,” she huffs underneath her breath with a small eye roll. “anyway, logan’s still trying out being a thief right in front of my eyes.”

“babe,” ylona snorts, “don’t steal from rocky.”

mick walks out of logan’s room, a box of neatly folded clothes inside. he drops it right by the kitchen where the rest of logan’s boxes rest, stacked above one another. “logan loves stealing from rocky.”

“i do not!” logan defends himself. “wait, whatever. i’m just saying — there has to be something that’s mine in the living room. there’s no way that i was leeching off rocky the entire year and a half we stayed together.”

“you probably have more things in her parents’ home rather than here,” oscar points out, playing a card on the table. “hurry it up. i’m hungry and thirsty.”

she hadn’t expected logan to move out so soon. while she knew that living with logan for the rest of her life isn’t a viable arrangement, she hadn’t expected him to decide to pack up and live with his girlfriend while being together for less than a year.

he had told her about a month ago, at the start of september that he’d be moving in with ylona. not too far away, just an apartment down the road. but it still feels like a part’s of her being torn from her — the same way she felt when oscar had moved out of her parents’ when he landed a reserve driver spot with alpine.

she didn’t expect the 3 of them to live together for the rest of time, but it’s just weird to spend growing up every single day with them for years to end up barely talking sometimes outside of race weekends.

“rocky, what do you think?”

she maintains her blank stare on kidnapper, sleeping under the coffee table with a hum. “think of what?”

“let’s head out for dinner as a quick pick-me-up,” mick grins slightly, “and then we drop by the store to get drinks then we continue packing. when we’re done with that, we drink! how’s that sound?”

she lifts her head with a small grin. “yeah, absolutely.”

the uneasy feeling in her chest never leaves the entire evening. from the moment they’d all spilled out of the apartment to grab dinner, asking each other where they should eat to the moment they were stumbling back in to pack what’s left of logan’s clothes.

she sits in the living room now in silence, playing with kidnapper with one of the toys she’d gotten him in a dim corner. everyone else is in logan’s room, helping fold and pack what mick hadn’t gotten in boxes earlier.

“hey, are you okay? you’ve been here since we came home from dinner.” she glances over her shoulder, a small grin spreading her lips at the man now taking a seat next to her on the ground by the cat tree. “i’m surprised you haven’t started crying yet. remember when i moved out of your parents’?”

she throws her head back with a soft groan and an eye roll. “that seems like forever ago.”

“it was,” oscar laughs, leaning back against the wall as kidnapper curiously climbs on his lap. “how do you feel now that you’ll be living alone?”

“not sure,” she shrugs, dropping her head with a soft chuckle. “i like living with logan, you know? everyday was a party.”

“living by yourself can still be party, you know,” he points out and rests his head on the wall behind him. “you knew we weren’t going to be around forever.”

she presses her lips together as she tries to navigate the lines in her head and pinpoint why she’s always so upset when either of them move out. perhaps she feels left behind once more?

sure, that lingering feeling of jealousy arose occasionally when they were younger, always progressing with their racing careers without her at times. but there’s no reason to feel this way at 21 when they’re all at the same stages of life.

“i mean… before logan asked if he could move in with me, i was prepared to be live by myself. but you know,” she trails off as she lifts her head with trembling lips. “that was a year and a half ago.”

“aw, mate,” oscar coos, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on her knee. “i know he sprung this on you a little too soon. but you’ll be fine, you know?”

“i know,” she grins, craning her neck back to sigh at oscar. “i’m going to let him take stubby with him. i know the bond they’ve formed, you know? i’m going to miss that dog.”

“you know you don’t have to. you adopted stubby.”

“just seems cruel to keep stubby when he very clearly prefers logan over me.” she takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “we should help them out so we can drink with them, right?”

oscar glances down at the black cat that’s settled in his lap. “i can’t get up — kidnapper’s on my lap. it’s your turn now.”

she rolls her eyes but still slowly gets up from her spot. “i will be back for my cat, oscar piastri.”

“i know it was sudden when i told you i was planning to move out,” logan mutters, lifting his head to look at the girl in the single seater couch across the room. “i’m sorry.”

the girl looks up from her phone, her screen illuminating her face with a small grin and flushed cheeks from the drinks they’d consumed. the empty glass bottles riddle the floor of their — no, her — living room. “we can’t be roommates forever. it’s okay.”

around them are liam and mick, passed out in their individual spots with pillows and blankets strewn over their bodies. oscar and lily are coddled up in her bed and logan’s got ylona’s head in his lap as she lies on the couch with stubby in her arms.

“i’m sorry i didn’t even ask you what you thought about it at first,” he admits. “you let me move into your apartment then i just spring my decision to move out 3 weeks ahead of time. i’m sorry, rocky.”

“it’s okay, really. like–”

“dude.” the firmness in her voice makes her drop her phone into her stomach. she sits upright with a small grin on her face and a heavy sigh. “i’m sorry. 2024 hasn’t been great for our friendship.”

she laughs softly, dropping her back against her seat. “are you talking about the crash? that was months ago, mate. i totally overreacted. so much for ‘whatever happens on the track, stays on the track’. i’m sorry.”

but meeting his eyes across the room, her smile fades when she notices that he’s not smiling or giggling along with her. “you know what i’m apologising for.”

tears flood her eyes and she forces herself to look away to wipe them away. “mate. it’s been 9 months.”

“stop brushing it off,” logan whispers, shaking his head. “i’m sorry, okay? you’re still my best friend — you know that, right? nothing’s changing. i’m just 2 blocks down the road; call me if you need me.”

she smiles, hanging her head as she turns to look at him. “likewise. take stubby with you, by the way. he seems to be very fond of you and ylona, anyway.”

“what? no, that’s crazy. stubby is your dog.”

she shakes her head and holds a hand up to stop him from talking. and she knows that he knows what that means — there’s nothing he can say to change her mind. “take him. he’ll be happier with you guys.”

logan’s stare lingers on her, smiling back before she picks up her phone from her stomach. “you should bring ylona to your bed. the couch is uncomfortable, mate.”

logan grins. “okay. do you want to share the bed with her? i know oscar and lily’s fallen asleep in yours. i can sleep out here if you want.”

she shakes her head, following his gaze as he carefully manoeuvres ylona to guide her back to his room. “i’ll be okay. you don’t have to look out for me so much anymore, mate. i’m a big girl.”

“everything’s in the car,” oscar calls out from down the hall, popping his head from the corner that leads to their life lobby. “need a minute?”

“i’ll be down in a second,” logan answers, looking over his shoulder as oscar nods firmly and disappears into the corner. he lets out a shaky breath before he turns back to the small girl standing by the door, handle in her hands as she leans against the door frame. “i’m going to miss living with you.”

she smiles, another tear falling right out of her eye. “i’m going to miss you too. it’s okay that we’re like this, right? we’ve lived together for almost a decade — it’s weird not waking up to your breakfast.”

“don’t skip breakfast, okay?” he presses his lips together. “take care of yourself, dude.”

she laughs her sob out, more tears starting to roll down her cheeks. she sighs, palms over her face as she shies her emotions away. “this is so stupid. i’m literally coming over to help you move in in an hour. i just need to take a shower and feed kidnapper some breakfast.”

logan snorts, throwing his head back, tears slowly leaving his eyes. “10 years is a long time to be living together. we’re still best friends even if we’re not living together. we’ve made it work with oscar, haven’t we?”

“obviously,” she mutters. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

“okay,” logan grins. he leans down, wrapping both arms around her smaller frame and tightens his grip. “i’m sorry again for how things turned out. you’ll always be my best friend, you know that, right?”

she stumbles into him, tiptoeing as she tries to keep her feet on the ground as he squeezes her and lifts her off the ground slightly. “i know. you’ll always be my bestest friend in the entire world, lo. forever wasn’t going to wait for us.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-pie-girl @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[yeyinde]

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

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

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

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

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

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

part ii

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does that, doesn't he? 

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

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

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

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

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

You, uh, don't have to let me. 

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

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

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

You demure.

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

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

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

You don't shy away from anyone. 

Except him. 

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

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

You both love and hate these moments. 

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

Ghost, always Ghost.

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

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch. 

(You blame it on testosterone.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast. 

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

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

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

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Nervous would be an understatement. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," you agree. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin. 

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

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

Beside you, Soap huffs. 

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now you wish you had.

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

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

On paper, anyway. 

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm. 

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

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

Ghost never asked that of you. 

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

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

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

Worthless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost, too.

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

Up there, soldier.  

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

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

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

It's better this way, then. 

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's gettin' cold, now." 

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

Not good. 

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

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

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

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

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

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?" 

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible. 

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

If you want it. 

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

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

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

But could you just walk away from this? 

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

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

The choice is pretty obvious.

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

For once, your eyes never leave his. 

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

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

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

"Christ, Princess." 

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

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

"Is that an order?" 

"Affirmative, soldier."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And his groans. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth hasn't stopped. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's touching himself. 

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

Fuck. Fuck –

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn't. 

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

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate how enticing he looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y'alright?"

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" 

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

Well. 

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

But it was there. You saw it in passing. 

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

"We move out tomorrow." 

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

Right. 

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

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

"Roger that, Lieutenant." 

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless. 

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

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

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

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

It's a dance. 

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, they mock you. 

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

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

And with that, it's over. Done. 

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

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

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

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

"Roger." 

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

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression. 

"Alright, bonnie?"

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

A picture of what you do, what you are. 

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

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

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

"What?" 

"Before, you know… with Ghost." 

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

"Curious, is all."

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

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

You suck in a breath at the thought. 

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

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

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

But you catch it. 

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

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

Your breath shudders out of you. 

Mission, you think–

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

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

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

He never looks up. Never moves. 

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

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

It's an earned break. Deserved. 

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

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

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

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you. 

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

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

Your fingers ache to find out. 

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

You have one, too. 

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

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

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

"Is this seat taken?" 

[portgasdwrld]

📂OP men + aftercare

Featuring: Luffy, Zoro, Law, GN!reader

Warning: Suggestive, comedy, fluff

Note: I might do more fun posts like this!!

Zoro

-Zoro.?

-Mmmm?

-Can you clean me up, please?

You ask in a sigh as you feel your body already beginning to feel sore. His body slightly shift in the bed as he opens his eye and stares at you somewhat perplexed.

-Huh..? ...Like with my tongue?

-No, you dumbass! With a towel or something, i don't wanna sleep feeling all sticky.

You softly hit his big arm as a muffled chuckle leave your lips. You didn’t paint him as clueless to aftercare as this.

-We can be sticky together then take care of this tomorro-

-No, we cant. Its part of the aftercare babe…

-Whats that?

-Omg..

Luffy

-Luffy, can you bring me a glass of water?

-You're thirsty? Ngl, im kinda hungry too, let me call Sanj-

He starts to rumble as he let his hand rest over his bare abs thinking of all the good food Sanji cooks. You gasp in shock at the thought of Luffy really calling the blond man.

-Don't!- Don't call Sanji for that!

-Why? Arent you hungry ?

He asks confused as his gaze shift to your bare body covered by his sheets. He props himself on his elbows as a yawn leaves his mouth.

-Nah that was you bro. I want water.

-im so lazyyy, but if it makes you happy!

He leaves and then comes back with few pieces of meat and forgot about the water.

Law

He let his body fall next to you as he let a deep groan out. He stays like this for few seconds before he sits up and rubs his eyes, feeling suddenly tensed.

-I have to catch up on so much, I’m not sure what I’m going to be attacking tonight…Maybe I should finish this chap-

-Law…babe, what are you rumbling about.?

You ask in a tired tone as you hoped to be able to cuddle a little with your boyfriend, feel his warmth and being able to enjoy some intimacy after having sex together. He pushes the sheets away from his legs as he prepares himself to leave the bed and change into his clothes, before you grab his arm firmly.

-You’re not leaving me like that. We are going to cuddle and when I’m satisfied you go back to your studying.

-Huh? I have a lot of things to do Y/n-ya..

-Yeah, well you gotta upgrade your aftercare game, because you’re making me feel shitty right now.

He pauses as he takes his time weighting your words and his thoughts. His tired eyes look at you and his lips creep up into a faint smirk. He puts back the sheets on him and props you on him so he has his arms wrapped around your shoulders.

-Sorry, I will work on it.

[rninies]

✮ a measure of his love

౨ৎ gojo satoru x reader. fluff, gn!reader, short reader (because im short) — wc: 761

notes. self indulgent because !!!

gojo satoru is a tall man. like, an insanely tall man.

that’s one of satoru’s most annoying traits, you could say. he takes pride in the fact that he’s taller than you, and will not miss a single day to make fun of you for that.

to add to that, most of the cupboards in his apartments are pretty high up, so whenever you come over, you always have to grab a chair just to get a glass or ask satoru to come get it for you (though you’d rather do the latter because satoru takes five minutes just teasing you about how you can’t reach the cups).

today was no different. satoru had asked you to come over because he misses you and wants to cuddle with you (same excuse every time, but you find it cute). you complied, of course, because it’s been a while since you guys have spent any alone time together — satoru has been super busy with jujutsu high lately.

you are currently on satoru’s couch, his long arms wrapped around your body as a movie plays on his television. satoru wasn’t even paying attention — he was too focused on trying to not fall asleep and was quite literally holding your hostage.

“toru, can you let go?” you asked, trying to pry his hands off of you. “i want to grab a cup of water.”

“no way. i’m comfy already,” he replies, snuggling his head deeper into your chest.

“toru i’m serious! i’m really thirsty,” you exclaimed, and satoru eventually lets go with a huge sigh. “thank you.” you stoof up, stretching your limbs.

“fine, but hurry.” satoru orders, and you nod. you seem to have forgotten how high up the cupboard is because once you were in front of it, you stared up at it, a dejected look on your face.

right… the cups i use are on the highest part of the shelf. you thought to yourself sadly, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the cupboards.

“why’re you taking so long?” satoru asks, appearing behind you. you screamed, jumping.

“what the actual fuck, toru?!” you exclaimed, holding a hand over your chest. “you scared the shit out of me!”

satoru laughs, making you frown. “what? did you not hear me walk?”

you shake your head. “no!” after taking five seconds to calm down, you sigh. “anyway, can you help me grab the cup on top?” you point at the white cup with flower patterns on it (satoru had bought it for you because you were staring at it for ten seconds straight). a mischief look appears in satoru’s eyes, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. “don’t you dare pick me up, you hear? don’t even try i- hey!”

satoru was already lifting up by your waist, making you eye level with the cup you were pointing at. “this is easier, no?”

“in what world is this easier?! isn’t this just more work for you?” you asked in disbelief, actually surprised that he finds this much more easier than just grabbing the cup for you. when he doesn’t reply, you sigh and grab the cup, tapping his arms to let you down.

he doesn’t, though.

“what are you doing? let me down!” you exclaim, looking at satoru who looks like he is holding back a laugh. “why are you laughing? let. me. down.”

“no it’s just-” he pauses, letting out a laugh. “it’s weird seeing you this tall. i’m so used to having to look down when talking to you.”

“wha-?!” you almost choked on your own spit “what? i am not that short, toru!”

“oh, but you are.” satoru hums. “i mean, compared to me, you’re only able to see my chest when standing in front of me, right?” he teases, and you can’t help but become embarrassed because you know he’s right. “see? i’m right.”

“oh shut up!” you whined, covering your cheeks with your hands, careful to not drop the cup.

satoru lets you down gently, but still holding you tightly in his arms. “you’re like a cute little gremlin.”

“what the fuck? a gremlin?!” you are staring daggers at him, but satoru only smiles at you. “can’t believe i’m dating a literal giant who does nothing but tease me about my height every day.” you had to wiggle your way to the water dispenser because satoru just wouldn’t let go.

“but you love this giant, do you?” satoru asks, resting his head on top of your head.

taking a sip from your cup, you smiled. “yeah, i do.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul @iminlovewqr0w (send an ask to be added!) <3

[wherenymphsroam]

Real dad! Leon coming over to help you with your car.

Something’s wrong with it, so why wouldn’t you call your dad to help you out? He gets there, pops the hood and finds the problem that he starts to fix.

You check on him every ten or so minutes, noticing how maybe he took his jacket off, how his hair is getting messier. He’s more out of breath and a little sweaty. It makes you forget he was even speaking to you, asking for you to go grab him a bottle of water so he can cool down.

And when you do come out with the water, his shirt is off this time. He grins and laughs at you. Maybe he’s a little mean and teases you about it, talking about how you haven’t seen a man like him before ugh omg

The tension would be sooo thick after that. Especially if he stays over for a while, maybe taking a shower in your bathroom. He comes out in a towel, making sure it hangs low to catch your attention since you just loved staring at him earlier

Please please please hear me out

oh I’m hearing you Mel. I’m hearing ya.

“Like mother like daughter”

cw: daddy/daughter incest, leon is your real dad in this, some mixed in religious themes, leon being a cocky douche even in his old age, kitchen counter fucking, slight breath play but it’s only bc Leon’s arm is around readers neck, barely proof read.

a/n: idc im not making this formatting all pretty, I literally blacked out and coughed up 2.5k at two in the morning. straight filth. here you go, eat you little shits.

And up until that point, it’s just that. It’s only that. Tension. Silent, deadly, heavy in the air of your small place.

That is, until he slices right through it, walking out of your bathroom in nothing but that towel.

When you were smaller, he’d never take showers when you were around, making sure to slip them in during the dark hours of the morning or long after you were asleep. And on the occasion that you were around, even into your teen years he’d all but beeline to his bedroom to get changed, only leaving you with a lingering glance at his broad back. That is, when you’d will yourself to look as he strode down the hall. You shouldn’t be looking at your dad in such immodest state, let alone like that.

And yet here you are, dry mouthed and stock still where you stand at your kitchen island. He had strode in, so confident, almost cocky, claiming he forgot his glass of water. As if he couldn’t have grabbed it after he was decent. Because he’s just so thirsty after all that work today, and the kitchen is on the way to your guest bedroom where he was going to change anyway. What would be the point in doubling back?

He’s about to grab his glass and slip back out of the kitchen, content enough to be swift in his appearance. That is, until he notices the look on your face.

“What?” He chuckles, his smile sly. He knew he didn’t look the same as he did when he was twenty something years old. The scars, the soft layers of fat that had cropped up over thick muscles in his pecs and abs, the healthy line of hair that trails underneath his towel — it’s all a reminder of what his body has been through, how it’s matured through the years. Yet, here you were standing there and gawking at him, as if you’d never seen a shirtless man before.

He’s met with silence. Wetting your lips, swallowing thickly, blinking a few times — it’s takes you a beat too long to be deemed appropriate to realize you were staring. Barely holding back the urge to curse under your breath, you cover your obvious gawking with a dry cough, a shake of your head. Waving a dismissive hand at him and rolling your eyes as if suddenly he’s a nuisance.

“Ew,” you snort, turning back to the dishes you had been in the middle of doing. “Go get changed, old man.”

“Ouch,” he hissed, snickering now. Directly defying your playful orders, he leans on the kitchen island now, leaving only the hand on his hip to keep his towel secure around his hips.

“I wasn’t always an old man. Your mom was attracted to me at one point in time, you know,” he hums, teasing, playful. Far more playful than appropriate.

“Obviously,” you mutter, willing yourself not to turn around. Your gaze bores down, practically drilling through the pan you’re scrubbing. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He laughs then, throaty and low, his stomach shaking from the strength of it.

“That you are.”

Footsteps.

Coming towards you, the old tile squeaking softly in specific weak points as he crosses your small kitchen. You don’t notice how your scrubbing slows, subconsciously distracted by his warmth as it settles behind you, looming.

“I asked you a question, you know,” he murmurs, piercing eyes trained on you.

He’s done this in times past. Sometimes when he’s reprimanded you, sometimes in joking passing. Directing your attention back to a voiced inquiry that you decide to oh so conveniently side step, choosing to ignore in favor of your own comfort. And like always, he wasn’t going to let you slide.

“What’s with that look on your face?” he rephrases, tilting his head.

Don’t stop scrubbing.

You don’t. If anything, the movements of your arm grow faster, harder, practically burning your sponge into the surface of a pan that’s been clean for two minutes now.

“What look?” you hum, feigning ignorance, clearly so busy with your task at hand.

Rolling his eyes, he adjusts his towel around his hip, tugging it tighter. The action had the back of his palm brushing into your hip.

“Nope. You don’t get to play dumb with me,” he tuts, low and far too close to the back of your neck. A few inches more, and his breath would fan against the back of your neck.

“When was the last time you went out, anyways? Hell, the last time you told me about a boyfriend?” he snickers, moreso at the mental image of the last loser you brought home to him.

Sighing, your jaw sets, your heart skipping in your chest.

“Dad, we’re not talking about this right now,” you groan, adjusting your craned neck, shifting your weight over your feet as you turn the faucet on. Suds slide off the nonstick surface of the pan, pooling and circling to disappear a moment later down your drain.

“You’re right. We’re not.”

Pausing, your gut twists in a way you haven’t felt in a while. It’s that feeling you get, that tugging that tells you the guy you’re hanging out with wants more. That the guy you’re alone with has intentions driven by hunger, need. That he wants you.

But you’re not alone with just some guy. Not alone with even a guy your age. He’s not a classmate. Not a friend. Not some sleazy tinder date you brought home.

It’s your dad.

A deep breath in. An effort of swallowing and burying that feeling. Of shoving it deep enough in hopes that it wouldn’t crawl back up again.

An exhale through your nose, forcing your movements as you reach for the next dirty dish.

“Then what are we talking about?” you scoff, glad he can’t see your face, your eyes that waver. Taking a tone you typically do during your nitter nattering with him, a tone he would reprimand you for in your teen years.

“The fact that you were eye-fucking your father a minute ago,” he mutters, his tone indecipherable.

“That’s what we’re talking about.”

Was he angry?

Disappointed, maybe?

Uncomfortable?

You can’t tell. Out of all the times you’re able to read your father, quick to pin down his vocal habits, of course it’s right now that you fail to get a read on him. Because admittedly, you haven’t heard him like this before.

Why did you care? Did you want him to be angry? Uncomfortable?

Why aren’t you uncomfortable?

Finally, your pitiful stress scrubbing comes to a halt. It’s as if he just fed an IV of ice water through your veins, his voice resounding through the kitchen as it falls silent around you.

You’re hesitant, slow when you turn your head. Brows knitted, lips parted — something you got from him — you can’t even bring yourself to meet his damn eyes.

“W… What? Dad, I’m not eye-fucking you-“

“Be honest. When was the last time you got laid?” he scoffs, all amusement drained from his voice. Not quite lecturing, nor demanding. But firm.

Glancing up at him, you search his eyes, silently floundering under his hard gaze. It takes all your willpower not to let your own wander down the still damp skin of his neck, his collarbones.

This isn’t appropriate.

When you were younger, he’d physically cringe at the idea of you ever experiencing sex. Would clench his fist, draw his brows at the idea of some insolent little boy getting his hands on you, in you.

“Don’t forget to mention the .45 I keep in my bedside,” he’d not so jokingly quip whenever you’d head out for a date.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then. Gotta go polish my bat,” he’d make a point of specifying the one time you had a male friend over to study for a big exam.

It was from a place of protectiveness. Of love. Because you were his little girl. Didn’t want you getting hurt. Even if he knew that one day you’d probably end up entangled in the back of some college idiots Honda accord his parents got him, that you’d one day be introduced to the world of true heart break, he wanted, needed to keep you out of the worlds grips for just a little bit longer. For as long as he could control.

And here he is, asking so crudely when you last got laid.

“I asked you a question.”

A beat passes. Another one. Your neck is uncomfortable, half turned over your shoulder like this. But you dare not turn away.

“Never.”

Oh.

Oh.

There it is. All it took was some light prodding and you’re coughing up.

Because he told you to. Because he loves you. Because you’re a good girl. His good girl.

Not some sleazy tinder dates.

Not some broke college boy with a measly Honda accord.

No, no. He really should’ve known better. You have more refined taste than he often wants to give you credit for. Well, that is, until he’s taking credit for you, so quick to remind you it’s him you inherited such trait from.

His little girl was always needier than that. Better than that. Smarter than to so freely give herself to whatever scumbag picked her up some flowers from the grocery store on his way over to the house before a date, smarter than to let some asshole take advantage of any insecurity.

“You were saving it for me weren’t you?”

His voice comes out as a panted snicker into your neck, spoke into the numerous bites and blooming spots of color along your nape. It takes you a moment, lost in the hazy, sickly heated daze the two of your have made of the kitchen air around you. With pots long forgotten, one side of the sink full of cooled water, the sound of the faucet that had been running earlier is replaced with the wet claps of skin against skin.

Sharp, deep, all consuming when his pelvis collides into your ass, the fat of it rippling under each heavy collision. It threatens to steal your sense of coherency from you with each drive.

“H… Huh?”

Your voice is a mess, not too unlike the rest of you. The thick arm he has wrapped around your neck doesn’t really help, seeing as how it only constricts your already dry throat. Speaking proved to be far more difficult than it maybe should be right now.

“Your virginity, sunshine,” he murmurs into your ear, low and hot, brewed with an aftertaste of amusement. As if he didn’t just address you by the nickname he gave you when you were, what, three? As if he wasn’t speaking over the sounds of his body burying him within yours.

“Y’saved it just for me, huh? Knew only your Daddy could take care of you?” he snickers, looking at you oh so intently, adoringly almost. Far too tenderly, given how the thick muscles of his arm ripple with each jerk of your body in his hold.

You were always so pretty. Got it from your mother. Those sweet eyes, the pout of your lips. Even your tears, how they rolled down your cheeks in fat, hot trails of ecstasy matched how your mother would cry for him. How sweet.

And oh, even sweeter, the hitch of your constricted breaths. Your cries, your whimpers, those broken moans that fall so steadily are heavenly, even if what he was committing right now was far from.

Leon had never been a religious man, at least not into his adult life.

What the hell did he care about how wrong this was? God could twist and turn and kick and scream all he wanted, sat up on his high and mighty throne. He could whine and cry all about this was wrong, how he didn’t bless Leon with such a beautiful daughter for him to fuck her.

But right now? Leon doubts that. Hell. Somewhere, hidden deep into the darkest corners and recesses of his mind, Leon hopes that is the reason he was given a daughter. He snickers at the very idea of you being bestowed to him like the damn sacrificial lamb for the slaughter, his own personal sunshine and warm body.

Because why else would you cry like her?

Why else would you sigh and tremble and shudder just like her?

Why else would your voice crack and pitch along the same patterns hers did when he pushed her to her very limits?

Why else would God let his most beloved walk out of his life and leave him with her most beautiful creation, if not to fall in love with her all over again?

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, like a damn broken record in his arms. With your shorts pooled around your ankles, your shirt shoved up just high enough for him to paw at your pretty tits, you were practically a spitting image.

A growl of satisfaction, of delight reverberates through him and you feel it. It all but shakes you to your core, how his chest rumbles against your back. It’s all consuming, so overwhelmingly delicious how warm, how strong he is. You really couldn’t be to blame for how quickly you deteriorate, stuttering through gasped warnings of impending end.

“Ask me properly,” he mutters into your neck, breaths heavy with exertion and hot with carnal lust as he speaks into the shell of your ear.

“Tell Dad you wanna come.”

“Please, please-“

Coughing, your choke briefly around your own spit, and it takes you a second to recover. But it’s only a moment later that you’re shaking your head to the best of its mobility trapped in the crux of his elbow, eyes hazy as you gaze up at him.

“Dad- Dad lemme come. Wan’ come so bad, please, please Dad-“

Eager. So fucking eager, just like your damn mother. All that spunk, all those sarcastic retorts and matter of fact quips that attempt to keep him at bay, stretched thin and see through around the girth of him. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, even moreso when you only spasm around the sound.

And when he finally utters his permission, he’s not gazing down at you to revel in how your orgasm tears through you. He’s tracking every facial expression; every tear, every wobble of your lip and roll of your eyes, all in search of her.

Because as much as he adored the parts of you that were him. As much as he loved teasing you for your similarities, poking fun at the parts of you that were her, he couldn’t help but come to a compromise then.

That yeah, you were a Daddy’s girl through and through.

But at the end of the day, the saying really should be ‘like mother like daughter’.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Come Get 'Im!

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

Summary: "It's day 130, and this man with a mustache still can't get a fucking hint and keeps inviting himself to have lunch with me."

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, crude language, crack fic, low key social media au format, annoying rat!pedro, mentions/depictions of online hate, use of y/n T_T, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HOY @sloanexx ito na. I hope this makes you spiral HAHAHAHAH Also tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace

Shaky cam and out of breath has entered the chat.

It's a tiktok video of you recording yourself while in the middle of a jog.

"I swear," you pant, as the audio captures wind, "to fucking Obama, Trump, and Biden, America-- AMERICA!" you bark, "if one of you thirsty ass idiots come crying to me again for even breathing, BREATHING--" you scream and huff as you catch your breath. You jog a few paces forward. You look over your shoulder, back to your camera, "--around that idiot you like so bad, I'm going to explode."

The camera pans to your nostrils and double chin, "if you want your pathetic, middle aged man so bad, come and fucking get him!"

You harshly pull your phone back and show the man on a hoverboard trailing behind you. His brown hair is blowing with the wind. He raises a hand and waves. He grins at the camera, beaming as he says, "HI TIKTOK!"

"COLLECT," you point the camera back to you, "THIS RAGGEDY BAG OF BONES RIGHT NOW!"

"But I love you!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Welcome to: A day in the life of someone who is contractually obligated to be close to Pedro Pascal. Featuring you! The actress, who Pedro has been smitten with the entire time since filming and promoting your movie, and has thus since elicited the wrath of (some of) the Pascal girlies! Yay!

So, tell us, what is it like to be with the one and only Pedro Pascal! It is everything, all the fangirls dream of? Well, let's take a look at some footage!

It's a behind the scenes video. There is no audio available.

You and Pedro are standing far off from the perspective of the camera on an elevated set, in front of a blue screen. Pedro jokingly leans in, pushing his hands to you but not making contact. He's been teasing that he'd push you. He repeats this multiple times before eventually, you get tired and tell him off. He laughs with an open mouth and his tongue out. You turn over you shoulder, motioning something vaguely to someone off cam.

When you turn back to Pedro, he pretends to push you again, but this time, it backfires. He yelps and slips, crashing into a foam of cushions beneath you. Instantly, you turn and point to him, laughing out loud exaggeratedly, pointing at him from above. You then jump down to his side and then tackle him, pretending as though you were on WWE. You end with coiling his arm behind him, sticking your tongue out to the camera.

Wow! How educational!

Here's you and him doing an interview!

"I really enjoy that the film is not scared to dive into that-" you start, gesturing your hands as you passionately pour your thoughts on the theme of the film.

Pedro, who had been listening to you intently, turns to you and randomly pokes your cheek.

You ignore this, used to his behavior, as you continue, "I think it's really important that we, as a society, openly talk about this dilemma and critically reassess it."

Pedro pokes your cheek again, only this time, you turn to him, and he faces front and acts as if he did not just do that.

You turn back to the interviewer. He makes another attempt at poking you face, only this time, you turn and bite at his finger. You very nearly manage to get him.

He pulls his finger back and gasps, clutching both his hands to his chest, "ay, dios mio."

You snarl at him before going back as you were. You break into a chuckle when you hear him slipping into laughter. He says "that was actually scary."

"You deserve it."

Here's you and Pedro talking to a child that is a fan of both your separate work! (His being The Mandalorian, yours being A Mermaid Tale)

You coo as the little girl runs up to you and hugs your legs. You lower yourself, so to embrace the child in your arms. You coo as the small child wraps her arms around you. Pedro, from behind you, grins as he takes a photo of your interaction.

When she pulls away from you, you gasp at her pigtails, complementing them.

She smiles, "it's like- like your hair in the movie!"

You grin, "such a smart girl! It totally is, but honestly, yours is so much better!"

The girl smiles at you and you smile back at her. She then looks up to the man that was standing behind you, pointing at him before turning back to you, "he's - ss friends with baby yoda!" she breaks her words the way small children do.

Pedro, adoring the attention and the recognition from the child, jumps from behind you to dramatically exclaim and clutch his chest, "I'M FRIENDS WITH YODA!"

The girl looks up at the man, stepping back, then turning to her mom for guidance. Her mom, by the way, was recording the whole interaction. She breaks into a laugh at her daughter's nervousness, "it's ok baby."

You and Pedro follow suit in laughter, though you turn and swat at him, "you scared the poor child."

"I'm so sorry, my love," Pedro says, placing a hand on his chest, "I was just so excited about baby yoda!" he explains, ending with a goofy face.

The girl turns back to him, finally breaking into a smile.

"YES! I'm cool again!" Pedro says just as you stand and he bends down to raise his knuckles to the child for a fist bump.

She apprehensively bumps knuckles with him. Pedro gasps and coos, "right on!" He then raises his hands, "what about a hug?"

The girl bends her knees, gaining momentum, then she jumps into Pedro's arms, sealing him into a tight hug.

Everyone AWWS.

Everyone, that is, except... the haters.

Pull up the receipts.(For various reasons, some text has been censored or removed.)

@w0nderw0madn: omF******g if i have to see that b**** ass [redacted] [y/n] f****** grope my pedro again im going to kill her and [redacted multiple texts...]

@ilovechesed: i have no idea who [y/n] thinks she is but it's so f****** pathetic of her to throw herself onto pedro pascal when he's clearly not even interested in him

[redacted]'s video: Hot take. You guys are only thirsting after [Y/N] because she's hot by association of Pedro Pascal

[Y/N] Receives Faces Wave Of Internet Trolls After Her New Film's Recent Debut

But internet trolls are promptly handled by people with actual brain cells.

@w0nderw0madn: omF******g if i have to see that b**** ass [redacted] [y/n] f****** grope my pedro again im going to kill her and [redacted multiple texts...]

@pedropascstiddies replied to w0nderw0man: LMAO I REPORTED YOU WITH MY 10 ACCOUNTS HOPE YOU ENJOY GETTING YOUR ACCOUNT DELETED

@ilovechesed: i have no idea who [y/n] thinks she is but it's so f****** pathetic of her to throw herself onto pedro pascal when he's clearly not even interested in him

@loverofdilfsd replied to ilovechesed: ? you mean this pedro pascal [image attached] [image description: A picture of Pedro Pascal looking at [Y/N] with a soft smile as while she answers a question during a red carpet premiere]

@ynbabymyluv replied to ilovechesed: you mean this pedro pascal? [image attached] [image description: A picture of Pedro Pascal grinning widely as he embraces [Y/N] mid pout]

@100ass replied to ynbabymyluv: nah here's the video of that and im salty too [video attached] [video description: Pedro Pascal asks for a bit of [Y/N]'s food but she releases it before he grabs on to the plate.]

[redacted]'s video: Hot take. You guys are only thirsting after [Y/N] because she's hot by association of Pedro Pascal

user842048525972 commented: ass take

i-think-imprettycool commented: 💀YALL MF DO ANYTHING FOR CLOUT

swiftandshore commented: Or you dont have taste

[Y/N] Receives Faces Wave Of Internet Trolls After Her New Film's Recent Debut

And fans are coming to her aid. 💅 As they should.

Of course we can't end this without showing some of the love people have extended for their new internet fixation.

In coming receipts.

[y/n] and pedro being NSFW for 10 minutes straight

>>Most played [6:43]: [video description: [Y/N] and Pedro Pascal's make out scene]

"If you go out without me - " he growls, grabbing her by the wrist, ripping her back into his chest. He then grabs her by her hair, forcing her face him. "You'll what? Huh?!" she hisses, craning her neck up as she grabs his shirt, pulling him down to her. She grunts, "what? You'll leave me in the fucking desert like what you did last time!" "WHAT'S IT GOING TO TAKE FOR YOU TO BELIEVE THAT WASN'T MY CHOICE!" "SHOW ME YOUR STATUS REPORT FILE!" He scoffs, "you and your fucking reports." "Show me your status report file," she words sternly. "You want a status report?!" he fumes. "YES! SHOW ME-" Her words are cut off when her mouth is covered with his. He releases her hair to clutch her cheeks and pushes her against the wall. She releases his shirt to dig her fingers into his sides. He moans. She laughs, "wimp."

89igotaletter commented: I LOVE IT WHEN [Y/N] AND PEDRO.

Andre Potato commented: MOMMY SORRY DADDY SORRY MOMMY SORRY DADDY SORRY

broalhasd commented: everyday i wake up and thank God that for this holy collab.

@830marbel: if it ever gets tiring being so hot @yn_real_ig, pls allow me to cool you with my tears

@yn_real_ig replied to 830marbel: i appreciate it but i still have 2 trays of pedro's tears. i put them in my juice 🧊🧊

@evrything284: i dont know if i want to be @yn_realig or pedro pascal in this [image attached] [image description: A picture of [Y/N] and Pedro Pascal together on the red carpet premiere for their film]

@yn_real_ig replied to evrything284: be true to you. be yourself. be our 3rd

@pedfroizaac: btw @yn_real_ig our boyfriend [image attached] [image description: Bugs Bunny communist meme]

@yn_real_ig replied to pedfroizaac: this is america [image attached] [image description: A bald eagle in front of the American flag]

Final thoughts from both players.

Here is fan favorite interview of you both.

You pull a piece of paper from a jar and read its contents, "what's your favorite thing about the other-- murder," you say, throwing the paper off to the side.

Pedro, who was sitting by your right makes a nervous sound, jaw dropping. He then promptly smirks and nods, "exactly."

You turn to the camera and nod, "murder."

"I'm into that."

"Murder."

"I am murder," Pedro agrees, raising his hands as he shrugs.

"Murder," you repeat one last time before turning to Pedro, "and his mustache."

"Oh," Pedro smiles, rubbing his 'stache as he leans back, "thank you. I grew it myself."

"I don't appreciate beard burn though," you wave your hands to your face.

"That's not what she said last night," Pedro takes his turn to look at the camera as he gives a stupid look.

You snap at him, "what did I say last night?"

Pedro ignores you and crosses his arms, "my favorite thing about you would be-"

"No wait, what did I say last night?"

Pedro looks at you.

"Tell them what I said last night."

Pedro purses his lips into a tight smile, "what?"

You challenge, "tell them what I told you last night."

His ears begin to burn. He shifts on his chair as his jaw slacks, "ha?"

"You want me to say what I told you last night?"

He begins to break a sweat, "I-I-" he laughs, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

You raise your brows at him.

Pedro clears his throat and rubs his lap, "I love how compassionate and kind she is."

You snort, leaning back in your chair, "okay."

To this day, people who stumble on that interview still comment: WHAT THE FUCK DID SHE TELL HIM LAST NIGHT?????

[malicedragoness]

NSFW Syzoth X Reader Headcanons

So, I’m very excited to have human Reptile again, and holy shit he did not need to be so hot, but NRS went there, and I am thankful they did. And I know there’s fans that have always been thirsty for Reptile, and I acknowledge you. YOU ARE VALID AND YOU STUCK BY YOUR MANS FOR A LONG TIME! YOU ARE DEDICATED AND DEVOTED!

I wrote these with both female and readers in mind, and for you to visualize whichever form of Syzoth you want. There are parts where I mention his human form. I was also writing SFW headcanons, but they need more work. So those will be coming in the next few days.

And for that one person who asked a long time ago if I write for Reptile. I did today and this is for you!

-Syzoth knows you're interested in his long tongue, and he is more than happy to use it on you, and whichever hole you desire. It gives him a great sense of pride to know he can pleasure you with it unlike anyone else. His tongue is smooth and pink, with ridges along the side. With his enhanced sense of taste, he could be down there for hours, growling and tasting you until you can’t handle it anymore. If you’re thinking of the new MK 1 Syzoth in human form, he can transform just his tongue if you wish.

-Syzoth’s favorite body part of yours is your lips. He’s completely fascinated with them. He loves to touch them and feel how soft and plump they are. When you first gave him a kiss on the cheek, he made a cute rumbling noise in his throat. 

In his human form, he gets nervous to kiss you, he’s afraid he’s going to mess up somehow. But if you go slow and take your time with him, he’ll gain more confidence with each kiss. 

He loves it when you trail kisses from his lips, to his neck, and downwards. Enjoying all these new sensations. And when you take his cock into your mouth, he goes stiff and moans loud! 

-Syzoth instinctually has a breeding kink. There is a certain time during the year where he’ll go into heat. His behavior changes during this time and becomes aggressive to anyone that comes close to his partner. During this period, he’ll try to keep you home as often as he can, and may seem a bit delusional, as he thinks everything is a threat to his mate. He may also leave markings on your neck, shoulders and thighs as a way of claiming you. 

Even if he has a male partner, he still has the animal instinct to want to breed. So he’ll keep cumming inside you until he’s satisfied his instinctual urge.

And you know some reptiles have two dicks right? They will emerge when he is extremely horny, or at the peak of his heat. 

-Favorite Positions: When he’s on top, he likes missionary the most, but he wants to be flush against you. That reptilian part of him naturally wants to have skin-on-skin contact. He won’t hold himself up on his arms, they’re going to be wrapped around you with his hands in your hair, and giving you long, deep kisses. 

Spooning is another favorite of his. His hands will feel all along your body, touching and caressing your sensitive spots. Inhaling your scent and kissing your neck. 

Now when you’re on top, he loves to admire your body. Syzoth likes to be able to see you when you’re riding him or penetrating him (either with your dick or your strap on).

And please give this baby some praise! Especially caressing his face and telling him he’s a good boy. He only lives to make you happy. 

-He is used to serving people his whole life, and is naturally a bottom leaning switch. But if you wish for him to take over, he will be a service top. Only when it’s mating season, or you’ve teased him enough, is when he becomes more assertive/aggressive.

-Syzoth loves to sleep on giant rocks outside to sunbathe, or relax in the water blowing little bubbles. They are also some of his favorite places to fuck you. Other places would be in the privacy of your home or in your bathtub. The first time he saw you take a bubble bath, he couldn’t help but climb in and lay on top of you, blowing little bubbles in the water. 

Imagine you’re out swimming with him. And he just glides up to you in the water, his body moving fluidly, him blowing bubbles the entire way. Little cutie.

-Reptiles have a specially chemicalized organ that can convert their smell into taste. So when you're aroused, not only will Syzoth smell it, but with a flick of his tongue he can taste it in the air. Every single time you get turned on by his mere presence, the smell will drive him wild. 

You can tell when he smells it by how often his tongue flicks out. When he’s in human form, you’ll see his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, and his beautiful green eyes follow your every move.

If you ever want him to lose control and his room is next to yours, then start touching yourself at night. If it’s before you’re in a relationship, he will rut into his bed or his hand, tasting your smell and cumming hard. 

If it’s when you're together, he’ll try not to hold out for as long as he can, because he doesn’t want to storm into your room and embarrass you. But the longer you do it, the more  intoxicating your smell is, and the harder his cock gets. By this point, both cocks are out and leaking precum, and he’s storming into your room ready to take you in every way. 

-Male partners don’t have to be bigger than him, even though it’s pretty easy. His Saurian form is massive, but he’ll still lean down and nudge his head under your chin. He is able to change male genitals to female, but this process takes weeks. 

-Tail play! This is the equivalent to thigh riding for him. Whether he’s using the tip of it against your holes, or he’s grabbing you by the hips and rubbing your sex against the meat of his leathery tail. He loves to have your back against his chest, so he can bury his head against your neck and breathe in your scent. 

[kvtie444]

⭒˚｡NEVER BE LIKE YOU

A/N: the ending is so bad im sorry lol, not proof read

Summary: song lyrics lol – making a mistake by ending things with chris

Warnings: kissing, drinking, swearing??

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Gazing into the bathroom mirror, I focused on refreshing my makeup. As I pulled away, exhaling, the distant beats of music echoed from the rest of the house.

I never enjoyed parties, except for when I was with my ex. I dumped Chris nearly four months ago out of fear of commitment, and the void he left behind lingered. He was the one who always made me smile, I still found myself haning out with his friends, where tension seemed to be heavy.

A vibration from my phone snapped me out of my thoughts.

Cole: wya?

Cole could be considered my rebound. Despite our exclusivity, the relationship felt dry and hollow. Ignoring the message, I turned off my phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

Leaving the bathroom, I walked through the crowd, finding my friends again. “Finally,” Nick teased, as I smack his arm playfully. “Where’s Cole?” Madi asked me, I shrugged and glanced away, drink in hand as I scanned the crowd.

My stomach sank as I locked eyes with Chris. Of course he’s here. His presence, leaning against a wall with an overly flirtatious girl, amplifying the complexities of my emotions. Despite chatting up this girl, his eyes never stopped burning into mine as he downed the rest of his drink.

“y/n?” Nick interrupted, I refocused, only to be bombarded with questions about Chris from Madi. “There’s nothing going on” I reply, suppressing the truth, Turning back, jealousy washed over me as I saw Chris still talking to the girl - Shaking my head, I sighed, feeling a rush of emotions.

"I'll be back in a sec," I smiled, weaving through the crowd toward a quieter hallway. Suddenly, a grip on my arm made me turn, revealing Chris. My initial shock softened as his touch stirred familiar sensations.

"Chris, what the fuck?" I began, “liked what you saw?” he asks, his provocative smirk making me feel jealous. I scoff as he continues “where’s you man?”. “he’s not my man” I deny, I stood there, his grip still firm on my arm, waiting for his next move.

"Come, need to speak to you," he said as his hand reaches down to intwine his fingers with mine, leading me to a bathroom and shutting the door behind us. The loud music now muffled, he enclosed me between his arms, his head craning down at me, “you look good tonight mamas” he says, making me blush. He captures his bottom lip between his teeth as I speak up, “what happened to your little girlfriend” I tease, looking up at him with doe eyes. he chuckles softly, “she’s just some random girl moving thirsty” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. I softly smile at him, my hands moving to his hair. “

"I missed you," I confessed, my voice barely audible. “yeah?” he replied, voice matching my lowness, “didn’t you end things with me? hm?” he continued as he started pressing ghostly kisses down my jaw, I tilt my head to give him better access as my hands slightly tug on his hair. “made a mistake. I fucked up” I gasp, as he begins sucking hickeys onto my skin. I hear a pleased hum come from his lips as he moves his lips down to my collarbone - “does he make you feel this good?” he mumbles against my collar, his hands moving to my waist. I shake my head, “words baby” he continues. “no. he’ll never be like you” I gasp, as he pulls away with a big smirk. 

Our eyes locked for a moment before Chris's lips crashed down on mine, igniting a passionate kiss. Lifting me onto the counter, he moved his hands down from my waist to my hips, pulling me impossibly closer. We eventually pull away, both smiling. He brushed some hair behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry for ending things. Missed you so much," I quietly confessed. Chris chuckled, “it’s okay - not letting you leave me again ma”, pressing another sweet kiss to my lips.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown, round 2 of bracket one

Propaganda:

For Zoro:

Literally training to be the greatest swordsman in the world. Has a special three swords technique (one blade in each hand plus one with the handle held in his teeth). I haven't read the manga or watched the anime but the live action adaptation gives me extremely gay vibes and based on the fandom things I've seen I'm not the only one

bro uses three swords. has one in his mouth. dont ask how the HELL he manages that. one day he will be the worlds greatest swordsman....after he beats the current greatest for both the titles of greatest swordsman and fruitiest swordsman. he's dramatic as FUUUCK like bro what the hell. has homoerotic fights with the local twink like everyday. directionally challenged, can and will get lost in a paper bag, doesnt know left from right...he probably cant read, too. hes too silly ngl

First of all, im in like episode 250 and so far he hasnt been shown attracted to any woman at all during the whole show so far, not even when one changed clothes in the same room as him and this is anime so you know there were other characters with bloody noses and shit. With that out of the way he wields three swords at once [two in his hands, one is his goddamn mouth dude. Its cool af trust me.] When he was little he made a promise to his best friend that he'd be the best swordsman in the world. Later she died in a tragic accident and left her sword which he still uses today. He also carries a cursed sword but he overpowers the curse with a combination of skill and sheer luck. He got stuck in a chimney. While his crewmates sail their ship he takes naps. He learned how to cut through metal by fighting a guy who could turn his body into metal blades. That's metal. He refuses to fight this liberal marine officer because she looks like his childhood best friend and its just understandably really awkward for him. He's autistic. He's a he/him bisexual lesbian. He's a gay man. He's ace/aro. He's whatever you want him to be babey!!

he has 3 swords, wields one in his mouth sometimes, his dream is to be the greatest swordsman in the world

three swords and big aroace-spec gay vibes

He not only has a sword he has *three* swords. He's absolutely gay there's no way to see this man as straight. Also one time he licked his sword for no reason and that was really funny to me so I had to mention it

Look, this man thinks about three things: Swords, His Captain, and Booze. He’s on a quest to be the worlds greatest swordsman. The Live action has a scene where he declares his undying, unwavering loyalty to his captain WHILE reaffirming his promise to be the worlds greatest swordsman. At this point His dream and his Captain are so intertwined it’s crazy. Man is so sword-y he’s got three of them. When one of his swords broke he carried its empty scabbard until he was able to give it a SWORD FUNERAL. He hears a sword is cursed and takes that as a challenge. He will literally tell his swords off for “bad behavior” when they “act up” due to being straight up cursed. He tests one by throwing it in the air and sticking his arm out to see if it is so blood thirsty and ill tempered that it will cut him. Even though he’s literally the first mate if you ask him what his role is he’s going to answer Swordsman.

He's dedicated his life to two things: becoming the greatest swordsman in the world and his captain, Luffy. 

He mastered the three sword style. Its his style. It would've been more swords but he could only fit one sword in each hand and one in his mouth. He wants to be the world's greatest swordsman, a deal he made with his childhood best frenemy (before she died falling down the stairs). He thought he was All That at the start and was almost completely decimated by the actual Worlds Greatest Swordsman. Now, after two years forced training with that guy, he's probably in the top tier no-doubt, and honestly could already be the best but we just don't know for sure yet. Also, did I mention: he's got the whole demon/devil imagery going on at times. And he has absolutely no sense of direction! plus is a total softie when it comes to Chopper and all the children who somehow gravitate towards him. And he loves naps!

One of the guy's main goals in life is to be the best sword fighter and he fights with three swords which I think is telling enough of his skill.

For Sayaka Miki:

my favourite scene is the one where Sayaka turns off all her pain receptors to battle the shadow witch, uncaring of the damage dealt to her body, because what is a body but a decaying vessel you must eventually abandon anyway? that was very depression of her <3 Also there’s that one time (in the rebellion movie) where Sayaka stabs herself on her own sword to release the witch that dwells within her. and then she immediately gets up to fight back to back with her girlfriend. that moment lives rent free in my head. Sayaka is so depression and I love her for it:)

SHES SO GAY ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY SHE FLIRTS W THE MAIN CHARACTER HER NARRATIVE FOIL IS ANOTHER GIRL W TBE OPPOSITE COLOR SCHEME THEYRE RED BLUE LESBIAN MOMENT YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT ELSE ??? SHE COMES TO THIS FALSE REALITY LITERALLY JUST TO SEE HER GIRLFRIEND ALIVE THEY LIVE TOGETHER AND THERES A WHOLE OUTRO SEQUENCE JUST W THE TWO OF THEM SHE STUDIED THE GAY BLADE I STG also she uses a sword 🗡️ love u sayaka

[beamtori]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭

implied fwb!ji changmin x afab!reader

1.9k words, smut (minors dni), piv sex, porn w/o plot, switch dynamics but changmin leans dom, so much dirty talk 💀, biting hard enough to draw blood, edging, kissing, swearing, overstimulation (f. receiving), fingering/cumplay, pet names (baby, sweetheart, hot stuff, good girl, etc.), aftercare is dinner lol, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it bro), low-key manhandling, it's kinda just... filth tbh (im on my period, sue me), CHANGMINS A LITTLE SHIT

a/n: this is the most self-insert i have ever self-inserted :l if it's awful, blame the brainrot!

"This has got to be a world record."

You rolled your eyes as you walked into his apartment, pointedly ignoring the smug smirk on his face and the arms exposed by sleeves rolled to his shoulders. "Do you want to get laid or not?"

Ji Changmin closed his front door, tongue poking his cheek, but it did nothing to conceal his smile. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "How many red lights did you run?"

Heat rose to your neck and you scowled. "I'm literally going to walk out the door right now."

"Try me, sweetheart."

So maybe you had dropped everything to get here when he sent you that blatantly obvious thirst trap photo, but you were thirsty; what could you say? It was a fucking shame he knew your weakness.

"Aww," he cooed, taking the few steps to meet you. He gently grabbed your chin in one hand and jutted his bottom lip outward. "Don't pout, baby. You know it'll only make me wanna kiss you."

You licked your bottom lip. "I get to draw blood, then we'll call it even."

There was a gleam in his eyes, the one that first got you addicted to falling into this man's bed. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

This was what you meant by drawing blood.

Changmin's moans filled the room, his breathless, desperate "ah, ah, ah"s would engrave themselves into your flesh like you nipped at the skin on his neck. You could taste the iron in your mouth, dark and sticky, red staining your teeth and your lips as you kissed and lapped at the wound. Each bite would bloom his favorite shade of purple by morning. Your forearms braced against the bed sheets on either side of his head, your knees growing sore from the steady rocking of your hips.

Flesh stuck to flesh, his hands grappled at your body to hold on for dear fucking life as you rode his cock and marked his pretty canvas of a body for your own. Sweat glistened, further highlighted by the warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand.

"Baby, baby, baby—" he babbled as his hand buried itself in your hair to pull you out from his neck, "—tight. Oh fucking hell, you're tight. C'mere."

He caught your kiss, his blood smearing across his own lips. You licked him clean as always, humming against him as he spoke through the earnestness.

You suddenly pulled away from him and braced your hands on his pecs. The view from this angle was enough to make you clench: Changmin splayed beneath you, lips and neck bruised appropriately, a dazed glaze over his dark eyes, sweat making his skin shine. "Oh, look at you," you purred, giving him an indulgent roll of your hips.

Changmin gritted his teeth, hand clutching your thigh and inching higher. "You don't move, sweetheart, and I'll move for you," he smiled thinly and backed his statement up with a firm spank of your ass.

You lurched forward in surprise; his chuckle filled the room.

"I have power, too, you know."

"Okay, hot stuff," you huffed, brushing your hair from your eyes. "You realize you could have flipped us over a long time ago, right?"

A smirk-like grin curled onto his lips, devilish and enough to make you squeeze around him again. "I know. But you looked like you were having fun up there, princess. Plus, your tits look so good like this."

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a dude."

"Yn, I sent you a thirst trap to get you into bed with me like, an hour ago; now you're calling me a dude?"

You sighed, sitting upright, warming his cock. "True."

"Baby. Sweetcheeks. Apple of my eye—"

"Hm?"

"As much as I love that you're just sitting on my cock like your throne," he drawled, "I wanna make you cum as many times as you ran red lights."

"I didn't run any red lights—"

You squealed, your world twisting and your back hitting the sheets. Changmin grinned from over you, one large hand palming your right boob.

You were breathless. He leaned down to devour your mouth. A trail of spit clung between your lips when he pulled away for a second. "So what you're saying is you want me to edge you?" He husked, tongue swiping along his bottom lip, his eyes shining with a dark glimmer.

Genuine fear spiked through your heart. "Ji Changmin, I swear to god—"

He gave one powerful thrust, and you clung onto him as your swear melted into a whine. "The government name? Only good girls get to cum, Yn-ie. Be a good girl, hm, and moan for me."

You dug your fingernails into his back as he drove his cock into you so hard you could see stars circling. He swallowed all of the pretty, desperate noises coming out of your mouth with his own. You arched your front into him, hips lifting slightly to meet him until his hip bone smashed against you.

"That's it," he grunted, kissing you as your high approached and his thumb grounded into your puffed up clit. "Take my cock so well; fuck—me—"

You were so close, and you nodded to what he said—nodded so desperately as you dragged your nails down his back and chased that high like a fucking dog—

Everything stopped.

"You want dinner?"

He was leaning over you to grab his phone off the nightstand, the light making the sweat dripping down his chest glisten like liquid pearl. His cock was still inside you, but you could feel the impending tightening of your orgasm slowly deflating.

Your blood pressure spiked. "What the fuck, Changmin?"

He tried to hide his smile. Tried. He sat over you as he opened a food delivery app and showed you the screen. "They've got that new Hawaiian restaurant and that fried chicken place you like."

"You are such an asshole." You draped your arm over your eyes, pussy clenching around him as if that alone could get you back to bliss.

You felt him shift, and then he was laughing fondly, removing the arm from over your eyes and pressing kisses to your face. "Aw, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know you were close; just wanted to tease you a little bit."

You glared. "You're fucking evil."

He grinned. "Clearly you like that." He kissed a trail from your nose down to your ear, murmuring, "Like calls to like."

You bit your lip and tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "Please, can I cum?" You didn't know where it came from, but you knew he wouldn't resist the pleading, because as he had said, like called to like.

A kiss right below your ear. "Well, aren't you sweet when you're desperate? Whatever you want, baby."

You sighed as he brought his lips back up to yours—thank fuck. One of his hands curled lightly around the side of your neck, the other wrapping around your right thigh to hike your leg up. His cock dragged through you at a slightly different angle, and you squirmed, hands clinging onto his shoulders and back.

"You wanna cum, baby? I'll give you what you want."

He groaned into your neck, teeth nipping at the skin there like he was grounding himself. Cock bullying into you, hand around your neck, the pressure so sweet and delicious. You were going start seeing things, your throat was losing breath as you begged for sweet, sweet fucking mercy.

Changmin suckled on the joint between neck and collarbone. "So good for me, huh?—dropped everything to see me—" He moaned into you, the sound urging you over the edge.

"Changmin," you cried out desperately. Closecloseclose, oh my god, you were close. "Changmin, baby, please. I'm so close—fuck."

Sweat dribbled down the slope of his nose as he hovered over you and continued to fuck you through until you were leaping over that cliff of pleasure—literally throwing yourself—thighs shaking in his grasp. You let out a loud whine when he didn't stop moving inside you; he was still rock hard and he locked your ankles at the base of his back to curve his cock up into you.

You clawed at him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

"My good girl can give me another, can't she?" His nose nudged against yours, a sharp contrast to the obscene sound of his balls slapping against your skin and the wet squelches of his thrusts. "Came all this way just for me…"

He brought his hand away from your neck to draw brutal circles around your clit, desperate to feel you clench around him again. His eyebrows creased, coaxing another orgasm out of you as he chased his own.

"Changmin," you stammered.

"Gonna come for me?"

"Yes," your breath came out in a delirious pant, pussy deliciously overstimulated. "Gonna come, gonna come, Changmin."

You were quivering around him again, incoherent thoughts half-babbled and half-moaned. The tension in your belly was mounting faster and faster now, and you could feel Changmin's thrusts getting sloppier. The tension snapped, and you drowned in it. You cried as you clung onto Changmin's form and he stilled, emptying out ropes of warm cum into you and making you squirm again.

As you both came down from your highs, he pressed his lips to the sides of your neck, eyes closed in a blissful daze. "Fuck, I owe you dinner for that. Shit."

You shifted uncomfortably as he slowly pulled out of you. "I did bite a chunk out of your neck," you exhaled. Both yours and his eyes wandered down to where your bodies met, your folds a mess of your combined fluids.

You saw him lick his lips, eyes glued to your cunt. "Earth to Changmin," you chuckled, poking his dimple.

His eyes shot to you for a moment before he was dipping his finger into the mess, swirling the cum around and pushing it back into you.

You mewled. "Dude," you shivered as the girth of his fingers filled you.

"You did not just call me dude when I'm pushing my cum back inside you," he grinned, crawling back over you and sealing off any chance at a response by kissing you. Your hips pushed into his hand, grinding against his finger. "Mmh, greedy."

You playfully pushed him off you. "Off, Changmin."

He laughed, but obliged, pulling away and helping you sit up. He took his cum-soaked finger and stuck it in his mouth to clean it. "Okay, but for real, do you want dinner?"

You grimaced as you moved yourself onto your knees to shuffle over to him and inspect the nasty little bite you left on him. "Dinner sounds good. Whatever you want." You frowned and gave the blooming bruise an experimental poke.

Changmin hissed low under his breath while he perused the delivery app on his phone. His hair stuck up in weird places and he ran a hand through it. "Whatever I want?"

"I did a number on you," you muttered. "Lemme clean it up so it doesn't get infected."

"It's all good, sweetheart; I got it. Just sit and rest." He shoved his phone into your lap and disappeared into the bathroom before you could object. You found a comfortable position against his headboard and decided on a place you knew the both of you would like.

From the bathroom, you could hear his whistle. "I'm almost sorry I have to cover this one up," he marveled, inspecting the bite mark. "If you hadn't drawn blood, I could leave it out for people to see."

Your heart leapt. "So people know you're sleeping with a vampire?" You joked half-heartedly.

"Well, sure," he mused. But he turned his head to send you a wink. "But also so people know I'm taken."

a/n: the ending is for ME, OKAY? :')))

tbz m.list

[gibbyslounge]

dream is hot he is attractive as hell ummmmm the lighting was amazing. constantly doing him right. he did look like modern jesus. a deity. i didnt even get there late but i happened to be somewhat behind maybe the tallest man ever so i was kinda microdosed with his face and honestly it was glorious. blessed to even be in his presence. the way i would stop breathing when i saw him. what the hell

the sweetest kindest loveliest comfiest gentleman idk how he did it but it felt so personal and i think everyone thought he was looking at them a little i was in the back and im short and i was like what is this eye contact. you can see me?? i can see you!!! checked up on the crowd constantly asking if we ate today or if we were thirsty and needed water. said i love you a lot. incredibly charismatic and engaging. bright and funny and himself. ADORABLE AND ENDEARING.

a natural born performer. it was basically a one man show (plus dj tiiiiiiiiiip and keyboardist and drummer ayyyyyyy). he was the mc. he was the entertainment. he was the performer. he was the distraction. he was the planner. head of the team. a target for balls (he wanted to be hit in the face with one). improv artist and choreography king. VOCALS!!! he hit all the notes! falsettos! what can he not do??!!

there was a game where we had to guess who was dream and how did i know who it was immediately. say there are three people lined up with identical outfits and masks. immediately noticed #3 is taller and broader than the others. when asked “did your job before youtube start with an a?” #3 puts not one thumbs up but TWO. arms big and wide to give TWO enthusiastic thumbs up. when asked to do heart hands they all do a bad job. who had the biggest proudest heart even though it was bad. #3. the bigger broader one. immediately dream. one of the other ones was an old man lolol.

the beginning of the show before he comes out??? when is beyonce releasing the visuals????? a documentary will be made. TRUST.

WAS NOT SMELLY!!!

NEED PANIC ATTACK ON ALL PLATFORMS STAT!!!!

[strlingsav]

you are a god among us peasants. your writing skills so sublime, you make tears fall from my eyes (and from between my legs); thank you for your service. 🫡

if you’re keen, may i request pain? just angst and maybe death too—if doable. of course, we cannot forget smut; because we’re still thirsty degenerates despite (or is it in spite) the masochism. but if that’s not your cup of tea, then no worries, you feed us well anyway. 🥰

anyway, just wanna say thank you very much for existing and that i look forward to reading more of your amazing fics. may both sides of your pillow be cool whenever you lay on them. 🙏

lastly, im the one who requested for the ‘read more’ bar and tbh, i was not really expecting anything from it. i was expecting it to be ignored and i was fine with it. coz let’s be honest, that was just nitpicking from freeloaders like me and scrolling a few more seconds is the least we can do to thank you for sharing your awesome brainchilds with us. i was just shooting my shot but honestly didn’t expect anything from it. so for you to implement it as soon as you got the ask is just 🤌. thank you. i appreciate you. i hope you immediately find your lost things as soon as you start looking for them. ❤️😘😘😘

LOL, stop it now I'm crying 😭 I can definitely come up with something real angst-y and slutty just for you!!!

You're so kind, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you, and the validation 🫶🏻🥹❤️

Of course!! It's my pleasure 🤍 Thank you (and a million more thank yous) for the kind words, I hope you enjoy!!

Endings

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— A sweet goodbye turns sour.

Two

Explicit/gory content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

The sun had just barely peaked, a glowing orange hue sneaking out from behind your linen curtains. It must've been early, early enough to catch Simon before he headed out.

You stretched out, rolling onto your side, still beneath the warmth of your heavy duvet. A soft pillow cradled your head, goose down, plush and inviting. You didn't want to wake up- you wanted to give in to the overwhelming contentment. Your hands reached out, your eyes shut as you relished in the comfort of your bed.

Your hand tucked under your cheek as you opened one eye, focusing on the man next to you, his chest rising and falling slowly, peacefully. His skin lit up in the sun-tinged room, glowing softly, an image of pure serenity, nearly God-like.

You sighed softly, your eyes scanning his face. You didn't want to wake him. He needed every minute of sleep. You carefully pulled the covers back, goosebumps erupting at the flood of cold air hitting your skin.

A hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back with a strong tug. Simon enveloped you in his arms, cradling your body against his chest. You giggled softly when his lips nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss against your skin.

"You sneakin' out on me?" He mumbled, muffled by your hair.

"Trying to," You smiled. "But you caught me."

He hummed, "Just need a few more minutes."

"I can do that," You said, your legs interlocking with his.

His hands followed the natural curve of your waist, meeting your hips, down your thighs. He pressed a palm against your leg, before running his fingers back through the carved path.

"You're barely awake and already feeling me up," You teased, your head turning to look at him.

His eyes were still shut, though his brows furrowed.

"Always in the mood to feel you up, sweetheart." His hand grabbed at one of your breasts, making you laugh- boisterous and genuine.

"You're insatiable." You shook your head.

"Can't blame me."

He pressed his hips into your backside, his erection pressing into you.

"Good dream?"

He shifted upward, his hand on your waist as he looked over you. Half-covered with the comforter, eyes still blinking slowly as you adjusted to the morning light, a mischievous smile across your face. He loved these mornings, slow and playful, where he could appreciate you in your purest form.

He would miss it- miss you. The first woman to force her way into his life and stay there. He'd grown fond of you. More than fond, if he was honest, but honesty scared the fuck out of him. As did vulnerability. He often worried he'd grow too close to you, open up a bit too much and you'd run the other way.

He rarely spoke of his childhood or innermost thoughts, but you made it bearable. He didn't have to hide it from you, didn't have to pretend he was put-together when he was really tearing at the seams. You'd kissed every wound, loved him regardless.

He loved you. He'd only said it once, maybe twice, too shamefully afraid, but you knew. He'd never known anything like the feeling that made him think of you, all the damn time. Made him want to make you happy, do the nervous boyfriend routine when he met your parents. Become a pathetic sop when he was wrapped in your arms.

He devoured every bit of yourself that you showed to him. Every secret, every terrible thing you'd ever done. He wasn't alone, not when you were there.

His hand reached down your pelvis, inching slowly to press the pad of his finger against your clit.

"Must've been good," You held back a smile, your eyes shutting as you basked in the pleasure of his fingers rubbing circles over the delicate organ.

He shook his head against the hard line of your jaw. "'S'all for you," He said quietly, his lips honing in on yours with a delicate kiss.

You moaned softly, your hand reaching for the side of his face. His tongue slid into your mouth gingerly, gliding against yours.

Your mouths moved in sync, a perfected routine. He quieted your moans with his mouth, shushing you with the use of his tongue.

He moved away, leaving you to chase after his lips, open your eyes to see him.

"You're too good to me," You smiled, your lips parting when he applied a bit more pressure with his fingers.

"I know," He replied. "Y'deserve every bit."

He hummed with approval as he looked over your blissful expression, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses across your neck and chest. His teeth nipped at your flesh, tongue sliding out to soothe the inflicted area.

"Just needed to feel you again," He mumbled. "Gonna be gone for a while."

You tried not to frown, tried not to show your utter disappointment upon remembering these would be your last moments together for months.

Your back arched inadvertently when he sunk two fingers inside you, quickly coated with your liquid arousal. A guttural moan left your lips, his thumb still circling your clit.

Your hand reached to stop his movements, your brows cresting, a pleading expression in your eyes. "I want you inside me."

His lips separated, your words creating a searing heat in his groin. The desperation in your voice tugged at a primal instinct inside him, to make you feel good, and it surely would've brought him to his knees had he been standing.

He readjusted himself, his eyes on yours as he massaged his cock with his hand. He moved slowly, angling your thigh to allow him better access. You curved your back, opening your thighs a bit wider as he searched for your entrance.

You felt the slick head of his cock press against you, easing in gently, your hymen stretching to accommodate his size. Your eyes squeezed shut, lip quivering as you bit down.

He was finally buried inside you, giving a low groan in your ear when he felt just how wet you were.

Your back against his chest, his hand slid around your waist, fingers splayed out over the expanse of your curves.

His hips rocked into you, his hand holding you tightly against him, your head fell into his chest. His other hand found yours beneath the pillow, squeezing tightly, reassuringly.

Your eyes opened, finding his amidst the crescendo of pleasure, watching his nostrils flare as he sucked in deep breaths, utterly dumbfounded by the way your pussy felt like it was made just for him.

You leaned in closer, nuzzling your face against his, soft whimpers leaving your lips when his cock hit your G-spot.

"Baby," You whispered, your hand reaching back to glide into his hair. "God, Simon."

"That's it, love," He cooed, through broken breaths and strained vocal cords. "S'alright."

Your heart stammered in your chest, before pounding harshly against your ribs, threatening to climb out your throat. His grip on your body was unrelenting, a solid reminder that it was him who made you feel that way, that had your hips grinding back against him, silently begging for more.

"'M gonna miss you," You breathed, "So much."

His hand slid down your waist, circling your neglected clit, matching the pace of his wonderfully slow thrusts.

"Miss you too," He sighed. "Always miss you, love."

You were restless against him, finding no solace in the idea that you were close to orgasm, and so was he. It would be over, and you'd have to start your day; leave the shelter of your bed, the place where you could hide from everything and everyone, together.

Your fingers replaced his on your clit, and he took advantage of the freedom, cupping your breasts with his large hand. His fingers ghosted over your perked nipples, listening to your soft moans, savouring the fruit of his labour.

"Simon-" You whispered, broken and breathless, hardly there but loud enough for him to hear.

He could feel your pussy fluttering around him, making him shut his eyes as he resisted the urge to cum. "I'm close."

He continued at his successful pace, trying not to watch the way you unraveled, how your back arched even further into him, your spine curving, how your skin flushed with the rush of endorphins. Your voice breaking out in a long, desperate moan, the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

He was even closer now- your undoing had lead him right to his climax. His hips paused against your backside, a gust of his warm breath washed over your back as he exhaled harshly. He kept himself firmly planted inside you, still enjoying the addictive walls of your pussy.

He was apprehensive when he pulled away, shifting now to slide you even closer. He wrapped you in his arms again, his lips pressing against the salty skin of your temple.

"Gotta get goin'," He grumbled.

You nodded. "I know."

He'd been packed for a few days now, ready and waiting for the day he had to catch a flight out. You joined him at the front entrance of the apartment building, in your sweats, watching with red eyes and a forced smile as he shoved his bag into the seat of his SUV.

He moved back to you, enveloping you in a warm hug, his hands wrapping around your waist to hold you.

"I'll miss you," You whispered in his ear.

"Be back 'fore you know it, love," He said back, his lips kissing the sliver of skin showing on your shoulder.

"Better be- and in one piece," You tried to laugh, tried to make it easy.

"Behave yourself while I'm away," He warned, his hand sneaking down to take a handful of your backside.

You did laugh that time, genuine and unapologetic while passersby stared.

"Always," You pulled away. "I love you."

His eyes locked with yours, a soft smile forming over his lips- one of admiration and total devotion.

"Love you too."

Your insides warmed, cheeks glowing with pure adoration.

—

Simon's hearing had gone in his left ear- high-pitched ringing in the other. His eyes focused on the smoke, the still-spinning blades of the helo.

That was when he realized he could only see from one eye- blunt force trauma causing a blown pupil and detachment of his retina.

He tried to twist onto his front, at least have a chance at dragging himself to safety.

A searing pain ripped through his thigh as he lifted himself, and he peered down to find his femur poking through the skin, his torn fatigues covered with blood.

He inhaled, shaky and shallow, hardly enough to sustain his racing heart. Low groans of agony rumbled in his chest, his muscles twitching as he held the surrounding flesh of his broken bone. His head ached, throbbing and stinging, not yet realizing he'd cracked his skull, the flesh of his scalp held together by his helmet. Blood pooled on the ground beneath him.

His deafened ear leaked red, severe swelling of the brain pushing against the intact remainder of his skull.

He tried to sit up again, though couldn't find the strength. He was exhausted- dizzy with blood loss and no longer able to move his limbs quite right.

You, he thought, you'd be alone. You'd wonder where he was, what happened. Would they let you see his body? Or would they tell you he was M.I.A? He couldn't decide which would be worse; leaving you with unanswered questions or knowing he was never coming back. Would they tell you how hard he fought to stay alive for you, even if his entire body was begging to let go?

He was shivering, now. His body had started to focus all energy on his fatal injuries, desperately hanging on to any viable organs. It wouldn't work- it couldn't. Not even a goldstar field medic could piece him back together, not enough to call him human again. He wasn't sure if he'd want you to see him that way, either.

Fitting, he thought. Nothing good ever lasted for Simon Riley.

At least he'd told you he loved you. You'd know it was real, that he wasn't afraid anymore. You'd know he gave everything he had, including his trust, his feelings. The thought gave him a moment of comfort- or maybe it was the endorphins putting an end to his suffering. Either way, his chest warmed when he pictured that playful smile, your eyes. He yearned to have you there, holding his hand instead of digging his fingers into the wet earth. He'd made his grave inside you already, resigned to dying with you than without. You'd tell him it was alright, tell him to let go while he couldn't feel an ounce of pain. You were selfless like that.

All he could picture, as the last of his breath left his lungs, as his heart gave up on sustaining a worthless fight, was you. That morning in bed, before deployment, where you'd given another piece of yourself to him, selflessly. As always.

Thank God he'd told you he loved you.

[kennediffed]

Reflections

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

description: you're casually playing the RE4 remake when you learn that the main character that you've been crushing on can talk directly to you (aka 4th wall breaking shenanigans)

word count: 548

contents/warnings: 4th wall break, gender neutral reader (no pronoun usage), ooc leon(?), shenanigans ensuing, barely edited/proofread

this is so fucking goofy im so sorry MASTERLIST

AO3 VERSION

REQUEST BOX

~

You couldnt help but stare at your screen while in a safe area at the character you've been controlling. The sight of him made you want to kick your feet and twirl your hair like a schoolgirl who had a crush.

You see, the remake to one of your favorite games had just come out and you intended on spending the whole weekend playing the game from start to finish. Well, that was the plan, until you started staring at the protagonist with heart eyes. The way the devs modeled him was… oh boy. The things you would do to him.

You couldnt help it though, Leon Kennedy was a looker, there was a reason why you, among many other people, simped heavily for him.

Man, why cant you be real? you thought silently to yourself, continuing to stare directly at him. Although you were alone, you couldnt help but feel like someone was watching you while you eyed him.

that was when something unexpected happened.

"y'know, im flattered, but are you gonna keep ogling me or are we gonna get a move on?" a familiar voice spoke in an annoyed tone.

that earned a jump from you. did… did leon just… address you? you looked at your screen to see Leon looking at you, a disappointed look present on his face and arms crossed.

"Yeah, you… y'know its rude to stare, right?"

You sat there in shock, he WAS talking to you. but HOW? this was supposed to be something that was one-sided. why was he talking to you?

"cat got your tongue?" he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"w…wait have you been able to see me this whole time?" you asked hesitantly. "and… hear what i say??"

He gave you a small smirk "yeah, you could say that"

"uhhh" you trailed off, scratching the back of your head gently "well this is embarrassing". Since you deducted that he could hear you, you realized that he most likely had heard your thirsty comments about him. and that was enough to fluster you. "sorry for the comments" you mumbled, almost embarrassed by your actions

you heard a soft chuckle in response "dont worry, im used to it by now…" he replied "but i bet youre confused right about now, am i right?"

you sat up in your chair, putting down your controller before making eye contact with him once more. You had so many questions but you werent even sure if you were to get any answers to them. you started out with a simple one; "so… how long have you been able to hear what ive been saying?"

"since you started playing the other day, i'd say" he responded flatly.

"gotcha, gotcha…" you responded. "guess i gotta watch what i saw now since i know you can hear me now…" you twiddled your thumbs in pure embarrassment.

"hey, like i said, its all good," he reassured "im kinda flattered that people see me like that"

you picked up your controller again, ready to move on with the game "i think im gonna keep playing now" you mumbled "do you just… emulate what im doing with my controller or… how does this work?"

"something like that… lead the way" you heard him say in response.

[zerosxns]

wait nawhhh i completely forgot about this one ☝️ HANBIN IS AN ASS MAN DONT EVEN TALK TO ME RN CAUSE IM GONNA EXPLODE. Imagine one night you and hanbin got into an argument as soon as you came back home from work, and you guys end up giving each other the silent treatment by the end

(its silence aint no baCK TAWK)

So when you leave your shared bedroom with a short lace nightgown cause its ONE OF THOSE NIGHTS WHERE YOU WANNA BE COMFY… you go to the kitchen to make some dinner for yourself…bending…over…to grab some…things…

hanbin was just gonna grab some “water” (he just wanted to see if you were okay he cant stay mad for long T-T) he saw a peak of you ass (bonus if you weren’t wearing underwear that night or a thong OOF HE WOULD GO BRRR) and he would just walk up to you and rub his crotch against your ass (extra extra bonus if hes wearing sweatpants YO.) you would be like … oh…? And stand back up—now your back hitting his chest, his mouth SOO close to your ear saying something like “you make it hard to stay mad” feathering kisses on your ear and neck…

Erm… kinda wrote a shitty ass half meme’d fic in your anon box but WE 🆙 LMFAO i hope you like it 🤕

-🥞 anon (two strikes)

WARNINGS ⚸ arguments. unintentional tempting. dubcon/noncon dry humping. mentions of make up sex.

hanbin hates arguing with you, and he will do anything to get you to forgive him and talk to him again. even if that means playing dirty.

he knows you like to have space when you’re upset, but he can’t let you go to bed angry. he likes to talk things out when he’s upset. but if you won’t let him talk it out, he has to get creative with his ways to get you to talk to him.

so when you were in separate rooms after a big argument and you walked past him wearing one of the short, satin and lace nightgowns he loves to see you in, still giving him the silent treatment, he gets an idea in his mind. he can hear the opening and closing of cabinets, dishes clanking, and he figures you were making food, seeing as your argument happened before dinner. suddenly, his throat feels dry, he’s parched, and he needs a glass of water.

hanbin walks in the kitchen to find you bent over to reach in the cupboard for the appropriate pan to use. right below the door the cups are behind. he can’t help but steal a glance, leaning back to get a better view. as he does, he notices the absence of fabric beneath the gown. were you seriously not wearing any panties right now? he takes a few silent steps forward, body thinking before his brain catches up, and presses directly against you.

“fuck, hanbin, what are you doing? you scared me.” your eyes widened, realizing you managed to break your silent treatment so easily. you finally stand up, having found the pan you were looking for at that exact moment.

he smiles. “i’m thirsty. just grabbing a glass.” hanbin leans forward to open the cupboard. you were trapped between him and the counter, his already half hard cock slotting perfectly between your ass cheeks. “you know,” he accidentally rolls his hips against yours. “you make it hard to be upset.”

you gulp, body betraying you and reacting to his touch. it was pathetic just how quickly you could feel yourself getting worked up. “what…do you mean?” you tried to keep your tone firm, but failed.

he presses you further against the counter, arms caging you in now, glass of water and pan being long forgotten. his breath fans across your neck, lips so close yet so far from touching your skin. “you walk around here in these little flimsy dresses.” he grips the fabric with one hand, pulling it up to where it bunches at your hips. your dripping cunt now on display, wetting the front of his grey sweats with every push of the hips. “it’s like you want me to bend you over this counter and fuck it out of our systems.”

you moaned, grinding back against against him. “hanbin, please…”