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osaemu · 10 months

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GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ post-sukuna fight: no victory comes without a loss, and his win came at the cost of his eyesight

contents: fem!reader. some combination of hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff.

author's note: inspired by levi at the end of aot ꨄ︎

7:58 PM

satoru gojo had always had the best eyes. sorcerer, curse, human – you could search the whole world, and nobody else would even come close.

but the aftermath of satoru's fight with sukuna changed everything. after a long, painful battle, satoru came out on top, but at a great cost. his eyes.

dying wishes are powerful, especially from a curse as strong as sukuna. right before the king of curses was done for, he pooled everything he had left into a final attack to ensure that satoru gojo would never be the same. he succeeded.

now, almost a week after the fight, long after the dust settled and peace had reclaimed the jujutsu society, satoru still insists on wearing his blindfold around the clock.

no matter what you try or how you ask, he stubbornly refuses let you see underneath. actually, it'd be more accurate to say that he doesn't respond at all. after all, to your dismay, he's a master at avoiding questions and delaying answers.

you weren't even sure if there was any change to how he looked. maybe he looked the exact same underneath. maybe he had a couple scars. fuck, for all you knew he didn't even have eyes at all anymore.

you just wish he would let you see the new him. he doesn't even have it that bad – thanks to six-eyes, he can still see the silhouettes of cursed energy. and he wore a blindfold most days anyway, so it wasn't too much of a change.

which is why you weren't sure why he wouldn't just take the damn blindfold off.

"satoru, please let me see," you beg, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "i miss your pretty face. and honestly, who wears a blindfold to bed?"

he laughs at your incredulous question, but it sounds forced and unnatural. satoru tugs his arm away and waves you off. "let me take a shower, 'kay? i just got out of work, and i'm probably covered in germs."

you hate this new satoru – the one who won't let you get too close or even see his face anymore. he just won't open up to you, and it's frustrating. "satoru, please? let me in."

at the sound of your pleading voice, satoru rests one hand on the bathroom door and sighs before turning around to face you. he's smiling, but it seems so off – like all his smiles do nowadays.

"you try'n to watch me shower, sweetheart?" he cracks, running a hand through his hair. "i know you love seeing me naked, but-"

"satoru."

"get off my dick," he grumbles lightly, before strolling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. maybe you imagine it, but you could swear that you hear the soft click of a lock turning.

10:34 PM

"good night, sweetheart," satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your shoulder and rolling over onto his side. he still has his blindfold on, and the almost undetectable glow eminating from his skin shows that he has a very subtle form of limitless active.

it's been like this every night.

"satoru, can we talk?" you whisper, trailing a hand through his damp white hair. "please?"

"is it about the blindfold?"

"obviously."

he sighs and rolls over again to face you, the soft glow fading from his skin. "give it a rest, yeah?" he says, exasperated. "i'm not ready for anyone to see."

"satoru, even you don't know what your eyes look like under the blindfold," you murmur. "and do you really trust me that little?"

he lifts one of his hands and rests it on your shoulder, thumb tracing circles as he leans in and says "of course i trust you."

you shake your head and sit up, pressing your back against the headboard. "no, you don't."

"then why'd you as-"

"why do you sleep with limitless on now?" you interject, crossing your arms. "what happened to 'i never have limitless on around you'?" you whisper, quoting something he told you when you two first starting dating. back when he could look you in the eye.

satoru sighs again and sits up alongside you. "you know why."

"you seriously think i'd do that?"

"i..." he trails off, slipping a finger underneath his blindfold to rub one of his eyes. "i don't know. all i know is that i'm not ready for anyone to see me like... this."

"satoru, you can't keep running away from everyone forever," you say, shaking your head again. "you-"

"i know, i know," he mutters. "it's not that simple."

he's stubborn – he always has been. and you're mostly used to it, which is why you know that the best way to get satoru to change his mind on something is to ease him into it instead of pushing and shoving.

so you switch gears, and instead of arguing more you reach out and take his hand. "what are you afraid of?"

"nothing. i'm the strongest," satoru replies automatically. the response sounds so automated, so pre-written that you can't help but smile.

"okay," you say neutrally, trying to reword your question. "why don't you want to show me what your eyes look like? you've haven't even seen them yourself."

satoru smiles sourly and his hands curl into white-knuckled fists around the bedsheets. "and i never will. i'm blind now, remember, sweetheart?" his words are laced with bitterness, even (and especially) in the final word.

but it wasn't you who satoru was resentful towards. it was himself.

how could he have so foolishly let down his guard before sukuna was confirmed to be dead? how could he let his characteristic arrogance get the better of him? he made the same mistake when he was a teen, and now he's done it again as the strongest – although this event may have stripped him of his title.

a mixture of emotions crosses what little you can see of his face, and it's now more than ever that you wish you could be there for him.

but he's the only one alive who knows what it's like to be the strongest.

so as much as you wish you could tell him that everything's going to be okay and that he'll always be the strongest, you know damn well that you don't know and that he might not be.

somehow, this conversation has evolved from your desire to see his face to something more.

a silent, mutual understanding passes between you and satoru, and the thickness in the air slowly dissolves.

"sorry," you breathe. "i was being selfish, wasn't i?"

satoru shakes his head, a smile growing on his face. "nah, you're right. i don't even know what i look like."

he lifts a hand and slips his thumb underneath his blindfold, and after a brief moment of hesitation, slides it off.

to your surprise, satoru looks more or less the same. his eyes aren't cloudy and they still glow with that familiar bright blue. the only difference, which was expected, was how his eyes didn't quite settle on you. they were pointed in your direction, but his eyes didn't entirely focus on you.

"so?" satoru asks, running a finger over his eyes. "how bad is it?"

"satoru, you look the same."

he blinks and doesn't answer for a second, as if he's processing the information. "really?" he asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

"yep."

"oh. well, that was anticlimactic," satoru says with a lopsided grin. he leans forward and scoots down from his spot against the headboard, laying his head on a pillow and pulling you on top of his chest. "my bad."

"you idiot," you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. "i didn't get to see your pretty face for a whole week."

"ah, i believe it was only six days."

"and satoru, you even turned on limitless at night! the hell would i even do? cut your blindfold off in the middle of the night?" you grumble, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "and i can't believe that the only reason you didn't want to show me your face is because you thought you weren't pretty anymore!"

satoru grins lazily and rests one of his hands on your waist, slipping a finger under the waistband of your shorts and idly rubbing your skin. "keep venting, sweetheart. it's cute."

he laughs when you swat him with another pillow and pulls you in for a long kiss. and that's when you know that things might never go back to how they were in satoru's glory days.

but as the night falls and slips away in satoru's arms, you think that maybe, just maybe, this works too.

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cordeliawhohung · 5 months

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Leftovers [1/3]

Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series |

part 2 | part 3

warnings: unhealthy thrupple relationship, hurt/some comfort, slight dub-con, possessive Simon, smut, (f!recieving oral, fingering, p in v) 6.5k wc

Mr. and Mrs. Price don't know how to take care of you properly. Simon is hellbent on saving you, no matter the means.

The first and only rule that came with living with the Prices was that no matter how much you thought otherwise, they didn’t really love you.

It didn’t matter how sweetly Mrs. Price kissed your forehead, her lips would never grace yours, and despite how deliciously Mr. Price would pump his fingers into your cunt he would never bless you with the opportunity to take his cock. Above all else, they first belonged to one another before ever belonging to you. All you were good for was being their sweet little pet, nothing but a catalyst for their pleasure; their favorite aphrodisiac.

There were worse things in the world to be, and being a pet wasn’t all that bad. The Prices kept a roof over your head and gave you meals at least three times a day, if not more. Every now and then while Mr. Price was away at work, you and Mrs. Price would fall asleep on the couch together. Hours later you would wake up with your head on her chest, but you wouldn’t dare to stir her awake because the sound of her heart beating was more captivating than anything that droned on the television.

But she would always wake up when Mr. Price came home, and she’d drag you off to the bedroom where they’d strip you bare like some spectacle. Mrs. Price’s lips would devour every inch of your skin, kissing your neck, chest, and breasts; kissing everything except for you. Meanwhile, Mr. Price would fuck his fingers into you and growl every time his wife giggled at your moans. His cock would harden in his pants, a sight that you would never be able to see, and just as you came undone on his fingers his lips would always find their way to her instead of you.

They would laugh and giggle as you squirmed underneath them and coo about how adorable you were. How soft and pliant you were for them, such a good and well behaved pet. They would kiss your body a few more times before tucking you in for the night and leaving you alone to do their own lovemaking elsewhere. That’s how it always ended. Always the lover, never the loved, but that was okay. At least you weren’t alone.

Things started changing when Mr. Riley showed up.

He showed up at the house one day by invitation from Mr. Price and nearly scared you half to death. Like a ghost, he seemingly appeared in the living room one evening and took up all the space on the loveseat. Perhaps that’s what had intimidated you at first, just the sheer size of him. He stood taller than Mr. Price did, and the bulging muscles of his body was proof he could rip you in half if he so pleased. Then there were the faded scars on his face, the ruggedness of his features and the piercing expression in his dark brown eyes. He looked at you like you were a meal ready to be eaten. Or, maybe you just wished that he would.

Mr. Riley was a quiet man, you learned. He hardly spoke throughout dinner and when he did he was rather short and blunt with his responses. Though he was a man of few words, everything he said seemed to have some sort of meaning. There was something about his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and you nearly choked on your food at the sensation. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, and if anything the deep timbre of his voice was rather soothing, and you liked the teasing nature of his banter with Mr. Price. Perhaps you enjoyed it too much.

There must have been something about the way you looked at Mr. Riley that caught attention. Truly, you meant no harm by it. Art littered his arms in the form of dark tattoos that you couldn't pull your eyes from because you had never seen ink cover the skin of someone so beautifully before. Never seen anyone quite capture the well formed muscle and veins like had been done on Mr. Riley’s arms. And really, the scars on his face and his crooked nose intrigued you. There were stories waiting to be uncovered, literature that hid behind the depths of his eyes. You just wanted to read it. That was all it was, you swore it.

After plates had been cleaned and the table was cleared away, you learned you were not as subtle as you thought you were with your minor infatuation with your guest. Not even your intense stare at the TV screen as you pretended to pay attention to the movie Mrs. Price had picked out was able to throw suspicion off of you. Just as you had gotten settled on the sectional next to Mr. Price, you felt a hand rest on your shoulder, quickly followed by a hot breath on your ear.

“Pet,” Mr. Price whispered, “my friend looks lonely over there. Why don’t you keep him company?”

His proposition made you tense against his side and he chuckled at your failed attempt at keeping cool. Keep Mr. Riley company? Once more your eyes found their way to him and you felt your throat tighten at the thought. Were you supposed to sit by him? Entertain him? No, that felt wrong. You belonged to the Prices, not their friend. Then again, you were instructed to keep the man company, and good pets do as they’re told.

Without so much as a word you rose from your spot on the sectional and quickly made your way to the loveseat Mr. Riley had settled himself on. It was difficult not to fall into the gravity of him when you sat next to him as his weight shifted the cushions, giving you no choice but to all but lean into him. You heard his quiet hum in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to just so blatantly sit next to him. You caught him look at you for a short moment, but you kept your eyes glued to the TV as if he was never there to begin with, and eventually he looked away.

Embarrassment. It was the only word you could think of to describe how you felt sitting next to that man. Conversing with others wasn’t exactly your forte, it’s why you agreed to throw your old life away when Mrs. Price invited you into a relationship with her and her husband. They would take care of you, and you wouldn’t have to be perceived and go out and about in the world. They knew full well of that; perhaps that was their way of having some fun with you.

Things were fine until halfway through the movie when Mr. Riley put his arm around you. There was nothing you could do but fall against his side as his firm hand settled against your waist. He held you close to him as if he had no intention of letting you go, and yet acted as if he had never done so in the first place as his attention stayed fully trained on whatever boring movie droned in the background. Blood gushed in your ears and panic settled into your chest. Surely that had broken some sort of rule, and yet when you glanced over to the Price’s with wide eyes, you realized that they couldn’t even care less.

So you took a deep breath in some attempt to calm yourself, and once the blood settled in your veins, you realized that you could hear Mr. Riley’s heart. Each beat was strong and steady as if it had never wavered throughout its entire existence, and its reverberations were so strong you could feel it pulse throughout your own body. You took another deep breath, this time more content, and realized you rather liked the smell of him too. Some sort of dark, soft aroma mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes. It was comforting, perhaps the most calm you had felt in a long while.

“Cute, isn’t she?”

It wasn’t until Mrs. Price spoke that you realized you had fallen asleep like that, tucked into the side of a man you hardly knew. Cold hands pulled you away from the warmth that was Mr. Riley, and half awake you were brought to your room without the chance to glance at him from over your shoulder. Despite it all, Mrs. Price cooed at you while she laid you down in your bed and tugged the blankets over your body with a simple kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, pet,” she cooed before closing the door behind her.

That night you fell asleep alone in your cold bed while dreaming about the warmth Mr. Riley had given you. It was something you could only ever pray for when craving something from the Prices, and yet he had given it to you so willingly, as if you didn’t deserve anything less. Maybe it was unfair of you to compare the people who had given you so much to a man who you hardly knew. Friendly. That’s all he was. But it didn’t end there. Every time Mr. Price invited him over, he always directed you to Mr. Riley’s side eventually, talking about how lonely he looked, or that you should be a good host to him.

Soon enough it got to the point where you didn’t even need prompting; you already knew your place was next to Mr. Riley. Curled against his side, hanging off his arm, even sitting on his lap, in one instance. Each touch that he gave you seared across your skin, but it was always respectful, nearly too respectful. Fingertips always gliding along your waist but never dipping low enough to caress your hips or grope your ass, nor high enough to brush against the underside of your breasts. His touch always left you craving more, and yet that was something he didn’t seem to intend on giving you.

He did, however, give you a new name. Sweetheart, he called you. It was something he whispered to you at first from the safety of the confines of his arms, as if he worried Mr. Price would overhear him and reprimand him for it. Then he became a bit more brave. He called you sweetheart when he asked you to pass him the salt at dinner, and then again when you eventually fell asleep on the couch and he offered to carry you to your room. Some strange part of you wished he stayed with you that night, but you knew that thought alone made you a bad pet, wanting anyone other than the people you belonged to.

But the thing was, the more warmth Mr. Riley showed you, the colder the Price's home felt, because even after all that time, it wasn’t really your home.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Loud music and even louder people caged you into that VIP room, suffocating you to the point you nearly passed out. It didn’t help that Mrs. Price had dressed you up like her personal doll, slathering makeup on your face and throwing you in a skimpy dress, you hardly recognized yourself in the mirror. And still, despite it, Mr. Riley had found you and settled on the spot next to you in the conversation pit.

“Mr. Riley,” you greeted as you uncomfortably pulled at the skirt of your dress.

“Mrs. Price dress you up in that?” he asked.

You half expected him to wrap his arm around you like he did every other time the two of you were close to one another, but he didn’t. Perhaps there were too many prying eyes nearby and he didn’t want to spark any rumors. Either way, his presence alone was comforting enough. You always hated going to Mr. Price’s club, and that night was no exception. Too loud, too many eyes, you were always out of place.

“Was it that obvious?” you asked with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Just doesn’t seem like you,” he responded gruffly.

Of course not. Extravagant things weren’t meant for a pet. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Even from a distance you could still make out the faint scent of him. That warm musk mixed with tobacco had started to smell like home. And it was wrong, you were sure of it by that point. At what point did Mr. Riley become more comforting than the man and woman you lived with? But at that moment, with so many people crowding you, you didn’t care. Closing your eyes, you blocked out everything else around you except for him. There was no music, no mingling guests, no rancid scent of alcohol; it was just you and him.

Until the sudden sound of clapping brought you back to reality, anyway. Your eyes shot open and you were met with the same view as before, just more still. A quick glance around revealed everyone staring at Mr. and Mrs. Price, who stood at the front of the room, all cooing and cheering and clapping for them. They held one another as a few people rushed up to talk to them, where you heard squealing and several pats on the back. Confused, you turned to Simon with your head tilted to the side like a curious dog.

“What happened?” you asked.

With a simple nod of his head, Mr. Riley gestured up to the couple at the front of the room. “They just announced Mrs. Price’s pregnancy,” he said.

Those words left his mouth so simply. So nonchalantly. As if you should have known.

You should have known. But you didn’t. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, they didn’t really love you.

You’d forgotten the first and only rule.

You didn’t know how you ended up on the terrace, you just stopped running when the cold night air hit your skin. Despite the way your tears muddled your vision, everything became painfully clear. This was their plan all along. To get pregnant, to start their life and continue it without you. It’s why they never kissed you, only ever played with you, refused to fuck each other in your presence; you were always meant to be disposable. Why continue to take care of a pet with a child on the way?

And it hurt because you knew you’d never have that. Never obtain that unconditional love, a kiss on the lips, a cock in your cunt, a child in your arms, because you had been the Price’s plaything. Their pet who never dared to bare her teeth. You’d never be the sweet little wife, only some poor, skittish animal that only knew how to play. But you craved it so bad you swore you’d die. You wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s lover, to be loved, to have kids and a home that wasn’t cold as ice.

That life just wasn’t for you.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Somehow, Mr. Riley always seemed to find you. It was as if some invisible string had been tied between the two of you, and no matter how knotted it got he would always make his way back to you. Unsure if you should welcome his presence or not, you kept your hands firmly on the terrace railing and your red eyes focused out on the city in front of you. Your tears blurred the sparkling lights so much that you could nearly confuse them with stars if you squinted hard enough, yet that realization did nothing to quell the anxiety and terror that ate away at your stomach.

“I’m alright,” you pitifully assured, although you weren’t too convincing.

Mr. Riley’s hand touched the exposed skin of your back where his thumb started to rub small circles into your flesh. You nearly crumbled at the contact as you were drowned in the overwhelming urge to throw yourself at him, to beg to be loved even if only for a short while. Instead, your grip on the railing only tightened as you focused all your energy into not letting another tear fall.

“John told me to watch you for the night. Take you back to my place,” he said softly.

His words weren’t surprising. Sending you off to spend the night with him was just the next step to getting rid of you. Why would they want you in the home when they’d have someone new to prepare for? You were certain your room would be turned into a nursery before long. After a moment, you turned to face him and you did your best to muster your strongest of smiles as you ignored the stinging behind your eyes. He looked at you with such pity that you nearly broke into tears once more.

“Lead the way.”

It had been so long since you had visited someone that you forgot what it was like to walk into a room and not have every inch of it memorized. Mr. Riley’s apartment was something you didn’t recognize, yet it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. In a vague sort of way, it smelled like him, and that was enough to calm your nerves and silence the pain that festered in your stomach. It was rather plain as far as decorations went, but it was cozy and warmer than anyplace else you had been for quite some time, and that was more than enough for you.

First order of business was getting you a glass of water, something Mr. Riley took care of right away. Such a small gesture, and yet it had your heart swelling in an odd and unfamiliar way. Still, you were thankful for something to soothe your sore throat, and the two of you sat in silence on the couch as he ensured that you drank every last drop.

“Do you wanna change into somethin’ more comfortable?” he questioned when you handed him your empty glass.

“I don’t… have a change of clothes,” you said meekly.

“You can wear some of mine,” he insisted.

Something within you wanted to decline. Wearing his clothes certainly broke some sort of rule, and you doubted that the Prices would be happy with you for it. But then there was a pang of sorrow that echoed throughout your chest, a painful reminder that you no longer belonged to them, and probably hadn’t for quite some time.

Like a lost dog, you followed behind Mr. Riley until you reached his bedroom. His bed was bigger than you had anticipated it to be, significantly bigger than yours, and it was well made. A dark duvet covered the expanse of the mattress, and when you sat on the edge of it you sunk into it as if it welcomed you home. Maybe if you laid back on it you could fall asleep and never have to face the painful truth of the reality you found yourself trapped in.

It didn’t take him long to fish out a simple shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts for you to change into, but when Mr. Riley turned to face you, it was as if he had turned to stone. Maybe it was the tear-smudged makeup stains on your face, or the fact that he hadn’t seen you look so content until you sat there on his bed, but he looked at you with such intense pity your chest ached. Eventually he got his body to listen to him and he carefully approached you and set the clothes on the mattress next to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said unprompted.

“For what?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together.

“That they abandoned you.”

Hearing it outloud was more excruciating than the initial realization. Abandoned. Tossed aside. Just a spare. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt as if your body split in two, and there was nothing you could do to stop the tears and sobs from flowing forth. It was pitiful and pathetic, and you hated how terribly small you felt. There were so many tears inside of you that you could wipe the earth clean with them, yet as you cried you didn’t feel any less dirty or used.

Then the bed sunk down next to you, and instead of sitting on the mattress you had been scooped up into Mr. Riley’s arms and into his lap. His arms were the only thing that held you together in that moment, and he carefully tucked you underneath his chin and squeezed all the sorrow from your body. A cautious kiss pressed into the top of your head, slow and wary as if the very act itself was forbidden. When you didn’t protest, he kissed again, and then again, as if he couldn’t get enough. It was the closest thing to being loved you ever felt, and that realization only broke you further.

“I just… I just wanted what they have,” you admitted once your sobs had dwindled to small hiccups. “I always thought that they’d let me be a part of it eventually. But I’ve been waiting so long and then… then they get pregnant without telling me and I realized I’ll never be good enough. Never enough to be kissed, or held, or loved. That’s all I wanted.”

After placing one final kiss against the top of your head, Mr. Riley carefully moved your face away from his chest to tilt your head up to force you to look at him. Irritated from crying, your eyes were a bright pink shade, and so terribly swollen you had difficulty opening them fully. Still, his thumb smoothed over your mascara-stained cheek and you felt his grip grow tighter around you.

“You deserve so much more than what they did to you,” he whispered, his whisky scented breath fanned across your face. “They were selfish, yeah? Dunno how they could be. First time I laid eyes on you I wanted you. Wanted to love you, to prove that you’re worthy of it.”

A few more fat tears rolled down your cheeks at his words just for him to quickly wipe them away. You had never received such kind and comforting words from anyone before, least of all the Prices. But his words held meaning, you knew they did. How could he look at you so softly and lie? No, it was impossible. His words were true and you could feel your want grow in the dark cavern of your stomach.

“Mr. Riley…” you said at a loss for anything to say.

“Simon,” he corrected. “Say my name and I’m all yours, sweetheart. I’ll give you that love, that life, you deserve.”

Maybe it was wrong to want him as badly as you did. Something dark and primal inside of you craved him and every inch of his tattooed skin, and yet you felt shame for feeling so. But why? You had been abandoned. A bit of comfort was the least bit you deserved.

“Simon,” you whispered.

His lips crashed into yours not even a second later, and the feeling nearly had you sobbing into his mouth. It felt so pure, so overwhelming. Finally, you could taste someone. Taste the spice of whiskey and the smoke of cigarettes rather than just the salt from your tears. By instinct your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself closer to him as if you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were nestled in the warmth of his chest inside of his ribcage.

Eventually, your bodies collided with the mattress and you found yourself caged in by Simon’s arms as he hovered over you. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you felt him groan into you like he had never had such a tasty meal. Then his lips began to wander, and he kissed along your jawline, neck, and further down to your stomach. It was the first time someone kissed your body and it felt like you were being given something rather than having something taken away.

“So gorgeous,” he whispered against your stomach. His hands dipped underneath the short skirt of your dress and pushed it up over your hips, exposing your panties. You let out a shaky breath as he kissed your clit through your underwear, and you realized you had never had someone’s mouth on you like that before. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart. Tell me I can.”

It was strange to have someone ask permission before doing something with you, and you felt your throat grow dry at the thought. Strange emotions swirled like a storm in your head where sorrow mixed with desire among other terrible conflicting emotions, and all you could muster was a simple nod. You just wanted it all to stop, for him to take away the pain no matter the cost.

“Need you to use your words,” Simon mumbled against your heat.

“Yes!” you spoke. The word erupted out of you with little regard for any of those confusing feelings muddling your mind. “Please…”

With a swift yank Simon pulled your panties past the swell of your hips and you raised your legs into the air to let him pull them fully off of you. After tossing them somewhere behind him, he lowered himself onto the mattress and kissed your cunt once more, this time fully bare, which sent a jolt throughout your body. He hardly gave himself the time to admire your body before his tongue began to greedily swipe along your clit. It felt so foreign and unfamiliar yet so intense you found your legs instinctively squeezing shut. Simon only chuckled against you as he pressed his hands on the inside of your thighs to keep himself from suffocating too soon.

There was nothing you could do to stop the way your back arched off the bed in pure bliss. Already he had given you more pleasure in a few moments than you had received in your entire relationship with the Prices, and you bit into your lip as you mumbled out sweet nothings into the heavy air above you. Once you had grown wet enough with his spit and your own arousal, Simon carefully slipped a finger into your heat and you gasped at the sensation. You had never felt so full before and your muscles pulsed around him in greedy response. Despite all the pain and heartache you experienced that night, nothing could drown out the overwhelming mantra of more that reverberated throughout your entire body.

When Simon pulled away from you, your first instinct was to sit up and pull him back to you, but you paused when you saw the way he looked at you. Dark, heavy eyes pierced through you, and you watched in awe as he sat back and slid his shirt off his body in one swift motion. He was so big. Hardened muscle covered with a thick layer of skin and healthy layer of fat, he collapsed on top of you where his lips were on yours once more. His taste was different this time. It wasn’t just whiskey and cigarettes. There was this earthy sapor mixed with it, and it took you a moment to realize that you tasted yourself on his lips.

Then something ripped. Threads of cloth tore a part, and you realized you could no longer feel the dress around your body anymore. Whatever clothing you had worn had been replaced by Simon’s chest pressing against yours, and the skin to skin contact made your head spin.

“Don’t need that anymore,” Simon mumbled against your lips. “Don’t need anythin’ of theirs anymore, yeah?”

You nodded in agreement until you remembered what he said earlier about using your words. “Yeah,” you breathed.

His lips descended down to the soft tissue of your neck while he started to grind his hips against yours. The rough fabric of his jeans were all too stimulating against your needy and swollen clit, and you whined into Simon’s neck as you writhed underneath him.

“Do you want more?” he asked as he continued to grind his hardening bulge against your sex. “I’ll give you anythin’. Just gotta ask for it.”

“You,” you blurted out without so much as a second thought. “Please Simon, I need you.”

There was no more time to waste. With one hand, Simon reached down and unzipped his pants where he released his painfully hardened cock. You felt as he teasingly ran his leaky tip along your slit, smearing precum against you until he carefully dipped down into your hole. Hardly even an inch inside of you and you realized he was significantly girthier than his fingers were, and you found your head falling back against the mattress with a moan at the stretch of him.

“So goddamn perfect,” Simon grunted as he continued to push deeper and deeper into you. “Gonna give you the whole world. Anythin’ you want. Deserve so much more than them, fuckin’ christ, sweetheart.”

More tears poured down your face by the time he bottomed out. It was all just too much, so much anguish and love melding into one confusing feeling in your mind. Yet Simon kissed away every single tear as he began to carefully thrust into you. Each time he moved in you an all consuming wave of pleasure rippled through your body, forcing moans to mix in with your cries in some sort of lamentable symphony.

“I know, I know,” Simon cooed as he placed a fat kiss against your cheek. “You’re mine now, yeah? My girl. Gonna treat you properly. I’ve got you, love.”

Through it all, he was so soft with you, so warm, and you felt that heat begin to pool in your stomach. Every thrust into you marked you, it scratched away the essence of everything the Prices had done to you, what they didn’t do to you. Every empty space that had collected dust inside of you was filled by Simon and the searing passion he pumped into you. That was all you had ever wanted. To be seen, to be touched, to be loved. You had finally found it.

When you came, you did so with a sob. Muscles seized and you wrapped your arms so tightly around Simon’s neck he had no choice but to collapse against your chest as he continued to thrust into you. Your tears soaked into his hair as you sloppily kissed the top of his head, body still craving more of him despite the endorphins that ravaged your body.

“There she is,” Simon sighed, his voice a low rumble. “Doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged. “I need it. Need you to come, please Simon.”

Your plea sent him toppling over the edge and he slammed his hips against you one final time before he held himself there with a thick and strained groan. His cock twitching inside you was an unfamiliar feeling and yet you relished the way he filled you, warm cum soothing an ache only he could tame. Your grip around his neck loosened as you felt yourself melt into the duvet. All that pleasure, that love, finally got your mind to fall quiet.

Once Simon managed to catch his breath, he gently pulled out of you before falling next to you. Strong arms maneuvered you onto your side where he pulled you against his chest where he held you firmly against him. As usual, his heart pounded strong and steady in his chest, and the longer the two of you laid there the more calm it grew. Whatever tears you needed to cry had all fallen, and there was nothing but pure bliss that settled over you as you nuzzled against his body.

“I love you,” Simon said. He said it softly, as if it was a secret. Something special that only you could know.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone whispered that phrase to you.

“I love you, too.”

That night was the first night in years that you didn’t fall asleep alone, and when you woke up you realized it wasn’t a dream. His arms stayed wrapped tightly around you throughout the night, and you woke to the scent of his musk and you couldn’t help but smile. Really smile. It was real and you were there and you were loved. You buried your face further into his chest and he reacted in kind by pulling you closer.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he hummed.

Humming back, you stretched your limbs with a groan that left him chuckling and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead. He sat up in bed and pulled away from you, which left you whining, until he reached down towards the foot of the bed to grab the clothes you weren’t able to change into the previous night.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he questioned as he handed you his shirt.

Such a simple question, really, and yet it felt so much more important than that. This was the conversation lovers had in the morning. Contemplating, you took the clothes from him and set them beside you as you tilted your head and shrugged. “Whatever you feel like making.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, crooked and scarred, as he glanced toward the bedroom door for a short moment before his attention returned to you. “Alright, I’ll go get started. Take your time, yeah?”

Simon Riley made you feel like a princess and you held nothing in your heart for him but adoration as you watched him slip out of the room, still half naked. Just like he had said, you took your time getting ready, and even then it still wasn’t all that long. You fixed up your appearance as best as you could without a mirror before slipping his shirt over your head. It was long enough that it fell down to your mid thighs, and because of that you didn’t bother with the shorts, or your still slightly damp underwear from the night before, either.

Sizzling bacon and freshly warmed toast greeted you by the time you meandered into the living room, and you smiled to yourself at the sight of Simon cooking in the kitchen. You drooled at the way the sinewy muscles in his back flexed as he worked, and you couldn’t fight away that odd arousal that bloomed between your legs. Deciding that it was a good idea to get some food in your system before attempting to initiate anything physically demanding, you instead sat yourself on the couch.

Your phone sat face down on the coffee table in front of you, and your stomach dropped at the sight of it. Something twisted in your gut at the thought of unlocking it and seeing no messages, at realizing just how little the Prices surely missed you. Yet, you needed to bite the bullet. How were you supposed to start your new life with Simon if you were still holding onto the ghosts of your past?

With a shaky hand, you reached for the item and quickly turned it on. You prepared yourself for its mocking screen, for the heartbreak you knew you would be able to mend later, and yet it still wasn’t enough. Nothing could have readied you for the twenty missed phone calls and the countless texts from both Mr. and Mrs. Price. Begging to know where you were at. Asking if you were safe. Pleading with you to come home. Saying that if you hadn’t responded by noon they would call the cops in fear that the worst had happened to you.

Your throat dried out and you couldn’t stop your lips from trembling. Why did they do that? Was it supposed to be some sort of sick joke? Proof that no matter how far away from them you got you could never escape the hold they had on you? No, you listened to the voicemails. Listened to the way Mrs. Price’s voice quivered when asking if you were alright, when she begged you to come home, and you nearly sobbed.

Something was wrong.

“Simon?” you asked as you snuck into the kitchen behind him.

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned around to face you.

He froze the moment he saw your face. He could read the trepidation on your face as if it were the morning paper, and he quickly placed down his cooking utensils. You hated the way he looked at you with such care and yet with some sort of knowledge, as if he already predicted what you were about to ask him.

“Did you lie to me last night? About Mr. Price asking you to take me home with you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

His response came quick and without hesitation and that almost made things worse. You wished he had paused for a moment to think about the way that word would shatter you, and yet he didn’t. Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes and you found your face falling into your hands in disbelief. He lied to you. He fucking lied.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands brushed against your shoulders.

“They’re going to be so mad at me,” you cried as you pressed your palms into your eyes. It had to be a cruel joke. You wished it was. They hadn’t given you up at all, and you were going to have to pay the price for betraying their trust.

“Hey… hey, look at me,” Simon ordered as he pulled your hands from your face. The way his hands engulfed your wrists was almost laughable, and you didn’t bother to fight against him. “I thought we agreed that you’re mine now. You’re mine, and I’m yours, yeah?”

“But you lied,” you retorted.

“They were neglectin’ you!” he corrected, and his voice boomed with such strength you nearly cowered. “Would you have followed me if I hadn’t said that to you last night? Or would you be stuck in that house with partners who wouldn’t even tell you that they were havin’ a damn kid? No, you’re mine now.”

One of his hands dropped down between your legs, and you gasped as your back came in contact with the counter. He palmed at your naked cunt, felt the way his cum oozed out of you at the gentle pressure of his fingers and the sudden tensing of your muscles.

“Do you really think they love you enough to take you back like this? With my cum inside of you and the taste of you still on my tongue?” he questioned. “I did what I did to save you. I was tired of seein’ them treat you like that. I’m not lettin’ that happen again.”

Words failed you and all you could do was stare up at him and cry. It was all so wrong and yet something in the back of your mind screamed that he was right. He was right because in one night he had given you everything you had all but begged of them to do for you in all the years you had been together. Even if they still wanted you, maybe they really didn’t deserve you. But you would still have to face them eventually. Admit that you were running away, that you didn’t belong to them anymore, and that thought terrified you.

Giving up, you collapsed against him and allowed all your anguish to spew from your eyes. Just like the previous night, his hold on you was strong and caring, and he did so without hesitation. After all, you were his girl. He saved you, and he had no intention of letting you go.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #f!reader

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izuke-the-zombie · 7 months

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🌸Sorry for the long ass absent guys 🫠 family and holidays have been crazy😮‍💨

I recently came across this short monkie kid wild West AU fanfic

It's short but it's really good, And it sort of got me in the mood to sketch or at least redraw the two mystic monkeys cowboy outfits again

I really wasn't sure whether to give Mac, purple boots or just black boots you can kind of see it in the first pick faded Mac.

🌸🐎🐴✨But I don't think I've seen anyone draw them with horses or write something about it, so I'm going to be the first one to do it! (I don't know how to draw them sitting on horses, so bear with me here.)😗💦 I know I put the scar on the wrong side of the Smokey Horse. My bad, let's just pretend it's on the right side.LOL😅🪷

😽💕I headCannon that when those two summon their horses together, they get really affectionate. The sheriff's horse is more like a big old golden retriever, playful and mischievous, and rarely ever listens to its owner. While over here, Mac's is more well-behaved and obedient, and they can get quite sassy sometimes. I'm not sure what to call it. It's hard to separate those two, so they try not to summon them at the same time.

They're also very affectionate to the monkeys especially the opposite ones.🐶🐎✨💕

😄I want a scenario where they let the horses stay instead of just poofing them out of existence so MK/MEI can play with the horses just a bit longer since they were begging them by giving them the puppy dog eyes (especially on Mei's side; she's a horse girl fan), and after a long while, the sheriff notices that his horse Nimbus was acting a little more strange and protective over the Smokey horse, letting them eat first, and just never leaving their side. All sorts of strange behavior on the Nimbus side. All he ever notices from the shadow horse is that they were a little sluggish, but he doesn't think too much of it.😗🤠🐵

🌟Until one day, BAM! This little cutie came into the world as a precious, adorable little cinnamon roll, prancing around like it owns the world.🧁😽🌎✨

🐎There's stupidly protective over this little guy.👿😡🦄🐴☀️🌙🌠

🐴And there's a huge problem. This little guy is clumsy as heck. He's new and everything, so of course he is, but he likes to adventure out without his horsey parents knowing or anyone else, and he loves playing games like tag his favorite, but because he's so clumsy, he causes damage that MK or his mentors have to fix, so everyone has to be on high alert and watch over the little rascal. LMAO 🐎🍼💥💕✨

🌸I hope you enjoyed this, I certainly had fun drawing this I wish there was more wild West monkeys fics there's some freaking cute💕✨

💥Aaaah! I love these freaking cow monkeys 😆💖

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lmk #sun wukong #six eared macaque #doodle #monkey king #macaque #mk #wild west au #monkie kid au #shadowpeach #horsey Shadowpeach #scenario / headcanon #cowboy monkeys #Journey to the wild west AU #cinnamon roll horsey ✨

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sebsbarnes · 7 months

Text

confessions || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: "you're beautiful you know that love," tangerine said softly as if the declaration was a secret that only the space between you could know.

warnings: mention of a gun, injuries, blood

word count: 1.1k ; fluff

tangerine masterlist

you jolted awake, "what the hell," you mumbled.

eyes half open you patted around on the bed for your phone. the blaringly bright picture of a sunset staring back at you.

4:07am.

the noise that woke you up sounded again. banging at your front door. carefully you slipped out of bed and opened the drawer to your nightstand, grabbing the gun. slowly, you walked through the house creeping towards the door. the house felt eerily quiet more so than ever. the gun was held behind your back and before you could turn the doorknob you hear a voice.

"it's me."

you opened the door, "why are- jesus christ tangerine."

he smiled weakly at you, sort of shrugging, the suit jacket draped over his arm moving with.

"hey, love," he said dejectedly.

his typically smoothed back hair showed no sign of gel as his curls were a mess. the fitted suit that adorns his body was now loose with blood splattered sporadically on the fabric. the button-down shirt rolled up on his arms exposed his battered forearms. there was dirt on parts of his face, dried blood across his cheek and forehead, and a split lip.

"come in," you whispered, grabbing his hand pulling him in.

you locked the door and turned to the kitchen with tangerine still in tow. you turned the lights on in the kitchen, grabbing him water and pain reliever.

"eat these if you need something. i'm going to grab the first aid kit, alright?" you placed a box of crackers next to him on the counter and retreated to a hallway closet. when you came back, he was munching on a few and the glass of water in his other hand.

"okay now, what's the worst?"

"some prick got me in the thigh with glass," he grimaced gesturing to the torn trousers. you leaned in gently placing your hands on his thigh around the cut.

"take your pants off."

"well, that's quite forward love now, innit?" tangerine chuckled softly.

all you could do was roll your eyes as you turned around giving him a moment to hop off the counter and remove his pants. when you turned back around you couldn't help but swallow harshly at the man's muscular thighs.

"there's still bits of glass in this babes, i'm gonna have to take it out," tangerine hummed in response, clearly tired from whatever job he just came back from.

you grabbed a pair of tweezers and removed small pieces of glass left inside the wound and all tangerine could do was hiss in response. the wound was then cleaned and after tangerine gave you the greenlight, he let you stitch him up.

"now don't go fuckin' around you hear me. that's a good stitch," you said pointing at the finished product.

"yeah whatever darlin'," tangerine retorted.

you moved up to his face to clean the dirt and blood off him. you slid between his legs to get closer, fingertips accidently brushing over his thigh as you grabbed the rag next to him on the counter. you didn't notice the goosebumps that sprang to life on his skin and raced throughout his body. your lips were slightly pursed as the rag glided across his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of an earlier job.

tangerine couldn't help but stare at you during your concentration. the way your eyes danced across his face inspecting every minute detail. your eyelashes- god since when were they that long? he couldn't help the tiny smile that etched its way onto his lips hearing the small whistle your nose made as you breathed in and out. it was something you mentioned in passing that you hated, after your nose was broken on a job. small freckles decorated the bridge of your nose, and a now almost faded scar followed the curve of your cheekbone.

"you're beautiful you know that love," tangerine said softly as if the declaration was a secret that only the space between you could know.

you faltered slightly. you and tangerine were friends. any compliments thrown each other's way was typically about work. you often worked with the twins on jobs so the three of you were close. the dynamics on and off the job the three of you had was truly incredible. many people wanted the trio because they knew the job would be a success, most likely bloody, but still successful.

to even try and deny the fact that tangerine is gorgeous was absolutely ridiculous. when you first saw him, you truly went breathless for a moment. there was no way this man was in the business of killing was one of your first thoughts, he had to be a model of some sort. and as if his looks weren't enough, when he wasn't being a complete dickhead, he had the most charming and witty personality. it was intimidating being around him most times, the feeling of insecurity often loomed around you when he was nearby.

you looked him in the eye before averting your attention to his split lip, "why didn't you go home?"

"found myself wandering this way," he said slipping off the counter.

"bit far from your house," you whispered in return. tangerine brushed a strand of hair out of your eye, his thumb running over your cheek.

"no distance is too far for you, darlin'."

you aren't quite sure where these confessions were coming from, but you would be a fool to say you hated it. it was obvious how you felt about tangerine. you knew it, he knew it, lemon knew it, damn near everyone knew it.

"i didn't know you could be a sap," you gave him a slight smirk.

his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, "today was too risky, thought i could solo it, make some extra money. it was stupid. all i could think about was you," he confessed.

you toyed with the gold chain hanging on his exposed chest before gently tugging on it, bringing him to you. the kiss was soft but long. in the midst of the kiss tangerine had placed you on the counter, finding home between your legs and holding your waist carefully. your hands situated on the base of his skull tugging ever so slightly on his hair. tangerine's mouth parted slightly in reaction allowing you to bite gently on his lip, ignoring the fact you can taste blood. with a sigh you both finally pulled apart. his hands never left your waist.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you said.

tangerine wasted no time scooping you up in his arms, ignoring all the aches from today's job. 'i've waited months to hear these words,' he had muttered in your hair making his way through your house.

"i've waited just as long."

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 year

Text

DJANGO

Choi San x fem reader x Jung Wooyoung (heavy hints at ot8)

a/n: nobody talk to me nobody touch me nobody look at me i'm loosing my mind over this comeback you don't even understand

"Ain't nobody mess with Django, call me Django." -ATEEZ

✫彡wordcount: 5.5k (sorry?!?)

(>ᴗ•) genre: smut w/plot

ಠ_ಠwarnings/content: violence and injuries, dystopian/lore universe, lots of cussing, angst, poly relationship, brief mention of drinking as coping, extreme pda LMAO, woo is a bit of a little shit in the first half, dry humping, making out(lots of it), also lots of pet names, multiple rounds, threesome, light choking&degrading, snowballing, oral, boobjob, dp, overstim, teasing, orgasm control, praise kink teehee, dom san/sub woo/switch-sub reader, m x m, unprotected( don't do that🗣️), NOT EDITED

taglist: @calicanbeevil @pansies-garden @kissezfornamjoon @wisejudgedragonhairdo

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

The van shook as another vehicle passed, making San groan as you fell down onto him.

"I'm sorry, Baby," you cooed softly, kissing the bruise on his collarbone that you had unintentionally fallen onto. The soaked rag that you cleaned him with was handed back to you from its fallen place on the shag carpet by Wooyoung with a soft laugh.

"You baby him too much, he's a big boy," he claps his hand onto his shoulder, making him groan again- glaring at the younger man, "right, Champ?"

"I'll beat your ass, Woo."

"Oh, I bet you will, you beat up that scrawny little guy too!" He cackles, clapping and leaning away as San swipes at him tiredly.

"He was faster than I expected!"

"You two knock it off," you sigh exasperatedly as you wipe the grime from his swollen pec, rolling your eyes at your boyfriends bickering. Being stuck in such a small space had taken a toll on the three of yours relationship- especially the two men. They were at each other throats more often than not-even it was playfully. "I'll blow our cover just to tell Hongjoong."

"You wouldn't..." Wooyoung eyes you suspiciously as you smirk. "You wouldn't!"

"I will if you two don't give me a second of peace." You cock your brow at him, tossing the rag into the pile that is your dirty laundry, silently cursing yourself for choosing to hide out with them instead of with Yunho and Jongho in their shop. They even had a cool talking bird.

You place a gentle kiss to Sans eye, a healing bruise almost faded under your lips. "Stop getting hit in the face, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll politely tell my opponents that my girlfriend likes her boys pretty~" he rolls his eyes and whines as your body heat leaves his sore body.

"So what if I do, pretty boys happen to be my type!" You shrug and crawl off of the spent man, over to the other side and into Wooyoungs lap.

He smirks at his boyfriend cockily as you rest your head on his shoulder, "that's why she's cuddling me right n-ow!" His smirk turns to a pout as you flick his chest.

"Can you two manage a peace treaty while I get some shut eye? It's four hours drive to the next town and it's my turn to drive in the morning."

"Of course, Darling." They chime together, silently scowling at one another but keeping quiet as you close your eyes.

"Wakey, wakey," you shake the buff man softly, safely parked in the back alley of the abandoned building. Wooyoung stood just outside of the open van doors, abs on display as he changed into a better looking shirt.

"Yah, wake up!"

You glare at him as he startles San awake, who holds you close protectively in his delirium, still scared of the run in you had experienced with HalaTeez months ago. No matter how much he swears to the lot of you that he doesn't feel guilty, the way his eyes sadden when he focuses on the scar over your left brow for too long gives it away. Hala-San, as you call him to real-Sans dismay, had tricked you all too well and after that... you couldn't look at the real, loving, caring San for weeks. You had to split off with Mingi and frequented a bar, drinking away any memory of Hala-Sans torment until Hongjoong found you and picked up the pieces when the bottle ran empty.

"You dick," San rasps as he rubs your sides, his gentle touch a contrast to the way he gives his cackling boyfriend the stink eye.

"Rise and shine, Sannie~" he teases, buttoning up his shirt and soothing his long hair down, "time to get your ass whopped again."

"Oh, like you'd do any better! You'd be demolished!"

You let out a sigh and slide out of the van, soothing your dress- which in reality is Jongho's shirt with a belt around your waist. "I'll be signing in." You speak shortly before wondering off, leaving them fighting more than ever over how they upset you.

San insists it's all Wooyoungs fault for being such a whiny shit.

Wooyoung is adamant that San is at fault for hogging all of your attention.

They go back and forth for a while until a Strickland patrol vechile speeds by, spooking the both of them into the building.

Wooyoung immediately wraps his arms around your waist as they find you bent over signing Sans pseudonym, DJANGO, into the fighting brackets. San is busy eyeing everyone around you, both in suspicion of Halateez and Strickland and simply to scope out his potential competition.

"Entry fee is three k," the woman on the other side of the pop-up table looks as if she's ready to kick your trio out in a single breath when you don't provide the money, eyeing up Sans messy tank top and your days old makeup with distain.

"That's it?" You pout, tutting your tongue as you turn away from the rude woman, sighing dramatically as you dig into Wooyoungs pockets, grabbing hold of multiple tightly rolled wads of money.

Both of them smirk at your antics, so clearly eager to prove this stranger wrong about her preconceived notions about you and your lovers as you count the wads, dropping a few down before skipping past her with a wave.

The crowded arena does nothing for Sans anxiety, his eyes scanning at a million miles an hour as he keeps a possessive hand on the small of your back. Wooyoung has similar feelings as he drapes his arm over your shoulders in a way that clearly shouts, 'don't touch' to anyone who looks your way. You feel much safer on the other hand, both of your boyfriends touching you at once for the first time in what feels like ages, both ready to toss themselves infront of danger if it presents itself.

You all squeeze your way to the front, right up to the edge of the ring, where a fight is already taking place, one of the men nearly teasing the other with the way he bounces around on his tip-toes, not letting the other get a single touch in.

"She said not many fighters showed up," you practically have to yell for the men to hear you, "Strickland cracking down again!" You explain loudly, rubbing Sans lower back in an attempt to comfort his nerves as he stretches his wrists. Wooyoung has split off to make bets with other players, making sure to stick out like a sore thumb with his flashy shirt. "Might have to find a new income soon if they don't back off!"

He sighs, rolling his head back and stretching his neck out, letting you admire the freckles on his skin that he knows you love.

As the quick moving fighter finally wears out his opponent, he gets sloppy, and he starts getting hits in. You slide behind San and hide your face in his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his stomach softly. "I hate that you have to do this!"

He holds his hands over your own and rubs his thumbs over your skin, watching the man who will clearly be his opponent wailing on the other man.

"Got nine grand riding on you tonight, Babe," Wooyoung slides back into the conversation, cupping the back of Sans neck.

Although they had their on and off moments, he would always be in tune to his emotions and try to calm him. And trying to keep the peace was even more worth it when you were around. Usually, they had Yeosang as a voice of reason but he was off with Seonghwa doing God-knows what in preparation for your next mission.

Being apart was straining and stressful for every last one of you. But groups larger than three were banned by Hongjoong after four of you had caught Halateez's attention a few months back. He didn't want to risk it again and he certainly didn't want to risk a group of nine most wanted outlaws being together. The combined reward for your captures was the largest amount of money you had ever read. You weren't sure how to even pronounce it.

It was almost an entire year of being in hiding.

You didn't know how much more you could take.

"- DJANGO!!" The name catches your attention over the blaring speaker. How was he up so early? You peek around San and see the fast man catching his breath in the opposite corner. Blood being wiped up and a limp body being carried out.

"We can always find a new way to get money," you scream to San as he rolls out his stiff shoulders, whining as Wooyoung pulls you away gently. "Seriously, Sannie!"

"He'll be okay, Darling," Wooyoungs chaste kiss to your head does nothing to calm your raging nerves as San bends down and slides into the ring. You pull away in a hurry and hop up on the ledge, grabbing his top over the ropes.

"Forgot something?" You lean your torso over and immediately take San into a heated kiss, his calloused hands cupping your face firmly and pulling you close. People all around whistle and call loudly, a blush creeping up Wooyoung neck as he watches your lips meld together.

It been almost a year on the run. Almost five months since any of the three of you have touched one another in an intimate, primal way.

He doesn't know how much longer he can take it. When you crawled into his lap earlier he nearly took you right there.

You always do something after a needy kiss that makes every single one of them feral.

You lick up Sans lips to his cheekbone and moan.

People start nearly howling, and his opponent looks antsy.

"Fuck him up, Baby," you cup his chin in your hand as you block out the world around you for a moment and take one last good look at him before you know you'll go away during his fights. You can't bring yourself to watch no matter how long he's been fighting. But that doesn't mean you won't hype him up while you can.

You slap his shoulder softly, making sure to make it look harder than it was in reality before giving his fist a gentle kiss.

"Fuck him up," you repeated before hopping down.

The van door opening makes your head snap, setting away the headphones that play Yeosangs violin melody.

"Hey, how'd ev-"

San jumps on you before you can finish greeting them properly, kissing you deeply and feeling you up like it's the first time he's ever touched you. The clotted blood on his lip doesn't discourage either of you, the pain only stirs him on as Wooyoung climbs in and slams the doors shut behind him.

The dull thud of the duffel bag he drops makes you look over, San letting you breath and nipping at your neck and jaw instead. "Holy shit, Baby, you won?!"

"Fuck yeah, I did, Beautiful," he moans breathlessly, holding himself up above you to speak with a sultry purr, "let me spoil you." He looks over to Wooyoung lustfully. "Both. Let me spoil you both."

Wooyoung smiles at him. Genuinely. For the first time in weeks.

If there's one thing that makes him weak it's being spoiled by his lovers. So when San lifts you up and settles you in his lap and climbs into the drivers seat, he doesn't complain: he simply dives into your lips like a man starved.

And he is, lips suctioned onto yours so deeply and passionately that neither of you notice as the van lurches to life and begins speeding away. You fall to the floor ontop of him and hold him tightly. Like he's an illusion that will disappear like smoke if you let go.

He body feels so right on yours. Clinged together on the shag floor. Melting together. The outside world and all of its problems fading away as his hands wander your body.

How you've managed to keep your hands off one another for this long is a world's greatest mystery.

"Fuck," he moans as you lap at his lips, his hands sliding up the edge of your dress and cupping the round of your ass. "Fuck, Princess, please," he whines.

You can hear the smirk in the way San chuckles from the front seat, but it doesn't stop him from speeding up. He loves how whiney Wooyoung gets just as much as you do.

You clumsily undo his bottoms and pull them down just enough to press your heat to his growing bulge. The thin layers of cloth separating you doesn't stop the feral groan that he lets out, holding your hips with a bruising force as he grinds up into you. If anything, the soft fabric pressing into your clit with each of his uncoordinated thrusts makes it feel more euphoric.

"Oh, God~"

The soft moans you let out have Wooyoung rock hard and San palming himself. "Ffffuck, Baby," you groan, hugging his neck tightly as his hips buck below you.

Everyone got the 'Babyyy' treatment when they were good or needed a pick me up. The way it rolled off of your tongue was like a drug to them. Even more so when it's so deep and passionate. Even more so when their cock is pressing against you.

Sans eager left turn has the both of you rolling on the floor, laughing as he apologizes loudly from the driver seat. "Sorry, continue!"

"You heard the man," you laugh from below Wooyoung, "continue."

And he does, burying his face in your neck and biting and licking and sucking as he rubs his bulge against you like it's the last human touch he'll ever experience. "M'cum," your moan has him rolling into you with a new purpose in life, nearly growling as he holds himself back from painting his underwear white, "shit, Youngie!" You wrap your legs around his waist tightly as you release, shivering and shaking with your jaw slack.

He isn't far behind by even a second, his gut clenching as he turns his bottoms sticky with his own pleasure, panting into your ear as he continues to roll into you, drawing out your euphoria and making you mewl out, clawing at his scalp.

In your bliss, you fail to notice that Sans parked outside of a double story motel and ran out with a wad of cash, clearly in a hurry.

Yours hands are wrapped in each others hair, breathing deeply with your foreheads pressed together, almost as it trying to meld your souls together with passion.

The doors behind the both of you open and flood you in the neon light of the motel signs, and you peek around Wooyoungs frame as he falls over you protectively from what he thinks is prying eyes. "Sannie~" you call, making Wooyoung relax ontop of you.

"You alive, Foxy?" San teases as he climbs in and crawls to you both.

"Mhm," he moans into your jaw, "very alive." He gasps as San pulls him away from you by his neck, taking him in a feverish kiss as you watch on in awe. You can tell San his slipping his tongue into Wooyoungs mouth by the way he holds his jaw open, the way Wooyoung grinds his bulge back into you.

"Youngie, Baby," you whine as he rolls his self into your swollen clit, but it only makes him go faster, his hands finding purchase on Sans waist. "Ah s-" You writhe below him, stopped when one of Sans hands comes and holds you in place by pressing on your stomach: all the while he never opens his eyes or pulls away from your boyfriend. "Fuck, please don't tease!"

He chuckles into his lips, gently stroking his neck. "C'mon, I got us a room for a few days."

Wooyoung begrudgingly slides out of the van, gathering your few bags and bouncing in anticipation as he fixes his pants to the best of his ability. San scoops you up to his chest and you cling to him like a koala bear, kissing all over his face as he carries you up the stairs and down the balcony hall.

Wooyoung drops the bags at the entrance of the room and immediately goes to investigate the single bedded room and bathroom before urging San in, latching the door shut behind him.

You're dropped to the bed and bounce with a soft laugh, opening your legs wide to fit Sans large frame as he slots himself between them. Wooyoung slides next to you and is immediately latched onto your neck as he unbuttons your dress.

"Ah fuck," you mewl out, cradling his head close as your head spins, San slipping off your panties and shimmying down. He holds your thighs apart as he licks a slow, deep stripe up your soaking heat, reveling in the way you moan for him. He wastes no time diving in and eating you out like it's his last meal. His tongue flicking and swiping against every inch it can reach. His nose pressed against your clit as his head bobs.

You're lost in the pleasure between your legs so much so that you don't notice that you and Wooyoung are both naked until he climbs onto your stomach, his hot member gliding between your breasts. Despite how long it's been, your body has its muscle memory from how often you two would do this.

You cup your breasts and push them together, encasing his length in the soft flesh as he grips the headboard roughly, the tip of his cock leaking on the base of your collar bones.

It's hard to appreciate just how beautiful he is while San is ravaging your cunt with his tongue, but you manage. Looking up with blown irises, he's so pretty. His long hair softly framing his face, bouncing with each of his rough, slow thrusts against your supple skin. His swollen lips parted with moans. Toned abs expanding and constricting as he heaves.

"Foxy," you whisper out, catching his eyes with a deep blush on both of your cheeks, "so pretty, Baby."

He curses loudly and reaches one hand down, cradling your face so gently in comparison to how he fucks your tits. "My woman."

The words make your eyes roll back, a wave of your arousal coating Sans tongue as you cum, gripping your breasts tightly and whimpering out as the sensations continue well past your peak.

Wooyoung wills himself to hold back from cumming until he's told, and San holds himself back as he laps up your juices-grinding his hardness onto the bed slowly. Both of your moans are a magic melody to him, and he can't help but crave more. He pulls away and joins Wooyoung over top of you, wrapping his arms around the younger man and spooking him. He slides his hands up his naked torso teasingly slow, grinding on his backside.

"Shit, Babe," he groans, tossing his head back on his shoulder and simultaneously trying to bury his cock in your warm skin and grind back on San's bulge. "Fuck, I ne-"

"Cum, Youngie." The command from the both of you at the same time has him painting your collarbones and neck in a millisecond flat, jaw slack as San continues to stroke him even as his hips stop.

"Fuck, fuck, please, oh my God," he stirs back to life from his void of pleasure as you bend your neck and lick his sensitive tip. He tries to back away only to bump right into Sans girth on his bare backside. "Oh God~"

"Need a breather, Sexy?" San coos as he slowly moves Wooyoung off of you, already knowing that he can't cum back to back. He needs at least five minutes at that's all San needs to get you ready for what's about to come.

Wooyoung comes crawling back into you, lapping up his own seed with a quiet moan as San slides down your body and hooks your legs over his hips. "Ready, Darling?"

"Yes, holy fuck am I ready, please give it to me," you babble on, only silenced as he inches into your sopping core. He's by far the girthiest man you've even been with. And the stretch always feels so delicious.

Wooyoung takes advantage as your jaw falls open, leaning over you to drip all of his release into your mouth. The moans and whimpers of pleasure are unstoppable as you swallow all of it down eagerly, hands wrapped up in his hair and pulling him impossibly close. His body follows his head, almost snuggling you as he presses his body flush to your side, one leg hooked over your hips as he grinds his hardening member into your hip.

It's all so warm and welcoming, a familiar and comfortable feeling washing over you along with the overstimulation of your third orgasm building up as San thrusts into you with a steady slow pace. "Fuck," you moan into Wooyoung, "so big," you whimper as your cunt uncontrollably clenches around him. He swallows up all of your noises as he moves his lips against yours zealously, and sneaky hand rubbing the column of your breasts and up to your neck, simply resting: bouncing with each of Sans increasingly rough thrusts that bounce your body.

"Take me so well," Sans praise has you leaking onto the blanket, panting like crazy and slapping at Wooyoungs shoulders as he bites at your lips hungrily, "pretty Angel, made just for us, hm?"

"Mmhmph-" Your affirmative moan turns into a yelp as Wooyoung tightens his hand over your neck.

Damn them. When they decided to be on the same team they were almost scary at how well the schemed without even speaking a single word. San held your hips in place and drilled into you. Wooyoung assaulting your ear with kisses and bites, squeezing your neck in time with Sans hips.

"Pretty Angel looks like she wants your cum," Wooyoung teases as you swirl your hips in Sans hold, holding you down securely with his hand pressing your neck into the mattress as he looks down at where you're connected.

"Mmh, she does," San groans loudly, hips snapping into you needily, "looks like a bitch in heat." His words make both of you moan out, your eyes rolling into your skull for a moment before he buries himself to the hilt and stops.

"No, no, no, please! I wasn't going to cum, pleaseee, Sannie Baby~!" If there's one thing that gets San off, it's when his lover begs him for permission. When their with someone else- cum as much as you like. But with him? Grovel at his feet and beg him for a release only he can give you. "Fuuuck, shit, please, I need you, fuck me!"

Wooyoung watches you with gazed over eyes, holding you still as you attempt to writhe and get more stimulation. "She wants it's so bad, Babe~" He smirks as San, a look that makes his cock twitch inside of you, You muster up your best begging pout and let go of him, reaching for San's hands that are gripping your hips with a bruising force as he holds himself back until he's satisfied with your begging.

"I want you to make me cum, please, Django?"

All of the breath is fucked out of your lungs as he pounds into you. Fast and hard and nearly animalistic in the way he buries himself in your sopping heat with a string of curses, his fingers interlacing with yours in a soft intimacy that makes your head fuzzy. You can barely moan, how good it is. But he knows. Wooyoung knows.

As you finally come to your senses and scream out with your release, the whole district must know how well Django is fucking you.

He stops himself with a deep groan as your walls flutter and clench around him, squeezing your hands to ground your soul to your body as Wooyoung dips his head and laps at your hardened nipples. You squeeze his hands tightly, arched off of the bed in pure ecstasy as he fills you with his warm cum.

San slips his arms under your arched back and holds you close to his chest as he flips the two of you, a squeal of pleasure leaving you as he hits an all new angle. He holds you securely as he looks at Wooyoung, almost silently communicating.

He slips behind you, the feeling of his leaking tip prodding at your stretched hole has you gripping Sans shoulders tightly, rolling your hips back into him. "Oh, fuck, yes yes yes yes y-" Sans lips catch yours and silence you as he ravenously slips his tongue into your mouth and licks at your tongue, feeding on all of your moans as Wooyoung slides in with him.

"So good, my woman," his mind is gone, unaware of how your walls grow slicker with his praise as he slowly sheaths himself into you fully.

He nowhere near as thick as San, but dear lord that man has length to make up for it. The both of them together is making your stomach feel hot, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

San pulls away panting, his lips swollen and wet with your saliva. "Beautiful Angel," you official feel lightheaded as he cradles your face oh so gently as he moves his hips. Wooyoung follows suit, holding your back and fucking into you ruthlessly, rubbing against Sans girth inside of you like it's his favorite thing to do in the universe and it's about to be ripped away.

All you can do is moan and gasp with them, a melody that your neighbors must be cursing as the headboard bangs into the thin walls.

Your chest is pressed into Sans roughly, faces barely an inch away as you all move together. His hands cupping your cheeks and keeping you upright as your body threatens to give out. "Sannie, please, n'cum," he can just make out your slurs over the panting and slapping of skin in the humid room, the smell of sex already soaking into the air.

His brain is nearly gone as he feels Wooyoungs length twitch against him along with your cunt squeezing mercilessly, only nodding at the both of you for permission as he himself lets his soul float away in a wave of pleasure, squeezing you to himself possessively as he cums inside of you. Wooyoung isn't a moment behind, the second he feels Sans warmth flood you, his is joining. And the feeling of both of them soaking your womb makes you lose yourself, dunked in pleasure.

Wooyoung falls ontop of you, sandwiching you between their body warmth. San reaches around and hugs his arms around both of you, heavy breaths lulling you to sleep.

"Holy shit." Is all that can be said.

The next morning you decide to take advantage of the running water that San must have paid extra for, washing away the grime that stuck to you despite how many bird baths Wooyoung have you on the side of the road.

San, despite you and Wooyoungs best begging, went off on his own to meet with Hongjoong after he got a call on the prepaid flip phone in the middle of the night.

Wooyoung noticed you eyeing the bag of dirty laundry when you woke up and immediately offered to go wash them and grab some food for the both of you.

You're so wrapped up in the welcoming feeling of the warm water pelting your body that you fail to notice the door opening, letting the steam rise to the ceiling of the motel room. You sung one of Jongho's songs sung softly, the sound echoing on the fiberglass and acrylic shower wall.

"Darling?"

You grab the knife you left on the edge and swipe the shower curtain back. "Jesus!" Both of you yell. Wooyoungs hands fly up in a defense position as you aim the knife at him for a moment.

You flip it in your hand and hand it over to him by the handle, visibly relaxing as you see it's only your sneaky boyfriend. "Perv~" You tease before sliding the curtain shut dramatically. You can hear him shuffling around, and the sound of his zipper confirms your suspicions.

He steps over the tub edge and joins you, hugging you close from behind and kissing your neck gently. "Did you-"

"Mhm, foods on the bed, Princess." You laugh softly before turning in his arms and hugging his neck loosely.

"You're the best, you know?"

"I sure do~"

He reaches over you and grabs the travel size bottle of shampoo, cursing them silently because he will most definitely have to go get some more from the main desk before your stay is over. He lathers it up in his hands a bit before massaging your hair tenderly. "You miss them, don't you?"

His question catches you off guard for a moment, wondering just what he means until you realize that he must have heard you singing the song Jongho wrote all those years ago on The Illusion.

Those times were so much simpler. A group of pirates and the open sea. Beautiful blue water and all the time together that you could ever ask for.

"Don't you?" The way your eyes glaze over is enough to tell him. You miss them just as much as he does. You wish this would end just as much as he does.

"It hurts like hell."

"I know, Baby."

"I want to kill them."

Hala-Teez, the Strickland officials? All of them. "Me too, Baby."

He leans your head back carefully and rinses away the coconut scented soap from your hair gently. "I love you." You speak. Just above a whisper. But he catches it even over the raining water.

"I love you, Darling. This will all be over soon." He doesn't promise because he knows he can't. He doesn't know how long this situation will last. You could be on the run from Strickland and looking over your shoulders for Hala-Teez until your last breath.

"Joong will figure something out." You don't promise. Because Hongjoong hasn't. He can't. He won't promise something that he doesn't know he cant follow through with. He could be trying to come up with a plan for decades.

You stand in silence for a moment as you wash his hair gently before he speaks again, "don't cry, Love."

"What?"

When you look up, he's blurry. When did you start crying? How did this happen?

He closes his eyes and hugs you close with his head under the stream of steaming water.

After a small cry-session in the shower together, you and Wooyoung curled up in the bed and ate your takeout, watching one of the decade old dvd's on the laptop that Yeosang managed to get to you guys a few weeks ago.

The ban from being together for safety didn't stop small run ins with a familiar looking delivery man. Be it disguised as a food delivery man, a mailman, an exterminator- Yeosang always found a way to travel around the city and deliver small gifts from one member to another along with messages from Hongjoong when the phones were down.

A wave of laughter is cut off by a knock on the door. His hand immediately grabs a small hand gun on the nightstand as he stands, your own going to your knife that's sandwiched between the mattress and bed box as you slam the laptop closed.

"Delivery!" The voice makes you relax.

"Fucker," you huff as you jump over the bed and beat Wooyoung to the door and smile at the helmeted man. You can't see him, but you know who it is. "Goody~" You peek out into the halls and spot a few suspicious looking people, so you pretend to slip him some money before taking the box and take one last look as he walks away.

"Open it," he urges impatiently, nearly knocking you over to get to the pizza box as you set it on the small table.

Ontop of your favorite pizza. A small piece of paper. Sans handwriting.

let's bounce

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #jung wooyoung #choi san #wooyoung smut #choi san smut #wooyoung x reader #choi san x reader #smut fic #woosan #woosan x reader #smau #ateez smau

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riot-ghost · 8 months

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Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.

Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.

"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.

"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"

"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.

"Getting around the town well enough?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.

"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"

"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.

"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.

"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."

Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.

"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."

"Why are you eating it cold?"

"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"

"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."

"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.

"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.

"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."

"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.

"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.

Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.

"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.

"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.

Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.

"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."

"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"

Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.

Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."

Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"

"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."

"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"

"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?

"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.

"You brought him pasta."

"He never learned to cook."

"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.

Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."

Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"

"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.

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the-ellia-west · 5 months

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How to make your readers Feel emotions for Dummies

(Characters crying edition!)

So... You can't write characters crying? (Or you just want to read this for some reason) Well, neither do I so let's get right into it! I should be packing for a trip but oh well who cares? Not me!

Yeah. Your character is crying and you want to know...

How to not make it cringe af

How to make the Readers relate to it

How to make the readers not only relate to it, but feel DEPRESSED

Step 1 - Do NOT over describe it I've tried to write this so many times and failed that I've realized it's just like good horror. If anything, don't describe the tears, describe their impact, describe the horror of why they're happening, what they're doing to your character. (Example at the end)

Step 2 - Make it at a time when we've had time to connect to the character Put it in the middle of the 1st or only book at the earliest. Other than that, put it later. The more time you spend with the characters, the more their breaking down will emotionally scar you. And that's what we want

Step 3 - Describe other actions for the character Deep breaths, falling to their knees, screaming, choking, cradling the body of a loved one, sad dialogue, other concerned characters, ect. Actions speak louder than words and that is sooooo true in writing. This one of those rare cases where show don't tell is a must.

Ex. (I'm using A and B for the character names cause I'm lazy)

The world seemed to slow as everything came crashing down around her as his body hit the ground, a soft thud the only sound she heard as the grass slowly turned from the light lively emerald of life, to the deep crimson red of death. He was gone. She ran over to him, his quickly fading labored breaths and her crunching footsteps the only sound as the sun shone into her eyes, blinding her. She dropped to her knees beside him, the tears already beginning to fall as she began to choke on her own words, unable to speak as she grabbed his hand. It felt warm in her palm as she clutched his hand close to her chest as the world came crashing back. The burning light of the sun in her eyes, the heat of it and the adrenaline on her skin, her brother's cooling hand, his raspy breaths, her sobbing gasps, the clash of metal against metal, the falling bodies, the raining blood. Then the screams. "A! A! What are you doing?! We're in the middle of a fight! Don't you remember what I taught you?" B nearly screamed at her, causing A to cry out in a mix of anguish and agony, panic finally reaching her as the impact of what had just happened finally hit her.

(Side note: If you liked the example, it will be part of my Fantasy Book series Coming out soon! More in my profile if you're at all interested)

That wasn't as sad as it could of been because you didn't know the characters, but it's definitely better than just an extended description of crying.

Anyway, thank you lovelies and I hope this helps you even a little bit! Love you, continue being awesome!

[Edit: WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS SO MUCH WHAT DID I DO TO GET SO MANY PEOPLE TO LIKE THIS???? I am flattered... Thank you?]

#creative writing #fiction writing #writing community #writer things #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writers #write #writer #writers and poets #how to write #writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writing advice #writing help

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neverendingford · 1 year

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#I had a dream that the ladder of scars up my side un-faded and was visible again #unfortunately it was just a dream #they get visible when the temperature is just right and my skin coloration shifts a little bit with blood flow #but frankly quite sad that something that took so much work and hurt like hell didn't turn out how I wanted #I don't remember if it's 13 or 23 rungs. but either way.. over the ribs hurt like hell #maybe one day if I really really really feel like it I'll redo them. probably not. but who knows #it'll be midnight and the mood will hit me or something. you know how it is.#probably not though. I've grown enough that I'll just go eat some food and make a very messy painting instead #one of these days I should paint over my whole body. that would be cool #a big time investment and a lot of cleanup work but it would be fun #I've always had the idea to do some sort of art project where I paint/highlight my scars on some thematically appropriate day #if I ever do get any tattoos it's 100% gonna be visually collaborative with my scarring. that would be neat #it's not my fault scars and body injury have been a massive part of my identity since I was two years old #that's what you get for making a huge part of your monthly newsletter “the burned child is recovering well. here's several pictures of him”#that's what you get for making it into a story every time you meet old friends.#what you get for making me take off my shirt to show off “wow it's healed so well!” like I'm an attraction or experiment #anyway I should go back and write more stuff for my self insert oc who made me realize all this shit #because damn turns out I relate to the “child influencer has no privacy and grows up feeling like a spectacle” thing a little too hard #tag talk

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strangerstilinski · 9 months

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𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙬, 𝙬𝙚'𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; it’s been a long couple of months, and after a particularly rough night, your ex boyfriend finds his way straight back to you.

warnings; no use of y/n, post s4, exes-to-lovers, description of injury and blood, hurt/comfort, emotional sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lil bit of cockwarming

word count; ~5k

a/n; i meant for this to be a quick little hurt/comfort thing but then my mind kind of ran wild and it turned into.. this. but i think i really like how it turned out sooo, y'know.. leave a comment/tag/reblog if you enjoy!

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

You're not entirely certain who you were expecting to find on the other side of your door at two in the morning, and maybe you should've given the possibilities a bit more thought before unlocking the door and swinging it open wide, effectively exposing yourself to whatever may be waiting on the other side — but you don't. And it's with a sleep-slowed brain, a baggy tshirt resting high on your naked thighs, and bare feet that drag lazy across cold floorboards, that you find yourself staring at your ex boyfriend.

Steve Harrington.

He's standing in front of you looking a little nervous, a little lost, and a whole lot like he's just come from some sort of brawl. The sudden brightness of the hallway lights outside of your apartment makes your eyes ache and you're squinting, one hand coming up to block a bit of the light just as your heart drops as you take him in.

His hair is a little longer than when you last saw him, impossible for him to keep from flopping down over his forehead while the ends curl at the nape of his neck, light shining down on the strands and streaking golden through the locks that you'd run your hands through once upon a time. But you're hardly able to process or file away those small changes when your gaze begins frantically to absorb the more important and wildly more alarming details in his appearance.

The light wash of his jeans is covered in splotches of denim slightly darker than the rest where something's been spilled down his leg, streaks of dirt rubbed into the knees like he'd fallen down, and blood — there are crimson drops of it splattered along the fabric at his thigh, likely his, likely from the split lip he's sporting, or perhaps from his bruising nose.. When those red smears crusted beneath his nostrils had been fresh and wet and had clearly dripped down past his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, which also seems to be stained in an array of red-splotched fabric.

“Fuck. Steve, what-” Your voice shakes through the sleepy rasp in your throat, blood roaring in your ears at the familiarity of it all — the scene in front of you sending that achingly familiar trickle of fear and worry and panic all racing down your spine.

“I- Hey, sweetheart.” His own voice cracks a little like his throat's been scraped raw from shouting. He's got his hands tucked away in his back pockets like he might be able to make himself small enough that you won't start yelling, his eyes sad and a little pleading as he gives you a weak smile. He lets out a small hiss of a wince when the motion pulls at the slow drying scab on his lower lip.

“Stevie..” The nickname slips out before you can swallow it down.

You think that you might be in shock, if the adrenaline shooting through your veins is anything to go by. It's making it a little difficult to think clearly as you stumble through the doorway, hands coming into contact with his chest as you brace yourself. Your thumbs find those drops of blood that are still drying into the fabric of his shirt, shaking fingers dragging over the freckles on the side of his throat on their way to his jaw.

You have to fight the instinct to linger on those faded scars encircling his neck, have to fight to push back the memories of the night that things between you had finally fallen apart — when all of Steve's half-truths and secrets and outright lies had finally pushed you to your breaking point. The night of the earthquake. When he'd shown up on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, just like this, looking like he'd been to hell and back, in search of comfort and someone to patch him up but apparently not looking to give out any explanations for the state he'd come to you in. Not for the marks on his neck, and certainly not for the horrifying chunks of flesh that had been torn from his stomach and sides.

The fear you'd felt that night coils in your gut again. It's the very same fear that you'd endured eight months before the end, when Steve had gone awol for forty-eight hours only to find you the evening of the mall fire. That time, his left eye had been nearly swollen shut, body littered in bruises in varying shades of black and purple. You'd sat with him in the bathtub with your limbs carefully wrapped around him for hours, until the water had gone ice cold, and even after that he'd been glued to your side until morning. You'd both burrowed beneath a pile of blankets despite the summer heat, legs tangled and sweaty bodies clinging to one another. Even though you couldn't begin to understand how the fire could have been the cause of his turmoil, of his injuries, you'd still held him tight, one hand tangled in his damp hair at all times while he'd clutched onto you like you were his lifeline. The hours it had taken for the tremble in his hands to fade had nearly broken your heart.

It's all a little too much, the position that you've suddenly been thrust back into.

“Wh-? What the hell happened?” You question hoarsely.

Why you bother to ask now, you're not entirely sure. You're certainly not expecting him to give you any answers, but as your thumb pushes gently into the swelling softness of his busted lip, the fingers of your opposite hand brushing the hair back from his blood-spattered forehead, Steve sighs.

“It's not.. I was at the bar. Got into a fight.” He admits with another wince as your thumb skates up the bridge of his nose.

“Got into a fight or started a fight?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking slow between his; they're tired and bloodshot, his lashes clumped together like maybe he'd been crying, caramel swirling in the pretty brown depths that you'd been steadfastly avoiding thinking about these last few months.

A huff crackles as he tries to push a sigh from his blood-clogged nose, his hands finally leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his sides while he gives a small shrug, “..’was stupid.” He says in lue of a direct answer.

“I'm sure it was,” You grumble under your breath, swallowing your instincts and forcing yourself to take a small step back, your hands falling away so you can hug your arms across your own chest with a sigh, “What're you doing here, Steve?”

“I didn't know where to.. I..” The words don't seem to come and he falters, shrinking in on himself further, “I don't know.” He admits after a moment.

Your eyes close as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you, “I can't-”

“Please,” Steve nearly whispers the word and when you meet his eyes again, his gaze is a little watery, “I know you don't want to see me. I know you're still mad. And.. You have every right to be, okay? But-”

“But what?” You plead weakly, fingers digging a little meanly into your own arms.

“I just..” He struggles for a moment, hands raking through his hair and ruffling it into further disarray, “I just needed.. I..”

The fissure in your heart cracks wide, the slow healing wound tearing open to expose this gaping thing that feels a little like it might be enough to shatter your soul. Even while the more sensible parts of your brain scream at you to shut the door in his face, you find yourself taking his hand in yours, swollen and blood crusted knuckles under your thumb as you pull him into the dark apartment and close the door behind you.

You push him to sit down on the couch, a wordless order for him to stay put implied in the sidelong glance that you shoot him before turning away to move down the hall and grab your first aid kit and a wet cloth from the bathroom. When you return, Steve hasn't moved an inch, just as miserable and small-looking as you'd left him a few moments before. He's got his fingers tucked into the crook of space behind his knees, the tall streetlight across the road allowing stripes of light to cut across his hunched form, late night shadows eating up everything else.

The coffee table is nudged closer to the sofa with your foot as you sit down in front of him, your bare knees brushing filthy denim when you scoot to the edge of the table and bring the cloth up to his blood-spattered cheek. You're gentle with it, wiping at same spots a few times with the lightest pressure you can manage as the mess proceeds to smear, red-tinged streaks of water against his skin lessening with each careful swipe. Once his face is clean, you move on to the knuckles of his right hand, pulling it from where he has it tucked beneath his thigh to softly wash away the crusted blood from his split and bruising skin.

You work silently for a few minutes. The soiled cloth is dropped against the coffee table with a wet slap and you immediately turn to find the alcohol and cotton balls in the messy basket you keep stored beneath your bathroom sink.

You've just begun to open the package of cotton when Steve says your name, nothing more than a hoarse whisper to break the heavy silence.

When you meet his eyes, the desperation you find there has you faltering for a moment. The warmth that seeps into your skin from each point of contact between you suddenly seems so much stronger. Heat and nerves creep up the back of your neck as you blink at him in question.

The backs of his damp knuckles drag up over your calf before pushing into the smooth skin on the outside of your thigh, his thumb pinching lightly at the doughy flesh there, “I.. Can you..” His hand unfurls and he lets his palm settle against you, his fingertips high enough to slip beneath the hem of your oversized shirt and brush the crook where your thigh meets your hip, “I just.. want..”

He seems incapable of finishing his thoughts, but he doesn't really need to because you know. With the way his free hand comes up to push a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your jaw to your chin before catching against your lower lip in that all too familiar way, you know what it is that he's asking for.

“Steve..” Your accompanying sigh comes out a little shaky as you exhale it over the pad of his finger, your lashes fluttering as something stirs in your gut in response to his soft touch, “I don't think that's a good-”

“Please.” He whispers again — and, how could you possibly deny him when he sounds so pitiful that it wrenches at your broken heart? While his brows are drawing together like he's already bracing himself for your rejection even as his eyes remain soft and pleading?

And when the hand on your thigh pushes up to slide over the bare skin at the base of your spine, when he applies the barest pressure to urge you toward him, when the fingers on your face slip behind your neck — you're climbing into his lap with little encouragement. Your shins push into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs, hands finding the hem of his ruined shirt and guiding it up over his head in an easy movement that has his hair flopping down over his forehead again.

When your gaze drops, you allow yourself all of ten seconds to trail your fingers over the rough scars across his abdomen. The skin is a little puckered and pink, mottled in a way that it probably wouldn't be if he'd found himself at the hospital that night in late March instead of on your doorstep, but they've healed. It's a far cry from the jagged wounds that you'd tried to clean with blood-stained hands, through quiet sobs and glassy eyes. They'd been so deep, as if something had tried to carve out little bits and pieces of him over and over, like something had torn into him, like something had feasted on his flesh then and left behind nothing but the evidence of small, frighteningly sharp teeth.

Your choked questions ring in your ears even now, the way you'd begged for him to tell you what was going on, who kept hurting him like this — but as easily as your own voice echos in your memories, so does Steve's. You can still hear his agonized groans and cries of pain as you'd tended to his injuries, can still remember the sound of his desperate pleas for you to drop it, to just accept that he couldn't explain-

And you'd asked him then, if it was that he couldn't or that he wouldn't. The resulting silence from him had been answer enough.

Now, Steve seems to know exactly where your mind has gone and he covers your hands with his own, pressing your palms flat against the lingering marks on his skin.

“They're healed.” You state quietly through the emotion clogging your throat. The obviousness of the statement rings stupidly in your ears but you're not sure what else to say in the heavy silence.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse, “I had a pretty good nurse.. Cleaned me up real nice so that I didn't, I dunno, die from an infection or somethin'.”

A laugh pushes up from your throat that borders on a sob, “She sounds cool.” You manage, your thumbnail scraping lightly into the healed patch of skin under your hand.

“Oh, yeah, the coolest.” Steve tells you with the barest hint of a smile pulling at the unbruised side of his mouth. “You okay?” He asks quietly after another moment of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine.” You tell him with a shake of your head.

“Sweetheart..” Steve starts slowly, “I want.. Shit, I- I want you so bad right now, but if you don't want this-” When his hands move to the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes meet yours in silent question, and your head is nodding a little wildly in approval before you can begin to think too hard about it.

His hands nearly burn with every brush against your bare skin as you strip one another down to nothing, his touch leaving behind invisible streaks of something heavy and terrifyingly melancholy, something that you're sure will linger painfully in your chest long after he's gone and left you with a broken heart and an ever growing list of unanswered questions.

“I still have to clean your cuts.” You tell him quietly.

Steve's eyes only rake over your naked body for a moment before his gaze settles back on yours, “Okay.”

You settle over his lap again and wet a cotton ball with alcohol, “It's gonna hurt.” You warn in a whisper.

“I know.” Steve returns just as softly.

Bracing one hand on the side of his neck, you dab featherlight over his split lip. Steve's jaw clenches at the sting as it seeps into the cut and you murmur a soft apology while you continue to clean the area with careful fingers.

Steve's hands settle on your hips and his eyes flick between yours as he waits for you to meet his gaze. When you look up from his swollen lower lip, he gulps, adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingers digging into your flesh a little as he pulls your hips until your groins align nicely.

“Yeah.” You murmur, dabbing at the cut on his lip again just so that you have an excuse to look away from his eyes.

Your heartbeat ricochets against your ribs sharply as Steve guides you to grind slow over his lap, the warmth of him wedged between your spread folds. The way he manhandles you isn't rushed, the movement not nearly as desperate as you'd been expecting from his plea for intimacy. It's slow and quiet and filled with a weight that you wouldn't quite be able to explain if you tried.

It doesn't take long for his cock fatten up and grow stiff underneath you, his length and the patch of hair surrounding it both streaked with slick where your wet cunt has been dragging back and forth. You're both breathing a little heavy as you finish cleaning the cuts on his lip and the bridge of his nose, your faces close though neither one of you make any move to close the distance.

Steve curls an arm around the back of your thigh as he reaches around to guide himself toward your entrance. A breathy sound falls from your lips when you roll your hips back and feel his tip catch, just barely pushing in. He's as thick and warm and perfect as he's always been, and that hunger to have all of him spreads down the back of your tongue like warm honey, but the moment you spread your thighs a little farther to take more, Steve is stopping you.

“Wait, wait, wait. You.. Are you sure you're okay with this?” He asks suddenly. His fingers are digging into your hips, holding you in place to keep you from sinking farther down onto him as he awaits your response.

“Wh-?” Your jaw trembles with something like petulance, a little desperate yourself now that you can feel the fat head of his cock inside you, stretching you wide despite barely breaching your entrance, “You said that you-”

“I do. Fuck, I do, I just want to make sure you're sure.” He says it so soft, so earnest, and his concern has you feeling something resembling whiplash. The two of you haven't spoken in months, but he'd shown up at your front door in the middle of the night and practically begged for you; for your presence and your care and your body.

You want to feel angry with him. For looking out for your well-being now, for being Steve, for bringing up so many feelings that you'd tried so hard to bury, but he's looking up at you with imploring eyes — a gaze that says if you climbed off of his lap now, he wouldn't be upset with you, if anything, he'd be upset with himself and..

It has you reeling a little bit, that blooming affection crawling like rapidly expanding ivy inside your chest.

You brush that stubborn chunk of hair back and off of his forehead again, your fingers combing through to the back of his head until they can toy with the bits curling at the nape of his neck. Your mouth finds its way to the space between his brows, a shaky exhale masked by the kiss you press to his skin before dropping your foreheads together.

“I am. I'm sure.” You promise in a whisper.

When you sink down, both of you groan in synchrony, breathy and guttural. The stretch hurts more than you were expecting, but it's been months since you've done this, so you suppose that the sting from him filling you up is warranted. Your hips settle against his and his arms curl around your back to hold you in place, to hold you close. His chest is flush to yours, scattered hairs on his pecs pressed to your breasts, the tip of your nose still barely avoiding brushing against the bruised bridge of his own.

The sensation of being so full leaves you feeling a little overwhelmed, the intimacy of the moment suddenly too heavy. His breath mingling with your own and his soft hair tangled up around your fingers brings pinpricks of heat to your eyes that you stubbornly attempt to blink back.

“Hey.. Hey, honey,” Steve murmurs softly, one hand coming up to swipe a thumb along your watery lashline, “What's wrong? You okay? You hurting?”

Another strangled sounding scoff of a laugh tumbles from your lips, a weak sniffle as your fingers find their way to those smooth, faded lines along the front of his throat again, “I should be asking you that. You're the one who's had the shit beaten out of him tonight.”

“I'm fine. Two weeks n' I'll be good as new,” Steve assures you with carefully crafted nonchalance, his tear-stained thumb dragging back and forth along the apple of your cheek, “Now what's goin' on in that beautiful head of yours, huh?”

“I just..” You huff out a sigh, rolling your hips experimentally to test the ache between your thighs, “I missed you. Fuck, I- I miss you so much, Steve.”

A few tears do manage to break through then, something about the way the patchy light coming in through the windows casts a glow over his battered face, the browns in his eyes shining golden in the dark.

“Me too, I miss you too,” He rasps desperately, “Shit, honey. If you think I don't miss you every goddamn second- You're everything. You're my everything.”

He's holding your face in both hands now, palms cradling your jaw so gently, arms trembling like he's trying to fight the urge to hold onto you tighter. His restraint and his words twist sharply in your gut, something akin to dread weaving its way inside of you.

“I'm scared,” You admit, voice quiet and buried beneath tears, “I'm so scared-”

“Scared?” Steve repeats, concern flashing in his eyes, “What're you afraid of?”

“Losing you.” You gasp.

“Sweetheart-”

Your chest is heaving a little with the labored breaths beginning to tumble past your lips, “I'm gonna lose you all over again, because I can't.. It- It is terrifying. To see you hurt and bleeding and not know why. To worry that the next time might be even worse than the last and have you keep skirting around the truth or outright lying-”

“Hey, hey. Honey, hey,” Steve gives your cheeks a soft shake under his hands and your gaze falls back to his, “I'm sorry-”

“Jesus christ.” You bemoan quietly as another tear falls, halfheartedly pushing at his arms to dislodge his hands.

“No, no, I mean it,” Steve pleads softly, “I'm so sorry I kept you in the dark, I just- Shit, it's so complicated, I-”

“Asshole.” The interruption comes out a grumble under your breath, and you're gearing up to climb off of his lap entirely when his weak chuckle meets your ears.

“I am,” He nods, brushing your hair back from your tear streaked face, “I'm an asshole and I'm sorry. I- I'll tell you everything, alright? I will. I will.”

“Promise?” You hate yourself for how small you sound, how unsure and broken.

“I promise.”

You crane your neck and tilt your head to brush your lips featherlight over his, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the mess of purple and black and red along the bridge of his nose, your thumbs gravitating yet again to drag over those smooth, barely visible scars around his neck.

“Does your mouth hurt too much, or can I-?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking between his.

“'course you can,” His hand pushes into your hair behind your ear, cupping your head to guide you forward carefully, “C'mere.”

Your mouths come together with all of the gentleness you can manage and you leave one soft peck, then two, then three. You begin to work your hips over his all the while, and neither of you can hold back a keening noise of pleasure at the slow drag of his cock inside your warm walls.

You ease back from his mouth to drag the pads of your index and middle finger lightly over the bruises coloring his skin.

“Did.. Did you really get into a bar fight?” You can't help but ask, even as you're lifting up and dropping back down hard enough to have you both letting out a breathy whimper.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, his fingers trailing along your ribs and stomach like he's trying to re-familiarize himself with every inch of your skin, “I.. It's possible I have some unresolved anger or something from- After everything that happened. Sometimes it kinda takes over, like tonight, and then I pick a fight I know I can't win, but.. 'm not lying to you anymore. I mean that.”

You nod and his arms curl around your back to pull you impossibly closer. Trapped in his embrace, you can't do much more than grind on him with slow swivels of your hips, the head of his cock rubbing at that spot on your inner wall that has your brows pulling together in pleasure.

He's so close like this. His chest hair drags against your bare breasts and your tummies are pressed together and the sweat on his forehead mingles with your own. You feel warm — in the physical sense, yes, but also in your stomach, in your bones, in your heart.

“I love you.” Steve says with emotion, like he's feels that warmth too.

Your eyes prickle a little traitorously, fingers toying with the soft ends of his hair, “I love you,” You manage in a choked gasp, “I love you.”

“Ho- Shit..” Steve groans, chin tipping up toward the ceiling for a moment as he throws his head back, “You feel so fuckin' good, honey.”

“Y'r cock feels good,” You pant in response, “So good. So big. I- Fuck.”

“So tight,” He mutters, sitting up a little straighter to meet every roll of your hips, “So perfect. 's like you were fucking made for me, you know that? Take me so well. You were made for this, for me-”

The way that your clit is rubbing against the thatch of hair on his pelvis has you a little dumb already, and his lust-fueled rambling only intensifies your budding orgasm, both of your thighs slick with how fucking good it feels to have him inside of you again. You nod in agreement to his words and manage to give a small whimper, but it seems that he's not done yet.

“-Missed this so much. Missed you, missed this.. Fuck. Honey, I love you. I love you. I-”

“Steve,” You whine, “Love you too.”

His tanned cheeks have gone a little pink beneath the dusting of bruises on his face, breathy groans fanning out past his busted lip. The pretty little noises of pleasure that he can't seem to hold back have you reeling, your gut twisting with heat at the sight of him, the sound of him.

“So goddamn wet for me, honey,” Steve grumbles, his voice catching in a way that has your cunt clenching down on him, “Listen to her. You hear that?”

You do. There's a lewd squelch emitting from the place where you're joined, the sound filling the otherwise quiet apartment every time that your hips roll at just the right angle. It happens again just then, his cock stretching your hole wide enough for the drag of slick and air to create a mildly embarrassing noise that has Steve giving another needy groan, his hips bucking up into yours.

“God, fuck, please tell me you're getting close,” He nearly whimpers, lifting up off of the couch to drive up into you again, “Please, I'm getting so close, babe. Need you to come.”

Euphoria licks up your spine in a white-hot flame, your weight bearing down that much harder to apply more pressure on your puffy clit. Sweat trickles down your spine, disappearing beneath Steve's forearms where they're looped tight around you.

“Mhm,” You hum, the sound catching in the back of your throat, “M'gonna come, Stevie. Y'r gonna make me come.”

Your hips roll a little faster and Steve continues to buck up into you, his cock pressing so, so nicely against the spot that has your brain whiting out a bit at the edges.

“Come on, sweet girl. Come for me,” Steve moans, warm breath fanning out over your lips, “Please, honey. Please come on my cock. Shit, I need it. Need you t' come, please.”

“I am, I am, I am,” You babble desperately, “M'gonna, fuck, fuck, 'm-”

The knot of pleasure in your gut twists sharply and you cry out, face burying in his neck with a whiny gasp as your orgasm crashes over you. Your cunt tightens and trembles around him and a deliciously choked sounding moan tears past Steve's lips as he finally lets his own release wash over him.

The warmth of his come coating your insides has you fluttering around him further, your hands grappling restlessly for any part of him to hold on to, his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, his biceps. Breathy little whines and gasps and groans tumble from both of you as you ride it out, the trembling tenseness in your muscles releasing all at once as you go limp in his arms.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back to yourself a little, peppering a delicate kiss to that infuriating strip of scar tissue along his throat before you're pushing up with weak limbs to look at the man underneath you.

“Hey.” It comes out in a murmur, a breathless little thing that leaves you feeling kind of silly, but your brain hasn't yet recovered enough to work at its full-capacity.

Steve only grins, his lips curling to reveal perfect teeth, a pretty smile pulling at his busted and bruising lips. His eyes twinkle in the patchy darkness of your living room, a pretty mosaic of brown and gold and speckles of green catching in the light and forcing your heart rate to tick up in adoration.

“Hey, honey.” He returns sweetly, one arm uplooping from around your spine so he can reach up to push the sweaty flyaways back from your face.

You can't help but shift over him, sore legs flexing where they're spread over his hairy thighs, a trickle of warmth leaking out from where you're still joined and dripping down into the thick hair at the base of his cock. It feels dirty and intimate in the best way — his come mingled with your own, your fingers in his sweat-dampened hair, his wide palms rubbing softly from your hips to your spine and then back again.

“I kinda want to stay like this forever.”

Your whispered admission has his eyes crinkling softly and he drops his forehead to your chest, his breath fanning out over your breasts as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You won't hear any complaints from me.” Steve mumbles into your skin.

You never want to leave this moment. Your nose pushes into his hair and you pull in the familiar melding of scents, of expensive shampoo and hairspray and an underlying smell that's just Steve. You want to stay right here, in this perfectly imperfect bubble, but you feel Steve wince when he burrows his face into your chest just a little too hard and the serenity cracks.

“Steve?” You murmur softly, fingertips scraping gently against his scalp despite the nerves in your stomach.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You steel yourself with a deep breath, “You know I'd do anything to protect you, right? You.. You know that I'll do anything for you.. Know that.. That you can trust me?” It comes out in a rush, and your nerves increase tenfold when Steve pulls back to look at you, “..Right?”

“Honey,” The endearment comes out laced with something sweet and sticky that makes it sound an awful lot like an apology, “Of course I do.”

His eyes are so soft as they flick between your own, his hands smoothing up the length of your spine in a soothing drag of skin on skin. One hand leaves his hair only so that you can trace your thumb over those two wide freckles on the apple of his cheek, a self-deprecating sort of smile pulling at your lips.

“And.. And you're gonna tell me what's been going on with you?” You nearly whisper.

His mouth finds yours to press a featherlight kiss to your lips, “Yeah, honey. No more secrets. No more lies.”

“Promise?” You ask again, lips pulling into a smile where they're still brushing his own. Your faces are so close it's hard to focus on the way his eyes shine with adoration when he looks up at you, the bruises on the bridge of his nose blurring in the darkness.

“Promise.”

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loveindefinitely · 7 months

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༊*·˚ DO ANYTHING FOR YOU — how your boyfriends react to you getting assaulted at the pub

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish

warnings. f!reader, unwanted sexual advances, minor sexual assault, graphic violence, possessive/protective relationship, pre-established relationship, implied gaz/price, polyamory, mm, nsfw content, praise, body worship, oral

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

The smell of cheap beer and even cheaper perfume isn't usually your cup of tea, but then again, neither are pubs in general.

Yet, here you are, squished into a booth with your teammates -- your family, really.

They had insisted that you all go out tonight, something about a celebration for the week off. You just saw it as an excuse to get drunk and hope for a lay, at least, for those not cuffed.

That being said, being single was becoming rarer and rarer for your crew.

"C'mon, cap," the man beside you groans with an eyeroll, his thick arm coming around to rest on the top of the booth behind your head. Slick bastard. "We ain't gonna tease you for it," he insists.

You shoot a knowing glare to your side, and you know that he sees it, cause his mouth quirks in the corners and his dimple shows. Just slightly.

"You're a shitty liar, Johnny," the man to your right huffs with an eyeroll. His skull balaclava is pushed up the base of his nose, showing just a hint of his stubble and scars.

The same stubble and scars that you've felt against your skin too many times to count.

"Ya love me," Soap shrugs with a cheeky grin, his arm moving closer to rest at the nape of your neck. The man's always been a furnace, no matter where you were, or the climate. Hell, when you guys had been stationed in mid-winter Russia for a bit, you and Ghost had clung to him like fucking koalas.

"And look where that's gotten me," Ghost responds with a mutter, gaze harsh with a teasing glint.

"Just because you kids got lucky doesn't mean I will," Price says with a sigh, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. "I've been out of the scene for... what, six years? More?"

You quickly check to see if Gaz is still at the bar grabbing you all another round, and when you do, he catches your eye. He quickly waves you over, head motioning towards the drinks at the bar. You get the message immediately.

"You guys have your boy talk," you tease, scooting past Soap where he sits, his large frame brushing against your ass and back no matter how hard you try to avoid him. "I'm gonna go help the man of the hour with the drinks."

Soap's hand rests at your hip as you finally escape the narrow confines of the booth, and you shoot him a chastising glare. He retorts with a smug little grin. Grabbing you by your nape, he scoops you in for a quick, chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

"I'm not leaving," you say on an amused huff, to which Ghost gives you a softened look.

"Fuckin' co-dependent, the both of you," he says gruffly, but the love and adoration is a nice undertone. One you and Soap have grown to notice after months of practice.

With one more quick kiss to your lips, Soap lets you go, the sound of your booth quickly fading away as soon as you fall into the crowds of people.

Considering that it's a Friday night, the place's packed -- you guys had been lucky to score a booth.

Making your way to Gaz, spotting his head of hair, you find yourself pulled into the arms of a stranger. Confused, and head slightly light and cotton-filled due to the rounds you'd had before, you try and wrestle out of the man's grip.

He's strong, however, and you had not dressed for any type of combat. Nor were you in the right state of mind for it.

"Excuse me," you say, voice straining to remain calm and polite. "Could you please let me go?"

The man chuckles, and the sound grates on your skin the way that a snake would slither down your spine. "Love, you were practically beggin' for some attention," he breathes into your ear, breath warm and liquor-laced. "Don't go actin' a prude now."

You shove against his grip, eyes squeezing tight when his hand goes up to fondle at your breasts. He's rough, entirely disgusting about it, and you feel bile rising in your throat.

Heels. You were wearing heels. While the man is distracted with his groping, you raise your right foot, and then slam it down on his. Luckily, the guy was wearing some thin sneakers that allowed for the harsh pain that followed.

"Fuck!" The man seethes, hand moving away from your tits to instead cradle his foot as he hops on his left leg. "Fuckin' skank, you're gonna --"

The man stills, words stopping short when a large, gloved hand wraps around his neck from behind. "Gonna what? Finish your sentence."

Ghost stands behind the man, voice loud in the suddenly hushed pub, even when he grinds the words out by the man's ear.

You feel the familiar and comforting frame of Soap as he gently pulls you into his chest, body tensed and ready for bloodshed, yet soft as he cradles the back of your head and plants a soft kiss to your hair.

"Go ahead. You were so ready to yell at her, so do it. Speak up," Ghost taunts, his voice cold and devoid of the warmth that it had mere minutes ago. It sends a shiver down your spine.

Whimpering, the man instead begs for forgiveness. Spineless piece of shit. He blabbers, tears rolling down his cheeks as Ghost intimidates him, all while Soap holds you with tender touches and comfort.

"We got him," Price's voice cuts through the man's blubbering, his tone that of a Captain who was all too used to cleaning after his subordinates' messes.

"Don't do anything we woul'n't," Soap says, his voice hinting at humour. It allows a soft, albeit small, smile to creep onto your face.

Gaz shoots him his own cheeky look in return.

You doubted that the man would see the light of day again. Either because of a loss of eyes, or a loss of heartbeats.

Price and Gaz lead him out of the pub, the door ringing shut behind them. The crowd instantly turns to keep to themselves, cheering and conversation returning at full volume.

"Princess," Ghost is quick to stand in front of you, blocking out the rest of the world as he holds your face in his hands, gaze examining. Whatever he sees makes him relax a bit, his gaze flitting up to Soap to check over him too. He was always the most protective one -- the bodyguard in your relationship.

It never failed to get you going, and even after the event that had happened, you find that that fact is still accurate.

"'M okay," you say, gripping Ghost's wrists softly and bringing them off of your face with a tentative smile. "He's gone. 'M safe."

Soap's head moves to nuzzle into the side of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin where you stand. You tilt your head slightly to allow for easier access, and he accepts the offer gladly.

"Home?" Soap asks, voice muffled by your heated skin as he continues to place lovebites all over your neck, shoulder and collarbone.

Ghost gives one sharp nod, before grabbing your hand and gently pulling you along to the front door. Soap reluctantly moves away from your skin, his arm sliding around your waist as the three of you make your way out into the crisp night air.

It bites at your warm skin, allowing you to sober up just the slightest bit. Enough for you to realise how safe you felt between your two men -- how comfortable and protected.

Luckily, the bar you all frequented was a mere ten minute walk from your apartment, so the three of you managed to make it through the front door in no time.

"Lemme get your heels." Soap is quick to kneel as he delicately unfastens the buckle around your ankle, taking them off with the same amount of care one might use in heart surgery. He presses a kiss to your inner ankle, and then trails his mouth to the tops of your thighs.

Ghost's chest presses against your back, his gloved hands tracing along your bare forearms, then over your shoulders with light caresses. Your eyelids flicker at the attention from both of your lovers, the feeling unlike anything else in the world.

He makes quick, yet cautious, work of unzipping your dress, letting it pool to the ground as they both let out small groans at your undergarments.

Their favourite lingerie adorned your body, and what were they but weak, whipped men?

"Let us take care of you," Ghost grunts, nose brushing against the skin behind your ear. "Worship you, Princess."

You let out a breathy sigh at that, nodding almost immediately. You weren't sure if you could deny either of them anything when they treated you like you were something precious. Like they adored you with everything you had.

They both guide you to your bed, their hands never wandering far from your body as they gently lay you back on the sheets.

"Fuckin' beauty," Soap groans, groping and fondling your thighs like a man who'd never get to feel them again. His eyes meet yours, his ocean-blue darkened with lust and need. "Prettiest fuckin' thing I ever saw, Baby."

Your head falls back, lips opening in a gasp as he lowers his head to kiss against your inner thighs, lips brushing your sensitive skin. He's meticulous about it, savouring the experience.

"Eyes on me," that familiar, deep, dominant voice calls to you. You open your eyes, Ghost pulling off his black compression shirt with one hand, all while his dark gaze tracks every movement you make. It's taunting, making you delirious with lust and want and desire.

"She's so fuckin' wet for you, Si," Soap says on a deep moan, moving your lacy panties to the side to inspect your pussy. His finger trails lightly over it, a teasing touch, that has you clenching despite yourself.

Ghost's heated gaze directs to the man between your legs, appraising. "Tell me what she tastes like," he says, and Soap groans deep in his chest from those words alone. "If you're both good, I'll taste it from your mouth."

Without another thought, Soap dives in, enthusiastic and desperate. You whimper, whining at the sudden attention to your clit and pussy. He's rough about it, not nearly as careful as he had been mere seconds ago. He takes, and takes, so relentless in his motions that you grind against his face, his hands gripping onto your thighs.

Ghost's hand lands in his hair, pushing him in further to your core. You and Soap both let out identical moans at the action, Ghost's gaze focused on the both of you.

"You two," Ghost says, eyes encompassed nearly fully by his iris. "Mine. My fuckin' pets."

"Please," you moan out, hips frantic where they ache for more pleasure. "Fuck, Si, Johnny, feels too good, fuck."

"Yeah?" Simon tilts his head, only slightly mocking. "Like all that attention? He's sloppy, ain't he?"

You nod incoherently, Johnny's relentless attack at your clit and hole leaving you entirely too wound up. Your moans come out louder, needier, raspier, until you're falling apart, falling off of that cliff of pleasure that you had climbed.

"Good, such a pretty pet," Simon's hand pets at your hair, tone comforting and affectionate. Prideful. "Our good girl, huh?"

Johnny finally -- finally -- moves off of your pussy, entire bottom half of his face glistening with your essence. His gaze is completely lust-drunk, hazy in a way that mirrored your own experession.

"Si," is all he says, grabbing the taller man by the scruff of his neck and pulling him into a devouring kiss. You can visibly see their tongues fucking each others' mouths, passionate and wanton. When they pull apart, they both direct their attention to you.

"Ready, Princess?"

a/n. first ever work in this fandom and the first smut i've written in nearly a year! hopefully this isn't completely awful. if you enjoyed, pls pls pls reblog, follow, like, comment, or whatevs!!!! tytyty <3

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