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atlabeth · 5 months

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(not so) simple finale - anthony bridgerton

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summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: so um ignore how long every part of this took to come out. i have no excuse. anyways we are finally here at the end!! almost 10k words of proper regency soap opera type shit and it all ends happily i promise. i hope u enjoy because damn this was supposed to be a short one shot and ended up being over 40k lmao

wc: 9k

warning(s): angst, reader is a lil insecure, slightly steamy make out scene, happy ending<333

You’d never been this restless before.

Your dreams had a part to play in it. They insisted on tormenting you, though not in the usual way.

No, these dreams would have been pleasant had they come any sooner. For Anthony Bridgerton appeared in near every single one, with his charming smile and soft eyes and hair you always desired to run your fingers through.

He would smile at you, offer his arm and walk with you all around the park and the city as you talked for hours. He would compliment you, and you would compliment him, and he would court you as a perfect gentleman would.

He would kiss you, ravenously so. His hands would touch you where no one had touched before, leaving trails of fire in their wake, would unearth feelings you never could have imagined. He would revere you, near worship you, because in this world you never made such ill-advised choices. In this world, you never dragged him into a worthless scheme that ended with a ruined reputation and a broken heart.

In this world, he loved you just as much as you loved him, and you never did a single thing to make him doubt that.

But you were not there.

You were here, in the real world. Where you were in the midst of reaping what you spent a whole season sowing.

You were roused from that less than peaceful attempt at sleep—though thoughts of Anthony took longer to disappear—by the opening of your door, and despite your visitor attempting to be quiet, you found your eyes fluttering open against your will.

“Oh, dearest,” your mother lamented, “I did not mean to wake you. I apologize; I merely wanted to check on you. I will return later—please, rest.”

“No,” you murmured, and you rubbed your eyes as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Small movements were much easier, which at least meant a step in the right direction. “No, stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. When you nodded, she closed the door lightly behind her and sat on your bedside, laying her hand over yours.

She whispered your name, her voice already thick with tears that she was trying to hide. “I am so glad you are alright.”

“You say that every time you come in here,” you said.

“And I will continue to say it.” She shook her head. “You nearly perished. You should consider yourself lucky I am not in here at all hours of the day.”

You managed a smile, and she sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “I am still sore, but much better.”

“Good,” she said. “All I can ask is that you continue to get better.”

“The rest has certainly been nice,” you said. “Am I still a true lady despite my late wakings?”

“You have always been a true lady,” your mother assured with a slight smile.

“I believe you may be the only one that still thinks so.”

“If you are feeling ready, there is a ball in a fortnight,” she said. “It could be a good way to garner good will again.” You gave her a look, and she held up her hands. “I understand how you feel, but your presence is important. There are… rumors floating about, and we must lay them to rest.”

“Rumors,” you muttered wryly. “That your daughter is an ungrateful wench and will die a spinster?”

She said your name sternly, and you shook your head. “I read what Whistledown wrote about me—she’s likely written a hundred more. I do not care what any of them think of me, Mother. I am only sorry for the pain it has caused you and Father, and the Bridgertons.”

“The Bridgerton name is strong enough to weather scandal,” she said. “We have to work a bit harder. And making an appearance in society again, especially with Lord Cardew by your side, will help.”

You suppressed a scoff at the mere thought of him. You’d been granted such a reprieve from Lord Cardew because of Anthony’s influence, and while you were recovering, no one but family was to see you. But soon—very soon—he would be your entire life.

“That brings up another question,” your mother said wryly, and when you met her eyes she was giving you a very pointed look. “Are you still sure about this?”

No, you wanted to say. You couldn’t be less sure about Jonathan Cardew. But you’d dragged your family into this mess of yours, so it was your duty to fix it.

Plenty of women married much more dreadful men every year. You should have considered yourself lucky that a man of his breeding, of his standing was interested in you at all—especially after the season you’d spent distancing yourself from him and the scandal you’d caused.

“...Yes,” you finally said. “I am sure.”

Your mother sighed and said your name. “You are sure? You have not reached out to Anth—”

“There is nothing left between us,” you interrupted. “I know it is not the best situation, and I know it is my fault, but I am making the best of it. All I ask is that you support me. It is hard enough attempting to make my way through this world—I need my mother to be there for me rather than constantly pushing against it all.”

“...Of course,” she said quietly. “And I am so sorry that I have ever done differently. My dear, all I ask in return is that you understand me, as well as the decisions I make. All I want is the best for you, and I know that marriage is not what you desire, but there are things we must do.”

“Of course,” you said, and your echoing words spurned a small smile from her. “I am sorry that I have always fought you so much. All I could see was my hatred for any kind of union, but all I managed was hurting you and Father, as well as myself, and— and I cannot think of any apology that will be enough.” You shook your head with a mirthless laugh. “I’ve no idea how you put up with me for so long, truly.”

“I’ve never had to put up with you,” she said. “I realize I may not have done the best job at showing it, but— but I love you more than anything in this world. Everything I have ever done has been for you, my darling. You are the future of our name, and I know you will do an excellent job at carrying on our legacy.”

“Truly?” you asked softly.

Your mother nodded as she took your hands and smiled at you. “Truly. Nothing in this world can change my love for you. You are our greatest accomplishment.”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat as you smiled as well, and you pulled your mother into a hug. She reciprocated, and tears filled your eyes. You’d missed the comfort of her presence so dearly.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Your lady’s maid's words snapped you out of the stupor you’d found yourself in, and it was all you could do to attempt a smile.

“Yes, Julia,” you said. “Quite alright.”

Her brows furrowed as she draped a pendant around your neck, the cold metal turning your exhale slightly shaky. “Pardon my plainness, my lady, but you are not believable in the slightest.”

“You have been around me for far too long,” you said dryly. “I request another maid, one that cannot read me so easily.”

Julia offered a wry smile. “You are stuck with me for now, my lady. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?”

You stared yourself in the mirror as you turned the question over. It was not as easy to answer as it should have been, not when everything was so out of order. Not when you hardly recognized the reflection staring back at you, wrapped in orange silk and adorned in jewels courtesy of Lord Cardew.

You were not yourself—you were to be Baron Jonathan Cardew’s wife, a baroness and status symbol to hang off his arm and smile prettily, and Baroness Cardew was who stared back at you.

Only a few more balls remained until the season came to an end, and though Lord Cardew was doing your family an immense service by giving you a second chance, he did not want to wait much longer to make it official.

It was all planned out. Your relationship would truly enter the public eye tonight with your dances, you would promenade in open parks to have as many eyes on you as possible. He would call on you and your meager staff would be encouraged to spread rumors. Another ball would pass together, enough to hopefully weather some of the scandal you’d created, and then…

Then, he would propose.

You would accept.

And the fate you’d been so intent on avoiding would be sealed.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the impending tears.

“I am nervous,” you admitted. “My decision didn’t exactly feel… real. Not until I was standing at the modiste getting fitted for this gown with one of Cardew’s maids. And all this jewelry…” Your fingers trailed across the raised designs on the pendant. “It makes it even more so.”

“I can only imagine,” Julia said. “He has certainly put in effort.”

“And yet it all feels hollow.” You moved away from the mirror and stopped in front of your vanity. The light blue reticule sitting near your jewelry box felt as if it was mocking you.

Julia said your name with a sigh. “You made your choice. You pushed him away.”

“I know,” you murmured, tracing the embroidery with your finger. “But feelings do not disappear so quickly.”

“He wrote letters,” she said. “After you moved from Bridgerton House to recover here, after I refused his calling on you for the hundredth time, he wrote letters and delivered them by hand.”

You picked at a loose strand of white thread on the purse, jaw clenched so tight you thought your teeth might crack.

“He told me he did not care if you didn’t want them,” Julia continued softly. “He just needed you to know how he felt.”

“This is how it has to be,” you finally said, voice shaking.

“And what makes you think that?” Julia challenged. “You believe you have to live a life of misery simply because half the ton does so in the name of reputation and riches?”

“Two things I no longer have any of,” you murmured. “Cardew’s pedigree is enough to get both back for my family. It is my duty, Jules, and I can no longer hide from it.”

Your lady’s maid looked at you with desperation in her eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by your mother calling your name. You nodded your permission and she opened it.

“Lady Worthing,” she said, curtsying just so to your mother. “I’ve finished getting her ready—I’ll give the two of you some time alone.”

“Thank you, Julia,” your mother said with a smile. She turned back to you, her eyes softer than ever as she moved forward and set her hands on your shoulders.

“My darling,” she said, “you look so beautiful. I did not lie when I called you the crown jewel of our family.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Thank you, Mother. I’m glad I can make you proud.”

She murmured your name, turning you so you faced the mirror. You saw yourself more this time, feeling more assured with your mother standing behind you holding all the stars in her eyes.

“I have always been proud of you, darling,” she murmured. “Even if I did not show it in the best way. I love you more than words can express. I meant it when I said you are our greatest achievement.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against her. She allowed you to sink into her and you felt the tears brimming in your eyes.

“...I’m afraid, Mother,” you whispered. “To marry. To be a wife.”

She was silent for a moment, busying herself with adjusting your jewelry before she spoke.

“I was afraid too,” she admitted. “I hardly knew your father outside of a few promenades, and one lovely bouquet of flowers. It was almost fully arranged by our parents. But when he proposed, he vowed to always be my friend, and to always take care of me.”

“Has he?” you asked.

“Yes,” she said. “We did not love each other on our wedding day. But he has always been kind to me, and he has always advocated for me, and we have always been there for each other. We love each other now, in our own way. And,” she smiled, smoothing down the lace on your sleeves, “together, we brought you into the world. I would do it all over again if it meant I would get you in the end.”

You could not imagine considering Lord Cardew a friend, nor the opposite. He saw you as just another pretty jewel to adorn himself with.

Anthony saw you as a friend— as more. He always listened to what you had to say, always entertained your jokes with some of us own, never talked down on you. He saw you as an equal.

“I do not know if any woman is prepared to marry,” she finally said. “Even those that marry for love still have initial doubts. There are so many expectations of our behavior when we are told so little of what we must actually do.”

“How do you do it?” you asked. “You married a man you didn’t know. You raised a child. You held face against a society that shamed you for only having a daughter.”

“All you can do is trust in yourself, and in those around you,” she said. “If you are with the right person, everything will feel as natural as breathing. You will not care what anything thinks of you, because there is only one opinion that matters.”

There was one man you felt natural around, one who you felt you could speak your mind around and not be judged. One man that you’d fallen in love with, that surely hated you in return for what you’d done to him.

Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. “What should I do, Mother?”

“You know what you must do,” she said softly. “All I can do is support you.”

You’d rubbed your palms on your dress at least fifteen times since you’d arrived. A fruitless effort, considering you were wearing gloves, but you could not stand still.

Your conversation with Lord Cardew had taken everything out of you, your dance with him even more so—an especially damning fate seemed ahead of you. But you could tune him out well enough, at least.

It was an entirely different deal when the Bridgertons showed up.

Violet walked in arm and arm with Anthony and Benedict, and Colin had a loose hold on Eloise. And to make matters worse, Daphne Bridgerton, alongside her husband the Duke of Hastings, were making an appearance. What an honor, to have the chance to embarrass yourself in front of such highly ranking nobles.

Eloise branched off immediately after they passed the threshold, much to the protests of her mother, but your mother immediately pulled you in their direction. You could only imagine her thoughts—if she could get the Duke of Hastings touting for the Worthings, that would make things much easier.

Anything for the optics, you supposed. But when you met Anthony’s eyes for the first time, you had to avert your gaze. He just looked so damn sad.

“It is good to see you again, Violet,” your mother said. “And it is an honor, Duke and Duchess Hastings.” The both of you curtsied, and you could see the Duke’s slight smile.

“I consider it my honor to meet the woman who has been the center of such conversation this season,” he said. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and thankfully Violet stepped in.

“It is good to see you as well, Cecilia.” Violet smiled as she looked at you. “Especially you, my dear.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, Duke Hastings. I am grateful to be here.”

Benedict smiled, the notion warmer than anything you deserved. “You look lovely, Miss Worthing. Especially for someone who escaped death with such recency.”

Anthony’s eyes remained on you the entire time, and more than anything you wished you could read this mind. The man probably hated you, and he had every right to do so. You just wished your feelings for him weren’t so insurmountable.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled as believably as you could. “Thank you, Mister Bridgerton. You also look well.”

Your mother nudged your shoulder and your gaze met Anthony’s once more. He still hadn’t looked away from you.

You bowed your head once more. “Lord Bridgerton. It… is good to see you.”

No wonder you actually ended up falling in love with Anthony. It was the only way anyone could believe this ruse—you were quite an awful actress.

Anthony lowered his head as well, his poise stiff. “A pleasure, Miss Worthing.”

“We’re glad to see you’re doing well,” Violet said, her smile a bit thin. You could only imagine the conversation that would occur between her and your mother later. “You caused us all quite a scare.”

“Oh, Anthony was so worried,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m thankful we have the chance to attend this ball so I could see you in person.”

“I’ve recovered well,” you nodded, and you looked at Violet. “My family and I thank you immensely for your kindness and your doctor’s care. We’ll be in your debt endlessly.”

“There is no need for that,” Violet said. “It is enough that you are still here.”

Your cheeks burned but you tried to smile anyways. You wanted to burrow into a hole and never come out. It seemed the Bridgertons were capable of endless grace in public when they surely had to despise you.

“Eloise has run off somewhere over near the strings,” Benedict provided in the silence. “I’m sure she would appreciate your companionship tonight.”

You glanced at your mother and she nodded, and your smile at Benedict was much more genuine. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to talk with her.”

You mouthed thank you to him when your mother could not see, and he nodded. He’d always been so decent to you.

You could not help but glance at Anthony as you went, and his gaze followed you. He would resent you if he had any sense, but it seemed the opposite—the sadness in his eyes was fatal.

You took a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table when you passed it, needing something to do with your hands. You found your way to Eloise’s side soon enough, and her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you.

“It is so good to see you,” she breathed. “I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already had to fend off suitors. They just cannot seem to understand I hold such little care for them.”

“I am just as glad to see you,” you admitted. “I do not think I can get through this night alone.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Eloise said sarcastically. “I’ve heard the news. And I must say, it is your poorest decision this season.”

Your laugh was mostly out of surprise, and you nearly dropped the flute of lemonade you were holding. You were on edge far more than you expected—you almost wished your glass was full of champagne.

“At least somebody is speaking plainly,” you murmured, your gaze distant and unfocused. “I think the rest of your family must hate me, but they’re all too kind to say it.”

Eloise frowned. “Why would any of them hate you?”

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Because I caused an immense scandal and then ended things with Anthony?”

She huffed a laugh, her eyebrows now rising. “Our family has weathered many a scandal, and we are still here. Or have you forgotten how Daphne’s dearest husband chose to court her?”

“That is different,” you insisted.

“I think it is worse, actually,” Eloise said plainly. “Simon is a duke, and Anthony nearly killed him before Daphne knocked some sense into him.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Truly, it was a disaster. We Bridgertons have a knack for them.”

“As do I,” you said with a loose laugh. “I was stabbed, Eloise. I nearly died in your brother’s arms.”

“And we nearly died in our drawing room,” she said. “Anthony, most of all. He cares for you immensely.”

“Surely he cannot,” you insisted. “Not after what I’ve done.”

“I am not blind,” Eloise said, “and neither are you. So do not demerit our intelligence and pretend as if you do not see it.”

“I— I know.” You wrapped your arms around your midsection, and you grimaced as the jewelry on your wrists brushed against your skin. You were covered head to toe in finery that didn’t belong to you, and you itched from the inside out. “But I don’t know where to go from here.”

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Eloise looked across the room, where Lord Cardew stood talking to your mother, and then over at her brother, who couldn’t have been less interested in the lady trying to strike up conversation with him. Then her gaze fell to you. “You’ve got a choice to make.”

“I’ve already ruined things,” you murmured. “I— I can’t just back out of this.”

“I can tell you that you certainly haven’t ruined things with my brother. And Lady Whistledown’s speculation is the only thing binding you to that lecher.” Eloise shrugged. “You’ve already broken off one courtship. What’s another?”

Your eyes met Anthony’s from across the room. Once again, he’d already been looking at you. You averted your gaze quickly, feeling the heat rush to your face, and you tried to steady your breathing. He had no right to still have such an effect on you.

“I need some air,” you murmured. “Will you—”

“Of course,” Eloise said. “You are simply touching things up in the powder room.”

You nodded your thanks and slipped out of the ballroom, finally able to drop the facade you’d been trying to uphold. You truly felt as if you were overheating, and the cool air was hardly of aid once you reached the outdoors.

Everything was all wrong—your dress, this damned tiara, the bracelets and the necklaces and every jewel that Cardew thought he could buy you with.

It all belonged to him. You would not be another prize on his shelf.

You couldn’t help yourself. You began to shed the jewelry as your pace sped up, ripping bangles from your wrists and pendants from your neck—by the time you reached a deserted area of the gardens, you were considerably lighter and considerably close to tears.

You let out a frustrated sob as you slammed your fists against some artistic stone structure. It earned you nothing but pain, but it grounded you in some strange way. You tore off your gloves and threw them to the ground, a shaky breath escaping you as you screwed your eyes shut and pressed your palms to your forehead.

You could not marry traditionally, you could not follow through with your feelings for Anthony, and now you could not follow through with this ill-advised plan.

Were you truly this useless? To bring ruin to two families with your knack for destroying things for it all to amount to nothing? You waxed poetic about the life you thought you deserved to live, about going to university and gaining your independence and never marrying, and yet here you were, near tears in the gardens of the ball you were meant to reenter society at.

“Miss Worthing.”

The whispered words blared through the silence, and you knew who it was without having to turn around. It still sent a shock through you, your breathing faltering for a moment. Your eyes stayed shut.

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice watery.

“You do not know me if you think there is anywhere else I would be,” he said.

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the trail of jewels. You’ve left an awfully expensive path in your wake.”

“All of it is worthless,” you mumbled, finally letting your hands drop. “It all belongs to Lord Cardew.”

“You’ll have made a magpie very happy.”

“Enough with the jokes,” you said. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” Anthony asked with a slight laugh.

“I do not know,” you responded. “That is why I asked.”

“I am here because I want to talk to you,” he said. “You cannot just avoid me for the rest of the season.”

You turned away. “I can try.”

“I will not let you,” Anthony enunciated. “I will not let you make the biggest mistake of your life because you believe it is your duty.”

“If you are here to change my mind, you are wasting your time,” you said stiffly.

“I don’t believe I have to do anything,” Anthony said. “It looks as if you’ve come to the conclusion yourself.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“You have not even glanced in Cardew’s direction this entire night,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me instead.”

“Because I have felt your eyes on me with every moment.”

Anthony huffed. “Can you blame me? This is the first time I have seen you since that night.”

“Then you should remember my words from that night,” you bit out.

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away?” Anthony begged.

You scoffed. “Why are you so intent on bothering me?”

“Because I cannot stand here and watch you marry another!” he exclaimed.

Your brows furrowed and you turned around. Anthony stood in front of you, his outfit impeccable but not at all looking put together. Desperation colored his eyes, and you saw how truly undone he’d become.

“I— I thought I could, but I cannot.” He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he glanced away. “Every moment you are in the vicinity of that man is a test of my strength. And I do not know how strong I am.”

“I don’t understand,” you said hollowly. “You should hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Anthony murmured. “I thought I could, when you first told me of your plans, but— but I could hardly even dislike you.” A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “My mother had been bothering me for nearly a decade to find a wife and settle down, but I thought love was a fool’s game. I would have my fun as a bachelor, and then settle down with the most advantageous match. There was no need for further emotional baggage—when you love, you can lose. And I refused to lose again.”

For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. He lost his father, he nearly lost you, and then you pushed him away like he meant nothing.

“Anthony—” you whispered, but he shook his head.

“Please,” he said. “I have a lot to say.”

You nodded, and he did as well.

“Our deal was perfect for that. You were nothing but my sister’s nuisance of a friend—a bad influence that I could never see as more.” You could not help your soft laugh, and Anthony’s smile turned a bit more genuine.

“But then we spent more time together. I… truly began to know you.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You shattered every preconception I had of you. I began to look forward to our meetings, to our promenades—I would get home from calling on you and could think only of the next time I would see you.”

“Throughout it all, you made me realize I was worthy of love,” he said. “You— you made me realize that I wanted it. That I wanted you.” His throat bobbed, and you could see his eyes glistening. “That I loved you.”

You could hardly find the strength to speak. You felt as if you could melt into a puddle at his feet just from his words. You were so intent on avoiding Anthony because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him anymore— you believed he would be better off without you, without the scandal you’d dragged him into.

But he… he loved you.

He loved you just as you loved him.

“I do not expect you to share any of my notions, and I know you value your freedom more than anything,” Anthony murmured. “So if it is not me you wish to be with, I understand, and I will accept it without complaint. I just beg of you—do not become that wretched man’s wife.”

All you could do was stare at him for a moment more, words beyond your reach before you finally managed to speak through your emotions.

“I tried to tell myself the exact same thing,” you said softly. “That you could not be happy with me. That I could never be happy chained to another—truly, that I could never love. Not when freedom is what I have always desired most. But Anthony…” you moved forward until you were mere centimeters apart, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through you at the proximity, “I have never felt more free than when I am with you.”

“Miss—” Anthony started, but he paused and shook his head before saying your first name instead. His eyes were softer than anything. “Are you truly…?”

“I could never fathom you sharing my feelings,” you said thickly. “That is why I pushed you away. But I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I think I have loved you for quite some time.”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, turning away so as to not betray the fullness of your emotions, and though you opened your mouth to provide some excuse, you were not granted the chance.

Anthony’s hand encircled your wrist, pulling you back around, and just as soon did you feel his lips against yours. The tightness in your chest dissolved almost immediately as you all but fell into him, Anthony wrapping his arms around you to support you as your hands found purchase on anything they could.

Your focus became devoted solely to the feeling of him, his soft lips against yours even as they plied for access. Anthony held you as if his only desire were to protect you from the world, and it made you feel a way you’d never even imagined. Only when air became a necessity did he pull away, his labored breaths in contrast to the pure adoration in his eyes.

“Never in a thousand years did I think you would feel the same,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face on either side as he gazed into your eyes. “I thought myself a fool, falling for the one woman I could not have. You’ve no idea the relief it brings to hear you share my feelings.”

“I suppose I am just as foolish as you,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it could burst.

The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. “I cannot imagine what my mother would think—that after so long spent searching for a wife, I fell for the one woman who never wanted the title.”

You let out an airy laugh, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. “Nor did I see myself falling for the one man who resented the chains of marriage as much as I.”

Anthony pressed his lips against yours once more, and your hands traveled up until they tangled in his hair. You kissed until you were nearly breathless, but Anthony still managed to pull a very unladylike sound out of you as he bowed his head, kissing down the line of your jaw, your neck, until his teeth nipped your skin just above your decolletage.

“Anthony,” you gasped, clenching your fingers as they buried themselves further into his dark locks. You had never been this close with a man before, never this intimate — you never thought you would even desire it.

But Anthony lit a fire inside of you that only he could quench, and yet the only thing he seemed to do was stoke it further. It was equally maddening and dizzying, the control he so effortlessly had over you.

“I never knew how much I would delight in hearing you say my name,” he murmured, his lips trailing against your skin. “No more Lord Bridgerton, I beg of you.”

“I should think I’d like to hear you beg—” you breathed, but Anthony cut you off yet again as he pulled you into another searing kiss. You could hardly stand it anymore as your hands fell down to his shoulders, and you pulled away for just a moment as you began desperately undoing his waistcoat, Anthony taking the hint and removing his jacket.

“These buttons were not designed with the needs of a lady in mind,” you huffed in frustration, fumbling fingers failing to make progress, and Anthony chuckled breathlessly.

“Have we finally found something I best you in?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Just take it off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

You groaned as you looked at him. “If you insist on teasing me this way, Lord Bridgerton, I shall go back inside and act as if nothing has happened.”

“There is no need for idle threats,” he defended, and you bit back your smile. Anthony made deft work of his waistcoat, and the second he tossed it aside he was back on you.

“Besides,” his voice was a whisper a millimeter from your ear, and warmth blazed in your core, “I believe I told you to call me Anthony.”

“And I believe you should have to try harder than that.” You smiled into his kiss as you trailed your nails down his back, the thin fabric of his dress shirt doing little as you felt his involuntary shiver.

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me,” he groaned, once again dipping his head as he peppered even more kisses down your neck, sliding down the sleeve of your dress to allow himself better access.

The night air on your newly freed skin did little for you, any coolness of the breeze instantly negated by the heat of Anthony against you. Your nails dug into his back as he moved down, each spot where his lips touched your skin erupting with fire.

You gasped out his name, barely able to handle it—the feeling was so foreign yet familiar, as if you had been waiting all your life for Anthony in this way.

You could hardly believe you nearly lost it of your own accord.

“It appears I do not have to try hard at all,” he said, “the way you cry out for me.”

You laughed breathlessly, though his words were indeed true. You knew, in this moment, that you would do anything for Anthony Bridgerton—and he would do anything for you. “How I fell for a man as irritating as you, I haven’t the slightest.”

You caught the slightest glimpse of his grin before he ducked his head yet again, and he had only just begun pushing both sleeves of your dress down when a woman’s voice could be heard behind you.

“Anthony— oh!”

The unfamiliar voice struck fear into your heart you had never felt the likes of before. Anthony moved away from you quicker than you’d ever seen, you just as hasty as you tugged the sleeves of your dress back to where they belonged and attempted to smooth out everything that Anthony had so easily sullied.

You’d never imagined this was how your reputation would be ruined, with Anthony Bridgerton in the gardens of some ball, but when you finally had the sense to look and see who had caught you in a most uncompromising position, you could hardly stifle your incredulous laugh.

“Sister?” Anthony questioned in disbelief, so many emotions warring on his face you had to turn away to cover up your growing grin.

“Anthony,” Daphne greeted in kind, fighting to conceal her smile as her eyes drifted to you. “Miss Worthing.”

“Your Grace!” Your shaky fingers were hardly of use to you as you pulled your gloves back up to where they belonged and once again ran your hands down the skirt of your dress to smooth out the wrinkles. Your cheeks burned under her gaze and you were innately aware of the fire underneath your skin brought about by Anthony’s touch in contrast to the cool night air. “What brings you here?”

“Mother was quite… nervous about tonight,” she explained. “She indulged in one too many glasses of champagne, so she is taking her leave with Benedict for aid. She requested I find you to alert you of her departure, but it seems she was not the one whose disappearance should have been questioned.”

“I’m sure you know this is quite compromising.” Thinly veiled amusement crossed Daphne’s face as she eyed you pointedly. “I am afraid you must marry him at once Miss Worthing, else I shall have to duel you to protect my brother’s honor.”

You laughed breathlessly as Anthony looked up at the sky, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you had ever seen. “Your Grace, are you suggesting that I have ruined him?”

“Indeed I am,” she confirmed, and you could see how it took every muscle of her being to retain a serious image. “This is not a light matter, miss. I do not understand why you are laughing.”

“Daphne,” Anthony groaned, avoiding her eyes as he occupied himself with his jacket. “Why do you insist on being a nuisance?”

“Anthony,” she inflected his name the same way he did hers, “I cannot have this woman sullying your name! I know it was of no will of your own, but this can not stand as is. But do not worry; I am prepared to defend your honor to my last breath.”

“My sincerest apologies for what I have done, Duchess Hastings,” you responded gravely. “I am prepared for pistols at dawn.”

Anthony huffed as he buttoned his waistcoat back up then went to retrieve his jacket from the bushes. “You exaggerate, the both of you. This cannot be what I was like last season.”

“You were worse, brother. But do not worry,” Daphne said with a grin, “I should think a taste of your own practices is only fair after all you put Simon and me through.”

Anthony sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “I… suppose… that it is what I deserve.”

“Thank you, brother,” she said. “I only wish we had a witness just so your confession is forever remembered.”

“I wish Mother had not sent you to seek me out,” he responded dryly.

You and Daphne exchanged smiles with each other before your expression sobered slightly. “ I ask quite a bit of you with this, Your Grace, but… may I count on your discretion? I know we jest, but my reputation truly could not handle something like this. I do not know if…” you glanced at Anthony before looking back to her, “if we are yet ready to seal our union.”

“Of course,” Daphne nodded, and a relieved smile tugged at your lips. “I shall not tell a soul.”

“Thank you eternally, Your Grace,” you expressed, but at your short curtsy she shook her head.

“Please, call me Daphne.” She offered a smile of her own, slightly coy. “After what I have just witnessed, I’ve no doubt you will be joining our family soon enough.”

“Sister!” Anthony scolded, and when you glanced at him his entire face was dusted pink, even the tips of his ears. It was enough to make you swoon. “You cannot just say things whenever you see fit.”

Daphne merely shrugged, joyfully indifferent to her brother’s protests. “I outrank you now, dearest brother — I believe I can say whatever I see fit, particularly when it is the truth.”

“You are truly impossible,” Anthony muttered as he shook his head.

Daphne just smiled before she looked back at you. “I believe it best if the two of you leave at separate times, so as to not allow room for any rumors. Miss Worthing, you should go first and return to your mother; you can claim you simply needed fresh air. Anthony and I will stroll around the grounds for a bit before allowing ourselves to be seen — we are simply catching up after such a stretch spent at Clyvedon.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smoothed your mussed hair and wrinkled dress for the last time. Anthony certainly did a number on you, in more ways than one. “Thank you again, Your—” you caught yourself, correcting your error with a small smile, “Daphne.

“You may count on me in the future whenever I am in London,” she reassured. “It is my hope anyway that I shall be able to welcome you to the family officially.”

“Daphne!” Anthony exclaimed yet again, glaring at her. “Might you take your leave so we may have a moment alone?”

“I believe you just had quite a few moments alone,” Daphne said, but a pointed look from her brother had her conceding with a smile. “Alright. I will be by the trees when you need me.”

Anthony turned to you with an odd look in his eyes when Daphne was out of hearing distance, and when he did eventually speak, his voice was far softer than usual.

“Do you truly believe I would not marry you?” he asked, and the underlying hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Even if there were not the risk of a scandal, I would not hesitate. My entire heart lies with you.”

“It is not you, Anthony,” you sighed with a slight shake of your head. “I do not… I do not know if I am even capable of marriage.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I have spent my entire life running from it,” you said, chuckling softly, “and yet, here I am, the one thing I never thought I would be.”

“In love,” Anthony realized, and you nodded.

“It has always been easy enough to denounce marriage when I’d never experienced anything of the like. The union of my parents was for convenience rather than love, and for as long as I’ve been alive my mother has tried to drill it into my head that my feelings did not matter — so long as the man had the means to provide for me and was not completely awful, he was satisfactory.”

“A future like that— it was so completely absurd to me that denouncing it all was the easiest thing in the world. And then I nearly died and my entire world changed, and I decided that Cardew was the best option to allow myself to completely separate emotion from marriage, but now…” you looked at Anthony, feeling more vulnerable now than ever. “I have found a love in you I’ve never thought possible, and I cannot stop imagining a life with you. And that terrifies me more than anything.”

“But…” you trailed off again and you turned away from him as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “But I do not know how to approach my future, especially one where we are so closely intertwined.”

Silence hung in the air for a noticeable period before Anthony cleared his throat, and it was obvious the care he put into his words.

“You know I never imagined I would marry for love. Truly, I never intended it—I expected to be miserable in marriage. I saw it as nothing more than another duty to take care of. I believed that love was trivial, a ridiculous distraction. You are the one who made me see differently.”

You turned around with slightly wide eyes, your arms wrapped around your midsection doing little to ward off the cool night air that seemed far colder than it was before. Anthony’s gaze never left yours, the softness in his own at odds with the pure, unbridled passion.

“I love you. Though I have only just allowed myself to accept the fact, you are someone that I cannot imagine living the rest of my days without. There was…” his throat bobbed as his voice crackled slightly, “there was a moment when I feared the worst, that you would permanently disappear from my life. And ever since you were all but brought back from the dead, I have known that you are the only woman I wish to be with. It is why as soon as I left you, I asked my mother for this.”

Anthony took a box out of his pocket, and you gasped as he got down on one knee, your hands flying up to cover your mouth.

“This is the ring my father proposed to my mother with, and their love was beyond anything I have seen before. But it is the love that I feel for you, something so strong, so overwhelming— something I never thought I would experience. And yet here I am, madly in love with the one woman who scorned me with every word, and only pursued me because of my brand as a lesser evil.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound slightly muffled through your gloves, and you could not help it as your eyes began to fill with tears.

“I admire you; all of you. The part that loves her family with every part of her being, that looks out for those with less than her when those more fortunate turn a blind eye. The part that fights for the rights of her sex when it is so much easier to just bow one’s head, that puts her happiness on a rightful pedestal— the part that is so terrified to share herself with others and yet deserves a love of the purest form.”

“And I am aware of how the unknown is a fear of yours, as it is one of mine. But I assure you—” Anthony’s voice was filled with such passion, his eyes with such love, that you could hardly stand it, “—I will be there for you every step of the way. We will face our fears as one, and we will shape the future ourselves, not to be bound by anyone or anything.”

“I do not know where my future will lead me, but I know I do not want to face a single second of it without you. If you do not feel the same, I understand, but I will not be able to live with myself if I do not at least try. It is why I ask you,” Anthony said your name with more love than ever before, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, a smile breaking across your face even as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!”

Anthony let out a sigh of relief as he grinned, and after he slid the ring on your finger he stood up and pulled you into a breathless kiss. Nothing picture perfect like you’d heard about as a young girl, the kind of effortless gentleman’s act— Anthony kissed you with pure passion, love, desire, and it nearly brought you to your knees. You thought it would have, were it not for Anthony’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him and supporting you.

You could hardly believe the same man who treated you as if you were glass after your injury was the one standing before you now, the one who handled you in such a way that could get the both of you exiled were anyone to see—the one that you thought hated you.

And you were more than willing to allow it to continue, to surrender yourself fully to your baser instincts, when you remembered something that made your eyes widen.

“Your sister,” you murmured between kisses until you finally managed to pull away, albeit reluctantly. “Daphne is still waiting.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back in, and your earlier protest was shown to be completely nonsensical. “Let her wait.”

You grinned as he peppered kisses down your neck, enjoying the sensation until you pushed him away. “Anthony.”

He groaned. “Why must you be a better person than I?”

“Believe when I say it pains me,” you said. “But the last thing we need is yet another scandal by my hand.”

“Let them know,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Let all of London know that I love you, that we will be wed. I do not care what we have to face so long as we face it together.”

“The thought has never been so tempting,” you murmured. “But you should at least alert your sister. It would be improper to make her wait out here all night for nothing.”

His grip tightened on your hands. “So you do wish to leave together?”

“Anthony, I just accepted your proposal,” you said with a laugh. “I wish to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I believe tonight is a good place to start, then,” he grinned.

Anthony would not let you leave his side, so you went to Daphne together. First she saw your smile, then her gaze drifted down to your hand—she looked knowingly at her brother, though she could not hide her smile either.

“It would appear as if I was right,” she mused. “I am always right when it comes to you though, Anthony, so it is not much of a surprise.”

“Do not mock me,” Anthony said. “I could have left you waiting by the bushes all night.”

“If you had not proposed to her after the conversation we had the other day, I would have questioned your sense,” Daphne said. “Trust me, I would not have been here long.”

Your eyebrows rose. “What conversation?”

“We do not need to start on this,” he said with a pointed look at his sister. “I have already bared my entire soul tonight. I do not need my sister embarrassing me further.”

“Oh, I would never,” Daphne drawled. “After all, there will be plenty of time for us to gossip together when I come to visit you all.”

“Won’t you be busy with your child?” Anthony asked.

She shrugged. “You may be busy with one as well by the time I see you again.”

You looked at Anthony only to find his gaze was already on you. There must have been some shred of doubt in your eyes, because he only took your hand in his.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We will take things as slowly as you desire.”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and nodded as you squeezed his hands—you knew what was expected of you as a wife, and you wanted it with Anthony, but you could not lie and say that his reassurances did not bring you relief.

“My best wishes to the new Viscountess Bridgerton,” Daphne said, her voice full of affection as she clasped her hands together. “It is an honor to have you join our family.”

“It is an honor to be accepted,” you said, bowing your head.

Daphne smiled. “I assume you want to reveal this on your own terms.”

You nodded. “I’ve dealt with enough attention from the ton lately.”

“I am afraid to say that will not go away,” she said wryly. “But I will cover for the two of you.”

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Thank you.”

“It is only proper to welcome my sister in such a way,” she said with a wink, and you could not help but smile. “Now run along, you two. Before rumors start.”

Anthony chuckled, and the two of them embraced before you started on your way.

“Viscountess Bridgerton,” Anthony murmured in your ear. “I love the sound of that.”

You hummed in agreement. “As do I.”

You laid your head on Anthony’s shoulder as you walked back with your hands intertwined—not to the ball, but to a carriage for the promise of time alone. You glanced over at Anthony and he smiled, and you pulled him to a stop as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with hunger, the same vigor he displayed when you first stepped into the gardens together, and you could hardly believe he still had it left in him.

Far too many minutes passed as you kissed and kissed and kissed, not a single care in the world of someone catching you. What could they do? You’d already endured enough scandal to weather anything, and there was no way to punish you and Anthony — you were already engaged.

Your lips were sure to be bruised once you finally pulled away, Anthony gazing at you with complete adoration as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I cannot believe you are to be my wife,” he murmured.

“I cannot believe you are to be my husband,” you breathed. “When will we reveal it?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, intertwining your hands with his own. “Tomorrow, we will tell everyone, and we will deal with everything that comes along with it. But tonight…”

“It is our secret.”

Anthony nodded. “Tonight, we start the rest of our lives together.”

“The rest of our lives together,” you murmured.

Truly, it sounded like a dream. Months ago you could not even consider the thought of marriage without an air of disgust—now, here with Anthony, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were to be his wife.

The rest of your life with Anthony would be anything but simple.

And yet, somehow, you could not think of anything more perfect.

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

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lxvvie · 6 months

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Couples Shit with Simon Riley, Part 2:

Thinking Simon is asleep when he isn't. Or so he says. Case in point: Simon in all his cattiness made you his pillow. Your nails were working miracles scratching along his scalp which had him dozing off and lightly snoring. Or so you thought. You heard him grumble, "Why'd you stop, luvie?" when you moved your hand. He'll deny he was asleep, too, like the peepaw that he is.

To piggyback off the first point, Simon will sometimes quietly grab your hand and put it back on his head if you stop scratching his scalp. If you stop a second time, he will have experienced a betrayal man and cat were never supposed to know, and it's Affection Denied™ for the rest of the day lmao.

Texting each other when you're in two separate rooms because you don't feel like talking out loud. Sometimes, you'll text him some crazy shit that'll warrant him leaving the room he was in to silently judge you.

Absolutely loving to watch him shave in the morning because Simon is so sexy when he's concentrating, eyebrows furrowed, and those brown eyes staring intensely in the mirror.

You and Simon shit-talking each other in bed because you'll complain about being hot with the covers and cuddle pile you two have going on but never really doing anything to change it. You two actually can't get a good night's sleep without being up under the other.

Simon banning you from watching horror films because, for the hundredth bloody time, he didn't hear shit, love. He actually did and it was the neighbors but he can't be arsed to get out of bed.

Speaking of neighbors, it's you and Simon lying in bed, listening to the neighbors make sex and when it's done, Simon goes, "Mm. A new record," and he sounds so unimpressed which causes you to guffaw. Oh my fucking god—

Getting in the dog house with Simon because when your hands are cold, you stick them down in his pants to rest on his thighs because it's hilarious to see him jump and that's what he gets for not turning the heat up. Simon counterargues that he did turn it up. Three degrees.

Introducing Simon to the wonders of Spa Day at home because his skin needs some TLC. Simon looking like someone's stressed auntie with a ciggie dangling from his lips, wearing a really comfortable bathrobe you got him, and eye masks on.

You two treating it like the end of the world whenever one of y'all gets sick (Simon to a lesser extent) because how in the hell will you get your daily dose of affection?

Going all out and having a whole-ass reveal party for your newest edition to the family, Pup. You gave the boys shirts to wear in celebration. You wore Dad, Simon wore... Mom????, Kyle got Uncle, Soap got... Big Brother??? and Price got... Grandfather. Grand. Father. "Congrats, Cap'n." "Shut up."

Pranking Simon by calling him some random guy's name just to see his reaction. Simon stops what he's doing, judges you in Ghost, and goes, "Who the fuck is Anthony?" After that, it's on sight for Anthony. Whoever the fuck that is. Simon gets you back, though, and he's all, "Ask Anthony" "Oh? You love Anthony, too?" "Sorry sweetheart, Simon is taken. Better go to Anthony." Real funny, asshole.

Simon thinking you're about to go down on him. Not the way he thinks, though. You've situated yourself between his thighs, put his legs on your shoulders, and lower your head to... blow raspberries in his tummy. Like... whole-ass tunes. The disappointment on his face is immeasurable. But then you have him chuckling because you're fuckin' adorable looking up at him like that and your raspberries are ticklish.

#2queued4u.#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern lovefare.#simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #x plus size reader #x poc reader #x black reader #task force 141

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teamblck · 7 months

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what the 141 would have your name saved as in their phone

Price-

the missus

doesn’t matter if you’ve been dating 1 week or married for 10 years this is what he would refer to you as so it’s only fitting that’s the contact name for you <3

Ghost-

your full name

lmao i feel like he has all his contacts in his phone saved under first and last name. he doesn’t use his phone much other than to make a call every now and then and to take pictures. he wouldn’t also be a good texter, most of everything would get a 👍 or 👎 reaction

Gaz-

my girl ❤️

i have a strong belief that gaz would use nicknames with my in front of them, like my love, my girl, my dove. he’s a sweetheart and anytime someone asks him who he’s texting cause he’s grinning like an idiot he would just say “oh my girl” and then show a picture because of you cause he’s so proud of himself for snagging such a cute partner

he’s so- i need him biblically

Soap-

bonny <3

this is what he calls you the most. he almost never uses your real name so it doesn’t make sense to have your contact anything other than bonnie <3. I truly think he would even begin calling you this before you even started dating and were just friends. he just thinks you’re soooo pretty 🩷

i am obsessed with these men

i did not proof read so lmk if there is any typos

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elexaria · 8 months

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141’s fav sex positions :((

captain john price — doggy

loves that power play, the feeling of someone submitting so willingly to him! the feeling of their fat ass smacking against his strapping thighs, the freedom to do whatever he wants with his hands. his favourite thing to do is grab ‘em by the necklace or dog chain, pulling taught to bring them to level with him. “you like this? bein’ under me? bet you love how the cap’n fucks you good, don’t you sweetheart?”

sergeant kyle ‘gaz’ garrick — 69

he’s not really a guy that’s into fucking, he’s into making lurv. sensual music, dim lights. he is giving head while ‘ain’t no love’ by bobby bland plays in the background. yeah, you aint going nowhere tonight. no plans to go out, only to mutually pleasure one another. there’s just something about the intimacy, the mutual giving of how he’s giving head while feeling his cock hit the wet depths of someone’s throat, drool trailing down his taint and full balls. and when orgasms are achieved simultaneously, it’s fucking mind blowing.

sergeant johnny ‘soap’ mactavish — cowgirl

mans is a harlot, seeing a pretty thing bouncing on his thick cock, arm’s propped up on the back of the sofa. maybe, if he’s feeling up to it, he might slam his hips up into them to push them past the brink. “fuck yeah, look at ye— all full with m’ cock.” he’ll growl out, jaw clenched as his hands cement themselves on the hips of the rider. “gonna breed ye, make ye all full with my— oh fuck—!” and yeah, he’s still gonna bring up the breeding kink, even if you are a guy LMAO

lieutenant simon ‘ghost’ riley — sunday morning spooning gone sexual

kind of similar to gaz, in the sense that he’s more into making love. don’t get me wrong, he can be a real dirty bastard. but there’s just something about having a lie in, gentle kisses and sweet whispers in the sheets. and when he can bury his face in the crook of someone’s neck, breath warm, whispering praise as he lays on his side and slowly fucks into them. the slower, the better. even cockwarming them for a bit, burly arms wrapped around the little spoon as he peppers their bare shoulders with little kisses. he’s always been seen as a hunk of a man, there’s been countless fucking. but sometimes, he just wants that sunday kinda love :((

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #gaz garrick #tf 141 x reader #soap smut #ghost smut #captain price smut #gaz smut #tf141 smut

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mykneeshurt · 2 years

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How would 141 boys react if the reader (female) has a tendency to be unintentionally lewd and radiates submissive energy. Example: looking up at them with frowned brows, doe eyes and teeth biting onto their lips as they listen to them. Always responding with “yes sir, yes lieutenant, yes please, please ghost” even for the minor inconvenience. Moaning/groaning when they are pissed or tired. Always slipping out something inappropriate like “Lt can you pull my hair?” “Si, can you tie my hair in a ponytail (while the reader is knelt down)” “cap zip my pants please it’s stuck” until one day they finally break and have their ways with the reader, teaching her a lesson for being a tease (sorry the prompt is a bit long)

Lmao I am this person, I don’t mean to be hahaha. F!reader

Price 🥃

It started with a simple moan, you stretched in your seat after a pretty long and intense meeting. You arched your back over the top of your seat and let slip a satisfied moan. No one else caught it but Price did.

It happened again after a sparring session, you massaged your thigh as a string of moans fell past your lips. He tried not to listen, tried to focus on the fight in front of him. ‘So tight’ you muttered to yourself, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on your Captain.

The third time you were summoned to his office and as you walked in your hit your elbow on the door. Rather than swearing or saying ow like a normal person you again, moaned.

He’d had enough. Price threw his pen down and stormed over to the door locking it. Pinning you against the wall he cupped your jaw ‘gonna make you moan for real love.’

Soap 🧼

You and Soap were close but there was underlying tension, ever since you first met. You danced along it never crossing the line.

You were a tactile person. Very touchy feely, you loved human contact. You loved giving hugs in the nicest most innocent way possible, but Soap found it incredibly difficult to keep his thought pure.

Your breasts pushed into him, accentuating your cleavage every damn time. You’d look up at him with innocence written all over your face. When ever he’d hug you back a content sigh would always fill the gap between you.

A hand on a shoulder there, a pat on a thigh there, innocent little touches but coming from you? They felt like fire to him. He knew you were being nice, this is who you were but the way your touch lingered, killed him every time.

It came to a head after a pretty tough mission, everyone was emotionally drained. Hugs always made you feel better, so naturally you hugged Soap. As he tightened his grip you did that damned sigh, pulling back he stared into your eyes before placing the most tender and loving kiss on your lips. He finally got a different type of hug later that night, one he’d been dreaming of for so long.

Ghost 💀

Ghost had always watched you from a distance, regarding you. You reeked of submissive energy to him, always eager to please. Always so polite. ‘Yes sir.’ ‘Yes Lieutenant.’ Your voice always so sultry and pleading. He had to keep to his distance, you were destroying him.

Which is why he was dreading having to ask you if you could fix his tac pants. You were good at sewing so the 141 lads would often ask you to fix their clothes. You obliged because why wouldn’t you.

You’d forced him to try on the trousers that needed fixing so you could assess the damage. As you knelt down you tied your hair into a ponytail and looked up at him. Huge innocent doe eyes a warm smile plastered over your face.

You poked and pulled at the fabric to see if it could be fixed, completely unaware of Ghosts growing erection. He tried desperately to think of something else, but seeing you on your knees in front of him? He couldn’t take it.

He lifted your jaw with two fingers, and wiped his thumb over your bottom lip. That’s when you bit it. Game over. His trousers were soon down to his ankles stuffing your throat with his cock.

Gaz 🇬🇧

It had been a freezing day whilst doing the drills set out by the captain. So cold in fact your couldn’t move your fingers. ‘Gaaaaaaz’ you drawled innocently ‘can you undo my pants please? I can’t move my fingers.’ He hated how sweetly you said his name. He’d move mountains for you if you asked.

He pulled you in close to him as he tugged at your trousers. He could feel his heart pounding, once he’d finished you gave him a quick peck on his cheek. Meaning nothing by it, but it’s all he thought about.

After another long training day you were all sat in the rec room, you leant against Gaz and asked for a head massage. Sitting in between his legs he pulled out your pony tail causing you to drop your head back into his lap and moan at the release of pressure. Instantly he felt himself become hard.

It only got worse from there. As his massaged your head small moans and gasps came from your mouth. At this point it was late and it was only you two in the room. He couldn’t take anymore. Placing his hand along your neck you offered him a devilish smile.

The rest is history, you spend all night with his cock buried in you as he drank your moans like a sweet nectar.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #modern warefare 2 #soap mctavish #soap x you #john mctavish #captain price #price x you #john price #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #captain price x you

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ellaeats · 1 year

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Does it get sweaty under the belly?

LMAO I’m gonna be real with you guys. When I started getting really fat it absolutely got super sweaty and stinky, sometimes the skin under my belly would be like raw just because I didn’t know how to properly take care of a true plus size body. Now I do. This ask made me wanna slide some advice to all my big girls and guys because hygiene with big bodies are never talked about.

1. Antibacterial soap. (You absolutely need to wash your body with this when you get into the 250+ category. Bacteria grows in dark sweaty crevices.I use an antibacterial to start off with, then use a nice good smelling soap after, then before I get out use the antibacterial once more on my private parts, underbelly and armpits.)

2. Exfoliate (you need a loofa, African net sponge, those scrubby gloves, something that’s gonna scrape off those dead skin cells)

3. Make sure you’re completely dry when you get out the shower. ( that means everything, I use a hand fan to dry every crevice. Water builds bacteria so if you put on your clothes without being completely dry, you can get that build up underneath your clothes.

4. Baby powder. (Sprinkle some baby powder between your folds in order to keep dry, stop skin from rubbing against each other, and maintain sweat build up and smell. It also helps chafing. This is the most important step.

5. Spray deodorant (just last longer and is easy to apply, only use under the armpit, deodorant can clog pores and leave nasty blemishes behind on your skin, especially if you’re plus size.

6. Get a slave boy to rub in the baby powder and to wash you in the shower.

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ceilidho · 8 months

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werewolf!141

Soap probably finds you first and tries to keep you all to himself for a few days before Gaz tracks down his scent and finds you. then brings Ghost and Price back to the den where Soap had you all cooped up because he wanted a special girl all to himself. and he's so glum and ticked off when he comes back to the den (he was out getting you food) to find the other men waiting for him and boxing him out of the den.

he definitely gnaws Ghost's good ear out of frustration (i imagine Ghost is a real scary looking wolf like missing an ear, scars all over him, big as shit) and gets the fuckin shit beat out of him LMAO. i know Gaz and Soap for sure play wrestle and when Soap tries that with Ghost, he gets his shit wrecked

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evilgwrl · 27 days

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okay ngl, this is an ask I'm sending to multiple people because holy shit why did it pop in my head I need to see this written T^T

reader is part of !141 and is the only one who knows how to ride a motorbike, so she has to go undercover for a biker gang?? idk but just hear me out. Anyway she has no tattoos or piercings so they get her those temporary tattoos that last two weeks and some fake piercings (or real ones in case they fall off) and so none of the 141 know she's having this whole makeover, and when they get the big reveal I just want to know their reactions- I'm sorry I suck at writing, I'm just good at coming up with the ideas lmao. reading back my whole paragraph I realised how much I truly suck at typing, I apologise that you had to deal with this.

Ahhhh!!! I love this. I hope I did your idea justice and you enjoy it anon 🥹 If you want something a lil more racy let me know but I kept it SFW just incase

CW: None

Your body felt exhausted, thighs moulded to the chair as manicured hands rushed around your frame, prodding at your skin with brushes and wet rags, stamping your flesh with intricate designs. The woman’s voice was soft as she took in your expression, an understanding smile adorning her features as she assured you, they were nearly done.

“Voila,” she gasped, moving away from you as you stared at the mirror in front of you. Temporary tattoos snaked around the coil of your arms, muscles stamped with infamous gang signs and your nose and eyebrows dangling with metal jewellery as your fingers prodded at them, your face creased with slight discomfort.

“We’re going to need to get you dressed but you already look the part!”

You winced at the excitement in her voice, a slight simmer of humiliation broiling through you as you took in the look. You looked so… different. “Thank you,” you murmured, turning around to take in the large snake design that was entwined between your spine.

You felt like you were entering a pageant, constant hands smoothing out your skin and hair as you coughed at the lethal amount of hairspray. Grease dribbled down your chin as you choked down some food, disgusted huffs passing through the lady’s mouth as she ushered something about acting the part too.

“You’re all done, sergeant.”

You paced the room anxiously, wire taped to your chest, nestled in between your cleavage as you awaited the remainder of the task force. It was strange, the most they had ever seen you in was a pair of jeans and a simple top beside your military gear, the barracks were no place for fashion. Sweaty hands rubbed at the leather pants; slick stains of residue quickly brushed away nervously as you prodded with the facial piercings in the mirror.

“Hells feckin’ bells, Bonnie,” a swift voice whistled, Soap’s face charmed with a boyish grin, blue eyes sweeping across your exposed skin, “ain’ you a sight for sore eyes?”

“I look ridiculous,” you blurted, folding your arms self-consciously as the Scotsman tsked his tongue, smacking his lips together.

“Ye’ look good… lil too good for the task force, hen. Might need to find ye a new profession after this.”

You rolled his eyes at his playful tone, his lashes flickering as he took in the sight of you. A flirtatious whistle cut through the air as Gaz slapped his hand against the door, mouth wide. “Sergeant Y/N, that you under all those tattoos?” You bit back a bark as he smiled at you, tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips.

“You look good, [callsign]. Them bikers might wanna keep you to themselves.”

“We ain’ gonna let that happen, lass,” Soap jabbered, “Yer’ our girl, ain’ ya?”

Your reply was cut short by a pound against the door as a gruff voice snapped, “Oi, let’s move it. Don’t got all bloody day, Sergeants.”

Ghost’s eyes lingered over you for a moment, blonde lashes flicking up and down your body, pausing on every tattoo almost as if he was memorising them before he turned around, cold physique dusting through the hallway as you all followed. Captain Price was rambling through his headset to Laswell before he paused, dismissing himself as you all waltzed towards him.

A large Yamaha was sleeked against the exit, the tyres slightly worn to feign usage as you whistled lowly. “Got this all for me, Cap?” Your tone was sharp, admiring the ride before you as a tattooed hand wrapped around the leather handles.

“A biker looking like you ain’ gonna ride a shitbox,” he said, his voice holding an underlying meaning as he did a once over, “Y’ get in trouble in there and you call us in immediately, you understand [callsign]?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take care of those tattoos after this as well, suit ya.”

A warm blush settled on the apple of your cheeks before you reached for the helmet, flattening your hair down as you secured it in place.

“Let’s get us a win.”

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sant-riley · 2 years

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[Task force 141 × Gen Z! Reader/ General headcanons] [p4]

A/N; I thought the hyperfixation was over but surprise it is not LMAO, sorry for the long wait, mentally I was fucked and just tired/burnt out

Ghost is the one who usually trains the recruits, which means he needs to demonstrate moves on. That's where you come in. You can see the recruits tension filled bodies stare at your own bc what the fuck you do mean this 6'4 man is gonna use a finishing move on you.

You crack jokes that Ghost would never hurt a fly before you're flipped on your ass and Ghost is leaning his entire weight on you.

They use you as weights, mainly Soap. It is not an odd occurrence for recruits on base to see you sit on Soaps back while he does push-ups. You usually will be scrolling on your phone on tiktok and Laswell just sighs and takes a picture of yall to show to her wife.

Ghost uses you as a barbell basically and you enjoy being manhandled so you're just happy to be there.

Soap likes to play fight, he will playfully hit your sides and will tickle you while you run around desperately trying to evade his grasps. The only time he stops really is when either Price steps in or when Ghost fucking clothe lines him and he falls on his face. Soap sees you giggling behind Ghosts body and rolls his eyes.

All the guys have you on social media, even Ghost though he notably has no pfp, a generic user, only follows you. He is the first one to like any of your posts and makes appearances on your account and no one knows it's him for sure.

Soap takes your phone and scrolls thru your folder of memes, sending whichever ones he particular enjoys to himself. He really likes reaction images and uses them with everyone and people just ignore it and continue on texting like he didn't just send a picture of a woman crying.

You like to send ghost references you're sure he will not understand and he feels his blood pressure rise every day.

When they learn if you can't, you know, drive for the first time is also a real good time. Ghost is in the back, a bullet in his forearm, Price shouting at you to floor it and by God you fucking floor it so hard Ghost slams his head into the wall of the car and passes out. Price screams that you should've been fucking taught this in training but you shrug your shoulders, knuckles whitened as you shakily haul ass to evac.

It's a running joke that Alejandro and Rudy want you on their team, they playfully try and make negotiations

"Come on, she would be happier with us, no?"

Alejandro has a hand placed on the small of your back, inching you closer to his side in the booth of some random bar yall were dragged too. You're blushing and sputtering bc oh wow two more very attractive men are asking to take you an-

"I agree with Colonel, we can work something out." Then Rudy goes and kisses your hand and Ghost feels his eye twitch and Soap is stanced the fuck up immediately, leaning over and almost pulling across the table.

"Yea no, you two can fuck off with that shit." He grumbles, squeezing his arms around your waist. If he was a dog his hackles would be raised and his teeth bared.

Rudy can't help but lean in and whisper to Alejandro:

"Realmente deberías dejar de bromear con ellos así" (you should really stop joking with them like that)

Alejandro turns and looks dead into Rudy's eyes and hits him with

"¿Quién dijo que estaba bromeando?" (Who said I was joking?)

"Colonel, with all due respect stop fucking with my men, they're gonna pop a bloody blood vessel."

Gaz and you go to cat cafes fairly often!! He finds it extremely relaxing and he often goes whenever he goes on leave with you. No he doesn't correct the batista who thinks yall are married. He says it's because of a discount (there is none).

Price simply loves when you come visit and spend time with him in the city, walking arm and arm while he hums and listens to you ramble. Whether it be about your hyperfixations, you venting or ranting, he's there listening while watching you intently.

Price walks with you inwards of the sidewalk, do not try and move bc he will glare at you.

Valeria, oh she likes you, one bc you're a cute little thing. But mostly because she knows it'll get under everyone's skin if she even makes a mention of taking you. It especially pisses Alejandro off so she makes sure she calls you princess and blows you a kiss when they close the container door on her.

Ghost likes to come up behind you and pulls on the elastics of your holsters really far and let's them slap against your skin to see you whine and whimper. It never fails to make him laugh.

Ghost will not hesitate to beat the shit out of someone who tries to do it to you though, esp a random recruit.

Soap likes to carry you around on his back, it isn't a strange thing but he just genuinely loves the feeling of you against him. He doesn't care if you think you're 'too big', he's gonna pick you up so be quiet and let him hold you.

You've stolen multiple things of their items, not even on purpose but they left it in your room and now it's yours.

You have a skull balaclava, Ghost once came in and said it was too small for him and threw it on your bed and left. He will feel his heart tighten in his chest if you wear it outside of base.

You have a shit ton of Soap's muscle shirts, he is not upset but he will smile so soft when he sees you walk around in it in the early morning, your hair a mess and still a bit of drool on your lips.

Gaz buys you your own hats in attempt for you to stop taking his. It doesn't help. He flicks the brim and always has some cheeky remark about it but he doesn't mind.

You have one of Prices' lighters that you stim with on or off mission. He doesn't even realize until one day you have a lighter with the England flag on it and you're playing with it bc you're anxious. He doesn't say anything though.

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom @solarslushee @areislol

[If you want to be tagged, comment under my pinned post]

#ghost <3 #soap <3 #price <3 #gaz <3 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader #gen z! headcanons #kayla writes <3 #cod #john mactavish x reader #fem reader

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cherry-titz · 10 months

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HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said.

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight.

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones.

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.”

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest.

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?”

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck.

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile.

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear.

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.”

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form.

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming.

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all.

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them.

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat.

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them.

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure.

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all.

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers.

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.”

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.”

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone.

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat.

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits.

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better.

Y/N never sees him again.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #dark harry styles #dom!harry #dom!harry styles x sub!reader #dark harry #harry styles writing #harry styles imagines

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Note

Hi Aquarius!

I had an idea I wanted to share with you: SAGU creator reader who likes to make little bits and bobs for their acolytes. For example, Childe vaguely mentions that his gloves are starting to wear out? The creator crochets or knits him a new pair-Can’t have his fingers getting chilled in the Snezneyan snow now can we?

(I just wanna give my skrunklis lil gifts and make them happy is all :3)

(Also, could I possibly be 💌anon?)

WHOFOHNJDFjhkbfsgddf Genuine keyboard slam i just kinda slammed my hands down in excitement ahem-

That would be a lovely idea anon, yes very much so indeed,

so im like hella into giving ppl useful but still aesthetic/pretty gifts, like i dont want the things i give ppl to be things that get donated/thrown away (when i genuinely care abt a person)

Also IF I DIDNT RUN U OFF FOR BEING SO LATE YES HELLO U CAN DEFINITELY BE 💌 ANON THATS SO CUTE I LOVE THAT EMOJI-

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only)

Planet: General SAGAU / Isekai Stuff, Platonic Cutenss

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, a couple sentences for each

Stars: Everybody from elements Pyro, Electro and Anemo! Plus Aether/Lumine/Dainsleif!

Please understand that some characters are more “foreground” characters and have more screen time so I may have written some more for them because I knew them better!

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: weapons for gifts?? 16+ Older Teen + Up Audiences Advised, light cussing

& Trigger Warnings: None Known.

SO U KNOW WHAT THAT MEANSSSS

THIS IS MY JAMMMMM, MY PB&J BITCHEESSSS GET REKTT

☆

AHAHAHAHA- YOU’RE ALL GETTIN SPAMMED WITH JUST GIFT IDEAS I HAVE FOR WHAT TO GIVE THEM- YOU DO NOT HAVE CHOICE. YOU WILL BE GIVING GIFTS TO THE TEYVATIANS, THEY DESERVE GOOD THINGS. SUCK IT.

EDIT 9/19/23: WTF HELLO??!!! 1000+ NOTES??!?! THANK YOU SO MUCH?!!!!!! <3

PART 1 (you're here!) / PART 2

ELEMENTS HERE: Babygirls, Pyro, Electro, Anemo

☆

Babygirls:

Aether = The most beautiful, amazing, sleek, and functional pretty hairpin that is also a knife! So he can have that badass moment of unsheathing it from his hair and having a surprise weapon and showing off his long hair, acted all shy when you gave it to him, he doesn’t get gifts often, all the birthday letters were for you afterall, i feel like you deffo have walked in on him miming taking it out all badass for practice lol

Lumine = bless her, you handed her this gift and she just looked up at you and u swear didnt blink or look away for a full minute. Then she nearly crushed you to death squeezing you, god she’s muscular, as you made a sort of self-care kit, including her favorite scents you added to like blank soaps/face masks, and towels you initialed with “Lumi”, she deserves a break afterall (and she thinks you deserve it too, and subtly tries to get you to join like *“*oh this is so sweet, something for us to do together”)

Dainsleif = sad little man deserves happy little things, you make him a weighted blanket, in these blankets it’s usually like sand or something that is put into little like quilt squares so it evenly distributes weight, but you used that water from the fountain that soothes Khaenri’ah people’s curse instead. He literally went speechless when you gave it to him. He has not had a single night of insomnia since. He would literally do anything for you, and literally stole you off to the side after a few nights of good sleep to tell you this lmao

Pyro Allogenes:

Diluc = Another bitch who just needs a break, you steal him off one evening and tell him you need a hilichurl camp wiped out, and there’s a cryo mage so you need him, bc thats the only way this workaholic is actually gonna drop everything and actually take care of himself, you have to deceive him, and then surprise him by showing him a hot spring you found. Teyvat has a lot more things to it now that it’s in real life, and that includes natural hot springs apparantly, and you’ve already prepped the place too, with his favorite non-alcoholic drinks, some indulgent foods like chocolate and fruits, and a soft robe. Man’s went wide eyed and nearly fell in LMAO, and then, looking away all pink, said he couldn’t accept this… unless you joined him.

Amber = a pair of comfy shoes, with baron bunny decorated all over them, like you sewed patches over them to personalize it, and the insoles are GODLY good, so she can run to Sumeru at this rate and her feet will feel like she went for a light jog! Some Mondstadt citizens, and knights tbh, are honestly a little afraid of Amber now bc her feet aching was sometimes the only thing stopping her from going 100% all the time lol

Bennett = a lucky charm, yes, yes, I know, basic, but it’s different coming from you! You’ve given him a bandana to wear as a neckerchief around his throat (it’s unprotected and he’s that unlucky?!) and it fits great, you’ve made it from Liyue materials, and imbued it with geo energy, so it actually makes a small shield/barrier around his head lmao, he’s practically thanking you every week and telling you how it helped him that week 💀

Klee = a treasure hunt map you made! every little stop/treasure gives her some candy or a snack, plus the next instructions, and she insists you go with her, and drags you along lol, and you planted them within range of the Mondstadt so she’s not too far off, and the final treasure (bc u planned it so she was supposed to start at a certain time/get to the end in a few hours) she finds at late sunset, and it’s a type of challenge that u were able to make, (bc apparently being the “highest god” means u get dev access, like the teapot functions but more OP). It makes a rainbow of glowing fish appear as targets to better Klee’s bomb throwing skills, and to entertain her, she gives the most dramatic gasp ever, and is just vibrating telling you “The fishes! They’re so pretty! ‘Bedo said that you give the greatest gifts, and he was so, so, so SO right!! Thank you very much!!!” :D in her cute little voice and then proceeds to speedrun you a hug and then starts throwing bombs lmao

Xiangling = HOO BOY- she has nearly every cooking utensil known to man, thanks to her being a young famous chef, and bc her family’s restaurant makes good money bc of it, so it was hard to think of something for her, but you eventually made her a handwritten and sewn together recipe book (look up “how to make zine”, its very easy actually, theres one with sewing the paper and a smaller one with just folding). It’s full of all of your favorites from Earth and what you think could substitute here, and how it should taste. Xiangling literally took your hands and spun you bc she hates luxury stuff, and really loves and appreciates homemade gifts, it’s the first anyone’s heard of your homeworld’s food so it makes her feel special <3 (she will be constantly harassing you with a spoonful of food to try and see if it’s close)

Hu Tao = You remembered one of Shakespeare’s plays and wrote a rough screenplay for Yunjin to adapt, then took Hu Tao with you to see it! She loves poetry and singing, so she loves to see Yunjin play usually, but she hadn’t had the time lately bc of funeral spirit work, (u also brought Zhongli so she could have fun embarrassing him lol), and she literally made a whole bit/joke about getting down on one knee to marry you, which was promptly interrupted by said embarrassed adepti, people even clapped lmao

Xinyan = You made her an aweinspiring outfit to wear onstage, modeled after classic rockstars from your world, she nearly teared up at the sight of it, and then nearly took ur ear out bc she was getting so loud and excited, u try to convince her otherwise, but Xinyan refuses to wear it outside of big occasions like Lantern Rite or performances with Yunjin (looks like this, I tried very hard ok, check it: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/76631631152377154/)

Yanfei = Once again, a written book, or at least 20 rap songs for her to look through. This sounds weird, but she eventually hopes to see a future where people are just better at obeying laws and considers then she’d be out of a job. So, after seeing some of Xinyan’s performances, she decided her back up career would be a rapper. She will literally stop you every time she sees you and lowkey force you to hear her latest rap she’s made, partially inspired from the Earth ones you gave her a lot of the time! She literally talked your ear off for hours, and didnt realize that she linked arms with you at one point and made you both walk at least 3 miles around the port lol, very embarrassed but grateful for the gift, another person who really adores homemade stuff

Thoma = you sewed him a cute plushie of Taromaru, along with a little plushie tea cup set. He literally covered his mouth in shock, and turned away, were those tears?? Very carefully took his gift and nearly bent in half bowing and thanking you for the gift, and was cutely touchy all day, linking arms, guiding you by gently nudging your back in crowds, etc. You once woke him up out a day nap on accident trying to find him, and he walked out half-asleep clutching the plushie Taromaru and nearly jumped a foot in the air at the sight of you lol, all like “HIGH EMPEROR?! OH MY- Oh my gods- Uh- sorry, so sorry about that!” and then proceeds to immediately hide Taro behind his back all red in the face lmao, refuses to acknowledge it, will get even redder if you keep pressing him about it lol

Yoimiya = so Yoimiya canonically really loves to go out into nature and explore, and go for that sunset hike type of person! so you, once again assume all these thru tutorial or teyvat craftsmen help, made her a hammock! She’s apparently really bad about falling asleep outside, and since hammocks can be really lightweight and good for temperate weather (ive tried it, sleepin in a hammock for camping its kinda nice, as long as you dont fall out/toss and turn a lot in ur sleep), and you even added some extra ropes on the sides so she can tie it down and not upend herself while she’s sleeping (keeps the hammock from tilting). She literally squealed and dragged u all over Inazuma trying it out with you, and because she chats with her neighbors/community a lot, EVERYONE KNOWS YOU GOT HER A HAMMOCK, YOU PAINTED IT AND EVERYTHING, DID YOU KNOW YOIMIYA IS ONE OF THE ALLOGENES THAT GOT BLESS WITH A PERSONAL GIFT FROM THE ALL-GOD??!! - everyone in Inazuma near her house, including yoimiya

Dehya = so Dehya likes to upkeep personal hygiene as much as she can between her mercenary job roughness and the general battery of the desert. She also is known to stop by the market place to pick up makeup and other personal hygiene products! So you figured if she’s collected so many of those over time, she might just have a practical bag to carry them in, and you offer her a multi-pocket cloth bag (like for taking makeup when you travel bags) and also attach a mirror inside! She literally covered her face with her hands and Dunyazard lightly teased her for weeekkssss lmao, and the other guys in her mercenary group like “wowww, someone managed to tame the Flame Mane?” which just makes her more shy bc the God of ALL decided to HANDMAKE her a gift, and not just a frilly thing, an ACTUAL USEFUL PRETTY GIFT- she accidentally set her claymore alight when you finished explaining what it was and handed to her (it’s fireproof too)

Electro Allogenes:

Lisa = a decorated tea set! Specifically, you painted it her favorite color, with some of her favorite book quotes across the saucers and her favorite flowers across the teapot. She gave you the prettiest smile, and just “Oh cutie! For little old me? You’re a bit above a librarian like me, but I’ll still accept this with all the grace of a lady courted, haha!” insists on “trying them out” with you all the time, especially when you get too busy from the other allogenes <3

Fischl (they/them Fischl supremacy) = You made a book cover (like how some books will have the paper sleeve and the actual hardcover is just colored? like that) of Prinzessin der Verteilung, but looking a lot more like them rather then the old protagonist! They collectively lost their mind over it for literal weeks, and did the same for you for your most relatable protagonist! :D They insist you two start a fantasy book club now- NO they don’t care if you’re the All Fürst! That makes you all the more qualified for joining the elite literature society they’re starting!

Razor = a bunch of hair ties! You’ve made scrunchies, bows, clips, etc. for him to try and decorate his hair with, all of things he likes, like little wolf puppies, or Andrius’ but cuteified, little symbols of all his friends like little bomb design hairclips for Klee, a red four leaf clover for Benny, a purple rose for Lisa, a golden star for the traveler, and an eight pointed star, like the four-pointed one but with some flare in between its points. A prominent symbol apparently associated with you u found out :0, Razor is giving Barbara and Klee a run for their money bc of how cute he looks walking into town for Lisa’s lessons with all this cute little clips and hair ties and braids in his hair now <3

Keqing = you know. you know EXACTLY what to give her. Plushies of cute animals or creatures in or around Liyue, like the little snow foxes from Dragonspire, a tiny oceanid, the small geovishaps, etc. Keqing doesn’t care if you’re a god, remember! So you better swear to never tell a soul you made her these!! …she sleeps with them too.

Raiden Shogun (puppet) = what to give a cold hard b*tch? …a break. you talk to Ei and make her give the puppet some off days, and you also may or may not have bullied Ei for being a hermit, so she can explore and learn more about herself, instead of being forced into the image, literally, of her god. She tries to write you months in advance for making plans on her days off so you can join her!

Ei (god) = an open window bc she’s a hermit, i mean of course you bring her out on “updates” (she weirdly choked a little over tea when you presented this idea to her, “Ahem- cough- a date? Oh, as in getting more familiar with the world, yes of course,” you basically pull out a map and take her to other countries so she can see how the other gods are doing these days and finally do something new, she is overwhelmed but in a good way? And she's especially willing to do it if you keep calling them that, these “up-dates”

Yae Miko = you were honestly kind of intimidated by giving Yae Miko a handmade gift, it just seemed like she would like something of high quality, which your gifts weren’t always guaranteed to be. So instead, you didn’t. You made a cool little picnic, and in remembering her love of stories from her lore as a kid, you brought some of your world’s stories to show her, the classics, then any favorites of yours, and some you thought she might like, and read them all to her about once a week. You both talk about and discuss the book and let Yae nitpick it and try to give her more context for books like Shakespeare in hope to answer all her detailed questions about the stories. Yae was so fucking smug (and secretly so in love) that she wrote a story for Yae Publishing House about it… “Joining a Book Club with the Akitsu Mikami, a Romance Novel” 💀

Sara = damn another busy woman, you steal her away with the promise of “needing a body guard” and she immediately answers and drops everything (u made sure to choose a slow day, dw ur not a rude god) andddd you’ve got her! Sara literally just stood there in shock when you showed up at your meeting place with homecooked food, specifically new recipes from your world, and some recipes from Xiangling! She would not stop stuttering out thanks yous the entire time, and fumbled with her chopsticks constantly, and she ate a lot, and even shyly asked if she could take some of it with her for later, now anytime you mention food around her she unintentionally starts looking at you with puppy dog eyes, (baby crow eyes??) even if the rest of her posture is perfect/gives nothing away lol

Beidou = A hand woven wine cask holder! a bit more solid so you can paint some designs on it, and you painted the whole crew, with Kazuha in the crow’s nest and Beidou is the biggest figure on it (stylized, u arent trying to paint a renaissance artwork here) and you even put her name on it “Captain Beidou” :) You were rewarded with a tall muscular woman squeezing you with her muscular arms, Beidou only puts her best wine/sake bottle in it, and only uses it for special occasions! she may or may not have had to make sure and hide it in her Captain’s quarters so other pirates won’t steal it, since everybody on the seas heard about the All Mighty giving her a personalized gift, but dont worry! She’s a pirate captain, she’s used to defending her most prized treasures from others <3

Shinobu = a spa day for another overworking woman, you made her another mask and hair tie! They still match her of course, but they also subtly have that eight point star symbol you’ve had associated with yourself before (like the four point but with a little flare), and she literally went so red, she hid behind Itto for a second. who helped morally support her enough to try it on, and it’s definitely her most comfortable mask!

Cyno = you were a little… embarrassed to make this one, but Cyno mentioned wanting it so… You made a TCG card of yourself. With the world in your hands as you hover in the middle of a solar system, you paint yourself giving a small smile down at Teyvat’s world cupped in your hands. One of the symbols they associate with you, the eight pointed star, not equal points, but rather a four pointed star with embellishments, said symbol glows and dangles from a necklace you wear, above it all. You swear he stared at it for a solid minute without blinking, and when you initially offered it, Cyno held it like it was spun glass. He gently laid it on a table nearby, his eyes never leaving it as he got out his deck, and put the card of you, on the very top. The mahamatra then gently set it down, and then gently hugged you and picked you up off your feet a bit (when you said maybe you were too heavy for this, he just raised an eyebrow, and that’s when you remembered that trailer of him throwing a body-builder man, one-armed, over his shoulder. He easily lifted you and set you back down. 💀)

Dori = A herb garden. Strange, but Dori’s sister has a lot of medical issues, and the herbs can be hard to come by, even for Dori, you didn’t tell her that you read some parts of her life, but when she saw the planter box, she knew. You had ventured far and wide, all over Teyvat, and the stuff you had came with you! so you put one of every herb you had or went out and got some because you’ve been exploring Teyvat anyway. And for once… you made sure no one was around, Dori teared up. She carefully set the box full of lively plants aside, and you were in the middle of explaining how to take care of them when she just, wrapped her smaller frame around your lower legs. You squatted down to hug her back :’)

Anemo Allogenes:

Venti = another book you made (look up “how to make a zine” on youtube it’s actually kinda easy) that you filled with all the lyrics to all your favorite songs, and some classics! The bard was ecstatic because he technically had vague knowledge or recognition of most of Teyvat’s songs, but songs from another world didn’t count, hehe! …he may or may not have lightly guilt-tripped you into trying to sing or hum some of the tunes or melodies of the songs, “I need to hear the melody so I may play it for you for eternity, your highness!” That’s his gift back, is that now you can get a Venti medieval sounding cover version of any song you like lmao

Sucrose = you’ve made another book (bought in Teyvat or made, check out “how to make a zine” on youtube it’s easy so I think you could feasibly handmake it!) and filled it with as much information as you can on how things like electricity works, luckily you can still retrieve information from Earth thanks to Albedo managing to somehow get you a signal?? You don’t wanna know, but point is, she’s literally spiraling. It’s been days, Albedo had to be the one to drag her out of the lab and eat, while you are starting to doubt if your gift did more harm then help… as soon as you voice these thoughts to Sucrose she nearly shook your head off from shaking your shoulders so hard while she ranted about phones, telephone poles, paved roads and she actually offered books back in exchange, for leveling allogenes up, as long as you told her more about “Those ships that go underwater again?? Please, Your Highness???” cute puppy dog eyes but worse bc she’s got cute glasses on too, oh no-

Jean = another workaholic woman who just needs a break, god why are there so many of them?? Your first thought was a spa day, but you like to think you can do better than that. In fact, she’s had a pretty heavy load since she was a kid trying to uphold the Gunnhildr clan’s name/knighthood, so you decide that instead of spa day, you should have a fun day! So you decide to take her out some days for some fun around Mondstadt (and recruit Venti to help do things like boost the winds for extra fun), like shield surfing! (look up Breath of the Wild shield surfing video if you dont know what i mean), it's something a lot of young knights do, and it’s perfect for Mondstadt’s hilly landscape! Other things like flying kites, or even rerouting all her work for part of the Windblume festival so she could enjoy it more! THEN you kidnap her all over again, and Barbara, to go to Fontaine! What better way for her to have genuine fun than getting a break to see and have fun with her younger sister and go see a colorful circus/fair? Jean was literally just a constant stream of “thank you your majesty! my gracious god, thank you- this is too much-, All-Fürst I am forever indebted to you for this!” and ur just like :/ Jean that’s the whole point of a gift is that you aren’t indebted to somebody-

Xiao = a friendship bracelet :) since he likes jewelry, and he likes you, it's perfect! and u made it match his necklace. you’ve also put that same water from the fountain that soothes the Khaenri’ah’s curse, and put it in there, and it actually lessens his karma, so for the first time in about 2 centuries, Xiao the Yaksha, can actually sleep through the night. You weren’t looking, but when you turned away to show him your sketches or plans for how to craft it, he sort of, reached out. You felt his hand warm on your wrist before it retreated, you could already feel the callouses, as the small weight of a bracelet was wrapped around your hand, his return gift, so u guys could match 👉👈 Xiao breathes out what sounds like all those years of pain in one shaky, relieved, “…thank you” (he did all that while you were turned around in your bag too, he was too shy to look at you when he put it on lmao)

Kazuha = “So this is what you’ve been up to lately, hm?” Kazuha’s been kind and laidback enough that he’s one of the allogenes who quickly dropped the formal titles luckily. He’s been seeing you sneak around and present your gifts to the others… and he came prepared in case you came to give him something too! Before you can even get out, “Hey, Kazuha, do you have a minute? I’ve got something for y-” boom. He’s beat you to it, he’s saying the same damn thing, and pulling out his gift for you. It’s a lovely Inazuman outfit, decked out in your favorite color, it’s like if you were an Inazuman character yourself- You just accept it half in shock, while Kazuha gives this small smile, but u can see the smug little look in his eyes, that little shit he really prepared a countermove- HE EVEN WROTE YOU REALLY SWEET POETRY AND EMBROIDERED IT INTO SOME OF THE INSIDE HEM LINES LIKE THE COLLAR -//////- ← you rn as Kazu’s all fucking smug, you end up just being like “take ur crummy gift u little shit” and nearly throw it at him lol, sweet asshole that he is, catches it anyway, and you’ve made him new hair ties, some minimal clips that look like maple leaves (like felt fabric stuck onto the clip bit) and the new hairtie is more like a scrunchie with a pretty red knot on top, your own symbol of an eight-pointed star, like an extra four-pointed star not the star of david lmao, sits in the center of the traditional japanese knot. He wears it nearly all the time, and mentions making you one to match (>:/ sweet considerate little shit he is)

Sayu = you’ve made her a quilt! stitched together from all sorts of cute fabrics, so it still matches her color scheme, she wraps up in it now before going into that balled up tanuki form lol, she insists you break it in with her and take a nap with her constantly lmao, and you give in even if you dont always sleep because of her tiny half-asleep smile (sayu knows the grip she has on you lol💔)

Heizou = a mystery novel a friendship necklace! you knew him and his friend had once had something similar, (they were more like matching river rocks or pebbles not jewelry you think) so you desperately hoped it wouldn’t be too offensive. The little shit who saw it coming #2, whereas Kazuha suspected you might offer him something, he didn’t have quite the same intution that Heizou did, so the detective knew you were going to give him something >:/ little snitch- he was so smug and teasing about it right up until he actually saw the necklace, it draped lower so it didnt look weird with his choker, and it was a pretty crystal you’d gotten from a riverbed (you didnt tell Heizou bc of the similarity w/his old friend, but he knew anyway) and he immediately looked the most serious you’ve ever seen him. His grin was less of a smirk and more of a smile when he processed what you gave him, and he wears it all the time :) Calls it his "God blessed good luck charm"

Scara/Wanderer = It was very hard, and you had to learn how from a blacksmith, but you finally got it! You made a small addon that latches onto the outside frame of his Vision, so instead of the sort of teardrop shape it has, you’ve made a heart shape. Since he sees the vision as his heart, you thought it’d be cute to actually see it that way! He was all like “I don’t wear jewelry, I already have some metal holding my Vision, are you trying to embarrass me?” You: “okay, well you don’t have to keep it, I’ll take it back-” Scara: “No? Shut up it’s mine now.” He went pink the first time he put it on, and he only wears it when it’s just you two, or you both and Nahida (bless her, she only lightly teased him, just enough to have him yell a little, not enough to discourage him)

Faruzan = a compass that points towards ruins/magical places, so she can explore all the ruins the desert has to give, and also, more importantly, guides her out, you deffo relied on a blacksmith for this one, and got Nahida to help you add the magic to it. She just got this, soft and bittersweet? look on her face, and redirected the nostalgic look towards you, bowed gently and thanked you, … you offered her a hug. Faruzan accepted, and you could feel the way she exhaled, relieved.

☆

(Throws this garbage at you really late and runs away to my bed)

Hope u liked literally any of that! ;-;

Also im not done as you can see! Im doing all the elements bc i love these skrunklies-

☆

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒️

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

#another mammoth of a post that wouldve just been ONE LMAO #but i saved u from that chaos bc i rlly wanted to post and i was getting impatient #😗✌️#look out for part2!#genshin sagau #sagau #my asks #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin reader insert #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin #✨️forgot all my tags again✨️#genshin platonic #genshin women x reader

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miniwheat77 · 6 months

Text

Awkward. (Gaz x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, Virgin!reader, p in v sex, virginity loss, unprotected sex, awkward reader, mentions of reader being picky, violence, sorry if I missed any. This sat in my drafts forever lmao

(Lmao, it’s my time to shine bc I’m the most awkward bitch you’ll ever meet.)

Your face contorts in disgust as you look upon the contents of the MRE, you hated it. You’re carrying more than you should, trying to get to the mess hall. You lay them out on the countertop, going and sitting down. Pretty much the only thing you liked in this were the crackers. Soap sits down at your table, smile growing at his lips as he sees you eating the crackers. “Gross again?” He asks. “Always.” You mumble. When everyone else sits down at the table, you stand up to go get a water and Soap chuckles. “What’s funny?” Gaz asks. “She’s so awkward.” He mumbles. “Yeah, but she’s funny.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I like that she knows how awkward she is.”

“Do you remember when Captain Price put her on the spot in a meeting? She wanted to ring his neck.” Gaz laughs. Soap laughs too. “I don’t know, her awkwardness is cute.” Gaz shrugs. “Yeah it is, she just seems so…”

“Innocent? Oblivious? Yeah.”

You make your way back to the table, water bottle and crackers in hand. “You want my crackers too?” Gaz asks. “No, the smell of sin is making me nauseous,” you groan. “Sin?” Soap asks. “Yeah, the smell of whatever the fuck they put in those MRE’s is sin. You can’t change my mind.” You laugh. Gaz shakes his head. “How are you so picky?” He smiles. “Because, I hate everything.” You mumble. “Jeez, so uptight.” Soap mumbles. “Need to get laid little lady.” Soap tosses a packet of crackers your way, laughing as your cheeks heat up. You’re embarrassed and he can tell he’s struck a nerve. “Let’s not talk about who needs to get laid. You’re so touch starved, anything even mildly shaped like a woman turns you on.” You roll your eyes. “Hey, I never denied it.” He smiles. “Yeah, don’t go too crazy on the training mannequins.” You smirk, earning an eye roll from him.

—

“Hey Y/N.” Gaz smiles. You’re not expecting him and he startles you. You jump slightly, knocking over your capless water bottle and scrambling to pick it back up. “Oh shit!” You gasp. You stand up, trying to brush the water from your shirt. “H-hey Gaz. What’s up?” You ask. You hope he won’t be able to see your bright red cheeks but he can. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles. He passes you a few napkins from a table next to you. “I was wondering if you’d be my spotter tomorrow morning when I work out. Soap usually does it but he’s not feeling very good.” He says. “Uh.. yeah sure- yeah.” You laugh awkwardly.

He reaches out, taking the cap to your water bottle and screwing it on before setting it back down. “Thank you.” You blush. He smiles.

Captain Price chuckles when Gaz comes back toward him. “For how awkward she is, she’s a real good soldier.” He laughs. “Yeah, it’s odd.” Gaz smiles. “She seems more awkward around you.” Captain Price points out. “You think so?” Gaz looks at him. “Yeah, maybe she has a crush on you.” Captain Price laughs. “I doubt it.”

—

“I’m going to scrape my eyes out with my fingernails.” You groan. “Y/N, you’re going to be fine.” Soap chuckles. “No, no I’m not, I hate this.” You sigh. “Why? What’s so bad?” He asks. “Soap. I joined the military, not the fucking royal family. I hate dresses. I hate dressing up.” You groan, tugging the dress down your thighs. You had to borrow it from another girl on base. “Plus this dress barely covers my ass.” You groan. “Yeah. You look a lot different.” He laughs. “Different how?” You ask. “Hey guys.” Gaz smiles. He’s dressed up really nice as well. “Hey. And also, you look like a girly girl.” Soap laughs. You roll your eyes. “Y/N is complaining once again.” Soap looks at Gaz. “Isn’t she always.” He sends you a wink, and you try to ignore it. “Yeah, because this is misery. I don’t wear dresses.” You groan. Gaz smiles. “You look really good though.” He smiles. “Liar.” You mumble. “I’m gonna go get wine drunk and try to pretend this night never happened.” You groan.

“Wonder why she’s so awkward.” Soap laughs. “I don’t know.” Gaz shrugs.

A few hours later, you’re a little tipsy. Captain Price has made a toast, he’s thanked everyone, you’ve met family members of fellow soldiers. It’s pretty fun even though you hate the way you’re dressed. You’re tipsy, sitting back in your chair. Smiling lightly at the story Gaz is telling. You really love them. They’re like your best friends. “You okay?” Gaz looks at you. You nod your head. “Just listening.” You smile. Something about the half-tipsy half-lazy smile you give him, sparks shoot right through him, chills going down his spine. He tries to shrug these feelings off. “You don’t seem as awkward when you’re drinking.” He laughs. “Liquid courage.” You smile, raising up the glass of wine. He smiles. “Alright, time for some fun.” Soap rubs his hands together. “You should tell us something cool about you.” He smiles. “Soap, she’s been drinking.” Gaz rolls his eyes. “So? She’d do it to me.” He laughs. “What do you want to know?” You look up at him, bringing your legs up onto the chair. “Why didn’t any of your family come here?” Soap asks. “Ah, I didn’t tell them about it.” You laugh. “Why not?”

You shrug. “They’re just.. it’s a long ways for them to come and I didn’t want to be disappointed when they told me they couldn’t make it.” You laugh. “Your boyfriend isn’t going to come?” He asks. You smile. “Boyfriend?” You giggle. “Yeah.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Never have.” Soap tilts his head. “What?” You giggle again. “Not exactly the dating type.” You roll your eyes. “So..” Gaz swallows a little harder than he intends. “How does that work? Like friends with benefits because you don’t date or..” this makes you laugh. Taking him off guard. “Oh god no. I’m too awkward for that.” Gaz and Soap exchange glances. “So.. have you never…” Soap trails off. “What?” You ask. “Have I ever had sex? No.” You roll your eyes. Taking another drink of wine. Gaz’s eyes widen. Soap and him exchanging glances. “Why not?” You raise an eyebrow. “Have you seen me?” You giggle. “If I have a crush on somebody, I keep that to myself. I am so awkward if anybody ever found out I liked them, I’d die of embarrassment.” You smile. “Huh. Do you like anybody on the task force?” He asks. Your cheeks turn a bright shade of red. “Oh you doooo. Who is it?”

“None of your business.” You roll your eyes. “We’ll find out sooner or later.” He smiles. You roll your eyes. “I’ll take it to my grave thank you very much.” You chuckle. You stand up. “I’m calling it a night,” you mumble. “Yeah, I’m going to go see what Simon is doing.” Soap stands up, walking off. “You need me to walk you back to your room?” Gaz asks. You smile. “You can if you want.” He stands up, pushing his chair in and walking along with you. Gaz liked you. He got along with you pretty well. He thought your awkwardness was funny and cute. He’s got his hands in his pockets as he walks beside you. “So.. where did the awkwardness start?” He asks. “I don’t know, it’s been that way forever.” You laugh. He nods his head. He’s smiling. When he reaches your room, he says his goodbyes, and for once you’re not too awkward, the wine most likely. Once he finishes up his goodbyes, he goes on to his own room.

The following morning, you’re a little hung over. But nonetheless you make your way out into the mess hall. “Ah. There she is.” Soap smirks. “What?” You mumble. “I don’t see any hickeys or bruises.” He crosses his arms. “What are you talking about?” You’re getting nervous. “We saw you and Garrick leaving together last night. Thought maybe you gave up your v-card.” He smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t even remember last night.” Your cheeks are burning and you’re avoiding his gaze. “I forgot my belt.” You mumble, disappearing back down the hallway you came from. You rush down the corridor until you meet Gaz’s door. You knock a couple times before walking straight in. “Woah-“ he mumbles, spinning around. He’s just now getting dressed. He doesn’t have a shirt on and his pants are still unbuttoned. “Sorry- I just- did something happen last night?” You mumble. “What do you mean?” He asks. “I just.. Soap said he saw us leave together and I don’t remember anything- did- oh god.” You mumble.

“Did we have sex?” He asks as he crosses his arms. Your face is beat red and you look frustrated. “No. We didn’t have sex.” He laughs. “Oh thank god.” You mumble. “I- I mean. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant.. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you- I- just-“ your eyes are wide as the words leave your lips. He’s smirking at you, taking a step closer. Arms crossed over his chest. Your lips are parted, still in shock at what you’ve just admitted. The only thing you can think to do is leave. Hearing his laughter as you leave, closing the door behind you.

“Stupid- stupid.” You mumble, pacing back and fourth in your room. How the hell were you supposed to go out there after that? After admitting to him that you wanted to have sex with him? You chewed at your lip nervously. You hear your Captain call over the radio that everyone needed to meet in the mess hall. You groan in frustration. You make your way outside, staying completely emotionless as you make your way outside. You sit down at the table you usually sit at, looking over a magazine. You can feel eyes burning into you and you know for sure it’s Soap and Gaz. “We’re leaving on a mission in 15, make sure you have absolutely everything you need. This is an important mission.”

—

Gaz of course sat right next to you for the entire ride to the zone. “Y/N? Everything okay?” Soap asks, he’s got a smirk on his face. “Fine, just nervous.” You mumble. “Because Gaz is sitting next to you?” He teases. “Ha ha ha.” You roll your eyes. “Because we’re about to kill a bunch of assholes and put our lives on the line.” You mumble. “I didn’t think you still got nervous on these.”

He’s caught you in a lie. “Yeah well.. whatever.” You mumble. “You don’t do very good under pressure.”

“No I don’t, I lash out and get violent, why do you think I’m in the military.” You smile. He laughs. “I’m just pulling your leg. But ay, after the mission maybe if you ask him politely enough, Gaz will hit it again.” A snort leaves your lips. You roll your eyes. “After this mission maybe if you’re still alive, I’ll ring your neck and the enemy won’t have to.” You glare. Gaz places his hand on your thigh, your body going rigid immediately. “Relax, he’s just talking shit. It’s what he’s good at.” Soap notices the way you tense up, seeing you staring down at Kyle’s hand. You clamp your thighs together immediately. Hands clutching at the bench until your knuckles turn white. You’ve clearly got a crush. Soap shakes his head, smiling to himself. You’re so obvious.

The helicopter lands and everyone files out, taking direct orders from Captain Price and Ghost. Your demeanor changes from that of awkwardness to stealth. There’s no time for playing games, only time for war. “This is Capture or kill. We need the intel inside.” Ghost says to everyone. “We’re moving slow, staying with a partner. Keep focused.” He helps guide everyone and eventually everyone is splitting into groups.

“You know it’s you who she has a crush on, right?” Soap mumbles to Gaz. “I know.” He laughs. They’re taking post up in a building and watching over everyone below. “She came into my room this morning because she didn’t remember anything that happened last night-“ he pauses, taking a shot and hitting an enemy below. “Incriminated herself pretty bad, that’s why she’s so frustrated and snappy.” He smiles, one eye closed as he watches the area below. “You know if you fuck her the attitude will go away right?” Soap chuckles. Gaz rolls his eyes. “I know. Just waiting until the time is right.” He pulls the trigger again. Soap smiles. “Woah, what’s going on?” Soap calls into his radio. He sees you burst out of a building, firing your gun rapidly into the door. You’re limping. “They’ve got Myles inside.” He can hear you groan into the radio. “I’ve got him, just give me a minute.” You empty another full magazine into the bulky door. Kicking it open despite your injury. Gaz has moved his attention to you as well for backup. They hear more gunfire, your radio must’ve been damaged because they can hear everything but it’s a little muffled.

When you reappear you’re dragging the sergeant out and wrapping your shirt over his wound. “Think his femoral artery was grazed, he’s bleeding bad.”

“I’ll get medical out.” Ghost says into the radio.

“Just keep him safe.”

“No worries here.”

All you’ve got on now is a tank top and your vest. You’d used your shirt to bandage his wound. You’re kneeling by the edge of the brick wall, gun close in your hand as you wait patiently. “Lookin good Y/N.” Gaz mumbles into the radio. He just knows you’ve rolled your eyes at him. “Eyes on target Garrick.” You groan. You pass a water bottle to the injured man laying up against the wall.

“I’m gonna go help her out. You got it?” Gaz says to Soap nods his head. “Go help your girl, Garrick.” He chuckles, Gaz makes his way down the stairs in the watch tower, creeping his way over to you. Soap watches him close in on you. “Let’s carry him out. Medivac will be around where we came in.” You nod your head, picking up the man and helping Gaz carrying him out. Once he’s safe, you’re both waiting with him to keep him safe.

—

The mission was overall a success and once you’ve been bandaged up, you’re limping your way around the base. You’re getting a lot of stares because you aren’t wearing your normal attire. All you’ve got on now are some shorts and a t-shirt. You’re making your way back to your room with an MRE when Gaz approaches you. “Hey. I got you something.” He smiles. You look at him in confusion. “Can I come in?” He asks. You nod your head, pushing your door open and letting him in. He sits down on your bed, sliding an MRE from behind his back. “Here.” He holds it out, seeing your eyes light up. “No way! How did you get it?” You smile. “Found it when I was snooping through some stuff. Saved it for you.” He smiles. “Thank you Gaz.”

What he’s given you is the only kind of MRE you won’t complain about. “You did good out there today. Hope you didn’t get hurt too bad.” He smiles. “Oh no.. just tore a muscle I think.” You mumble. You clear your throat. “Look um.. about this morning.” You mumble. He laughs, looking down. “I.. I totally messed up what I was going to say. I just.. I don’t think that you would take advantage of me or anything- oh god I’m rambling.” You groan. He’s smiling at you as you fall further into the hole you’ve dug for yourself. He takes a step toward you, and you step back. You don’t even realize you do it, it’s how you react by nature. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want to-“

“Y/N.” He interrupts you. “Yeah?”

He cuts you off by kissing you, and he can feel your body tense up. Your eyes screw shut and it takes you a second before you kiss back. But when you do, he deepens the kiss, pushing you back into the wall behind you. A hiss leaves your lips when you step wrong and he smiles into your lips. “Sorry love.” He mumbles, pulling away. “It’s okay.” You mumble. Your lips are plump from his, slightly pinker than before. Your pupils are blown out. It’s quite the look on you. He likes it. He leans in and kisses you once more, feeling you melt into him. Giving into him completely. He glides his hand up onto your hip. Feeling you tense up into him. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, he's showing you that he wants to take this further.

Your brain is a scrambled mess when he pulls away. Staring up at him as he smiles down at you. He licks his lips, taking in a deep breath. You're breathing so hard and he can't help but chuckle at you. "Hey. Relax." He rests his forearm on the wall above you. Pinning you into the wall. He's clearly overwhelming you, but he likes seeing how flustered you are. "You okay?" He asks. "Yes. Just.. feel weird." You breathe. "What, here?" He glides his fingertips over your clothed opening, feeling you jump away from his touch. He smiles at the way you shutter from it. A taunting laugh leaves his lips. You take in a deep breath, grasping his wrist. “Kyle..” the breathlessness is your voice shows him just how needy you are. You glance up at him. He leans into you. Lips right by yours once more. “You can stop me you know?” He breathes. Fingertips returning to your clothed opening. He rubs gentle circles over you. You pant, but you don’t move away from him. You close your eyes, taking in a breath. Pushing your hips into his hand. He smiles at this. You really want him this bad. He presses his lips to yours, putting a bit more pressure against you. He presses a kiss the corner of your lips, moving down to your neck. Sucking gently at the skin and nipping at you. You’re getting more and more needy as he touches you. The awkwardness slowly slipping away.

When he pulls away from you, he can’t help but smile. You’re a mess. “You look good like this.” He bites his lip.

“So.. do you really want to have sex with me, or were you just saying that?” He teases. “Yeah- yes. I do want to have sex with you.” You breathe. “Oh, those are fighting words sweetheart.” He smiles. “I’m serious.” You breathe. “I want you.” His smile starts to fade away, a laugh leaving his lips. He grasps the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. He reaches out, grasping your shirt and pulling it over your head, attaching his lips to yours again. Your cheeks are hot and he can tell you’re nervous.

Gaz isn’t usually one to take control like this but he knows you’re too nervous to.

And he can see that it’s working. “There’s no rush sweetheart. No need to be so nervous. If I do anything you don’t like, you can stop me.” He mutters the words right near your ear and you can feel the deep darkness of lust swallowing you up. How even when he’s got you right in the palm of his hand he’s still reassuring you, proving further the kind of man he is. He lowers his hand between your legs once more, gliding his fingertips over your opening. His light touch sends chills up your spine. The pleasure wraps itself around your spinal cord, you can feel yourself stiffening up at his touch. “Like it baby?” He breathes. You nod your head. “Yes.” You whine. He applies a little more pressure, circling right over your bundle of nerves and even through the fabric, his hands on you makes it more intense than it’s ever felt.

He’s just about to close the deal, but a knock at your door draws his away from you. “Fuck.” He groans. “Yeah?” You call. “Just checking on you, everything okay?” You hear your captain call through the door. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just sore.” You breathe. Gaz smirks as he watches you.

“Hope you’re not harassing her, Garrick.” Your cheeks turn a shade of crimson. “Just keeping her company old man, making sure she takes care of herself.”

You hear him laugh, his footsteps fading away. “Guess I should leave you alone before he comes back, hm?” Gaz laughs, moving closer to you and lifting his shirt up off of the floor, handing out yours as he does. He slips it back over himself. “I’ll be back.” Gaz laughs. He steps away from you. Because he knows if he doesn’t he’ll fuck you hard enough for the entire base to hear.

And he can’t have that.

—

“She’s a fucking brick of a woman.” He hears Soap laugh. “What makes you say that?” Gaz asks, turning away from his scope to look at Johnny.

“Because, last mission she drug a 6’2 200 pound man no problem. This time, maybe you should see for yourself.” He nods over. “Swap me.” He raises his sniper up, swapping with Soap. He lines up his scope, seeing you. You and Ghost are sneaking into the building, you’re clearing out the outside. They allegedly have hostages and you don’t need any murder suicides on your hands. So you’re taking it slow.

The men in this compound are fucking massive and Gaz watches you move up on each one of them. Taking them down with ease. “She is insane on the field.” Gaz laughs. He notices you struggling with one of them, lining up a shot. He’s worried for a second since the man gets himself on top of you, taking a swing at you. Gaz flinches as he connects with your face. But one hard kick to the chest has him flying back. You pin him down, knee right to his chest to restrict him. You draw back, fist knocking into his jaw, laying the man out cold. You reach into your side, raising your hand with a knife and bringing it down to his throat.

“You good Y/N? That was a hell of a hit.” Gaz asks. “What happened?” Soap asks.

“Nah, I’m good.” You sit up. Soap makes his way over, as Ghost is already inside and he can no longer see him. He notices through his scope that you’ve got blood rushing down your nose from where the man hit you. “He hit her fucking hard.” Gaz cringes. “Ah, she’s alright. I’ve seen her get hit way harder and not even flinch.” Soap mumbles. “Doesn’t look like it, Lass. You need help?” Soap asks. He hears you snort.

“I’ve fallen off of buildings, been blown up, have had more concussions than I can count on one hand and have enough shrapnel in my body for the 2 of you combined. I’m good.” You laugh.

“This is the military, not a walk in the park. One asshole hitting me is the least of my worries.” You mumble, walking up behind a man and stabbing him right in the throat.

“All clear on my end.” You call.

“Mine too. Hostages have to be somewhere else because they aren’t here.” Ghost calls back. “Watch for stragglers, I’m about to arm the bomb. After that we’ve got exactly three minutes to blow this popsicle stand.” You mumble. They watch you messing with something for a minute. “Armed. Get out of here!” You call.

Gaz and Soap arrive first. You close after, and than Ghost saunters up last. The building and everything inside explodes behind the four of you and you smile as the flames roar up. “I see what they were talking about.” Ghost laughs. “Looks like that bastard packed a punch.” He nudges you, seeing you smile. “Yeah well. He’s in the flames and I’m not so. I punch harder.” You laugh, walking up the ramp, into the helo. The three men follow you inside.

“Look, all I’m saying is, you better make a move before I do.”

Gaz rolls his eyes at Soap. “She’s off limits and you know it.” He laughs. It’s dinner time and you’re getting cleaned up. “Don’t get me wrong she’s awkward as hell but how badass she is just… had me rockin a semi through the entire mission.” Soap laughs. Gaz scrunches his face up. “Gross.”

“I’m serious Gaz. You better get in there and pop that-“

“Please don’t say Cherry.” You groan, making them turn toward you, eyes wide. Ghost laughs harder than he should at their shocked faces, caught red handed.

You sit down. “You good?” Gaz asks. “Yeah. Fucker broke my nose so they had to crack it back into place and pack it.” You groan. They can tell by the already forming bruising under your eyes that you’re probably hurting. You sit down, leaning back into your chair. “So. Other than Gaz ‘popping my cherry.’ What’s new?” You smirk, crossing your arms. Gaz and Soap can’t hide their pink cheeks. “Ah, Laswell has an idea of where the hostages are.” Ghost nods. “Cool, when do we fly out?”

He laughs. “No, you have healing to do and Garrick has to do his yearly physical tomorrow before he can go back out on the field.” Ghost takes a bite of the sandwich he’s eating. Mask still down around his nose. “No way, it’s a broken nose not a cracked femur. I’m fine.”

Ghost laughs. “Captains orders Y/N.”

You groan out.

—

The next day, you’re getting coffee in the mess hall. It’s quiet on base since there’s no one else here. They left a few minutes ago, leaving you alone. Gaz had his physical about an hour ago and sometimes they take a little longer than that. You head back to your room, opening up the door and stepping inside. You close your door behind you. Just as you’re about to raise the cup to your lips, you see Gaz sitting on your bed.

“Oh dear.” You mumble. He laughs. Standing up. “Don’t sound so excited to see me princess.” He smiles. You narrow your eyes. “Do not call me that.”

He raises his hands up in surrender. “Sorry baby, don’t stab me.” He smirks. Seeing your cheeks turn pink. He sits back down, spreading his legs slightly. Leaning back onto his hands. “I swear you look so sexy on the field. Get me so riled up watching you.” He smirks. Resting his hand over his jeans.

You set your cup down, crossing your arms. “What are you doing, Garrick?”

“Gonna finish what I started.” He breathes. He stands up, seeing your eyes rush to the ground. He knows you don’t do too well under pressure. Attention on you makes you nervous. He closes the distance between the two of you and lifts your chin up with his fingers. “You’re so pretty.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Quit bullshitting Kyle, I look like I’ve got too much eye black on.” You laugh. He smiles. “Oh come on. Give yourself a break. You took a fucking hit.”

He moves closer, grasping your thighs and lifting you up, you gasp out as he pushes you back into the wall, his hips pressed up against yours. “Took it like a fucking champ.” He breathes. You can feel how hard he is against you. Not being able to control yourself as you let out a whine as he attacks your neck. He ruts his hips into yours and you gasp out. “Oh fuck-“ you gasp. Clutching onto his shirt. “Gaz…” you breathe. “What if someone hears?” You’re breathless and he gets even harder at the sound of desperation in your voice. “Only others here are training newbies. Nobody will hear baby.” He lowers his head to the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his lips and teeth. Drawing his tongue over your pulse. You let out a deep breath, feeling him smile into your skin. He steps to the side, and you latch onto him like he’s going to drop you. No longer using the wall as support.

“Relax.” He smiles. “M’not gonna drop you.” He laughs, moving to the edge of the bed and laying you down on it. “You think you can stay quiet for me?” He asks. You look up at him, cheeks blushing. You nod your head. “Good girl.” He lowers himself slightly. Grasping your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the small cot with ease. He can hear your heart thumping in your chest from where he’s at. He reaches for your pants. Despite doing nothing you had still at least put on your uniform. He unbuttons them, tugging them down your thighs. Noticing the way you clench your thighs together the moment you’re exposed. You swallow hard. Hearing him chuckle. “You have to trust me.” He takes in a deep breath. Pushing your thighs open slightly. You’ve still got panties on.

You gulp, and his expression changes. He’s not playful anymore, he sees something he wants and he’s going to take it.

He grasps the hem of them, pulling them down your legs and discarding them along with your pants. Moving himself closer. He’s on his knees on the ground, at the edge of the bed. He’s got you pulled right up to the edge of it. Pushing your legs open. You swallow hard, avoiding eye contact with him. A gasp leaves your lips as he kisses down your thigh, moving closer to where you’re exposed to him. “Remember.. try to stay quiet for me.” He looks up at you, seeing you nod your head. He can still hear your heart thumping in your chest. When he kisses your opening your hips jump slightly, but he doesn’t waste a second to draw his tongue up your slit. When he starts to flick his tongue over you, sucking at your clit, your thighs start to shake.

You realize the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

You grip the sheets, teeth gritted behind tight lips.

“Oh fuck..” your voice is soft and it’s just above a whisper. Low enough to where only he could hear it. He smiles into you. Knowing you like it only eggs him on. He’s hard, throbbing in his jeans. He’s turned on and all he wants to do is bury himself into you. But he knows you’re not ready for that just yet. He needs to open you up first. He keeps lapping at your clit, circling your opening with one of his fingers.

He doesn’t give you too much time to adjust before he’s sliding one of them into you. A gasp gets caught in your throat at the intrusion, how good he’s making you feel. It’s overwhelming and you can already feel it building in your lower stomach.

It approaches slow until he adds a second finger, pumping them into you, still tonguing your clit. Your thighs shake and he can tell you’re getting close. Sending you spiraling right into that sweet release. “Kyle-“ you whine. He laughs at how much your voice has changed. Your apprehension is gone, all that’s left is want. And you fucking want it.

Just when he’s about to give it to you, he pulls away. He can see tears gather at your waterline, frustration clouds your eyes. “If I make you cum, you’ll be too sensitive baby. You’re not ready for it yet.” You nod your head, but you want more. He can tell you’re trying to be patient despite how bad you want it. He stands up and unbuckles his belt. You swallow hard. When he exposes himself to you, you realize it’s going to hurt compared to his fingers. “Relax. You’re ready.” He breathes, moving himself between your legs. He kisses you, teasing your clit with the tip of his cock. You whine into his lips. The thought of him filling you up is like a dream.

He gathers your arousal on his tip and lines himself up with your entrance, pushing into you slow. You take a deep breath. “O-oh god.” You hesitate. It stings as he glides between your walls, stretching you further than you’ve ever been stretched before. You clench your eyes closed, hissing as he moves deeper.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good.” He breathes. “S-so good for me.”

The tightness of you around him makes him shudder. “Shit.” He whines. You’ve never heard him like this. “You feel so fucking good.” He shakes his head. He’s got his eyes closed too. You wrap your legs around him and force him deeper, his eyes widening. “Shit!” He breathes. “Please-“ you mewl.

“Fuck- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please just, fuck me.” You look up at him. Eyes full of need. He holds onto your thighs, “just.. try to stay quiet. M’gonna be kinda rough baby.” You nod your head.

He takes a couple slow, deep thrusts. Until you’re shivering. You want more and he’s going to give it to you.

He takes a hard thrust, watching your lips part. Your mouth opens slightly. He raises your hips, sliding a pillow underneath you. He angles your hips up perfectly and when he buries himself into you, he drives himself right into that spot inside of you. You clamp a hand over your own mouth and he can’t help but laugh. He seems to know exactly what it takes to make you feel good. He keeps his bruising pace, giving you exactly what you’ve asked for. Even when he notices tears streaming from your eyes, he keeps going. He pins your wrists above your head, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue moves against yours and he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, and you’re almost a goner. You’re not going to last long.

Your skin is flushed and warm. Your eyes look up at him lazily, you’re in another world as he works his hips into yours. You’re relaxed now, desperate for that high you know is coming quick. You struggle to keep your eyes open, trying hard to stay still but your body twitches as you get closer. Your thighs shake slightly but he keeps them open. You’re milking his cock. Tight and wet around him. He can barely take it, his breathing is starting to get uneven and his thrusts are getting sloppy. You’re both right up to the brink. You prop yourself up onto your elbows, looking up at him. Your eyes are dark, that lustful gaze nearly sends him right into his orgasm. “Kyle…” you breathe. “Y-yeah?”

“Want you to cum in me.” You breathe, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I want to know what it feels like..”

“Shit- you didn’t have to ask.” He pushes you back, resting a bit of his weight on you as he rocks his hips into you. “I’m so close.” You mewl. “I know baby. Can feel you tightening around me.” He growls.

It only takes a couple more thrusts and he can tell by the cry you let out behind your own hand that you’re right there. “That’s right sweetheart, give it to me.” He breathes. “I’m gonna cum too- gonna fill this pretty pussy.” He grits his teeth. You cry out, and he doesn’t care who hears. He can feel you throbbing around him. Last minute, he pushes one of your thighs up, sliding even deeper. He intensifies your orgasm and clamps a hand over your mouth so that nobody can hear your cries. He bites his lip hard as he cums, cock twitching, his body tensing up. It’s by far the hardest he’s ever cum, chills rising up his spine. He relaxes into you. Breathing heavy as he comes down his high. You can hear his heart beating hard in his chest, blush rising up your cheeks at what you’ve just done.

He pulls out of you, zeroing in on the way his filth spills back out of you. He has to fight himself from getting hard again, knowing you’re probably sore. He stands up, adjusting his jeans. He notices the way you get uncomfortable at him redressing himself, probably worried about him leaving. You sit up and make a move to go clean yourself up but he stops you, smiling. “You’re so fucking awkward and it’s so cute.” He laughs. You roll your eyes. He sits down next to you, pinching your chin and turning your head to make you kiss him.

“You gonna leave me hanging hm?” He smiles. “What do you mean?”

“I just.. I didn’t really want this to be a one time thing. You gonna leave me here alone?” He laughs. You look down. “No.. I.. I wouldn’t do that to you I just.. no I didn’t want it to be a one time thing either, I’m sorry if-“ he kisses you again. Gripping your shirt tight in his hands. “Relax sweetheart.” He toys with your collar. “You’re mine and I think I’ve made that clear, right babe?” He smiles. Seeing crimson creep up your cheeks. “Go get cleaned up, I’ll go grab an ice pack for your face yeah?” He breathes. “Maybe we can sneak off base and go get something other than MRE’s to eat.”

“Kyle Garrick you’ve won my heart.” You laugh. “You’re so picky.” He rolls his eyes.

“You said it yourself, MRE’s suck!”

He shakes his head at you, seeing you disappear into the bathroom. He hopes whatever this is, doesn’t end anytime soon.

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