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velvetures · 10 months

Text

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

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11K notes · View notes

jonnywaistcoat · 22 days

Note

What’s your opinion on the contrast between “silly” and “serious” spaces? Do you think people can have very serious interpretations about a genuine piece of media and also be goofy about it? I’m asking this particularly because I’ve seen people in the Magnus podcast fandoms fight about people “misinterpreting” characters you, Alex, and the many other authors have written. Are you okay with the blorbofication or do you really wish the media you’ve written would be “taken seriously” 100% of the time?

And follow up question, what do you think about the whole “it’s up to the reader (or in some cases, listener) to make their own conclusions and interpretations and that does not make them wrong”, versus the “it was written this way because the author intended it this way, and we should respect that” argument?

This is a question I've given a lot of thought over the years, to the point where I don't know how much I can respond without it becoming a literal essay. But I'll try.

My main principle for this stuff boils roughly down to: "The only incorrect way to respond to art is to try and police the responses of others." Art is an intensely subjective, personal thing, and I think a lot of online spaces that engage with media are somewhat antithetical to what is, to me, a key part of it, which is sitting alone with your response to a story, a character, a scene or an image and allowing yourself to explore it's effect on you. To feel your feelings and think about them in relation to the text.

Now, this is not to say that jokes and goofiness about a piece of art aren't fucking great. I love to watch The Thing and drink in the vibes or arctic desolation and paranoia, or think about the picture it paints of masculinity as a sublimely lonely thing where the most terrible threat is that of an imposed, alien intimacy. And that actually makes me laugh even more the jokey shitpost "Do you think the guys in The Thing ever explored each other's bodies? Yeah but watch out". Silly and serious don't have to be in opposition, and I often find the best jokes about a piece of media come from those who have really engaged with it.

And in terms of interpreting characters? Interpreting and responding to fictional characters is one of the key functions of stories. They're not real people, there is no objective truth to who they are or what they do or why they do it. They are artificial constructs and the life they are given is given by you, the reader/listener/viewer, etc. Your interpetation of them can't be wrong, because your interpretation of them is all that there is, they have no existence outside of that.

And obviously your interpretation will be different to other people's, because your brain, your life, your associations - the building blocks from which the voices you hear on a podcast become realised people in your mind - are entirely your own. Thus you cannot say anyone else's is wrong. You can say "That's not how it came across to me" or "I have a very different reading of that character", but that's it. I suppose if someone is fundamentally missing something (like saying "x character would never use violence" when x character strangles a man to death in chapter 4) you could say "I think that's a significant misreading of the text", but that's only to be reserved for if you have the evidence to back it up and are feeling really savage.

I think this is one of the things that saddens me a bit about some aspects of fandom culture - it has a tendency to police or standardise responses or interpretations, turning them from personal experiences to be explored into public takes to be argued over. It also has the occasional moralistic strain, and if there's one thing I wish I could carve in stone on every fan space it's that Your Responses to a Piece of Art Carry No Intrinsic Moral Weight.

As for authorial intention, that's a simpler one: who gives a shit? Even the author doesn't know their own intentions half the time. There is intentionality there, of course, but often it's a chaotic and shifting mix of theme and story and character which rarely sticks in the mind in the exact form it had during writing. If you ask me what my intention was in a scene from five years ago, I'll give you an answer, but it will be my own current interpretation of a half-remembered thing, altered and warped by my own changing relationship to the work and five years of consideration and change within myself. Or I might not remember at all and just have a guess. And I'm a best case scenario because I'm still alive. Thinking about a writers possible or stated intentions is interesting and can often lead to some compelling discussion or examination, but to try and hold it up as any sort of "truth" is, to my mind, deeply misguided.

Authorial statements can provide interesting context to a work, or suggest possible readings, but they have no actual transformative effect on the text. If an author says of a book that they always imagined y character being black, despite it never being mentioned in the text, that's interesting - what happens if we read that character as black? How does it change our responses to the that character actions and position? How does it affect the wider themes and story? It doesn't, however, actually make y character black because in the text itself their race remains nonspecific. The author lost the ability to make that change the moment it was published. It's not solely theirs anymore.

So yeah, that was a fuckin essay. In conclusion, serious and silly are both good, but serious does not mean yelling at other people about "misinterpretations", it means sitting with your personal explorations of a piece of art. All interpretations are valid unless they've legitimately missed a major part of the text (and even then they're still valid interpretations of whatever incomplete or odd version of the text exists inside that person's brain). Authorial intent is interesting to think about but ultimately unknowable, untrustworthy and certainly not a source of truth. Phew.

Oh, and blorbofication is fine, though it does to my mind sometimes pair with a certain shallowness to one's exploration of the work in question.

#Big thoughts #Big rambles #These are my current thoughts at least #They will likely change #As all things do

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whimsyprinx · 1 year

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I can’t even be petty because this is what my attempts at being petty rn are like

#whimsy whispers #delete later #bucket sent this once like over a year ago and the fact that it still applies is so fucking funny (not really)#I can’t even be petty and ignore people because y’all do not talk to me #‘if they talk to me after this I’ll ignore them and see how they feel’ but I can’t cause people simply aren’t going to respond to me much #less talk to me first #I shouldn’t even be petty anyways but even if I wanted to and didn’t care that it did me no good and made me sad it still wouldn’t work #because people don’t talk to me!#anyways rsd is bad thank you for the one friend who is listening to me bitch I’m sorry I’m not going to take your advice #idc how bad people make me feel I unfortunately cling to people and struggle with that #maybe that’s why people don’t speak to me I’m clingy and annoying and have rsd #either things will get better or I’ll heed your advice or it’ll always be an issue #also again i state this every time: I doubt it’s anyone’s intention to make me feel this way I just have rsd and issues #but for some people I’ve discussed how I feel and nothing changed #and I don’t even know if talking again will help #I need to talk to my irl but also idk where to even start would it even help? did it even help much the last time?

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nothorses · 10 months

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"the public education system is intently evil and all teachers are abusive because it was the worst experience ever for me personally"

guys, look, I'm legitimately sorry that happened to you. that's fucked up. it shouldn't have happened, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen again to you or anyone else. I'm sorry.

public school was hard for me too, at times, and I'm still suffering the consequences for the harsh grading, the arbitrary deadlines, the hours of completely useless-to-me homework. I could name a few teachers who have been pretty fucking terrible. the fact that nobody considered getting me evaluated for ADHD has had an impact on my self image and academic success that I can't erase.

and also.

I grew up in an area where education, in particular, is incredibly progressive-leaning. educators are working really hard to create and try out education philosophies and practices that prioritize kids and their learning, rather than teachers and what they think kids should learn.

My sex ed was comprehensive, and came entirely from school. My gay sixth grade teacher taught me about HIV/AIDs in a useful, accurate way. In high school, I learned about the way orgasms work & I was prepared not to feel shame for normal stuff.

I learned that Communism was not what the USSR actually practiced, and what it really means. I learned about atrocities and, specifically, the genocide of indigenous people committed in/by the US. I learned about the military industrial complex, the school-to-prison pipeline, and I learned about manifestations of racism specific to my local area. I learned about Stonewall, and the intersection of the civil rights movement with gay rights and disability justice.

My creative writing teacher taught us about LSD, and the real reasons we shouldn't do it, after a hilariously ineffective assembly run by some local cops. He spoke gently, carefully, and emphatically about his friends and his own experiences. Later in the semester, he read us a story he wrote about two gay men finding each other in a deeply homophobic environment.

My sci-fi teacher made me feel safe & seen as a kid with "weird" interests. My US History teacher helped me research and put together a 10-page paper on the modern relevance and mission of Feminism. My government teacher made me feel appreciated for the work I put into the class, and the thought I put into what I said in it, even though he disagreed with a lot of it. My sixth grade teacher bought me books to read with his personal money, whichever ones I asked for. My third grade teacher made me feel safe. My science teacher in middle school made me excited for and passionate about science, and saw and nurtured the effort I put into her class.

A lot of stuff sucks, absolutely. But I am seeing new teaching methods being tried out all the time, and I am watching teachers get really excited when I teach their students about the roots of modern graffiti in US black history & to question property laws, and just...

There's hope. there are so many people doing so much work to make things better. so many people agree with you on what education should be, and are trying so fucking hard to put that into action, and so many public schools- not just teachers, but whole schools and even districts- are really doing that work. so much is getting better.

I had more to say, about necessary childcare and trusted adults and outside contacts and time away from abusive family. But like. Please just sit down and listen to more people on this, and please talk to educators and education professionals about what's really going on in this big huge world of philosophy, science, and practice.

#education

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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

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under your skin.

The last walk-in you expected to see in your tattoo parlor in one rainy day was a massive masked behemoth of a man. It came as even more of a surprise when you wanted to see him there again and again; and a final time when he kept coming back.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Tattoo artist reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 7K

a/n: listen, as a tattoo artist irl, the first thing i did when i discovered ghost had a tattoo was to think how i had to self indulge. i’d kill to tattoo this man personally. shoutout to @117s-girl, @somnibats and Eddie for the tremendous help when i had writer’s block, and @deafeningcat for the amazing beta read as always <3

tags: fluff, reader being horny for ghost, ghost being slightly ooc, mentions at verbal abuse, slightly suggestive and slight angst.

You remember the first time Simon Riley walked into your shop.

It was a cold and rainy day - like most days in Manchester - and you were idling by, doodling on a notebook by the front desk and listening to whatever was playing on the radio without paying it much attention. Glancing at the clock on the wall where the empty loveseat was, you were starting to wonder if you should go get something to eat while you waited, when the bell on the front door chimed, indicating someone had come in.

At first, you thought he was going to rob you, and in a second you were already kissing your expensive equipment goodbye in your head, cursing the fact you had decided to buy that pricey tattoo machine you were eyeing for so long just last week, but those thoughts vanished when the figure just stood in front of you. Silently, you eyed the skull mask and sunglasses that covered his face, wondering what was this guy’s deal, since it was way too grey outside to be wearing any sort of eyewear. Trying not to let his huge stature looming over you be intimidating, you were about to say something when his gruff voice cut the silence.

“You take walk-ins?”

So he really was a client, you thought. Rummaging through the notebooks in the desk, you quickly glanced at your schedule, seeing your next client wasn’t supposed to come for a few good hours, and decided you were curious about the masked man.

“Well, it depends. What were you thinking of getting?”

He stood still for a moment, and you wondered if he heard you at all, but suddenly he reached for something in the pocket of his jeans, extending a neatly folded piece of paper in front of you. His voice filled the silence again as you unfolded the paper, and you found the thick accent oddly calming coming from him.

“I want it to be a sleeve. Covering my left forearm.”

You opened it to find a surprisingly intricate design, and it seemed like whoever did it made it with the intention of actually getting it as a sleeve. Not taking the masked guy for an artist, you found a signature on the bottom of the page, a chicken scratch that read “Tommy Riley”. Usually, you’d make light conversation and ask about the design, especially when it looked important, but something told you not to pry into this man’s business. Assuming he’s this “Tommy” fella, you just smiled politely, deciding you could fit the first session of it into your work day.

“Sure. It should take a few sessions, though, is that alright with you?” He simply nodded, wordlessly, and you decided that was good enough of an answer.

Leading him into the procedure room after getting his approval on the price, you made sure to give him a consent form for him to fill out and sign while you traced the design to a stencil - making sure to cut the right adjustments to wrap around his visibly huge forearm. You wondered if he was a weightlifter of sorts, or maybe just a gym rat.

Transferring the stencil to his skin and prepping your materials for tattooing was a completely silent ordeal, and your client seemed more than content in just letting the silence linger for the remainder of your encounter, and even if you were getting antsy by it, you were glad he didn’t comment on how visibly nervous you were when you wrapped your gloved hands around his arm to make the stencil stick - feeling his warmth and the protruding veins even through the latex that covered your own skin.

“You have any other tattoos?” You asked, stepping on the machine pedal to make sure your tattoo machine was at the right voltage while he got comfortable setting his arm on the arm rest.

“No.”

“Cool.” God, you felt awkward. “I’m gonna start now, tell me if it hurts too much.”

“Right.”

You felt stupid saying that to a man that had arms the size of your head and was at least 6,4. As expected, he didn’t even flinch when the needles touched his skin, but you weren’t about to give up on your mission to make conversation with your mysterious client. While tracing it with the machine, you analyzed the design a bit closer.

“That’s some interesting art.” It wasn’t. It was tacky as hell, all missiles and skulls and other edgy elements, but you were not going to say that to him. “You like guns?”

“Something like that.”

You gave up trying to chat him up shortly after. Even with the weird dad sunglasses on, you could still feel his stare on you, unnerving at best, and you wondered what was up with the mask. In your line of work, you’d met some interesting individuals, and you considered your shop a safe haven for all outcasts and misfits; you’d known, after all you did decide to pursue tattooing as a career. Still, something about this man - Tommy? - made you feel an itch to see what lied beyond the mask - both figuratively and literally. At least it would take a few more sessions to finish his piece, hopefully he’d say more than five words at once to you at some point.

It took you two hours to finish tracing it, and you deemed it was good to go and begin shading another day. Getting into professional mode, you gave him directions on how to care for it and asked him to come back after a month to start on shading it, and, as expected, he only nodded to you. Going back to the front desk, he handed the bills containing the price you had settled on, and turned around, leaving without another word. Out of curiosity, you picked up his file. The first thing you noticed was that he had left the “Occupation” space blank.

The second thing you noticed was that the signature read “Simon Riley”.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon didn’t come back after a month.

A good few months later, you just figured he’d given up and was now walking around with an unfinished tattoo, or, worse, he had picked another artist to finish the job, and the thought made you angrier than you’d like to admit. Despite your annoyance, whenever you’d organize your clients files, you’d find yourself lingering on his, weirdly curious and feeling like he was a puzzle you were dying to solve.

A long time passed - you don’t know how much, but you’d say it was more than a year - before he showed up again, and, once again, it was unannounced. You were finishing a client’s tattoo when your friend - and coworker - knocked on the procedure room door, and when you’d told her to come in, she looked like she had seen a ghost.

“There’s a guy in the waiting room asking for you. Said you were doing his sleeve…” She quietly announced, and you just stared at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue. "He 's…Big. Tall guy with a creepy skull mask.”

She whispered the last part so he wouldn’t hear it, even if he was a good corridor distance away and the metal music coming from the radio would drown it out, and after a few moments you realized she was talking about Simon. You remember answering something to her and finishing the tattoo on auto pilot before heading to the front desk, and, sure enough, Simon was standing there menacingly, in his whole huge aura, seemingly unbothered by how his height, frame, and mask were making the other clients in the shop regard him with uneasy looks. His eyes met yours once you showed up. You noticed he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses anymore, and his fabric mask had been replaced by a simpler balaclava and a hard skull mask on top that you hoped was made out of a synthetic material.

Now bare, his gaze revealed its intensity to you, the dark hues following your every move in a way you supposed you could find intimidating if a small, very weird part of you didn’t find it attractive. He seemed tired, eyes cast downwards and with bags surrounding it, and you wondered what had happened when he was gone.

“Hey.” You breathed, straining your neck to look up at him and completely forgetting about the other people in the room. “Riley, right? I’m guessing you’re here for the sleeve?”

He seemed slightly surprised you remembered his name, but the impression of seeing emotion in his eyes was gone in an instant as he simply nodded at you.

“Yeah. You got time?”

You didn’t. But you’d make it work, you weren’t about to send away the man who had, for some reason, plagued your thoughts so much for the last months.

“I got a few more clients, but if you don’t mind waiting, i can fit you in?”

You hated how uneasy you sounded, your hands fiddling with a stray loose line of your ripped jeans as you waited for his answer.

“That works.”

With his gruff reply, he turned and sat down in the waiting area, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

The hours went by, the clients came and went to and from your procedure room as well as your colleague’s, yet, every single time you left the room to go to the front desk have a sip of water or check your next client’s name, Simon was still there, patiently waiting, the loveseat seeming oddly small under him, and his all black, dark getup blending perfectly with the black walls of the studio. If anything, it made you even more intrigued, since most people would have left by now, considering how long a tattoo takes and he could just come back another day, but he didn’t show any signs of having anywhere else to be. The people traffic started to wind down, and soon enough, you dismissed your last client of the day as you were the only artist left in the shop and the sun had already hid in the horizon.

“Glad to see you again. I was wondering if you had gotten another artist.” You laughed somewhat nervously, taking a breather by the glass door while Simon finished filling out another responsibility form, and you had to ignore how nervous you felt when he turned to glance at you with those dark and intense eyes of his.

“Got busy, that’s all.” He murmured, setting the pen down on the front desk and turning to the wall where your flash pieces were displayed. “And I like your work.”

Feeling your eyes widen, you tried to conceal how flustered the comment made you feel behind a cool chuckle, but something told you Simon could see right through you. Going back inside and pointing him towards the procedure room, you briefly glanced at the fresh consent form and realized he filled out his occupation this time, the words “Army” surprisingly not phasing you one bit.

Simon was the same as the last time, quiet as a grave. But, seeing as you were wrapping up the shading quicker than you’d anticipated, you decided this time you would not let this mysterious man walk out of your studio - possibly forever - without at least getting one piece of information out of him.

“So…does it mean anything?” You nodded towards his arm, trying to play it cool. Being in this field, you quickly realized not everyone gets tattoos that mean anything, and most of them are really just for aesthetics, but the signature below the original design had you wondering, even if the newfound information that he was in the military made the over the top missiles and dog tags inked on his arm make a lot more sense. He stared at you from behind the mask for a moment, making you feel queasy under his stare and suddenly very aware of how much you were draped over his arm trying to get the shading on one particular skull to look just right.

“Yeah.” After a few moments he replied, a wave of sudden relief washing over you upon realizing you had not, in fact, crossed a line. “My brother made it.”

“He’s quite the artist.”

“He really was.”

Oh.

You decided to drop the subject after the implication.

“And what branch are you in?” Not looking at him, you spoke in a low tone, too concentrated on the machine in your hands to realize you were maybe asking more than he was comfortable talking. “You know, uh, in the army.”

“Special Air Forces.” You realized he tensed almost imperceptibly, relaxing once you only hummed.

“Cool. I’d reckon you guys had tattoo parlors closer to base, though.”

“We do.” He huffed. “But I know the guys. Not nearly as clean as here.”

At that, you chuckled gently, missing the way Simon’s eyes softened at the sound.

You continued the piece in comfortable silence, distantly registering the pitter-patter of the rain that had just started falling on the street beyond the front doors. Finishing it up, faster than you would have liked, you decided the corny design looked good - really good - on him, and he might have been the only guy possible to pull it off, which could have been related to how big and strong his arms looked. Wrapping the tattoo in plastic film and reminding him to not keep it on for too long, you had to focus on acting professional and not let him know you were ogling at the recently inked piece of skin. The long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his forearms did not help you one bit, nor did the way his eyes followed your every single movement.

When you got back to the front desk - relieved to find the rain had stopped - you expected Simon to just pay and leave silently the same way he did the last time, but he actually lingered, letting his eyes wander through the flash pieces displayed in a neat corkboard in the waiting room - this one with your name written on top. You actually don’t know when he got your name - something told you it was when he asked your coworker for you. He seemed quite interested in one particular design that had been gathering dust for a long time on the board, considering how big it was.

“See something you like?” You followed his gaze, realizing it was a ram skull chest piece you had completely forgotten about; it looked too dark and menacing for most people looking for walk-ins and flash tattoos. “That one was meant to be a chest piece. Works for the back, too.”

Simon studied it for a few moments. What was up with this guy and skulls? Finally, he turned to you.

“When can you do it?”

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The third time Simon Riley walked into your studio, it was, by far, the most memorable one.

Unsurprisingly enough, he had decided to set an appointment for the chest piece to be the last one of your day, a week later; whether he enjoyed the night time better or just wanted to not be bothered with other people around, that was a mystery to you. There was a third option in the back of your head, but you told yourself it was delusional, and your fascination with the masked man was, in fact, one sided. That didn’t stop you from greeting him with a cheery smile as you looked up from where you were doodling on your notebook on the front desk, pretty much like your first encounter. However, you didn’t think too much of what exactly the chest piece implied as you headed to your procedure room with Simon in tow. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you freezed for a second, holding up the carbon stencil in your hands.

“Uh, you might wanna…take off your shirt. It’ll be more comfortable for you.”

Preparing the stencil gel, you tried your best to ignore him and not let your eyes wander too much as he lifted the unnecessarily tight black t-shirt over his head, careful as to not remove the balaclava and skull mask combo, folding it neatly and setting the piece of cloth over your table before standing next to you in front of the full body mirror.

I’m a professional. I’m a professional. I’m a professional.

If you thought Simon was huge before, that was an understatement. 6,4 feet of pure, naked muscle stood inches away from your much smaller body, and you were extremely relieved to realize that he had, probably out of consideration for you, shaved his chest beforehand - the same couldn’t be said for the faint happy trail very clearly peeking from his jeans, sitting way lower on his hips than you’d like. Scolding yourself over and over for fawning like a horny teenager, you hoped the nervous tremble in your hands as you delicately smoothed the gel over his collarbones wasn’t as obvious as you felt it was. Even through the latex gloves you could feel the heat coming from his pecs, as well as a few minor scars that shouldn’t give you too much trouble. You decided to ignore the very visible and very big bullet scar on his side. As he adjusted his dog tags to hang behind his neck so as to not get in your way, you finally peeled the stencil off, trying to calm your frantic beating heart as he analyzed it in the mirror to make sure it was in the right placement.

It got worse when he actually laid on the tattoo table - comically dwarfed under his enormous frame. Sure, you had tattooed a fair share of chests along the years - both men’s and women’s - and it never really flustered you, after all, it was your job, seeing skin was a very big part of it. However, as you lowered your torso on the bed and tried to adjust your hand to sit as comfortably as possible on his chest, you thanked the gods it was such a big tattoo; you had no idea how you wouldn’t mess it up if it was a tiny one. But you doubted Simon would ever get a tiny tattoo. Above all, you could appreciate how he maintained his breathing slow and steady and, again, didn’t even flinch as the needles touched him, making you like him as a client even more.

“I’ve heard you guys in the army got…codenames?” You started, desperate to start some conversation before your intrusive thoughts won. “What do they call you?”

Slowly, you were getting used to his brief silence before answering you. It seemed like his way to decide if your question was worth answering or not, and you were glad he had found them all to be so far.

“Ghost.”

“Very fitting.”

You were surprised to hear him exhale in a way that resembled a very weak laugh, and you felt giddy knowing you made your ever so quiet and serious client laugh - or something like that. Feeling calmer, you continued the very big piece, strapping in for a long next couple of hours.

They passed quickly, your hand working almost in autopilot as you traced the tattoo’s lineart and made light conversation with Simon - Ghost. You learned he was a Lieutenant, liked bourbon and the mask never came off. Granted, it was mostly you speaking and him answering, but you were glad he was entertaining your nervous ramblings, and you were only slightly embarrassed to admit to yourself you found his southern British accent very soothing on his deep, gruffy voice. In turn, you told him a little more about yourself; why you got into tattooing and even a few funny stories from dealing with past clients.

Finally deciding it was enough strain on his skin for one session, you set your machine down and admired your work, smiling under your mask. Taking a generous amount of the tattooing balm on your fingers, you swallowed your nervousness before gently spreading the substance on his chest so it would heal nicely, not missing the way he relaxed under your touch. If you weren’t so busy panicking by having your hands on such a massive and attractive man, you could ponder on how he seemed to be enjoying that as much as you were. With your approval, he got up to examine the piece on the mirror, and you caught yourself staring into his strong, chiseled, and scarred back, before averting your eyes, choosing to focus instead on cleaning up the inky mess you made on your trolley. You once again went through the now familiar ordeal of him silently thanking you, paying, and leaving into the night.

As Simon Riley left the studio that day, carrying an unfinished piece of your work right on his chest, you realized something clearly had changed in the air between you two. You just had no idea if it was a good or bad thing.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The next time Simon showed up, a month later, you were stressed out of your mind.

You were booked, so you didn’t really have any open spots next to closing time the way he liked it, so he had to settle for coming a bit earlier than usual, which meant there were actually other people in the studio for once, including the one on the front desk yelling in your face.

You couldn’t really remember what he was yelling about, just that you were suddenly regretting your decision of working with people and wondering if it was worth it to stoop down low and insult him back the way he was doing to you. You figured the moment he started yelling about his already finished tattoo that it was most likely another scam attempt coming from him, but it didn’t really matter anymore once you zeroed in on the hulking figure that showed up unexpectedly behind your unpleasant client in the form of your masked savior. For a moment, you were scared things were going to get violent, but Simon didn’t have to do much. It took one glower from him, his gaze sharp enough to cut from way above the smaller man, and he was suddenly stuttering apologies and leaving the studio in a hurry. You ignored the looks the other people in the waiting room were giving the two of you, offering a tired, but extremely grateful smile, to Ghost.

“Hey, Riley.”

He was still staring at where the man had left, and the annoyance on his usually so stoic gaze came as a surprise to you.

“What happened?”

You were already heading into the procedure room, too shaken to deal with the stares of the people in the waiting room any longer, and shot him a sheepish look from over your shoulder.

“Just a rude client being difficult. Not the first time he gave me trouble, either, but it happens.”

Simon didn’t seem too happy with your answer, but he let it slide, for the moment. Heading into the room and closing the door behind you, the air fell into a familiar silence, broken only by the cluttering sounds as you set up your supplies, and, to you, your still frantic heartbeat in your ears by the less than pleasant interaction just a few minutes earlier. It was unlikely, given how observant he was, but you hoped Simon didn’t pick up on just how shaken you were. Still, you took a few moments to calm yourself down as you tested the machine with your feet; Simon had already made himself comfortable on the table, and soon enough you fell into the rhythm of inking him, the same way you had grown used to in those last few months. Focusing on a particularly stubborn piece of skin where the ink didn’t paint as easily, you were lost in thought when his voice pulled you back to reality.

“Are you scared of me?” You heard him ask quietly from above you, instantly knowing he was referring to the way your earlier client had run off on the sight of him. Pausing your ministrations, you looked up from his chest to find him already staring at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Since you were currently working on the details on his collarbone, you haven’t realized how close you actually were to his face, and suddenly you were hit with the realization you could feel his breath through both your masks; and an intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke and cologne. Caught in a trance by his dark gaze, you realized a little too late you were gawking and not really answering his question, which made you feel very glad for the surgical mask covering your suddenly very red face and flustered expression. Looking down to continue your work, you tried to find your words once again.

“Not really. I mean, the mask was off-putting at first, but I've had some odd people as clients. You’re cool, though. You remind me of those big, scary guard dogs, but in a good way.” Cringing at the lame answer, you felt like a kid talking to her crush in middle school all over again, and the huff-slash-chuckle that left Simon only made it worse. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t, and in your flustered stupor you couldn’t find any words either, so you just let the air around you fall into a comfortable silence over again. If it were anyone else, you’d be wary of the constant quietness, but, for some reason, Simon’s presence was enough to make you content, even if no words were exchanged.

Blacking out the parts that had to be inked was a piece of cake for you and your enormous needle - which you were glad was being used on Simon, since, most of your other clients would have been crying from the pain only halfway done with the black - and soon enough you were heading out to the front with him, readying yourself to bid him goodbye and, disappointedly, only see him again in the next month, once his tattoo was healed enough for another session, however, as you approached the waiting room, he made no move to leave. You thought maybe he was, again, inspecting your work displayed on the wall, the prospect of continuing to tattoo him after his chest piece was done getting you giddy already, but he was looking nowhere but in your direction, eyes unreadable behind the skull mask.

“I’ll wait until you close. Who knows if that asshole won’t come back expecting me not to be here anymore.”

Blinking up at him, it took you a few moments to process what he had murmured under his breath, and, in an instant, your heart rate shot up as you tried to wrap your head around the implications. Had it been any other client, you would have laughed it off, telling him not to worry and that you could take care of yourself, but it wasn’t just about anyone. It was him. And for some reason, the fact made you only wordlessly agree with a nod of your head and wide eyes, certain he could now see how clearly flustered and red your face looked. An intrusive part of your brain was screaming at you that he was just being nice, and that the protectiveness was just because of his job and nothing else, but you’d entertain these thoughts later - if ever.

So, much like the second time you’d met him, the rest of your afternoon was spent with seeing Ghost’s massive figure patiently waiting in the way too small loveseat in the front room of the studio, living up to the scary guard dog imagery you had joked about to him, except, this time, in between clients you’d sit besides him to catch a break and make light conversation, the deep rumble of his voice soothing all of your worries in a minute.

As the hours went by, it was way past nightfall when you closed up, everyone else had already left and you were exhausted after washing the studio on your own. True to his word, Simon loomed behind you like a shadow, quiet and intimidating, refusing to leave until he had walked you to your car in safety. You remember thanking him profusely, and him not making a big deal out of it, and the way your heart thrummed in your throat as you drove on autopilot to your house, trying to ignore the way Ghost’s figure walking besides you on the quiet sidewalk a few moments before felt just right.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

It was early August when you woke up in a very good mood that one morning.

Later you’d realize it was because it was the day of Simon’s appointment, but at the time you had chalked it up to just being a sunny day that brightened your spirits.

Business as usual, you went along your day, anxiously waiting for the place to empty out and you’d get your newly discovered favorite customer, not that you’d admit it outloud to him, or even to yourself. It was actually a slower day, with a big break between clients, which you were glad about, so between coffee and water breaks and chit chatting with your coworkers, soon enough the sun went down and the enormous figure of Ghost could be seen crossing the threshold of the studio’s glass door, responding your enthusiastic wave with a nod of his head, eyes relaxed behind the mask. As usual, he followed you inside the procedure room, and you remembered something.

“Lemme see how your sleeve is healing.” Extending your hand, you smiled cheekily at him, giddy after seeing his half-hearted eye roll, and he gave his left forearm for you to inspect. With his busy way of life, you’d have expected to be worse, but it was actually very well taken care of. “Wow, this has healed up perfectly, good job, Simon!”

You beamed up at him, but your smile faltered once you saw his eyes widening at the praise. Oops. He grumbled something in response and you decided to save him the embarrassment, releasing his arm with a chuckle.

No matter how many times he did it, every single time Ghost took his shirt off it made your brain short circuit, but you remained professional and fell into the familiar routine of tattooing him in comfortable silence, only this time it was broken not only by you talking first, but also him. It surprised you to hear him ask you questions first or tell you some non-compromising stories about his job, - making you chuckle a few times hearing about the shenanigans of this “Soap” friend of his - but you weren’t about to complain. You were lost in the familiarity of it all when you realized that you were actually almost done with the shading - meaning his chest piece would end one session earlier than expected. Trying to mask your disappointment, you wrapped it up, forcing a smile to a suddenly very confused Ghost.

“I thought we were going to need another session but, uh, turns out it was…faster than i expected!” You gave him a slight, nervous chuckle, and you swore you saw his eyes widen behind the mask.

As usual, you wrapped the ink in the plastic film - finding it very hard to make the masking tape stick to his large pecs - and gave the same instructions in a robotic way, following him to the front desk where he finished paying for his piece, all in absolute silence and with unreadable eyes. As the transaction was finished, he lingered, standing silently in front of you, looming. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“So, yeah, i guess that’s it…” You gave another chuckle, offering him a gentle smile. “Hey, don’t be a stranger-”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?” He blurted out, shutting you right up, and that stopped you dead in your tracks. You stared up at him, unsure if you had heard him correctly, and were waiting for him to say something else or even backtrack, but that never came.

“Uh. Yes? I mean, yes, sure! I’d love to!” You stammered, certain you were wide-eyed and a flustered mess, not expecting him to be so straightforward, or, even say anything at all. Simon seemed a lot more composed than you, even if the way he blurted his question out made it seem like he could be slightly nervous. You doubted he ever got nervous, though.

“Great. Does this weekend work for you?”

Thinking back on your schedule, you remembered that no, it didn’t.

“I’m booked with work…But, the next one I should be free.” You hated how awkward you sounded.

He nodded, and took his phone out of his pocket to extend it for you, and you assumed he was asking for your number in the Ghost-est fashion possible. You unlocked it, noticing the lack of a password and the factory wallpaper, realizing it was probably a personal and barely used phone, punching your number in and saving the contact. As you returned the device to Simon, you found solace in realizing he probably felt as awkward as you did.

“I’ll see you in a fortnight, then.”

With a last nod of his head, he left, leaving you flustered, confused, but extremely giddy, and with a heart pounding against your ribcage.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Simon came back a week before he was supposed to.

As usual, you were closing up shop when he showed up, distractedly walking around the front room of the studio as you organized everything for the night, the sound of the heavy rain outside covering up the creaking of the glass door, so when you turned around, his presence startled you.

“Hi Simon! You’re early.” You chuckled once you recovered from your scare, but he didn’t match your energy. He was just standing there, stiff as a plank, and staring silently at you. Growing increasingly worried, you were about to ask if he was alright when he beat you to it.

“I’m leaving for a mission. And i’ll be gone for…some time.”

Your heart dropped, and you could only stare at his mask trying to process his words and find words, but ultimately settling on a quiet and disappointed oh. He finally approached you, and in less than a second he was standing towering over your figure, holding you in that familiar eye contact you’d grown to look forward to so much, even if you'd realized by his gaze that he seemed just as upset as you.

“Will you…be in danger?” It was a dumb question, but you couldn’t help yourself, everything you told yourself the days about moving slowly and waiting for your first date to decide how much you cared flying out the window as you openly worried for him for the first time. Ghost sighed, and suddenly you were hyper aware of how close you stood.

“I always am.”

Not breaking away from his intoxicating gaze, your words lowered to a whisper, a plea.

“Be careful. Please.”

The air stilled around you, thicker in tension that got worse with each passing millisecond, all of those feeling like hours. Simon’s height had never seemed so intimidating, and you never chastised yourself so much before for liking how his intense aura made you feel, something that increased tenfold once he boldly got even closer to you. Opening and closing your mouth like a fish, hoping something would come out eventually, you stilled upon feeling his gloved hands gingerly touching your face - dwarfing you in them - and you swore your heart was about to leap from your chest to your throat in a matter of seconds. His steely gaze flickered downwards briefly before returning to your eyes, asking for permission for something you didn’t even know quite right what it was, but that you’d give him regardless. The rough texture of his gloved left hand reached your now slightly parted lips as he traced the bottom of them with his thumb, moving his other hand to slowly lift up his balaclava just enough to expose his - unsurprisingly - sharp, stubbled jaw and full, lightly scarred lips. You barely had time to admire what you could see of him before his face was merely inches apart from yours, your breaths mingling together from both of your parted lips.

“You don’t even know what I look like.” He mumbled against you. A silent beg for you to stop him now, but you wouldn’t even dream of it.

“I don’t care.” You breathed back, voice barely above a whisper, and that seemed to break his resolve, as in the next moment he was leaning in and finally capturing your lips with his.

Kissing Simon Riley in real life was so much better than what you imagined. His height made it that he had to lean down an awkward amount to reach you and you actually had to stand a bit on your toes, but none of that mattered as you finally felt his lips move against yours, surprisingly slow and gentle for a man that looked like that, but you supposed he was always full of surprises. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, gripping with a little more force when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, encouraging him to kiss you harder - it would be a waste not to feel just how strong those huge arms of his could get wrapping around you. Groaning into your mouth, his touch soon became ravenous as he tasted you like a starved man, both of you now knowing it might as well be the last time you’d see each other, but you didn’t want to dwell too much on it, choosing instead to focus on the way he gripped the back of your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as if you weighed nothing, getting even impossibly closer to your smaller frame, never breaking the kiss. You felt like you could stay wrapped up in his arms for hours, but at some point you had to part your lips, keeping your foreheads touching and looking at each other without saying another word.

He waited until you closed up and walked you to your car again; except, this time, as you watched his retreating figure from the rearview mirror, your chest felt constricted, the unsureness of if he’d ever come back alive clenching your throat in fear.

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

The late june spring air smelled good, and you were in high spirits.

You hummed contently, cleaning with a paper towel wet with soapy water the last smudges on the inked skin, leaning back to admire your work. The black crow on his upper back turned out particularly good, and you found it amusing how its edgy nature went along well with the other tattoos already on his body. Spreading the hydrating vaseline to wrap the piece up took a little more than you’d take with other clients, since you were busy admiring and feeling up the strong, scarred back beneath your fingertips.

“All done!”

The man got up, admiring the crow in an awkward angle in front of the full body mirror, and you couldn’t help but keep staring at the muscular back and pecs that you could see from your position in your chair.

“Quit the ogling.”

His voice sounded gruffy, but slightly amused, which made you chuckle and get up, stopping by his side to lean against his huge arms and stare back at him through the mirror.

“Quit being hot, then.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but you knew he was smiling under the mask and possibly had the slightest red dusting his cheeks - since he was so pale, you’d always notice it when he had his mask off, and in turn, he’d always notice how you’d stare at his face with a smug smile. He looked over the tattoo once more before you wrapped it up, past the stage of giving him the instructions, all of them already second nature to him, considering it had been so many years he started getting tattooed by you.

“You know” You started as he followed you to the front door of the mostly empty studio, the only other sound being the tattoo machine of a single other coworker that was staying late in their own procedure room. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know I still got another client and it should take one or two hours more.”

Ghost huffed, turning to you with his hands on his jacket pockets, the height difference between you never failing to take all the air out of your lungs.

“Nonsense. He’s not supposed to be here for another half an hour, right? I’ll go grab us some dinner from that place you like and I’ll be right back. I’ll help you close up then we can go home.”

You shook your head with a giggle, watching as he came closer to you, and were about to protest more but he gave you a look that left no chance for you to be stubborn, shutting you right up. Taking one hand out of his pocket, Simon lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jaw - which you had already admired that morning while he was shaving - and his lips, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling him murmur just so you could hear it.

“See you in a minute, love.”

With that, he left, leaving you to watch fondly his retreating form from the glass door, as you chuckled dreamily one last time and went back to your procedure room.

#capy.writes #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader

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mr-ribbit · 3 months

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gonna rant again bc im seeing a lot of trans women on my dash having to carry the heavy lifting to argue for their basic respect and a lot of other queer people who want to ??? get mad about that apparently. for the record as usual: im tme, im not speaking for anyone besides myself and my perspectives, but I am trying to reach out to fellow tme people to level with y'all from inside the house.

i thought we all got past the 'calling people gendered terms when theyve asked you to stop' thing in like. 2012. i swear we were allllll on board with not calling women dude anymore, nerfing sir and ma'am, neutralizing collective terms for groups, and all of that was like, during the onceler era. that's how we got off-putting shit like folx into the mix - remember???? why are we here again.

to those who I've seen claiming that they REALLY genuinely don't want to offend anyone, and that theyre trying to understand the dude thing, and they don't want to be seen as transmisogynistic when they aren't: ok. let's talk about it. step one, stop sending that really loaded anon to a trans woman you don't know, and close that in-group hatepost with 100 replies from people name-dropping trans bloggers they don't like. try to open your mind and assume for the duration of this post that I am not cynically trying manipulate thousands of tumblr users into making Bro the next big swear word, but a fellow queer human being who thinks you're all being pretty intentionally obtuse about an upsetting trend in our community

to be clear: this post is about the issue of trans women being called bro, dude, man, etc., particularly in recent tumblr discourse about transmisogyny, and the backlash they face if they get upset about it. this is also maybe moreso about the shitty ass excuses I see tme people make for why they supposedly can't stop doing this.

so let's go through some of the things I've been seeing people say they don't understand, supposedly in earnest, about this issue

"I DIDNT USE DUDE AS A MASCULINE TERM. I CALL EVERYONE BRO. MAN IS A GENDER NEUTRAL TERM"

I'm not actually going to exhaust my list of reasons why dude/bro/man are not strictly neutral, but you should be pretty aware that all words have context. Dude might be seen as neutral in many contexts, sure, but 'woman who is frequently called a man by others' is a situation where the context adds extra meaning to your words, just like calling someone "sweetie" might be neutral in some cases, but if you've got the context of knowing that's your coworker who's half your age, it's a bit less neutral. If you're not capable of reading that context and being tasteful about when you say dude, then you need to at least be ready to respond gracefully when someone asks you to stop. This is the part I'd rather focus on.

"BUT I DIDNT MEAN IT THAT WAY. IM NOT TRANSPHOBIC"

I think you should consider broadening your perspective *beyond* your intention behind the word. people may already understand that you meant the word neutrally and therefore didn't have transmisogynistic intent, but that's not really the entire scope of what people are saying. if that's your only concern, you're just trying to clear your record, not actually listen to what they're saying.

there are lots of words people don't enjoy being called, and in most cases, when they say 'pls don't call me that', people respect that and move on. even if the word isn't a slur, if it hurts someone's feelings, we all as a society have agreed that it's pretty shitty to keep calling them that. if your friend asked you not to call them 'buddy' anymore because their dead grandparent called them that, or something equivalently personal, you'd probably respect that instead of telling them 'but I call everyone buddy!!' right? even if you didn't really understand why it bothered them so much?

there is a prominent tendency for trans women to be denied this privilege, and when they ask not to be called dude or bro, people don't seem to respect this request as much as they would in other situations. when I accidentally use a gendered word and someone tells me they don't like it, I try to respond with something like "my bad, I didn't mean it as misgendering but I can see you were still bothered by it, so I'll try not to keep saying it. sorry!" and most people are willing to accept that. when trans women ask people this favor, a lot of people get VERY defensive, and treat the request as inane or unfair, instead of just apologizing and moving on. this is why people are upset when this happens, and it's why people are calling your actions transmisogynistic

also like you might not be doing this, but a lot of people DO use dude and bro in an intentionally gendered way to make trans women uncomfortable. it's a power play bigots use to talk down to them or otherwise maliciously harass them. do you know what arguments they use to defend that behavior when called out on it? 'oh I call everyone that' 'dude is gender neutral calm down' 'dont overreact its just a word'. by acting like this, youre all just giving credence to those same arguments.

"WELL THEY SHOULDNT GET SO MAD AT ME WHEN I DIDNT MEAN ANY HARM"

they can get as mad as they want!! also, are you sure they're 'mad'? or are they just expressing their feelings about a negative topic to you, and it makes you feel bad, so you have to make them out to be unreasonably emotional? how do you think they should have phrased 'dont call me that' to better spare *your* feelings?

also like, in most cases, these women do not knowww you. if your main response to someone saying you disrespected them is to say "I didnt mean it that way, I meant it in a friendly neutral way", well that's NOT YOUR FRIEND! she has no idea what your opinions are or what you think of her!!! she has no reason to assume you only upset her in a friendly way and not a bad unfriendly way! but she did get upset, and she did the one thing she can do which is *tell you what upset her* and your response is to say "well actually you shouldn't be upset at all"??????

and another thing:

it's not just the issue of using the word 'dude', it's because you're coming off extremely dismissive of women who have asked you to stop doing something that harms them, and because your argument is basically that they just shouldn't be so bothered by it. or that they're stupid, irrational, or otherwise crazy for telling you that it bothered them at all, just because you Technically used a gender neutral word according to Your Rules. be honest, does that seem fair? If people were calling you something that bothered you enough to ask them to stop, and they responded like this, how would it make you feel?

focusing solely on your intent and what the words mean when you use them is the same thing as saying "just get over it". no woman should need to Prove to you that 'dude' is gendered for you to care about what she's saying. the fact that you're asking people to do that sucks and makes you look bad, which is why people are arguing with you and calling you a misogynist.

especially those of you who are only doing this with trans women who are actively arguing with. you're wielding misgendering as a cudgel and we can all see it, grow up please.

#discourse cw #transmisogyny cw

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angllicjk · 4 months

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𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Software Engineer! Jeon Jungkook X Famous Model! F Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.1K

𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: No one thought Jungkook would show up to the company’s annual Christmas party with the fiancé they were sure he was lying about until he showed up with you wrapped around his arm. No one would believe the fact that he tied you down. The stunning well known model whose face is plastered all over billboards and ads around the city and across the world. After all, what are best friends for?. You’ve always had his back and imagining you were his for the night didn’t sound so bad, but him rethinking your friendship this night in particular had you in shambles.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: angst, fluff, abandonment issues, attachment issues, insecure jk, shitty coworkers, emotional constipation, hurt, comfort & making out.

To think he’s actually having a good time for once at the company’s annual Christmas party is beyond him. This year it was held in an extravagant hall in the heart of the city with a sparkly chandelier glinting overhead and decorated in so much holiday cheer it filled him with momentary excitement as well. Jungkook isn’t really one for celebrating holidays that often and if he could have skipped out this evening he would have done so in a heartbeat if it wasn’t mandatory. Although, having you here makes it all the more worth it and the reason why he wears the bright smile on his face. No one’s ever seen Jungkook smile that huge or stand out so lively before than his usual quiet self during work, staring at him like he had grown a second head. You’ll always be the reason why he smiles or the exciting sensation coursing through his veins whenever you're close as if he’s on cloud nine.

The looks on all of his coworkers' faces were priceless. They weren’t so subtle with it either. Of course no one believed him. No one would understand why someone like you was with someone such as himself. Two completely different people with completely different lifestyles and statuses. Even now, when he’s talking with his lead and cubicle neighbor, watching you dance in the center of the venue with the girls in his department. Upon first arriving through the double doors most of them rushed over asking for pictures and autographs from you. In awe at the sight of your beautiful self in person and not just in a magazine or on tv and billboards.

“There’s no way that’s all yours.” Matt can’t seem to take his eyes off of you and as much as it annoys Jungkook, he can’t blame him. You’re gorgeous, even more so when you’re just yourself and having a good time. He can’t help the way his eyes are glued to you as well. A smile spreading across his lips watching you have fun.

“I’m gonna be honest Jeon. I thought you were lying about the whole thing.” Stanley (his cubicle neighbor) perks up beside him, tearing his gaze from you to Jungkook.

“How did you two even meet?.” Matt suddenly asks in deep curiosity with a pinched brow. Looking as if he were solving the most complicated math equation from the top of his head.

For a moment, Jungkook is thrown off, but he shouldn’t have been so surprised that anyone would ask him that million dollar question. He still remembers the day so clearly and it always has him smiling in thought when he thinks back to it, chuckling to himself as he reminisces to that particular time in his life where everything changed so drastically.

Jungkook takes a swig of his sparkling champagne, needing the liquor courage before he begins the story of how you two met.

“Oh, uh, well, it was pretty complicated. I was on my way to campus and at a stoplight when I saw her, the only one still walking out onto the street.” He pauses briefly before he continues. Matt and Stanley listen intently to every word he speaks.

“She was talking on the phone so she wasn’t aware of the semi coming straight ahead. I didn’t want to be traumatized so I ran and tackled her out of the way onto the sidewalk.” Jungkook further explains, moving his hands about as he does so animatedly.

“Wow…you saved her life.” Matt’s eyes enlarge with surprise written all over his face. He couldn’t believe it. It sounded like something straight out of a classic rom-com or k-drama.

“Although she did get mad at me first for getting her expensive outfit dirty.” Jungkook chuckles with a shake of his head.

He remembers the pretty and stylish pink Channel plaid combo you wore. Of course, that’s all you were worried about at the moment. There were harsh dirt lines imprinted on the bottom of your skirt. It even made him wince at the sight of the ruined fabric.

“Oh my gosh!. It’s going to take me forever to get this stupid dirty stain out!. How could you!?.”

It confused the hell out of Jungkook and he was in disbelief at the words that fell out of your mouth, looking at you like you were out of your goddamn mind. Shouldn’t you be thankful for the fact that you’re still alive?.

“Are you serious?. I just saved your life!. You could be dead right now, like splattered on the ground, you know that!.”

“Wow, no wonder.” Matt says with a chuckle in amusement, bringing Jungkook back from his deep thoughts.

“She probably thinks she owes you, so she stuck with you after that incident.”

What Matt said had Jungkook frozen solid in place, his smile slipping from his lips. That single thought never once crossed his mind. Even a few days later after that incident when you stumbled upon him again and properly apologized. You bought him coffee and sat down with him at a cafe after his class.

Jungkook knew Matt was most likely trying to find something to make it make sense in his own envious head, however, his words ended up sticking to him.

He always was an over-thinker and Jungkook starts to wonder, falling miserably into the rabbit hole of doubt and questioning with a heavy heart.

The soft and sensual melody of a slow song starts, lights dimming and you turn in your heel finding Jungkook sitting at the reserved table in the corner alone seemingly in deep thought.

When you come near he only offers a small smile, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and it only makes you wonder if something was wrong. But it’s his night and you don’t want to press the matter if it’s nothing to worry about. Instead, you want to ease those worries and dance with him like you’ve longed to all night.

“Dance with me?.” Your hand gently encases his bigger one, slightly tugging.

“You owe me, just this once.” You softly utter with a tiny giggle. A precious smile on your red lips.

He hesitates a moment, looking up at you and for a second you think he might not be up to it but Jungkook slowly gets up from his seat and lets you lead him to the dance floor where everyone else is coupled up.

Taking your palm as his hand holds your waist gently, you rest your arm over his shoulder and your eyes meet his. They glimmer prettily with something he’s never seen from you before. It makes his insides feel mushy and heart skip two beats.

You’re breathtakingly beautiful in your sparkly white designer dress and you’re in his arms where he always wants you to be.

Do you even want to be in his arms?.

Do you really want to be here with him?.

Those doubts come full force and it stings his chest, caving in with a weighted feeling.

You’re only here to be his fake fiancée just because his coworkers constantly teased him being late twenties and still alone, thinking he couldn’t pull someone. He only wanted to prove them wrong, even though it isn’t true and they weren’t far off about him having trouble in the love department. It’s pathetic really. Maybe you actually pitied him. Maybe you think he’s a loser too just like everyone in the office thinks so.

Jungkook’s not even sure if he were to properly ask you out, if you would agree. Would you?. He’s seen the handsome men you’ve modeled with in ads and photo shoots. He’s not as cool as they are and he surely doesn’t have the status to compete with them or keep up with you.

Compared to you and the kind of life you lead, he’s plain and boring. His life isn’t so interesting and it wasn’t even before you showed up. You’re the interesting one. The fun and outgoing one. The life of the party living a luxurious and fascinating life because of the stunning looks you were born with.

But they don’t know the real you he gets to see on a daily basis. When you hang out and spend the nights with him. You beside him on his couch in just a plain hoodie or t-shirt and comfortable bottoms, hair thrown in a messy bun or just down, letting your pretty locks flow. When you laugh real hard about something you show him that you thought was funny. He especially likes when you two just talk about anything and nothing at all. The intimacy and the comforting silence when no words need to be said as you sit or lay beside one another. It’s the simple things, the little things about you and with you that he loves. Jungkook loves you endlessly. Everything, all parts, the good and the bad.

As much as he loves you and thinks that he could be the one for you, Jungkook isn’t so sure that you’d give him a chance. You’re just friends, but sometimes he wonders why you are friends with him in the first place when you’re living in the fast lane and he’s not.

Maybe this was a bad idea. This sudden rude awakening is starting to eat him alive and he isn’t so sure how much longer he can endure it for.

You’ve never felt so content swaying in his arms and watching the man that makes you feel like the happiest gal in the world. More than walking into your closet mall does, more than your beloved diamond earrings you wear every single day because of how beautifully they sparkle and much more than when you’re strutting down the runway. You love it, of course you do, but you think you love Jeon Jungkook more.

He looks absolutely handsome tonight. His hair is slicked back; it surprised you when you watched him style it in his bathroom, because he hates gel with a passion. Cute doe-eyes glittering like a perfect midnight sky with pink kissable lips and he smells amazing. You like how he uses the cologne you bought him for his birthday months ago. He’s always so pretty to you and you used to wonder why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet when you met him with how undeniably sweet, smart and such a gentleman he is. In your eyes he’s husband material. A literal dream. A part of you always thought he was just waiting for the right person.

His sweet pecks on your cheeks and lips, holding you close by the waist snugly, calling you his all night so lovingly. You crave for more of it and you only yearn for it to be real.

You really didn’t care if news got out later that you are now supposedly engaged due to showing up here to be his fake fiancé. At least other suitors will back off now that you are ‘taken’. You’re only interested in Jungkook. He’s the only one you’ll ever want.

Jungkook tears his gaze away, looking elsewhere beside you. You notice the small frown on his face and it looks as if he’s struggling with something internally, jaw tensing. It leaves you slightly confused and your worries from a bit ago come back when you try to catch his eyes, brows furrowed.

“Is something wrong?.” You ask carefully and when you do he meets your gaze once again. Only this time his eyes are filled with something that causes a crack in your heart. You don’t like the doubt you see in them. The hurt he’s trying to hide.

What’s going on?.

“Why are you still friends with me?.” Jungkook suddenly asks, voice slightly wavering towards the end.

“What?.” It leaves you breathlessly and now you’re more confused as to why he’s suddenly asking that.

What sprung this on?.

“Why didn’t you just move on with your life after I saved you?. You didn’t have to come up to me again and talk to me.” He manages through the thick lump he swallows after, face contorted with desolation.

“What are you talking about?. Why are you asking me this now?.” You whisper, sliding your hand from around his shoulder to cradle the side of his face gently.

His larger one cups yours and removes your touch, placing your hand back down as he speaks deliberately with hostility, eyes scrutinizing your being.

“Did you pity me?. You don’t have to owe me anything, you know that. I’m not one of your charity cases.”

His words fill you with great betrayal and a quickening rage of your own that you momentarily try so hard to simmer down at a time and place like this. You’re at a loss for words. The sudden shift in atmosphere tensing between the two of you is like a thick blanket. His sudden shift in mood leaves a foul taste in your mouth and you really don’t want to get upset in front of everyone.

There’s already a few looks the both of you have drawn from the harsh whispers.

In an instant, you take his hand and lead him with you out of the venue into the empty hall, the clacking of your Dior heels tapping roughly against the marble pavement.

“Trouble in paradise.” Jungkook faintly hears Matt chuckle with two co-workers on the way out. It only fuels his irritation.

You pause and let go of his hand, facing him with a fire in your eyes he’s never witnessed before. You’re absolutely livid and for a moment he falters underneath your firm gaze.

“Are you fucking serious right now?. Why would you possibly think that?.” Your voice raises, filling the silence that lingers around you in the empty hall.

“Because no one ever fucking stays!. No one ever does, Y/N.” Jungkook raises his voice as well, almost a shout. Frustration laced in his deep tone of voice.

He pauses and swallows thickly, sighing as he throws his head down. A hand comes over his face in agitation before he meets your glossy eyes once again.

“They only take what they want before cutting ties. They always leave and never come back. Most of the time I don’t even know it or pick up on the signs. It just happens. Sometimes I think…I think that you migh-” His words get choked up towards the end and you don’t let him finish.

You don’t want to hear him say it.

“I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” You state with a sternness, taking a step forward and grabbing his hand to take gently into yours for comfort.

“I don’t want that but I just feel like I’m holding you back sometimes.” Jungkook sighs exasperatedly, hand tightening over yours. With eyes stinging red of tears that he’s trying so hard to hold back and it’s a pain to witness. It hurts your insides to hear what he’s probably been feeling for a while now.

The anger you felt prior is tamed with the need to comfort him. It’s what he needs right now the most.

“But you’re not.” You press immediately with a shake of your head.

He’s quiet for a moment, more calm than he was before and then he asks,

“Why didn’t you take that offer in Milan?. You could’ve had more opportunities. You would’ve been thriving but you're stuck here with me.”

“I told you why.” You say in a soft whisper.

He’s caught you off guard with the sudden question and you shrink a little, mindlessly fidgeting with his fingers in your palm below you.

Milan would’ve been great. You knew it but you couldn’t do it. You told him you declined the offer because you felt comfortable at the moment here in New York and it felt too fast to settle in a whole new place when you’ve gotten used to this city already within this past year. Most importantly with the amazing offers you’ve got here.

“I didn’t believe it. I still don’t.” Jungkook shakes his head, eyes never leaving you.

“Was it because you felt bad to leave me here all alone?. Or the fact that nothing was ever gonna change for me?. You could’ve left and just forgotten all about me.”

As soon as the words leave his lips your head snaps up to look at him and your brows pinch deeply in pure anguish once again.

“Is that what you fucking wanted to happen?. For me to just leave and never come back?. It just sounds to me like you really don’t want me in your life.” You say and Jungkook winces, immediately shaking his head at what you’re insinuating.

“That’s not-“

“Do you really think that I feel that way?. Gosh, you’re so- so fucking- ughhh!. Do you really think that you're so undeserving of anything and that unlikeable?.” You’re seething, eyes blown wide in disbelief but mostly outrage. Your hands raise only to drop back down with a huff, shaking as if you really want to either pull your own hair or choke him out.

“You know why-“ Jungkook tries but you’re not quite done with your passionate spiel.

“I know, but you’ve always assumed the worst in others and you never tried again. I know you’re co-workers are assholes, fuck them. But there’s so many other people who would like you. Not all of them are so terrible, I mean, you met me, you have me.”

Jungkook wants to believe that, but he isn’t so sure. He was always alone and growing up he didn’t have any friends around. Middle school was hell and when high school came he’d gotten used to the loneliness. People weren’t always so kind, so welcoming and he hadn’t expected anyone to be when it seemed he’d only be hurt by the people he lets in. It didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt.

His mother was all Jungkook had, but most of the time she’d just leave him be. Always so busy on her own, even when he’d need her the most. As a little boy it seemed they used to be much closer before his deadbeat of a father skipped out on them. Before his family ultimately broke apart. He doesn’t have many memories of the man and he doesn’t want them anyways. That mark of betrayal is deeply rooted and it’s a scar that will never heal.

Jungkook thought things would finally change meeting his first girlfriend towards the end of high school. Unfortunately, it only seemed to get worse. All she ever did was use him, humiliate him, make him so dependent on her that in those times when Jungkook really needed her, she wasn’t there for him at all. It only broke him. Left a complete mess out of him in heaps it was difficult to deal with. Another rough patch that hurt covering up new wounds and moving on from.

College was boring and with her out of his life, Jungkook was lonely once again and closed off like he was before. She made the pain worse and he didn’t know how to move on from it at first. Focusing on his studies and working hard at his internship in an office downtown was all Jungkook ever did. It paid off well and he has a good job doing something he’s passionate in. Yet, Jungkook was still terribly miserable alone. Something he’s always hated but had to live with. The lonely and gloomy world he was living in, he desperately tried to survive it day by day. Busying himself with school and work so he didn’t have to be alone with his thoughts all of the time. It’s much worse at night when trying to get some sleep, he’d never been so restless before.

A bright beam of light is what you were coming into his life. His only hope shining through the dark clouds and lighting his whole world up. Breathing life into his lungs he nearly forgot what it was like. It scared him at first and he didn’t want to let you in, but Jungkook was a sucker for a gorgeous face and how sweet you actually were when getting to know the real you. You’re all he has now and because of his upbringing and deep scars of the past, Jungkook’s absolutely terrified that you’ll someday leave him too, but being the one to potentially drive you away hurts more than anything he’s ever felt.

There’s a sniffle and you're wiping the tears flowing down your pink cheeks. This hurts. To see you cry. To be the cause of that deep frown on your pretty face and those tears in your eyes.

“You just need to try, Jungkook. You’re a great guy, an amazing person. You’re so fucking smart, I’m always amazed when you talk your tech stuff. I love it. You’re so sweet, such a gentleman, they don’t make em’ like you anymore, it’s such a shame.”

His teeth nibble into his bottom lip so hard, trying not to break at your heartfelt words. The genuinity and sweetness seeping through the seams. He can feel it. He knows it. He’s not as strong as he is because tears eventually slip out from the corners of his eyes.

You pause with a deep sigh before speaking up once more, taking one step close to his side once again, but you don’t take his hand, you don’t come any closer. It feels as if you’ve put some invisible boundary and he so badly wants to reach out to you, to take your hands into his, but he knows he doesn’t deserve to.

“To answer your stupid ass questions from earlier, I stayed after that day because I liked what I saw and what I got to know the more I stuck around.” There’s a sternness to you, as if you’re chiding some kid who doesn’t know any better and the heated gaze you're giving him, he can’t handle it. Unable to look you in the eyes anymore because he recognizes the disappointment and sadness in them.

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever see that look from you and he hates himself for putting it there.

“I wanted you in my life. I felt like I needed you in it because life would be better and it is because I’m not as happy when I’m not around you, you know. You make me feel that way.” Momentarily, your deep gaze softens and the corners of your lips tug up into a smile. He feels like falling to his knees at the sight because he misses it. Feels as if it’s been forever since he’s last seen it.

“You make me feel that way too. You’re the only one.” Jungkook says in an abrupt manner and he wants to say more but he can’t. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make this all better. He fucked up and he hates himself for ever doubting you when all you’ve ever been is kind unlike anyone else in his life.

“Well, right now you make me feel like I’m such a shitty person for simply being friends with you. For wanting to be around you. I’m not like those other people. The fact that you’d think I don’t actually care about you hurts and it makes me feel like you don’t even trust me at all.”

It’s like a punch to the gut and it’s getting harder to breathe. You’re slipping right through his fingers and he knows it. Jungkook never meant to make you feel this way. In the heat of the moment, he let himself take it out on you, all his personal doubts, worries and insecurities.

“I do!.” He nearly shouts, reaching out to you but you push his touch away before he could grasp you with a step back.

“You really don’t if you assumed the worst in me, like you do with everyone else.” You fire back in a huff and glossy eyes.

“I-I didn’t mea-“ Jungkook shakes his head rapidly, and when you attempt to walk away from him, he grasps your wrist tightly.

He can’t stand to let you leave. Not now when he wants you, desperately needs you. You’re like his lifeline and he’s trying so hard to hold onto it.

“Wait!. Please don’t go.” He pleads, desperately so and gently tugging you back towards him.

“I’m- fuck! I’m so sorry. I just- you’re the only good thing I have. You’re all I want and I don’t want to lose you.” His arms wrap around you, holding you close against him as if this is the last time you’ll ever see each other and you melt in his strong hold, caressing the back of his head gently. It breaks you and more tears slip out of your eyes. You’ll always be weak for Jungkook. You could never truly part from him. Never deny the man anything he wants or so desires, even if it’ll cost you. In this case, your heart. Jungkook is already the keeper of such, so what’s more to lose anyways.

“You won’t.” You softly murmur into his ear.

“Then please don’t leave.” He squeezes you a bit tighter, not wanting to let you go just yet. All he wants is to bask in your comforting touch and sweet scent that always calms him.

“I just needed some fresh air to calm down, Jungkook.” You murmured softly and when he pulls apart from you, you see his red shimmering eyes in despair. It doesn’t do good to your already frail heart. Seeing him hurt and so defeated isn’t something you ever want to see again. He doesn’t deserve the heartache and pain he’s had to deal with for so long.

Jungkook clears his throat, licking his lips before attempting to speak up.

“I’m sorry I was being a fucking idiot and targeting you like that. It was just-… someone said something and I clearly didn’t take it well. I’m so sorry for doubting you and our friendship. It was so stupid.”

You already forgave him and you knew deep down he didn’t actually mean it. It only stemmed from his worries and insecurities. It only saddened you because he doesn’t deserve to feel that way and you hate how people of his past have shaped him into thinking that he isn’t good enough. It’s not his fault.

“Everything’s okay. It did hurt that you were thinking that way, but I do understand you. I’m always gonna be here Jungkook and I'm not going anywhere either, even if you try to convince me otherwise.” You cup his face gently, passion burning in your eyes when you look at him to make him understand how deeply rooted your words and feelings are for him.

“You always put up with me and my stupid, miserable and insecure shit. Don’t you ever get tired of me?.” He then says, shaking his head as he looks down at the marble flooring below him.

“It’s not stupid. I’ll never get tired of you Jungkook.”

You could never get tired of seeing his handsome face nor simply being around his comforting presence. He’s all you want and need and there’s nothing else in the world you could possibly want more. You love everything about him. The good and the bad.

“Also I’m sure your co-workers only give you a hard time because they're secretly jealous of you. You’re an amazing person and you have great potential underneath your boring old English teacher aesthetic, no offense. Because babe, it’d be you on every billboard in the city and not just me.” You say with a proud smile on your lips and he could only chuckle, shaking his head at your words.

“Look, you don’t need people like that in your life anyways. They suck and they don’t deserve to know Jeon Jungkook. The smart, sweet and undeniably handsome guy that I have the pleasure of knowing.” You take his chin between your fingers and place a sweet kiss upon his cheek. It stirs butterflies in his stomach and sends his heart racing. He knows you only give him cheek kisses in a platonic manner, but it always gets him and makes him fall more for you each time. It’s sweet and he absolutely loves you.

“I wish I knew you throughout my early days. Middle school, high school and even college. It was just so fucking hard until I met you.” Jungkook admits, gazing down at you so lovingly. His hand finds yours and squeezes it gently before bringing it up to his lips where he stamps his own sweet kiss to the back of your hand. It steals your breath and you melt at the heart fluttering gesture.

“What made you think that way?.” You ask out of curiosity. He’d never said anything like that before or shared those feelings with you. So for him to suddenly question you and your friendship with him was startling to say the least, because you only ever had good intentions with Jungkook. Since that first day you met and this is something you don’t ever want to mess up. He’ll always be important to you.

He seems hesitant at first, eyes drifting from yours but he complies soon after.

“I told them how we met and one of them said that was probably why you stayed with me, because you felt like you owed me your life.” A dry chuckle tumbles past his lips and he shakes his head at the silly thought.

What total assholes.

“I swear. I will punch the fuck out of everyone in that office.” You omit with a huff, anger filling you all over once again.

Jungkook laughs, squeezing your palm in his tightly so you don’t stray too far in your frustration.

“I’m serious. I would for you.” You jab a finger in his chest lightly, a steely look in your eyes as you peer up at him.

Chuckling, he pulls you along with him to the bench just a few feet away. He knows your feet probably hurt in your heels to be standing this long.

He lifts a hand to smooth the side of your hair, fingers trailing to cradle your face in admiration. It causes a heap of butterflies fluttering in your stomach and the gentleness of his touch warms you up inside and out. It’s so good. So sweet. You like how he always seems to handle you with such care. Like a delicate flower or a fine and expensive glass that’ll break at first touch.

You watch him thinking as he gazes back at you and you wonder just what it is but he doesn’t seem to mind sharing it with you once he speaks up.

“Why are you so good to me?. You’re so perfect, you know that?. So gorgeous and a literal sweetheart. You weren’t mean to me ever, not like those other girls before who thought they could boss me around.”

The last part in particular has a brow rising in deep wonder.

“Did you get bossed around by other girls?.” You ask.

A sheepish smile lines his lips and he averts his gaze elsewhere, seemingly embarrassed by the thought.

“Sort of.”

Of course that will not fly by you as you ask further in slight irritation at the thought of other girls thinking they could take advantage of this sweet man sitting so prettily beside you.

“Who were they?. What are their names?.”

It only causes him to laugh and you like hearing it. It’s contagious and bubbly, you only want to keep him smiling and laughing.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Y/N.” Jungkook’s eyes shine in pure bliss and he looks utterly content in the moment. As if he’s got everything he absolutely needs and nothing else matters.

For you, it’s the same feeling. Eyes matching his and you could only hope that he sees it in yours too. That deep down he actually knows just how deep it really runs for you. How much you care and love him.

“Well, where else would I possibly be?.” You let out a little chuckle.

There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Milan.” He then says only for you to roll your eyes with a deep sigh.

“I thought we dropped that.”

“Why did you really stay?.” Jungkook prods further and when you meet his eyes once again you know it’s all he desperately wants to know. It’s been eating him up for a while now and he always suspected that there was more to it.

A part of you wants to drift the conversation elsewhere, try to steer his mind away from it but it won’t do any good. You only want to be honest. He trusts you after all and you don’t know when you’ll ever have the courage to tell him how you really feel. So why not now?.

With a deep breath, you calm your nerves and scoot a bit closer to him, eyes never wavering from his pleading orbs that seem to falter a bit.

“I stayed because I couldn’t imagine being so far away from you. The thought of not seeing you everyday, hearing your voice, it hurt. I love you so much. I’m in love with you Jungkook and I always want to be beside you. You mean more to me than a passing opportunity. There'll be many more in the future. But there’s only one of you and I want you more.”

He lets out a deep breath of relief he had been holding, glossed over eyes shutting for a second as he laughs a bit in elation.

“Fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that, because I’m in love with you too, ever since the second day I saw you and we sat inside that cafe together. I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way.” Jungkook confesses, happy to finally get out what he’s been bottling up for a long while now.

You love him back. You’re in love with him as well and Jungkook feels over the moon. He never thought you’d feel the same way or hear it from your lips. It feels amazing. It feels like a dream but he hopes that it isn’t because it’s too sweet to wake up from right now.

He feels your hand slide over his, entangling them together in your lap.

“Obviously, you’re wrong. I knew you were it for me the day you saved me.” You admit with a sweet smile.

His brows pinch confusedly at that.

“But you yelled at me because you got your outfit ruined.”

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head, a grin spread wide upon your face as you begin to explain.

“Only because I was nervous as fuck and I probably looked like a mess in front of you. I needed to look my best. Also it was Chanel!.”

Jungkook cackles loudly, unable to hold it in.

“You’re so goddamn unbelievable.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You softly say, staring back at him with those pretty and alluring eyes of yours that has him doing exactly as you say, swallowing the lump in his throat along with his nerves.

He cups your jaw and brings you close till your lips latch onto one another. You feel soft and it’s gentle as he moves them slightly against yours. Your lips part and your tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. Jungkook groans and slips his tongue past your lips where they tangle together. It’s sensual and hot. Your taste is addictive. It’s all he ever wants to know. He pulls a moan from you as he suckles on your tongue and it gets heated very quickly. Both filled with a burning passion and desire to taste as much of each other as you could.

He pants heavily against you, chest heaving and your soft moans and sighs of pleasure only spur him on to pull more from you. At this rate none of you will ever pull apart nor be able to breathe again. As much as it pains him to, Jungkook parts from you, resting his forehead against yours. A breathy whimper escapes you at the loss of contact and the sound goes straight to his hardening cock beaneath his slacks. You stare intensely back at him, sultry eyes making him want to do even more to you.

It’s so needy and he’s never seen you like this before. He likes it. He smiles, still a bit out of breath.

“You taste better than I ever imagined.” Jungkook raspily whispers and you can feel his breath across your face. You already miss his touch, his lips, his taste.

With a teasing smile, you whisper back.

“You’ve imagined this before?.”

His grin widens and he laughs a little against you.

“Course I have, and more. You never leave my mind.”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself together. He makes you feel all sorts of things. Your stomach and lower half always tingling whenever he so much as looks at you or touches your skin.

“Good, because you never leave mine either.”

“Now I’ll make sure I stay there forever sweetheart.” Jungkook pulls his head off yours, pecking your cheek with a sweet kiss that melts your heart.

“Let’s go back inside and show everyone how in love we really are. Also you owe me another dance.” You stand up and take his hand in yours as he moves off the bench as well.

“Screw them. I want to go back home where it’s just the two of us. I’ll slow dance with you in the living room until the night ends. Would you like to?.” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side and he kisses you gently once more on the lips. You’re just so damn irresistible to not kiss and hold all the time.

The sound of that is sweet and you like that, wanting to be alone with him as well.

“I’d love that very much.”

After giving you his coat to shield you from the cold, Jungkook laces his fingers with yours, leading the both of you down the hall and out the front entrance of the building with a beaming smile on his face of pure happiness.

Before the night started Jungkook didn’t think it’d end this way, but he’s so glad it did, minus the part where he let his emotions and insecurities get the best of him. Your his and he’s yours now. There’s nothing more he’s ever wanted in his life.

It feels like everything will finally be alright. It feels like maybe for once he can actually be happy and Jungkook could only hope that it’s always Sunny and beaming bright in his world with you, that those dark clouds and gloomy skies never come again.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Love you all 🫶🏻

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k1ngpin42 · 2 months

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POV: 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧r- (mini fic)

Warnings: Dating, public 18+, dominant Abby, fingering

You, Abby, Mel, Manny and Whitney are sitting at a table in the WLF base. You and Abby aren’t allowed to be paired together on patrols anymore after Mel snitched about the time she caught you two fucking while on duty. To be fair, though, the door of the room you two were in had been locked from the outside, it wasn’t your fault Mel didn’t knock.

Anyway, not being able to see her throughout the day was fucking with you. Images of what you two would do the night and morning before you’d go on patrol, things you two used to do at any available moment on away missions. Against the wall when the other soldiers turned their back, on the floor, against an old car, on the table where you and the others would plan routes around seraphite camps, one time you even fucked while in a room full of clickers. (It was the most terrifying orgasm you had ever experienced if you’re being honest with yourself. Still amazing though.)

She sits down and the tension is immediate, you’d let her take you right here and now if she asked.

“Hey love, how were your assignments today?” She asks. Fuck. You didn’t know what was up with you today cause you were fucking wet at the site of her.

“What? Oh, yeah, it was alright…” You say, eyes scanning her body. You hear the others talk indistinctly and your gaze immediately drops to her hands.

“Did you really have to invite the game nerd?” You hear Mel whisper. You roll your eyes.

“Whitney’s my friend, Mel, don’t be a dick.” You tell her bluntly, and Whitney looks up at this. Mel looks at her with a guilty expression.

“Whitney I didn’t mean….”

“Oh it’s okay Mel. I can just sit by myself like I usually do.”

“Nonsense, you’re with us.” Manny reassures.

Once this drama clears up, Abby and Mel start telling the others stories about their mission today. Various jokes and exaggerations. None of this was relevant to you, though, cause for the love of everything holy, you couldn’t focus.

You watched as she enhanced her story with hand movements, her laugh was a melody in your ears, her voice a chorus. The veins on her hands were still prominent, she must have had to beat up some form of enemy, usually runners. Or maybe she had been lifting something heavy.

A smile smile pressed your lips at the thought of that. The thought of her big arms straining, she would groan slightly before the metal crate behind a door would move and she’d let out another satisfied sigh. Fuck. Those arms, those hands, you needed them inside you, on you, you didn’t care which.

“He grabs the EMPTY gun and points it at the woman. She’s got a fuckin club or something and he says….well, something in Spanish.” Abby explains to the group who have been intently listening, making you feel slightly bad for zoning out.

“ Estás acabado, cabron. You are finished, asshole.”

“Haha…nice.” Abby replies, taking a bite of her food. She looks over at you, who is still too focused on the way the vein on her right hand is more prominent than on her left. When she notices this, she smirks. That same cocky fucking smirk when she knows that, once again, she’s read you like a book.

“Hey so, that new training manual you read, what was it again?” She asks you as she slips a hand on your thigh. You’re wearing baggy blue jeans and even with them on you feel heat trickle down your spine.

“Oh the one about long guns? Well…the main premise is about rounds.” She moves her hand so it’s cupping your cunt through the fabric.

“I-“ You clear your throat. “Each gun has a unique gear that allows the rounds to move more fl-“ Abby cautiously unzips the jeans. “Fluidly.” You explain. She starts teasing your pussy with her index fingers and painting your clit with slick.

“Have you tested it out on a gun? The upgrade?” Abby asks, watching you with an amused expression as she increases the pace.

“Wh-at…oh um, yeah.” You stumble over your words.

“Ah well you can come improve my weapon, do you know how many times this gun has been stepped on? I’m surprised I can put new rounds in at all.” Manny laughs. Your eyelids flutter as she puts her two middle fingers inside you and circles your clit with her thumb. She does all this with her left hand, not even taking her eyes off of the group, she doesn’t have to.

How does this not make her uncomfortable? How does the fact that our whole friend group will watch you cum work for her in any way?

“Only if you gi-mm~” You stifle your moan with your hand.

“You okay?” Mel asks you. You nod.

“Just tired, I was gonna say, only if you give me a….ah~ a good gun too since he always hogs them all.”

“I do not.” He laughs.

Fuck, Abby’s hands rubbing you feels fucking insatiable but you need to be alone with her, you can’t stand how embarrassing this feels. You want her to fuck you till you can’t breathe, not tease you in front of people you have to interact with on the regular.

“I might go to bed early.” You say, attempting to push Abbys hands away. She grabs your arm tightly and gives you a warning look.

“Aw don’t be silly, we’ll go when you’re finished.” She pauses. “…Eating.” Abby adds, increasing her pace as well as the pressure on your clit. Fuck, you could scream at how good it feels. You want to scream.

“Who were you with today baby?” Abby asks. Fuck you could kick her right now. She’s clearly doing this on purpose to hear you make a fool of yourself in front of her your friends. It won’t work, you try to convince yourself.

“Um, I don’t know, it was me, two guys and a girl. The girl was dating one of the guys so me and the other guy did most of the patrolling while they probably, I don’t even know, did each other or something.” You explain, enjoying the feeling of her thick, warm fingers. Fuuuuuuck.

Mel looked guilty again. She always did, maybe this is just her resting face?

“I’m sorry that you and Abby can’t go on patrols anymore.” Mel utters, quietly. You roll your eyes but before you can even think to be annoyed at her, Abby pushes just the right place and you let out a gush of satisfied air.

“Agh~ all good.” You say, keeping your composure fairly well. Abby rewards this by easing up slightly and you instinctively buck your hips forward.

“Do you prefer hot places or cold?” Abby asked, and at this point you’re forcing your eyes open.

“What?” You ask, bitterly. Fuck you’re painfully close, you’re so gonna hit her when this is over.

“Abby…” You whisper to her, her smirk widens, cocky prick.

“Did you say something baby?” You sigh and poke at some of the food on your plate.

“Hot. I don’t like the cold or the rain, snow’s the only…f….um, exception.” You breathe out. Abby can tell by the look on your face that you’re cumming and she tilts her head, admiring you.

“I prefer the heat too. It’s always hot in Mexico.” Manny says, his voice just a murmer as you see colours through your eyelids. Holy fuck, you’d give anything to let out a loud moan right now.

“I’m actually pretty tired too, I think we’re gonna turn in early.” Abby explains to the others. Mel nods and Manny looks mildly disappointed, but doesn’t say anything.

“Have a good night.” Whitney says with a warm smile. You nod and Abby helps pull you up. You bite back a wince at how sensitive it feels to have your legs together and you hurry with Abby out of the hall.

“Abigail fucking Anderson.” You warn, simply. She smiles, kissing you playfully on the cheek.

“Yeah?” She asks. You punch her arm lightly.

“Do you like making a fool of me? All our friends saw-“

“Did you like it?” She asks, that seductive and almost arrogant smirk still evident on her pretty fucking face. You roll your eyes. She kisses your neck and leans in to your ear.

“I bet you were thinking about it. My hands, my fingers, I was just giving you what you want.”

“Yeah but…I mean at dinner? That’s just torture.”

“Aw.” She says with fake sympathy. “Want me to make it up to you?”

°..·°¯°·._.· 🎀 >.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°🎀 >-.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯

#abby anderson #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #smut #abby smut #abby anderson x female reader #ellie williams

1K notes · View notes

hispg · 6 months

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Baby boy

Pairings: Re2! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your coworker Leon always goes after you for advice, even on the most basic things, even if he doesn't need to.

However, you decided to make him understand your advice in a more... Incisive way.

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, cockwarming, masturbation (M receiving), oral sex (M receiving), Sub! Leon, Dom! Reader, orgasm control/ denial,slightly praise/ degradation, a bit of dirty talk.

Leon was your coworker, sweet and kind. A lovely person to be around. It didn't take long for the two of you to bond, becoming almost inseparable.

He follows you around like a puppy, always on your tail, no matter where, he's always stuck with you. And the kind who always asks you before doing things.

Sometimes he doesn't even need to, but he likes to have your permission to do things, just as he always talked to you and asked for all kinds of advice, even asking for help with his studies.

You never really understood why, but you never complained either, his presence was always very welcome.

And that evening he was once again in your office, sitting in a chair in front of the computer while you explained a subject you had in common. It had become routine for him to sneak into your room late at night, just to have a chat with you whenever he could.

He was still in his uniform, staring intently at the slides on your computer. Even though you had already explained this subject to him last week, he came to ask you for a further explanation. You understood that he might be nervous about the police academy exams, but that much?

While you were explaining, it wasn't long before he was sitting comfortably in the chair you were using, with his legs wide open, on purpose. If he was being frank, the sound of your voice was enough to make him lose focus, it's not as if he was paying attention to anything you were saying. Blue eyes staring at you, watching the way your lips opened and closed, the way you looked so beautiful while you were focused on explaining things to him.

Of course it was a lie that he had come here to have you teach him this subject, he could have tried to study on his own. However, what fun would it be if it wasn't for you explaining it?

"Leon, my eyes are up here." You mutter, leaning on the table and crossing your arms, raising an eyebrow.

He coughed awkwardly, looking at you in confusion, "Eh, pardon me. Go on, I'm listening."

You scoffed, knowing full well that he hadn't paid attention to a word you'd said. The way his cock began to harden under his pants was a sign as clear as day.

You now perfectly confirmed why he was here. He needed some incisive teaching, something strict to learn from. A punishment, if you were bad enough to do it.

And you were.

"I know you're not paying attention." You whispered, running your fingers along his knee, stopping at his thigh.

It was enough for his breathing to fail and him to swallow. The poor thing got even harder with that simple touch. How pathetic could that sound?

"Uhm.. I'm sorry. I promise I will-," You didn't even let him finish speaking, you simply hovered your hand over his erection. Staring at him with a certain impudence in your eyes.

"Apologies are no use if you're not going to get better, Leon." Words that made him shudder, biting his lower lip to hold back any whimper that might escape his lips.

With your index finger you traced the size of his cock through his pants, making a point of maintaining eye contact during the process. His puppy eyes followed your every move, looking up at you with a sly expression.

"Take it out." You demanded flatly, crossing your arms and waiting for him to take off his pants.

And to your surprise he did, without any reluctance at all. He just undid his belt, lifted his hips and pulled down his pants and boxers in one swift movement. His fat cock sprang out at the same moment, the pink, swollen tip begging for your touch.

Poor guy, you'd be so mean.

"That's what you came here for, isn't it?" you asked, gripping the base of his cock tightly, and he whimpered like a little bitch at the same moment.

The way you felt his veins pulsing in your hands made you smile with a certain pity. How much did he want it? How depraved of touch was he to get hard just looking at you? What a silly little thing he was.

His hands rested on his thighs, as he tried to keep his breathing steady, "I wanted to see you." He says, looking at the work your hand was starting to do.

A sneer leaves your lips, and you rub your thumb over the tip of it, pressing your face against his. So close that his breath was hitting you.

"Missing me? What an ugly excuse, Leon." You purred, giving his jaw wet kisses. Slowly jerking him off.

The poor guy wasn't even in a state to protest, biting his lip to hold back the sly noises he was still trying to disguise. But he never could.

Your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, moving up and down, making a point of suddenly increasing the pace, only to see him moan softly, roll his eyes back and look at you.

"I-I can?" He asked shyly, looking down at your breasts, his gaze undoubtedly hungry. He couldn't keep his hands off you, but today you wouldn't let him touch an inch of you without permission.

"No." You murmured with a shrug, kneeling in front of him. At the same moment, his eyes went wide, his breathing quickened. His focus was only on you, nothing else.

He was so obedient that you didn't even have to ask, he automatically spread his legs wider to accommodate you. Wide open for you to do whatever you wanted with him.

"Such a cute thing." You murmured with a mischievous smile, digging your nails gently into his thighs, watching him squirm and whimper with every touch.

He was so desperate, jerking his hips at you, wanting you to do something with his hard-on. Any touch would do.

You couldn't help yourself and let out a giggle, putting your hands on his hips to keep him in place, kissing and nibbling his thighs, licking and leaving a few marks here and there.

"Nhm, please..." He pleaded in a grunt, looking down at his lap. Poor thing was already leaking, pre cum dripping down his pink tip.

"How pathetic, are you going to cum with just those touches?" You murmured, licking the sticky liquid dripping from him, giving the head of his cock a light lick.

He moaned, loudly. Letting his head fall back, holding on tightly to the edges of the chair. He wanted you so much, so much he couldn't describe it.

His cock throbbing and twitching, he knew it wouldn't last long, not with you in front of him.

You could already see your own arousal rising, your panties starting to get soaked, and you found yourself humping nothing in search of some friction.

Without giving him any warning, you pressed your plump lips to his tip, making a point of wrapping your tongue around the sensitive part, trying to contain the naughty smile that appeared on your face.

Your fingers trailed down his inner thigh, down and down until you found his balls, massaging lightly, only to hear the dirty sounds he could no longer control.

"Ah-ah, holy shit!" He cries out, biting his lower lip hard, looking at you with piteous eyes. He wanted you so much. But wanting wasn't being able to.

And he started moaning even more when you put him all in your mouth, sucking his cock down to the base, your lips wrapped around his entire length, moving up and down, tongue curling and teasing him in every sensitive spot you could find.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head every time, hips moving upwards in desperation for your touch. His cheeks were so red that he couldn't hide the blush even if he tried very hard.

"Hmh.. I think I'm close." He groaned, opening his eyes to see you, biting his lip at the sight in front of him.

You were choking on his cock, saliva and cum running down the length of it. You couldn't deny it, for someone as baby-faced as him, he certainly had an impressive size.

You continued, even though you knew he was close to cumming, but then you stopped. As soon as you felt his hips jerking upwards in a deep thrust into your mouth, that's when you withdrew your hot lips from his cock. Seeing his sly, crying face, God, why did you have to be like that?

"Oh- Please, please!" He begged, looking at you with tear-streaked eyelids, tears that threatened to fall. He was so excited that he felt like the world around him had stopped.

You smiled at his pleas, looking him up and down. A devilish grin plastered across your face.

"What? Don't tell me you're going to cry." You teased him, sliding your hand under his uniform, squeezing and lightly scratching his chest.

"Fuck. Hell, let me cum..." another plea, and of course he could do it on his own. It wasn't as if you had tied his hands and prevented him from moving.

But he liked taking orders. He liked being treated like a little boy who obeyed every order he was given, he loved it.

Just as you saw his hands coming towards you, trying to grab you by the hips and pull you towards him.

"Hands off." You say, standing up once again.

He whimpers, looking at you slyly, asking for something. You wouldn't be mean to leave him in this state, would you?

"Well, since you weren't paying attention. Looks like I'm going to have to explain everything again." You said nonchalantly, taking no time to take off your clothes, standing naked in front of him.

He gasped, his lips parted as he looked you up and down, his imagination running wild.

And then you mounted him, rubbing your wetness against his tip, giving his lips a little kiss. And there went his hands again, gripping the seat of the chair tightly, so tightly that he could tear the padding if he wanted to.

"You're going to be quiet and listen to me, and I don't want you to cum. Understood?" You say seriously, staring at him as you sink onto his cock, warm, gummy walls nestling him.

"Yes... Yes ma'am." He says in a moan, holding his trembling thighs, taking deep breaths to contain himself. The way you welcomed him so well, how could he hold back like that?

He was a crying mess, staring at your naked figure on his lap, biting his lip and trying to keep his attention on your eyes. But he couldn't, all he did was look down. Seeing the way his cock was buried in you, so deep.

Your breasts swaying slightly as you gestured, your wetness making a mess of his thighs. God, he was fucked.

"I can't hold it." He murmured, moaning loudly and clenching the seat of the chair, holding his hips and avoiding thrusting into you.

You scoffed, holding him by the chin, "Mh? The pretty boy can't hold it? Mh? Dick throbbing so much he needs to empty into me?" You knew that dirty talk was his weak point, and you used it to your advantage.

He cries out, letting his head fall back a little. Unconsciously pushing against you. At least he was trying.

How long had you been explaining? It had been a good few minutes, but maybe he could hold out just a little longer.

You started grinding against him, pulling him into a sloppy kiss, letting your hands roam free over his abdomen, squeezing every bit you could find.

He was finished, not even muffling his sounds with your mouth helped. Your living room was echoing every dirty noise he made, so exciting.

"I want you to sing to me." You purred during the kiss, starting to ride him.

You had no pity, you started doing it fast and deep, listening to his flesh hit yours. Skin against skin, making that unholy noise.

"Ah- fuck- shit- slowly!" He managed to babble, your name slipping from his lips with each bounce.

You felt his body arch up, squirming even more underneath you, he couldn't hold back the minute your walls began to clench against him, it was too much, enough for him to paint your insides white.

He was so high that you had to cover his mouth with yours, while you were still riding him until you came.

"Be quiet, or I'll be doing this all night." A threat or a gift? He couldn't tell, he wasn't even in his right mind to say anything.

And then you came, your fluids mixing with his as you both moaned against each other's lips.

You could still feel his hot cum oozing out, it was such a load. Just for you.

And there he was, drained, panting, not even able to open his eyes from how excited he was, still recovering from the high. And you didn't look much different.

Maybe, just maybe, after tonight he'll need another one of those... Your lessons.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #leon kennedy smut #re leon #resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #leon re2

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moondirti · 14 days

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Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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