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bbybrainrot · 1 month

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only the lonely

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader x Six (Court Gentry) Wordcount: 6.6+K Warnings: smut. threesome. LLoyd is a possessive dick and lashes out. He uses derogatory words, but i shaved off his stache so who really wins in all this? Six is probably OOC, but we live fast and loose with them rules, baby! Summary: "Sociopathic tendencies. Keyword, there. Doesn’t mean there aren't a few people I’d die for if necessary.” A/N: For this to work, I erased the whole little kidnapped girl storyline. So just pretend the boys are fighting in that maze for their own egos. In a diff world, I feel like they'd respect each other to a degree and if you remove the kidnapped aspect, it probably could be valid.

They’re both near death when you practically drag them into the getaway vehicle. Significant damage. Shallow breathing. Lloyd is missing a few fingers, and when you wrap your arm around Six’s waist, his shirt squishes wetly. There’s way too much blood. It sticks to your cheek as you help him into the car.

They can't die. It would ruin everything.

You’ve got a boss who wants their skills, and he gave you the task of hiring them. For the last few months, you've been forced to wait for the right opportunity to strike. It soon becomes clear that a rare and likely impossible series of events must happen for them to even consider the offer.

But - happen it does. In fact, it falls into your lap.

They're in Croatia and on opposite ends of the same mission. A mission that has steadily gone south and has now hit rock bottom.

Your informants fill you in on where these two are headed. Scapegoats. The CIA has fucked themselves so severely that there isn't a single solution that isn't paper-thin. Lloyd Hansen and Sierra Six are as good as dead. Rats in a cage.

Well - now they're tucked into the back of your car like a pack of sardines. Both too big to fit.

Lloyd is paler than usual - his milk-white skin gray and sallow, and his big blue eyes are having trouble focusing. Six - Court - is just as bad, his head rolling forward as he tries to lift himself upright in the backseat.

“What is this?” he mutters the second you slip behind the wheel.

“In a nutshell? CIA is coming, and they plan on getting rid of both of you.” You twist around in your seat to level them with your best authoritative stare. “So you either get cool with each other real fast, or you go back out there and die.”

“That’s a real Sophie’s choice, baby,” Lloyd remarks dryly. He’s leaning forward, unable to press his back to the leather. He regards you with a kind of wonder, subtle recognition, though he’s probably dizzy from blood-loss.

It’s been a long time, Lloyd.

Silent as the grave, Six holds your gaze. His fingers tremble on his thigh and there’s no hope in securing a seat belt around him. The car's interior already reeks of blood and burnt flesh.

“It’ll be unmarked graves, and you’ll both take the fall for this shit-fire.” You glance at Lloyd. “You really wanna be buried with that stache?”

“God,” Lloyd groans as he spits out a thick glob of blood that hits the window and drips down slow as molasses. “You’re such a cunt.”

Six socks Lloyd in the chest, and he chokes, sputters, and then yells when he accidentally falls against the seat and irritates the charred flesh of his back. “She’s saving our asses, you fucking shithead.”

“Standing up for her? Didn’t peg you as the chivalrous type. Good luck getting in that snatch because it’s next to impossible.”

You jerk a finger in Lloyd’s direction. “You would use snatch, you fucking troglodyte.”

“Nice word of the day, babe. I’m so proud of you.”

“Jesus,” Six hisses. “Just shut up so we can get out of here. I’d really like to stop bleeding out right now.”

He nods at you. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out the rest later.” He shuts his eyes and drops his skull against the headrest. “We can murder this guy and leave him on the side of the road if he complains.”

Lloyd scowls but says nothing else. Seemingly deflated, he hunches forward, curling his mutilated hand against his chest.

Dawn light, pink as a grapefruit, filters into the car, shoving both men into stark relief. They look touched by death. It’s jarring. Two living legends are going cold in the backseat of a shitty rental. As the air fills with the whir of helicopter blades and the scream of sirens, you hit the gas.

***

This is how it starts. You bring in crooked doctors who are paid under the table. They deliver top-notch medical supplies and sew up what they can. The men will have to be flown out of here. They’ll need surgery, but first, they must accept the terms.

Six will be easy. Fitzroy is gone. He’ll require cash to stay below ground. He’s been doing the CIA’s dirty work for years and this offer is practically the same thing with even less rules. This is what he knows.

Lloyd will be difficult. He’s too arrogant and unpredictable and has always been his own boss. But, his connections are tapped. His options are limited. He’s got nothing, now, that the CIA would rather bury than use him.

You explain it simply. It’s private sector work. Not above board. The money will be better than anything either of them has gotten, and your boss will keep them safe. No government intervention. No CIA. They’re already dead. Dust in the wind.

“What’s the catch?” Six asks as he idly watches one of the medics sew an ugly knife wound across his chest.

“We work as a team,” you reply smoothly. “These jobs will always require more than one person, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” Your eyes dart to Lloyd, who is staring down at his wrapped hand. You can see it. He’s been knocked down a peg, slightly humbled by the fact that he got his ass handed to him by Six. “I just need to make sure your egos can handle it.”

“I don’t even know who your boss is,” Six says. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Agent 33,” Lloyd interjects quietly, his gaze still trained on his hand. “Remember Vienna?”

Six’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “That was you?”

Vienna. The memory ripples through you, and you can still feel the shard of metal in your thigh, lake water in your throat. The dozens dead and how you had done all of it because you were ordered to. One-hundred bodies to save a thousand. Your mouth gets suddenly dry.

“That was her,” Lloyd confirms as he finally looks up. His expression is completely unreadable. “I hadn’t seen you since I got kicked, but it tickled me when Denny said you went ghost on him after that shit in Istanbul. Knew you were just as depraved as me.”

For a moment, the unmistakable feeling of blood is on your hands. The stickiness of it itches. You went into the private sector because it was easy. You no longer had to wait for the government to give you permission when difficult choices had to be made. You weren’t strangled by all the red tape. You weren’t blamed for things beyond your control. There’s a scar under your breast that still throbs.

“I was recruited,” you explain. “Exactly what I’m doing here.” You cross your arms over your chest. “You have nowhere to go. My boss will protect you. You don’t need to know their name. You don’t need to know their mission statement. I went in blind, and I don’t regret it.”

Lloyd's jaw clicks, his nostrils flaring with barely contained hostility as he takes a moment. He’s caught, and he knows it. He’s stuck to a spiderweb. You picture spreading his arms out and nailing his hands to a glass slab. Let me pull you open, Hansen. “Whatever,” he finally growls. “I can hand you my bank account number later. I need a plastic surgeon to fix the fucking skin on my back.”

Six doesn’t give you a verbal answer, but he does tip his head at you. It’s enough.

***

The first mission is a shit show. Six (because he hates Court) and Lloyd crash into each other with alarming regularity. They argue and bristle, Lloyd is too loud, and Six isn’t loud enough. There is snag after snag and it’s because they won’t just listen. It’s a fuck-up, but you complete the mission and get the money. There’s blood in your hair as you drag yourself into a shower, and refuse to speak to them for three days.

By the fifth mission, they’re on even ground. There are splinters in the foundation, but it’s working. You have to appeal to their strengths. You have to butter up both of them, especially Lloyd, but that’s no surprise.

You want to win, right? Do you want to be the fucking best? We’re ghosts. We need to be wraiths in the night. We don’t do things messy. If you get us in a tight spot, Lloyd, then we are all fucked.

Fine - Fuck - you’re such a bitch.

No, I’m not. You’re just a fucking baby.

Can you two relax? Jesus.

Like you’re any better? You’re a bleeding heart, Gentry. It’s embarrassing.

***

“You need to shave that mustache,” you tell Lloyd plainly. They’re in the new hideout. A place where the three can lay low when they have several assignments on the docket. It’s isolated in the French countryside. All flecked white paint and a farmhouse flair. The garden is wild with lavender, and Loyd grills big slabs of meat that get delivered from the local butcher.

“Since when?”

“You stand out like that,” you reply. “Everyone looks at you and not in a good way.”

Six snorts before trying to mask it by shoving a spoonful of sorbet into his mouth. Lloyd pouts for an hour, but he doesn’t refuse you.

Later, you find him in the bathroom, hovering over the sink with the razor in his hands. “Get on the toilet,” you order as you step inside. The tile is cold under your feet. They need to crank the heat up in this place. Autumn has come early. The sky was purple-blue as the bruises on Lloyd’s biceps. He got into a fight with a giant Russian in Croatia and nearly had his spine snapped.

He shoots you a sidelong glance. “You’re going to cut me.”

“I flayed a dude once without killing him.” His eyes widen.

“I just got hard,” he groans, cupping his crotch. You ignore him and gesture to the toilet.

“Sit.”

He does.

You’re careful and slow as you work. You stand between his knees in your pajama shorts and tank top, and his fingertips skate across the side of your leg. His other hand is still screwed, bandaged within an inch of its life, but he’s working with it. Adapting. He stares at you as his features go slack - softened by the warm bathroom light. His eyelids droop, and his full lips part, but he doesn’t move an inch. You feel as if you’ve tamed a giant, lazy cat. When you gingerly tilt his head up, thumb caressing the hinge of his jaw, he makes a soft, low noise in his throat. His fingers skim the edge of your shorts, but he doesn’t push it.

After all, you have a razor at his throat.

You wipe away the shaving cream when it's done and smirk down at him.

“Look,” you tease. “There’s the dude I met all those years ago.”

His lips split into a devastating half-smile. His teeth are white and shiny, and he is too good-looking. “Keep talking,” he urges. “You definitely wanted to fuck me then.”

“Hmm,” you tap your chin. “I did, but Marie told me you were a terrible lay. Totally selfish, which is really on brand.”

He scoffs. “I didn’t put an effort in with Marie. She’d been begging for my dick for months. You…well…” He lowers his voice to something ragged, and his breath puffs against the bare skin between the band of your sleep shorts and your top. His hungry eyes flit back to yours, and he squeezes your knees. “I’d eat your pussy until you begged me to stop.”

The place between your thighs flickers. Heat in your stomach begins to expand, blossoming throughout your body. Even your face grows warm, and Lloyd can tell. He’s reading you, his pink tongue sweeping over his spit-slick lower lip. With the razor still in your hands, you cradle his jaw and lean down. His brow lifts an inch in surprise, but a second before your mouths meet, you dart to the side and press it to his ear.

“Baby,” you whisper. “I’d fuck Six before I fuck you.”

You abruptly pull away, ease out from between the trap of his legs, and toss his razor in the sink. The sound of steel and polished wood bouncing off porcelain reverberates throughout the tiny room, and Lloyd doesn’t even blink. He’s staring at you as if you’d just slapped him.

In your own way, maybe you had.

***

Six is easy. He’s a man of very few words, and his entire work ethic is high-speed, low drag. Still, he can be entertaining when he wants to be. He’s slightly awkward when he tries to relate to you in any way that isn’t killing people. You know his background. You know how he was raised and where he’s been, so Six is barely even a fully functioning human. More machine than anything else. You don’t think he has a favorite movie or tv show. He’s a blank slate that you can’t seem to dent or leave your fingerprints on.

“Can’t believe you got Hansen to shave,” he remarks slyly. You’re sharing coffee next to the Arc de Triomphe, waiting for a drop-off not far from the cafe. “How’d you do it?”

“Promised I’d blow him.”

Six chokes on his coffee, and you laugh. “I’m kidding, but that probably would have worked, too.”

“He does have a hard-on for you,” he observes, his tone almost thoughtful. “It’s a little creepy.”

“He just likes what he can’t have.”

“That seems pretty accurate for him.”

You lean back in your chair, observing Six’s body language. His baseball cap pulled low, his sharp chin and honey-dark stubble revealed in flashes. He doesn’t look like a Court.

You’d heard about Six before you ever met him. The Gray Man. The man who existed outside the fold. You want to ask him questions, bug him about his scars. You want to compare stories.

Suddenly, he shifts forward, lifting his arm to dab foam from the corner of your mouth. Just as quickly, he pulls away as if realizing what he’d done. “Sorry - I just - you had -”

“You’re fine, Six,” you reassure him, hiding a smile. “Thanks.”

***

Lloyd doesn’t necessarily hate Court Fucking Gentry. The man has dived out of a torpedoing airplane without a parachute. Yeah - he heard about that one.

Lloyd read his file when he was given Operation Kill Ken. There’s stuff there. There’s some fat within all that gristle. Abusive father. Prison. Six doesn’t fuck around and, quite frankly, the man has more street cred than Lloyd will ever be able to touch. Lloyd went to an Ivy League for football. He wears loafers and cashmere. He’d skirted above the law until everything went ass-up in Croatia.

But, shitty dads? He gets that one.

He wasn’t lying when he said they could have been friends. The only issue he can see is that Six really doesn’t offer himself up. He seemingly does not know how to function as a person. He eats. He sleeps. He fucks (Lloyd hopes). He murders with style using the weirdest shit: pens, scissors, a well-placed shoelace.

Lloyd has a very begrudging admiration for the guy. It kind of pains him that the only thing Six really seems all that interested in is 33. His little eyes brighten the second you speak to him or touch his shoulder or praise him for a job well done.

Meanwhile, you pretty much knock Lloyd upside the head whether you’re congratulating him or chastising him. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t jealous. Not really.

Right?

***

The blast nearly takes you out. You manage to curse and roll out of the way before it explodes, but it does the job. Your ears ring. The world swirls in a black-red shriek. There’s a distant pain in your side, and your fingers are wet, your pants are soaked. You see blood. You may have broken something internally. The light is receding, and you can’t see what’s wrong with your stomach. It’s difficult to breathe. Somewhere in the fog, you hear your name.

Not 33, but your name.

It’s Lloyd. He’s rushing toward you.

“Hey, hey.” He pats your cheek gently; his hand fits around your throat as he holds your head up. Opening your eyes, you see how close he is. There’s the thick stubble across his jaw, around his generous mouth. His lashes are long as pen strokes. He has crow’s feet now. His eyes blue with a hint of green. Mossy pond water. His thumb strokes your lower lip, wiping away the blood.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You took a hit, Pumpkin, but Six is coming. We’ll get you out.”

You blink at him for a moment before your mouth twitches into a smile. He frowns. “What is it?”

“You said we’ll….”

He scowls. “Don’t get too excited, duchess.”

You blink the dust out of your eyes. Your heart rumbles in your chest. “I-I can’t…”

You can’t breathe. You want to tell him this, but the words are rattling behind your tongue. You’re drowning.

His expressions shifts into something nervous, deeply concerned. “What? Where does it hurt? Fuck - there’s a lot of blood.”

His eyes catalogue every piece of you, but when they move lower, he blanches. He goes quiet.

You feel like you’re falling, drifting out into a warm sea. There’s salt in your nose and tongue, and Vienna never happened.

He slaps you lightly again. Shakes you until your teeth click. Don’t you fucking dare. Do. Not.

It’s dark.

“Shit,” he growls before shouting for Six.

***

From your doorway, Lloyd regards you with bewilderment. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the very real shudder he felt when you got ripped open by a stray grenade.

“She’ll live,” Six tells him as the doctors work overtime. “The boss went haywire, apparently flying in the best of the best.”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“This boss,” Lloyd muses, scratching his beard. It’s all grown in, and he’s not going to ruminate over the fact that he may have done it for 33. “He’s got something personal with her.”

“We don’t ask questions,” Six reminds him as he leans against the wall. Lloyd’s eye catches the deep scar etched into Court’s bicep. It zigs zags until it disappears beneath his shirt sleeve. ��But you knew her before this?”

“I met her in college,”

“Harvard?”

“Yale, actually. She was at Yale.”

He recalls the specific memory in vivid color. It had been the Yale vs. Harvard Game, and he’d been starting. He’d lost, which had been expected, but still hurt. He’d gone to drown his sorrows at some frat house party, and he’d run into you. Drunk and pretty and lost.

He hadn’t fucked you, of course. But he let you sleep in his bed, right up against his chest. Fully-clothed. In the morning, you’d been so embarrassed that you bought him breakfast, and it ran from there. You were friends. You were also smarter than him, which got him hard. He confided in you about his shit childhood while you shared your own ugly past. Very. Very. Lifetime.

After they were recruited junior year, they ultimately drew away from each other. Different assignments. Different training. Still - the CIA had inevitably carved them both into stone. Zero morals. Hard choices. They were soldiers.

No impulse control. Unsanctioned torture. More kills than the entire Mossad.

He stares at your body. You look tiny - sunken and broken and drained. Lloyd really thought there was no softness left in him. No warmth.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Six asks, and Lloyd startles. He whips his head around to pin the blonde with an icy glare.

“Sit on my fucking face, Court.”

***

Something is going on between you and Lloyd. Six can feel it as the tension mounts. They’re in another safe house in Australia. The sun has bleached his hair and given Lloyd some much-needed color.

You’re in better shape than a month ago when you’d gotten wrecked in Nice. Your blood had stained his hands. He’d cupped your insides, and, for a moment, he’d been upset.

Disturbed. Sad.

“C’mon,” he had encouraged, teetering toward the edge of panic. “C’mon - eyes up. It’s a scratch.” But your eyes had remained shut and didn’t open for three days.

In the weeks following the incident, Lloyd goes out of his way for you. He displays these small gestures of affection like when he opens your door and helps you out of the car, when he reloads your gun, or when he makes you coffee and purposefully doesn’t bring Six any.

What am I doing here? Six asks himself this nightly, and the answer is always right behind it.

Because you have no other options. You have jack shit, and this has always been your life.

It doesn’t help that he kind of likes 33. You’re cracked in certain places, but you’re just as skilled as he is. Incredible strategist. Unreal sniper capabilities. Artistic with a knife. Beautiful in a conflicting fashion. Sometimes he sees you as the girl next door, familiar and tender as caramel popcorn at a baseball game. Sometimes he sees you as a tropical storm, full of heat and difficult to grasp. Sometimes he sees you as the stars above, cold, unfeeling, and far away.

Today, they’re sitting in an old jeep. You and Six are waiting for Lloyd to return from stealing back an asset another team lost. It’s some hard drive in a lab, which is very on the nose for their line of work. Six prefers the mercenary stuff. He doesn’t like having to carry valuables.

The air tastes like rain even though the sun is burning Six’s scalp. The AC puffs and spits, but he’s still sweating down to his ass.

He watches you tap your fingers against the wheel. It’s been three hours of twiddling their thumbs. They’ve covered every topic imaginable before they just resigned themselves to this silence.

He thinks of the tension between you and Lloyd. Out of his own sick curiosity, he wants to puncture it.

“Did you and Lloyd ever fuck?” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, and you whirl around to look at him. Your lips part in surprise.

“What?”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “I meant to say - did you guys ever hook up?”

“Because that’s so much better. Real subtle.”

“I’m a subtle guy.”

“Didn’t you already ask this?”

“C’mon,” he presses. “I see the way he looks at you. I know you guys knew each other in college.”

In fact, you never really told him anything. You said Lloyd wanted what he couldn’t have and didn’t expand on it. Lloyd had been incredibly aloof about your past, and Six didn’t know why he even cared this much. In truth, he’d never been part of a team before. He’d never had partners or anyone to relate to and live with. Yeah - he didn’t like Lloyd, but the guy got the job done. Hansen had seemingly calmed down, and most of Six’s ego thought it was because he’d kicked the guy’s ass. Brought him down to size.

“We didn’t,” you reply as you cut him a sharp glance. Your eyes glisten in the sun, and he swallows. “We met in college and were friends, and we stayed that way.”

“How come?”

“Because fucking him is like the surefire way to get him to never speak to you again.”

Oh.

So, maybe, you did care.

“You know what’s funny?” you continue. “I told him I’d screw you before I screwed him.”

Caught off guard, Six chokes on his own spit. He smacks his fist against his chest to clear the shock. You’re staring at him, lips curled into a devious grin bordering on seduction, and - how did this happen? He hasn’t had sex in months. Maybe, since Bangkok? He’s positive Lloyd goes out most nights to find something to take the edge off. Drown his frustration in some poor chick who isn’t you.

Six feels himself twitch. His dark jeans are too snug, and he isn’t sure what to do.

“Me? Wow,” he replies, laughing a little. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

Your expression is thoughtful. Your lovely eyes drift over his face as if you’re taking stock. Do I do this? I should just fucking do this. He leans forward, leaving a breath between them. The AC creaks. The car’s engine ticks. It’s too hot, but his palm finds your cheek, and you let him tilt your head.

Your lips are soft as he meets them. Your tongue coaxes his mouth apart, and it’s tender. This kiss. This moment between them that he didn’t expect. Your hands slide into his hair, arms winding around his neck. You’re in his lap, and this is dangerous, cutting it close. They’re supposed to be on guard.

He can’t release you. He doesn’t want to. He’s lifting his hips as you grind down against him. There are the wet noises of their lips and tongues colliding. You’re making these muffled whimpers that are knocking him flat. He feels like he’s back in high school. All of his lovers have been nameless, faceless people across the world. Sex in alleys or dark rooms or between the shadows. Paid or unpaid.

He knows you. You’re not a stranger. They’ve spent months together. He can tell anyone how you like your eggs, how fruit-scented candles make your nose wrinkle, or what you look like handling an RPL-20.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Reflexively, Six snatches his gun and aims it at the window, only to find Lloyd there. He is glowering; an M320 casually slung over his shoulder.

You scramble off Six and end up falling back against the dash. Your hand flies to your side where you’d been wounded in Nice. The stitches still raw.

“Fuck,” you hiss and then shoot Lloyd an apologetic look. “Lloyd-”

“Don’t,” he snaps before ripping the car door open and sliding into the backseat.

Silently, you disentangle yourself from Six’s lap and get behind the wheel.

It’s a fucking awkward ride home.

***

Your subconscious must hate your ass because you haven’t been sleeping. It’s a nightmare - Vienna - and you wake up with tears on your cheeks. Your nose is stuffed, and your throat is sore.

There’s movement in the corner of your room, and you yank your gun from beneath your pillow. Clicking off the safety and aiming.

“Hey,” Six’s calm voice fills the space. “You were screaming.”

Shit. Shit.

Heat erupts under your skin. “How loud?”

“I mean, I was down the hall in a dead sleep.”

You groan, dropping the gun onto your side table before shoving your face into your pillow. “Did Lloyd hear?” It comes out muffled, but Six catches it. You feel the bed dip under his weight, his hand finding your knee over the covers.

“He went into town. Hasn’t come back.”

“Figures.”

“You want to talk about it.”

“Do you ever want to talk about it?”

“You got me there.”

You flip onto your back so you can look at him. Through the gauzy curtains of their bungalow, the moon bounces off his golden hair. You realize he’s not wearing a shirt, and you can see the ugly knotted flesh of pink scar tissue that covers his shoulders and bicep.

“Regret is pointless,” you mutter. “It’s a weakness.”

You’re fairly certain Lloyd told you that once after he burned his mark alive. But that had been back in the CIA.

Six nods, humming in agreement. His hand slides up your leg before sliding back down. He does this - just this - and your body begins to respond. There’s another twinge of guilt in your belly. When he saw you straddling Six, Lloyd’s expression had been wrecked. You know he’s furious. He’s probably taking it out on some poor soul. He’s probably fucking someone else.

Beneath the cover of darkness, you can blatantly study Six. It’s an alien feeling. You have a softness for him. He’s completely different from Lloyd, yet he is just as dangerous. He slaughters swiftly and hopes that they deserve it. There’s a swagger about him that he doesn’t intend. He’s dry. He’s sarcastic in the direst of moments. There’s a piece of you wanting to turn him over, shake him, and see what spills out.

“Court,” you murmur, unsure what he wants.

“Don’t call me that,” he chastises as he begins to make his way up the bed. He’s shaken his identity off. He’s gray - he’s nothing - he’s just air. He hovers above you, planting his arm beside your head so he can bear his weight. You touch the ridge of the scar that rides his shoulder before your palm slides to his heart. It’s beating fast - a thump thump thump that echoes in the silence.

“You’re not nothing, Six,” you tell him, and you can’t see his eyes, but he does drop his head and captures your mouth in a kiss that vibrates through your skull. He’s ripping your blankets away; he’s wedging himself between your legs, rucking his boxers down. You grasp his cock, pump him once and then twice before he’s already pushing inside you. You gasp - fingernails breaking the skin at the nape of his neck. He groans - circling his hips, testing the waters before he lazily draws back and thrusts forward. The bed squeaks. The headboard knocks against the wall.

He threads his calloused fingers through yours and shoves your hand into the mattress. He pins you beneath him, taking you in long, agonizing strokes. You moan against his tongue as he licks the cup of your mouth. He peppers kisses across your cheeks and brow as he fucks you. A snapshot of something sweet compared to how hard his pace is.

The nightmare fades - disintegrates into nothing. You swear you hear the front door open.

“No regrets, right?” Six reminds you as he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks deeper. He’s sitting back on his heels, head cocked as he admires you splayed before him and then the place he’s disappearing inside you. He’s incredibly built, thicker than Lloyd and you wouldn’t expect it with his ugly zip-ups and old t-shirts. His thumb finds your clit. “Tell me.”

“No regrets.” He presses down.

***

When Six sees Lloyd the next morning, it becomes apparent that he wants to peel his face-skin from his bones. His eyes are slits. His mouth flattened to a firm line as the muscle in his jaw pops. He cracks his neck and cleans his guns on the outdoor patio. He says nothing, but it’s obvious.

He definitely heard them.

Six shrugs it off. It is what it is. He can’t help it. It happened - kind of rolled together. Like calling to like. You can’t keep adrenaline-soaked mercenaries in a tiny house for months and months with no outlet.

Also - yeah - he may kind of like you. He likes you because you’re so hard. You sink your heels into the ground and don’t budge. Remorse will get you killed. Grief. Fear. Stay cold and distant and turn off all your compassion and you're good.

The thing was - Six was positive you couldn't. You hesitated on certain missions when it came to civilian interference. It was Lloyd who took those shots for you. It was Lloyd who would gently push you out of the way and claim that kill.

Six is shaken from his thoughts when he hears your feet pad down the hallway.

“Um - hi,” you mumble as you hastily step into the kitchen.

You’re just as lovely in the morning as you are at night. You busy yourself by making eggs. When Lloyd’s head is turned toward the sun, Six darts from his chair and touches your hip, he seals his chest to your back and pins you to the sink.

“Morning,” His voice is low, thick from lack of sleep. Your ass presses back against him and all his blood runs south. Fuck.

When he tries to catch your eyes in the reflection over the faucet, you duck your gaze and accidentally drop an egg onto the floor. He isn’t sure how someone who has beheaded a person can be so coy and yet.

“Meet me in your room,” he murmurs as he slips his fingertips over the nape of your neck. You shudder, before silently tossing the pan into the sink with its runny, half-congealed eggs and darting back to your bed.

Six grins before he realizes that Lloyd is once again looking into the kitchen. The gun is forgotten on the table beside him as he leans back in his chair. He’s staring at the space you just vacated. His expression is not exactly angry, but puzzled. A little sad.

For a moment, Six pities him.

***

You hear Lloyd before you see him. His steps are heavy as they vibrate through the hallway of the house. It’s been a week. He hasn’t spoken to you due to Six constantly hovering at your side. Lloyd’s anger flourishes; it is palpable.

Of course, he reigns fire once Six is out on a mission.

When Hansen finally spots you, his lips peel apart into a blinding grin. “Fucking finally,” he crows as he strides toward you. You stumble backward, hitting the wall. You curse yourself for giving a shit about this, but you don’t know what to say.

When Lloyd reaches you, his good hand curls around your throat. He thrusts his thigh between your legs and holds you there like a rag doll. His mouth is a millimeter from yours. His lower lip brushes your top one; his breath warm against your face. “Jesus, that fucking guy is like a god damn insect,” he snarls. “Wouldn’t even give me a moment with you. Has he staked his claim already? Covered you in his fucking come or something? I heard all the noises he made while he was inside you. How good was it?”

You blink at him. He’s not choking you, but the pressure of his thumb against your windpipe is uncomfortable. “Lloyd-”

He drives his thigh harder against your cunt, the muscle of it right up at your heat. “Tell me, duchess. I want to know.”

“It-it was good.”

He cocks his head, his blue eyes too bright under the hallway lights. He looks a brush manic, and you find yourself gripping his shoulders, trying to ground him. He’s upset. He’s not just angry. He’s sad.

“Not me, huh?” he asks, eyebrows lifting. “Is it the hand? Probably can’t ruin you the way I want to, but I could try.”

You frown. “It’s not your hand, Lloyd. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His thumb finds purchase under your jaw. He pushes it in a little. You gasp. “Hansen - you - you were in town fucking someone else - I - I don’t know what you want -”

“No,” he growls. “It was always going to be him. You told me yourself.”

“Let me go for one fucking second, you fucker.”

“No.”

You shoot your hand up and twist his ear violently to the side. He stumbles backward, hissing in pain. “Oh, you fucking bitch-”

You point your finger at him. “No - just no - chill out so I can explain.”

He straightens, his eyes narrowing to slits. He’s flushed with rage, his chest hitching. You’ve never seen him this emotional. His anger is usually a cold thing - winding up before it explodes, and then it burns out.

“I fuck you, and you’ll get bored,” you accuse. “You have no impulse control, Hansen. You get obsessed, and then you forget why you were obsessed in the first place. No offense, but I don’t feel like being another notch on your bedpost, especially because we’re partners.”

He frowns. “You wouldn’t be.”

“I’ve seen you do it to every girl you’ve ever had.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. His remaining scarred fingers curl beneath his bicep. “Every girl isn’t you.”

Huh.

He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, princess,” He clicks his tongue. “For someone so skilled at spec ops, you’re fucking hopeless in the body language department. Do you think I would have spent this much time with you if I didn’t care? I’m not counting the last few months because you pretty much railroaded me into this, but I’m talking college, before the CIA.” He points to you and then to himself. “You and me? We’re the same. Granted - you may have a dash more empathy, but I knew who you were when we met, and I liked it.”

You stare at him - stunned.

“Vienna?” His expression softens. “Yeah - I knew what you had to do and why you did it. I know you made the tough choice because you were the only one capable of it. You were trained to compartmentalize and toss out the rest. I fucking hate to say it, but Six is the same. It’s the job.”

“Those - those aren’t great qualities to want in a girlfriend.”

He snorts. “I care about you. I like you. A lot. I can spell it out. I can send you a card or flowers or fuck you into next week, but that is the truth. The rest means dick to me.”

You stumbling over your words. “You - you don’t like anyone. It’s literally in your file. Sociopathic tendencies.”

He smirks, and it only highlights his handsomeness. “Sociopathic tendencies. Keyword, there. Doesn’t mean there aren't a few people I’d die for if necessary.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You really couldn’t. All the stories you’d heard about Lloyd painted him as a complete narcissist. He cared about money and being better than anyone else. He liked pain. He liked winning. He couldn’t be collared.

He’d followed your career, though. He understood why you did the things you did. Here he was - unfurling for you, baring himself and declaring that everything you hate about who you are is alright in his book.

“Then let me show you,” he replies urgently. He steps back into your space, his hands finding your hips. He lowers his head, his gaze trained on yours as the corner of his mouth quirks. You’re chest to chest, and he’s wearing one of those ridiculous soft-knit collared shirts that cost hundreds.

Slowly he grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles right over his perfect ass. Your spine brushes up the wall, and you cradle his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “I mean, I shaved the stache for you,” he teases as he ruts against your lace covered pussy. You reach down between you, unbuckling his belt and pulling him out. It’s a slow, methodical dance. His eyes don’t leave yours, and he doesn’t prep you or lick you open; he just lets you hitch your panties to the side and guide him into your sex.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Oh - fuck -”

He shudders, breath warm against your mouth. He saws his hips, easing out until it's only the tip before shoving himself forward. He’s bigger than you expected. It kind of hurts, but he quickens his pace and you forget. It burns and throbs and lights up your blood.

“Come on, duchess,” he drawls. “Kiss me.”

You do, tongue plunging behind his teeth as you fist his hair. At some point, you both fall over, and then he’s forced onto his back, and you're on top. You ride him, the skirt of your cotton sun dress flowing over his thighs. His hand is on your ass, while you reach for the other one. He gives it to you cautiously, but you coax him - praise him - tell him it’s okay. You grasp his wrist and tug the mutilated fingers up, threading them with your own, pressing your lips to the ones that remain. That seems to do something. His eyes widen, his brow lifts, and he groans. He plants his feet and fucks up into you. He leads a messy rhythm, and you respond to it, bouncing, clenching, and circling your pelvis to meet every punch of his cock.

His head falls back against the floor. “Jesus fucking christ, baby,” he rumbles. “You’ve got a tight pussy.” You rock down into him, rubbing exactly where you need to, right against his pelvic bone. You’re close, and he’s so hard that his length is pulsing inside you. He’s at his end just as you skate over yours. He sits up, his hand grasping the nape of your neck as he forces you to his mouth for a clumsy kiss. He flips you onto your back, burying himself to the hilt before you can mourn his loss. One final drag of his cock as your walls flutter and clutch, and then it’s over. He collapses on top of you, his mouth wetly smearing your cheek before he drops his face into your neck.

“You’re perfect,” he husks. “I’m getting hard again.”

You punch the side of his arm and try to haul him off you, but he’s too heavy. Finally, he relents. He rolls onto his side and slaps your ass. “Well, that was great, honey,” he jokes. “Now - I’m off to fuck someone else.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah.”

***

“Judging by the text I got from Lloyd, I take it you guys made up.”

You go rigid at the stove. You’re stirring a pot of soup you threw together and Six is sitting at the table. Casual. Quiet. Perfectly normal. You feel on the spot. There’s still the intense ache between your legs. You’re raw and swollen. Lloyd had licked his own come out of your pussy before fucking you a second time.

“What-what did it say?”

You hear Six unlock his phone before loudly reading. “Hey fuck face! 33 and I will now be regularly having wild animal sex. We should probably figure out a sched. PS. I ate her out on your bed.”

You whirl around. “He did not.”

Six’s mouth quirks. “But you guys did everything else?”

You wring your hands before you glide toward him. He opens his arms, and you sit on his lap. It’s familiar - it feels normal. “Lloyd and I are….” You search for the word and come up empty.

“Complicated?” Six offers.

“Yeah,” you reply. “And weird. We - we have a lot in common, and he knew me. Before the CIA…before all of this…” You gesture around you. “He knew me when I wasn’t so fucked up.” You sigh, rubbing the place between your brows before finishing. “We have something.”

Six nods in that particular way he has. He’s not angry, just resigned. You touch his cheek. “You and I have something, too.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “So what? You want us to share.”

“If you’re able.”

“Does Lloyd even know how to share?”

“We could teach him.”

***

In a way, they’re orphans. Lost. Touching in the dark. Lloyd’s mouth burns against yours as Six buries his face between your legs. “Let go,” Lloyd orders. “Relax, duchess. Let him eat you out.”

You arch when Six sucks your clit, and Lloyd drops his head to lick your nipple. He massages the other breast as he noses your cheek. “You need more?”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “Yes.”

“Mmmkay,” he croons before fisting Six’s hair and shoving his face deeper against your cunt. Six groans, the muscles in his back undulating as his fingertips bruise the undersides of your thighs. The only time Six listens to Lloyd is when he’s in bed with you.

“Fuck,” Lloyd rumbles. “That’s so hot. Who would have thought I’d have a cuck kink?”

Your hips buck up against Six’s face, and he responds by pushing two of his fingers into you. Your stomach flips, and Lloyd steels his arm around your waist. He holds you down as he watches Six crack you open, flattening his tongue from hole to clit.

“Bunny,” Hansen murmurs, his beard scraping your throat. “You’re soaking Court’s face.”

You can feel Six bristle at the name, but he doesn’t let up. He continues to work you over. He’s thorough in all aspects of his life.

Lloyd’s touch falls from Six’s hair to his shoulders; it strokes the deep, etched line of his scars that wrap around his body. You’re riveted - gaze following the path his hand takes as he just feels Six’s marked flesh. Lloyd’s other hand traces your scars, the few fingers that remain slide along your stomach where the bomb split you near in half. In the dim light of his bedroom, your eyes find Lloyd’s, and he reaches between you and Six, boldly caressing exactly where Six is dipping his tongue.

You shudder.

“How many scars do you think we have?” Lloyd marvels just as you climax, hips rolling against Six’s face as he anchors you to the bed. Lloyd’s question hangs between you, and you can’t tell if he’s being serious. “I mean, it’s kind of wild,” he grins as he drops his head to kiss your stomach. “We’re still all incredibly good-looking.”

Despite himself, Six laughs.

Part Two

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bbybrainrot · 1 month

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gn reader, tw: body and food talk, ghost isn’t super nice to himself but you’re nice enough for the both of you

“where’s the rest of your food?” you nodded to ghost’s plate, laden with one chicken breast and a couple of vegetables from the mess hall. he stopped short in the hallway, trying to control his blush even though he was wearing his usual balaclava. you looked at him curiously. he got lost in the warmth of your eyes that showed genuine concern about his food, scrutinizing his plate.

“‘m on a cut.” he grumbled, gravelly voice at odds with his thoughts. you looked down and fuck, he had gotten it all wrong. he had been too gruff, like a fumbling kid talking to his crush on the playground. you tilted your head back quickly, now armed with a cheeky grin, and he almost let out a breath of relief at the sight. stupid simon, he’d almost messed it up, but you always gave him unending grace. “why? i like you big.” you started walking, nudging his shoulder in a silent goodbye. he was rooted in place, his legs like concrete as he replayed your words. you liked him big.

“thought you were on a cut, l.t.?” soap asked the next day, in line with ghost who was currently loading up on carbs and protein. “little birdie told me they liked me big.” he meant to say it in a whisper, but somehow you heard. at the front of the line, you whipped your head around fast, sending a secret smile just for him. fuck it was worth it, even if he felt too large for the room sometimes. simon would never cut again if he could see that smile. you ducked your head, suddenly shy. you couldn’t believe your l.t. took your words to heart that much. maybe there was something more in all those glances he gave you when he thought you weren’t looking.

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bbybrainrot · 1 month

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protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

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bbybrainrot · 1 month

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ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

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bbybrainrot · 2 months

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Tears & Kisses★

(Oh and f/f is favorite flower!♡)

Husband! Ghost who stayed home and decorated the house for when you got back from work for a little Valentine’s Day surprise

Husband! Ghost who Carrie’s you from the car to the couch once he heard you pull into the driveway

Husband! Ghost who gave you little manicures and all the chocolates you could ever ask for and if you didn’t want chocolate don’t worry! He made some muffins after spending time with your parents!

Husband! Ghost who made you a special dinner with all of your favorite foods as a thank you for loving and staying with him for all these years

Husband! Ghost who hugs and kisses the side of your head while you watch your favorite cartoon while he slowly sneaks his hand down to play with the soft pudgy part on your lower belly that you might hate but he ADORES

Husband! Ghost who sunk his hand lower into your panties so he could play with your soft pussy but not putting a full finger in cause we don’t wanna spoil you too much he said.

Husband! Ghost who took you upstairs to your bed only to notice the lights dimmed to a pinkish red and (f/f) petals scattered around the room with a good amount of them on the bed.

Husband! Ghost who laid you down on the bed and made sure you watched as he pulled down the front of his grey sweatpants to reveal his hard cock dripping precum staring at it till you saw the little pink ribbon tied around the base.

Husband! Ghost who tried to make sure you were loose before he fucked you cause “He wanted tonight to be perfect”

Husband! Ghost who couldn’t help it as he took his fingers out your wet cunt and just started to fuck you with one hand against the headboard so you don’t hurt yourself

Husband! Ghost who groans at the sight of the before pink ribbon turn to a darker pink cause of how wet you were getting

Husband! Ghost who fucked your pussy till the lips were all puffy and sore before he got up and said “I can cum again js’ wait a sec love” before he had you ride his cock till you milked him as much as you wanted♡

And Husband! Ghost who cuddles and kissed you the next morning as he rubbed your soft belly only talking about how cute you’d look if he put a baby in there♡

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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BIG LIST: BLK FAN-CREATORS | NOTES & PART 1

Fanfics, fanart, fanthoughts. Variety of fandoms

PART 2 | H-O

PART 3 | P-Z

Actual list is below this housekeeping, if it isn’t a needed list for you it’s still out here if you would like to view… Other lists out there.. plenty probably, I’ll link them if you have! I just felt like doing this one and will try to grow it

Original post here thanks to @cardierreh15 with requests for black creators tags, people you may know tagged all these as their recs so prob worth checking their specific mentions. I will remove your tag if you’d like. Share your tag or another’s in comments and I’ll add as I can, if a tag is incorrectly spelled let me know, or if someone has deactivated, etc. If you have a list of recs, I’m happy to link to a post with those as well. this list is not curated based on any specific preferences, but this is a black creators list

I’m happy to add more about your work, any or all of the following: smut, fluff, plot (plot plot not like, where y’all fuckin), feelings, humor

@blkwriters (@ramonathinks damn, the tags the organization of it wow) and @angelshub (specific writers were part of the network… shut down but works are present) specifically post our creations

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

A-G

*= blog not found

@abinitioart @ackee @akm87 @aquiboni @asieybarbie

@backwzzds @backwzzds-backup @bbybrainrot

@blkkizzat @bleach-your-panties (smut) @bloodripleygal

@bluumey @btrop* @bunnerscrib-28

@cardierreh15 @cartoonistgal @charee @chosaya

@chrollohearttags @chrollosbm @c-nstantine @c0pkiller

@cowinf @cozystars @crystolnaut @cuddledot

@daitsaisan @darcias @darqchilddaydreamz

@dejwrld @delinda-arts @desavine @diorsbrando

@endotwrites @eraofevermore

@fairune @frogwhomp

@getoscrybaby

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Happens to be BHM, but this won’t be taken down like so much on Feb 28 or 29 if it’s a leap year who knows I am bad at dates

Some stuff, with respect (roll your eyes if you feel like it and send me a video of you doing it I’ll try to care. I’m being cheeky, but there may be some newer folks who appreciate the words):

We’re very obviously diverse in artistic/creative style, speech, experience, philosophies, takes on the world, how frequently we post/ how prolific, our perspectives, personalities, all that… so find what you like, skip what you don't (Settings - Filtering for what you don’t want to fully see or just block). REBLOG. give praaaaise- particularly specifics (I’m working on all this too, my lazy ass), we don’t need more of us to leave…

Pin a masterlist- so ppl can find your original stuff ✔️

Tag your works and your reblogs- character or fandom x black reader, x black!reader, x fluff, x smut, x smut with feelings, #blk fanfic writers, #blk writers, # blk fanfiction, see how others use tags, there are a shit ton more ✔️

Please add name, age and even a background/profile pic to your blog, lots of people block if name/age aren’t there minimally ✔️

Besos, Hazel 💋

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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I think you're either team ghost x civilian wife! reader where the rest of the 141 have no idea you exist or team they know and it's a very familial like and I'm the first one

simon who does everything he can to keep you his secret, even more so when your family starts to grow. when he's finished with a mission he will spend the next 48hrs barely sleeping, moving around to make sure no one is on his tail before making it home into your arms.

it's not that he doesn't trust the 141, but you and your family are far too precious to trust anyone with. you've heard the stories of all of the other men, are sure you would need only one look at them to be able to guess which man belongs to the many names he's told you over the years, but you're aware they don't know that you exist.

that on the rare nights simon ventures out to meet them for a sole pint between missions they think he's holed up in some bachelor flat back in manchester, perhaps with a string of women that come and go, but they couldn't be more wrong with his wedding band hidden under his gloves when he's home like now or safely in his drawer at home when he's on missions.

and it's not that he doesn't wish he could shout about you from the rooftops. everyone in your town knows that the big scary man whose face is always conveniently hidden in the shadows has a missus at home who brings your chubby babies to the toddlers and drops your kids off at school.

but the 141 don't know about you, not until enough time has passed since simon retired to consider it safe enough. simon with his aching joints and trembling hands, the ringing in his right ear and back pain that requires at least two, hour long soaks in the bath a week. simon the husband and dad who has butterfly clips in his hair and at least one nail painted from the game of hairdressers his oldest likes to play, a bright pink plaster on his knee to match the youngest, and one hand on your belly at all times with the third (and final in your opinion but simon is working on that) of your brood.

simon who is out for drinks with the 141 three years after retirement and slips and says something about moving house and the hassle, the rest of the men deciding they will help and so simon decides it's finally time. but he doesn't forewarn them about his family before the day, standing in the garden of your packed up house that your family has outgrown while the men stumble out of the van they hired only to stop dead in their tracks when they see you.

you who is waving in the doorway, a toddler on your hip and looking like you're about to pop while another child - maybe six or seven by their guesses - swings from simon's arm, with a dog jumping up paws on his chest. and like the man he is he doesn't explain, just jerks his chin towards the piles of boxes and empty moving van he's started to pack.

"think you can start making a move on that?"

a few hours later and still no explanation from simon, he's in the first van packed with all the furniture and bigger boxes with you and the kids and the guys follow behind, slack jawed and still confused as they stay speechless until they pull up at the new house.

they're still staring at you as you pile out of the first van and you're shaking your head, elbowing simon in the ribs and muttering a "put them out their misery, Si" and they swear they almost drop dead when they see how gently he handles you, an arm around your waist and a kiss to your temple as he guides you and the two gremlins towards the guys while the dog starts sniffing around its new home.

"fellas, this is the missus and kids," he says and you roll your eyes, holding out your hand towards them and introducing yourself by name, adding on the kids who beam up shyly at these strangers.

that seems to shake them out of it. john takes your hand first, shaking and turning to simon with a "you hide her away in case we try to steal her from you?" he winks and you and only grins wider when simon's hand on your hip seems to squeeze tighter. gaz and soap are bending down and coaxing your two girls out of their shyness, complimenting their light up trainers and asking if it makes them run faster before cheering them on as they run to the front door and back.

they set you up on a fold out chair and do all the heavy lifting as you point them and the boxes in their arms to their correct rooms. later, Simon treats them to dinner (a takeaway) and has you sitting on his knee with the girls in bed and for the first time he spends a night with the guys telling you stories of Simon "Ghost" Riley.

"they're lyin' love," he'll mumble in your ear at every story, "don't believe them do ya?" his hand strokes up your back, squeezing your neck.

"yeah, babe, believe you," you say while smiling at the men around your new dining room table, men who have saved your husbands life more times than he can count, and you find yourself curling closer to simon because of that

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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Save a Horse, ride a Cowboy

Synopsis: You make the mistake of placing Leon's cowboy hat on your head and you have no idea what the "Cowboy rule" is...

Warnings: Smut, Adult themes, filth

Word Count: 2,692

A/N: Cowboy. Leon. Two of my most favorite things.

-----

Your eyes dart around the entire space around you as your ears are drowned out by cheers and screams for the person who was currently riding a bull. Your friends thought it would be fun to go see a rodeo and so far it had been fun.

You got to see tons of people getting hurled off bulls which was entertaining in itself but you also couldn't help but agree with your friends when they all started to gush over how "hot" some of the cowboys were. Everywhere you looked you saw bandannas, flannels, cowboy hats, and flared jeans. You felt a little bit underdressed wearing your usual jeans and t-shirt but it was still fun getting to see all the hot cowboys and Southern charm.

As your friends ranted about this one man they saw who was about to ride a bull, you found your eyes stuck on someone else. Your eyes were glued to this one cowboy who was busy trying to calm the bull down enough to get the rider on top.

You couldn't see fully from where you were sitting but you could see the man's pretty blonde locks sticking out from underneath his cowboy hot and his crystal blue eyes that narrowed in concentration as he coaxed the bull into temporary peace. You didn't want to admit that you were drooling over him but you knew your friends would tease you if they saw how much you were staring at this guy.

Soon the rider is situated on the bull and a gunshot rings through the air. The gate that leads to the field is kicked open and within a second the bull is running out and thrashing wildly with the rider on top. You can audibly hear all the "ooohs" and "ahhs" as the rider holds on. Your friends are all squealing and cheering themselves as the man almost gets thrown off.

Then with another flail, the rider is thrown off the bull and ends up painfully tumbling onto the ground. As soon as that happens there are people going onto the field to scrape up the rider from the floor as others go to subdue the bull.

You can't help but cheer and holler as well as a smile comes to your face. What a show.

---

After the rodeo was over you wanted to conclude the evening by venturing to a nearby bar. It seemed like a lot of the people from the rodeo came as well as you noticed that once again you were surrounded by Southern accents and cowboy hats.

Your little group made their way to the bar and started to hover around it as the bartender asked everyone what they were getting. As soon as the orders are taken you are about to pay but as soon as you are about to give some cash to the bartender you are interrupted by a thick southern drawl.

"Drinks are on me, darlin'."

Your head turns and you are met with the same face you were admiring earlier. The fluffy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and oh…you could see him much better now and god did the man look heavenly in the candlelight that emitted from the bar.

You could now make out the stunning facial features of the man and you could feel your heart speed up tenfold when your eyes grazed over his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. The way the cowboy hat sat on his head made something buzz inside you.

You are broken out of your thoughts when you hear your friends snicker from behind you. The man even seems to notice your sudden shock as a subtle smirk comes to his face.

"You don't need to do that." you smile nervously as the man's eyes rake over you. You think you might have gotten lost in those eyes. "But thank you anyway."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart. Something as pretty as you should have all the men 'round here buyin' your drinks." He winked at you making your cheeks heat up. Your friends snickered again but you ignore them with a small roll of your eyes.

"The name is Leon by the way, Leon Kennedy." he introduces while holding out his hand. You take it and introduce yourself in return and you're immediately caught off guard when Leon goes to press a kiss against your knuckle.

You were so relieved when you finally got your drinks. You thought you were about to combust just by being around Leon. Leon on the other hand was relishing in your flustered looks and shy behavior, in fact, he thought you were the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Though soon your shy, flustered behavior was pushed back by liquid courage. It was sped up by how quickly you were drinking your beers but soon you didn't even notice how you were practically leaning into Leon, muttering things about the rodeo and how hard it seems to ride bulls.

"I mean…I thought the guy was gonna be dead…how he got flung off that thing.." you murmured to yourself with a silly grin as you looked up at Leon.

"Well ridin' is all in the hips sugar~" Leon hummed while leaning back on his elbows. Your stomach fluttered at the suggestive tone and you took another sip of your beer to try and quell your nerves. In an attempt to change the subject, your eyes dart to his hat and a smirk starts to pull at your lips.

"Y'know you look great in that hat…" you compliment as you eye it. Leon chuckles and gives you a smile that has you wondering why it makes your heartbeat pick up.

"Is that so?" he asks. You nod but there's a glint of playfulness in your eyes as you look at the cowboy hat.

"I think it'd look better on me though~" your hands reach out and pluck the hat right off of Leon's head and you place it on yours. You adjust it and tilt it just right on your head like it was on Leon's and then you look at him with a wide grin.

"Well, how does it look?" You ask. Leon seems frozen for a moment as his mind starts to comprehend what you just did. You notice the sudden hesitance for a moment and you almost think that you did something wrong but a smirk soon returns to Leon's face and there's an amused look as he flicks the brim of the hat up.

"It suits you well sugar, but do you know what happens when you put on another cowboy hat?" he asks.

Suddenly you're hit with confusion and it reads all over your face as Leon chuckles. Even the bartender seems to laugh a little and he quickly turns around and starts to clean out glasses when you look at him.

"No…?"

"Well, we have a rule called the Cowboy Rule. If you wear the cowboys hat, then you have to ride the cowboy." Leon explains calmly before taking a swig of his drink. You blink in surprise and you can feel the blush start to creep onto your face. You look down at your drink to hide it.

"Oh," is all you manage to croak out. Your throat suddenly feels incredibly dry. You feel a hand hook under your chin you meet Leon's piercing gaze. His eyes are filled with amusement and it sends shivers down your spine.

"If I do then can I keep the hat?" you cheekily ask. The corners of Leon's mouth tug up and it causes your insides to flip. Your heart begins to beat quicker.

"Wanna find out?" Leon says as he leans forward until his lips are barely inches away from yours. It takes everything in you to not close the space between you two. Instead, you nod your head frantically hoping that he understands your silent request for more.

---

Hungry hands rake across your body as your own hands run down Leons. The feeling of his skin against yours makes every single nerve in your body burn as you slowly unbutton his shirt and he reaches for yours as well. Your bodies collide together like magnets practically, there's such a strange pull that seems to be between you two as your mouths clash together.

Leon's teeth nip at your lower lip and you moan softly as he slides his tongue past your lips and deepens the kiss. In return you rake your hands through his blonde strands, tugging lightly when Leon's hand trails along your sides, going down to rest on your hips.

The cowboy hat still sits on your head as you lean back, breaking the kiss to sit back on your haunches. The sight in front of you was heavenly. Leon was laid back, his legs slightly parted, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and exposing his chest, then of course there was the glassy, lustful look in his blue eyes as his swollen lips were slightly parted.

The entire image made your cunt flutter with need.

You take off the hat for a moment and place it back on Leon's as you yank your shirt up and off your body and then your hands work to unbutton the rest of his buttons on his shirt. As soon you are done, Leon slips his shirt off and yanks you back on top of him by your hips.

In that action, your hips accidentally roll against his causing you both to have a moment of pleasure from the friction.

"Fuck darlin'…need to feel more of you.." Leon huskily utters as his hands tighten around your hips a little more.

With a hum of agreement your rest your hands on his chest and go to straddle his lap a bit better so that your heated core is pressed right up against his erection that is straining through his jeans. Teasingly, you roll your hips again and you both let out a long moan.

"Shit…stop teasin' me," Leon mumbles, his voice rasping and rough as it sends shivers down your spine. You giggle breathlessly, pressing your hips harder against the bulge in his jeans, grinding a little more.

"Why would I stop? I wanna see how many pretty noises I can get out of you cowboy." you coo.

Leon growls in response as he roughly pulls you back towards him, slamming a searing kiss to your mouth. This time he moves his free hand down and it slips down your jeans, finding your clothed clit and he rubs small circles against it. Your hips buck in response and you let out loud moans against Leon's lips.

"That's it baby…let me hear you." He grunts.

It's practically music to your ears as you rock your hips against his fingers as he continues to rub your clit and you feel the knot in your stomach tightening. Leon suddenly pulls his fingers away and you whine. You're left with nothing but the ache between your legs.

In desperation, your hands fly down to Leon's belt buckle and you start to undo his belt as quickly as you could.

"Easy there honey, I'm not goin' anywhere." Leon chuckles. He replaces your hands with his and soon he's tugging his pants down along with his black boxers to reveal his hardened cock. Its springs to life and slaps against his stomach.

You groan at the sight of it. It's big and thick and you almost want to take him in your mouth until his hands are already working on your own jeans.

He unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your thighs. You kick them the rest of the way off and reposition yourself on top of Leon. Right as you are about to sink down onto Leon's length he interrupts you.

"I think you're forgettin' something.." Leon takes his cowboy hat off and puts it back on top of your head, tilting it just right.

"Beautiful." Leon breathes in a low tone.

"I think it looks better on you." You smile as Leon's hand grazes over your cheek and tucks a stray hair away from your face.

"That's nonsense, it looks stunnin' on you." He smirks and his thumb drags up and down your jawline, gently rubbing your cheek. The butterflies in your stomach flutter even more as he leans in closer to you, your noses brushing against one another.

You rub your slick folds back and forth on Leon's tip and slowly sink down onto his length, letting out moans at the stretch.

"L-Leon… it..so much" You pant between clenched teeth, gripping onto his broad shoulders.

"It's okay sweetheart, let me help.." he coos. The hands on your hips slowly start to help you roll into his, making sure to go slow and his grasp was decently gentle as he helps you build up a good pace.

"It's all in the hips sugar…." Leon whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine.

Soon on your own accord, you start to ride him faster. It catches Leon off guard as waves of hot, blinding pleasure course through his veins. He throws his head back with an audible moan as you bounce up and down on his cock.

"Good girl, keep rollin' your hips like that.." Leon praises, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

You nod and do as you are told, your body starting to twitch against Leon, your hands clenching onto his forearms tighter as he starts thrusting upwards, trying his best to push himself inside of you and meet your steady rhythm.

A whimper escapes your mouth as Leon sits up, connecting his lips to your neck. One of his hands trails up your back and plants itself on the nape of your neck as his lips suck and kiss your sensitive skin.

Your mind is spinning, your heart beats furiously. There are no words that can describe how amazing it all feels. Especially as the euphoria grows and the knot in your belly tightens. Leon, in his own desperation to chase his oncoming high, continues to buck his hips up into yours wildly from below.

His head has fallen back against the pillow as he feels your cunt tighten around him.

"Jesus…you feel so good darlin'." Leon groans in appreciation. You don't say anything, only moaning loudly and moving your hips with more vigor. The sounds from your mouth cause Leon to shudder as he watches you move against him. The sound of his name falling out of your mouth is driving him crazy and you look so damn pretty in his cowboy hat.

After a few more moments of bliss, you finally come undone releasing all of the fluids onto Leon's cock as your eyes roll back into your head and you slump down on top of Leon. Leon helps you along by moving his hand down to toy with your clit as you shudder from the waves of your orgasm.

"Look at you, you pretty little thing. So beautiful.." he grunts.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck as he holds you to his chest while burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Your breathing is heavy and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, feeling warm all over your body after your climax. Leon sighs as he starts to rub small circles into your back.

"Damn sweetheart, you may just be the death of me." he coos. A soft smile forms on your lips. Your head rests firmly on his chest, and you peer up at him.

"Does that mean I can keep the hat?" You ask with a sheepish smile.

Leon chuckles and rests a hand on your hat-covered head.

"Yeah, I 'spose so. It suits you."

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

3K notes · View notes

bbybrainrot · 3 months

Note

Meeting Chepe in New York and him bring you back to Cali for a party/meeting the rest of the gang 👀

Red lipstick

Chepe Santacruz x female!reader (infidelity/cheating, mention of Y/N, mention of drug use, the usual for the show), 3679 words

a/n : - Yo Élise, where were you all this time? Were you dead?

- *cue to picture of that dry-ass taxidermy fox* seasonal depression my dude

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

You can see it as a business meeting, an opportunity for you to go bigger.

That is what Chepe had said to you one day as you met him for your usual drop. Offering you a trip to Colombia, to meet the big ones from overseas, those that completed his inner circle. You had been reselling for him for a few years now, never once coming to a dollar short and definitely ranking in the profit. Probably the best card you got in your deck, Santacruz, am I not?

You never were looking to make it big in this type of business. Selling just enough to be sure to stay afloat, pay your mortgage, feed the people you love, and buy those pieces of jewelry, that a year ago would have been for you a rent’s worth, just because you liked how they shined when you passed the counter display. Greed, envy, lust. It had crawled in your veins fast, venomous, pumping in your blood. Still, just enough to always buy your favorite, to-die-for, 90$ red lipstick every time it ran out, but never enough to get cocky, stupid, reckless.

You loved luxury, lived in it, smelled like it, but you always remembered how red your blood was, how easy it could be spilled. You saw the way the government was knocking more and more doors down, came for the smaller ones before fishing for the big sharks, but all the others didn’t. It’s a war, sweetheart, Chepe had called it, a war on drugs. Teeth filled with gold, snorting all types of white powders, guns-a-blazing, cuffed and judged by justice just as fast. There’s a quiet side to riches that those men never understood. It was what had separated you from the others who had climbed the ranks with you over the years, you had realized. Maybe that’s why you are here today, setting foot down a jet on Colombian soil, or maybe it was just the start of the hardest fall of your life.

As you looked at your shoes, already full of dust, you wondered if there was a time you had ever seen so much dirt on a landing strip before. You don’t have much time to think about it or to worry about the wind pushing your hair or the dirt in your mouth, that Chepe is already in front of you, arms wide open,

‘’ Bienvenido en la capital mundial de la salsa, sweetheart. ‘’

Your smile is bright, pulling at your cheeks, lips painted red, welcoming. A deadly trap. Chepe knows all of this, the facade that goes in the character you play. The survival instinct, the street smart. You made it this far didn’t you?

‘’ Well, I’m more of a bachata dancer myself, but I can make salsa work. ‘’

You had fucked him once. When his wife had been away, doing whatever she did when she went on those trips of hers. All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony. Maybe it had been more than once. Maybe you didn’t feel so bad because you knew she most likely did the same when she claimed she was going on shopping trips with friends. You could always tell with those women for some reason, you could see it in their eyes, it wasn’t hard to miss. You could see it in his too, how he had always known. If he cared or not was still the missing piece.

You take his extended hand to jump off the last step. The heat is heavy, weirdly humid, and dry at the same time. Still, his hand is steady, not a bead of sweat on his forehead, his usually heavy coat switched for a striped shirt. Colombiano born and raised. You did tell him stripes looked good on him once.

This is it, you thought, no turning back, the top of the ladder. The top of the food chain. You just have to shake hands and smile.

The ride to civilization had been bumpy, long, and trying your best to understand your driver with the thickest Costeño accent you had ever heard. A fair price to pay for landing on an illegal dirt patch in the middle of a Colombian jungle.

Chepe had left you with his driver and a bodyguard back at the landing field, slipping you in the passenger seat, making sure your hair didn’t get stuck in the door as he closed it,

‘’ I trust those two with my life. I’ll pick you up at the hotel tommorow ? ‘’

All teeth, handfuls of flesh, bent over the balcony.

‘’ How else am I supposed to empty the mini-bar then? ‘’

Hands gripping your waist, pining you against the shower wall.

It's later that day after he's been gone for hours and your lipstick has been reapplied, that he calls your room phone. You press your lips together, spreading the color evenly, as it rings some more. You take your finger up to your mouth, swiping the excess stain with your nail. Done. Your heels click on the marble floors on your way out of the bathroom,

‘’ Miss me already? ‘’

It's a party, he had said, near the water, you’ll love it.

He scoffs, as you disconnected the call. The more 6 o’clock gets near, the more all of your being screams at you to leave, clawing at your mind to run, not to look back. You know you should, that he would let you call it off and go back home. But the more you want it, the more you itch to open the safe where your passport is locked, and the more you realize you can’t.

You won’t.

The ride over there is less bumping than when you first got here. Jetlag is busting your ass, and your concealer is working hard to keep it unnoticed. Chepe is dressed up for the occasion as always. Chains, gold rings, a nice striped long-sleeved shirt. Maybe you’ll take all of it off tonight.

He’s driving this time, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh. You’re not sure if you like how familiar the move feels. Domestic. Wrong and right at the same time.

‘’ If this is about my wife, ‘’ he had said, with his arms around you, his chin in your hair, ‘’ I’ll leave her. ‘’

You had mentioned stopping everything when he had dropped by earlier. If I actually do this and meet them, I don’t think I can keep fucking you if I want to be taken seriously. Panic clawing at your chest, the reality of your work, the constant threats. There was no way for this to end well for you. For him.

‘’ Ask me and I’ll do it. I’ll call her right now. ‘’

He smelled like cigar and cologne, his palms sneaking under your shirt, warm on your stomach, soft, grounding,

‘’ This is not about her, ‘’ you had explained, head falling on his shoulder as he nuzzled into your neck, ‘’ This is about me, Chepe. About my work. Credibility. ‘’

His other hand pulled at your skirt, feeling the lace underneath. He molds you to him, unbelievably closer now. You felt him shiver against you, felt his breath behind your ear, the goosebump on your arms,

‘’ Tell me, ‘’ he had started with a groan, bringing the material over your waist, his other hand gently wrapping around your throat,

‘’ Tell me whoever dares, and I’ll make sure myself they never speak again. ‘’

You don’t doubt his words for a second.

The automatic light illuminates the garage as soon as Chepe drives the car in. You’ve never seen a garage this big. Cars lined up left to right, every one of them shinier than the other. What a waste of space.

He maneuvers his between two bright red-looking expensive ones. His toothpick rolls on his lips, leaning back against his seat, one hand on the wheel, as he changes gears. He couldn’t care less if he scratched one. Pocket change.

‘’ I probably should have stayed in my room and gotten another 8 hours of sleep. ‘’

He laughs, hearty, loud, deep, as if you’ve just told him the funniest joke of the night. His thumb rubs your thigh,

‘’ Are you going to stand me up? At your own party? ‘’

His attempt at lightening up the mood. In a way, it does, pushing your insecurities and anxieties to the side for a second. He can tell you hesitate, putting off the moment you step out of the car and have to do the grown-up illegal things you have gotten yourself into. You’re not that tired, caffeinated for two, and ready to throw punches if needed. Not that you would have to, with Chepe hot on your heels wherever you go, but it feels like it could calm you down, give you back some control maybe,

‘’ Oh, you’d do just fine I am sure. ‘’ you try to smile back.

You stay silent for a while, more like seconds really, but it feels relaxing and comforting. His hand is still warm on your skin. You always appreciated how he could understand those moments, never feeling like he had to fill it with words.

His thumb presses slightly on the inside of your thigh, bringing your attention back to him. It is darker now in the car, the automatic light having shut off seconds ago,

‘’ I wish I could introduce you as mine. ‘’

You can make out his side profile, the way his fingers drum on the wheel. You sigh,

‘’ José- ‘’

‘’ Ya, por favor, ‘’ he pleads, annoyed, ‘’ You always do this. ‘’

His hand comes up to scratch his stubble, moving down to where his neck meets his shoulder. He massages the skin, before his arm drops, defeated. Chepe moves in his seat, knees turning slightly to your side of the car. He leans toward you and you don’t understand why you feel nervous all of sudden. Anxious.

Homesick.

‘’ I know you think I’m not genuine. That I’m only saying this to make you happy. ‘’

For the first time in months, you don’t know what to say. He is right. Absolutely and utterly right. You don’t believe him when he says it. When he promises you travels, family parties, a career, a ring. You don’t believe easily, and you know what happens to the other women who naively listen and nod. You have seen it happen time and time again.

You sigh, falling back into your seat, trying to disappear inside the leather behind your back,

‘’ I like you a lot, Chepe. ‘’

You sigh, you don’t know where you are going with this. You can’t seem to be thinking ahead, about what you should say or not. Weirdly enough, in one of the most dangerous countries in the world, in an unknown garage, in a village you have forgotten the name of already, next to him, you feel safe. You don’t feel like you should tiptoe around his feelings, yours for that matter.

Your head rolls to the side to meet his gaze, your fingertips raising to touch his face. His brown eyes are on you, pupils blown from the darkness. Sharp nails follow his cheekbone softly, moving up to his freshly cut hair, pushing the loose grey strands back into place. His hand is on your wrist now, going up and down as he caresses the skin,

‘’ A lot. ‘’ you scoff, you realize.

So do I, he wants to say, Y yo a ti, his silence means. You want to lean in, break the space between you, kiss him, end this conversation and force him to bring you inside. You meet his eyes again as your nails roam behind his ear. You know he would let you, but here, today, you don’t think this is what you want,

‘’ We are being honest here, right? ‘’ he whispers, like a secret being shared between you two. You nod softly,

‘’ Talk to me. Tell me. ‘’ The truth, he means, how you really feel about this, ‘’ I’ve got all night. ‘’

You know he means it. Chepe would stay in this car all night if you decided to, he can tell how different the moment has gotten. Twenty minutes ago you would have laughed to tears, reapplied your lipstick, and gotten out of the car. The facade that goes in the character you play. He is still not sure what changed, but it makes him want you to be honest with him, to be true to what you know. Goosebumps spreads across your arm, following the warmth of his palm,

‘’ I want it. ‘’ you begin, toes wiggling inside your heel, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, ‘’ When you say you want to introduce me as yours. ‘’

It takes all his being not to surge forward to take your face between his hands. Then let me, let me. Your breath comes out shaky when you exhale as if you had been holding it for the last minute,

‘’ I am being honest, ‘’ you reassured, he knows you are. You had had deep conversations with Chepe before, nights spent sitting on your balcony, smoking and talking about life and all the things in between. His past, yours. Colombia, New York. Your hand falls to his neck, gently stroking his stubble with your thumb. It’s rough and it’s keeping you grounded, in the car, with him,

‘’ I wouldn’t mind if you did. ‘’ you admit, ‘’ I’d let you. ‘’

You don’t feel weak for telling him like you thought you would. Chepe brings your palm to his mouth, kissing the skin softly. Saying anything else would ruin the moment, and you are thankful he stays silent again. You can hear the music inside, voices laughing and screaming behind the closed door, and you know it is time for you to go and join the crowd. Do what you came here to do in the first place.

You lean between the seats, the cup holder pushing painfully against your ribs, and your hand falls from his lips as you rest your head against his shoulder. His shirt is coarse on your cheek and his fingers soft when he intertwines them with yours. Your thumbnail traces shapes on the back of his hand while you speak again,

‘’ I don’t think I’ve ever been this anxious in my whole life. ‘’

‘’ I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you were up for it. ‘’

You hmm, and he can feel the sound vibrate through his shoulder,

‘’ It’s what you do back home, but here. Your Spanish is great, you’ll fit right in, mija. ‘’ he reassures,‘’ I’ll take care of you. ‘’

He emphasizes the words by gently squeezing your joint hands. You know he will, he always does. You know lots of things about him and that lying, to you at least, is not something he would do. We are being honest here, right? You reluctantly let him go, motioning to him to go ahead, body pulling away, your hand sliding back to your thigh. As he gets out of the car, the lights illuminate the garage again. Bright, blinding. Your eyes follow him around the hood of the car until he reaches your door, pulling it open,

‘’ Let’s do some work now, hm? ‘’

He presents his hand to you, his heart skipping a beat when you accept it, pressing yours against his while your swing your legs to the side to get out.

One step after the other, your heels click on the cement as you walk towards the door that leads inside the house. Breathe, smile, shake hands, repeat. Chepe’s hand reaches blindly for you behind him, and you grab it, just like he expects you to do. Blood is pumping in your ears, so loud that it is almost overtaking the music around you. This is exactly where you want to be, precisely what you planned. Inhale with the nose, and exhale through the mouth. It doesn’t come as fast as you would’ve liked, but slowly, air fills up your lungs. It is a weird feeling, really, how after only a few breaths you can feel your body tingle, calm and lightheaded. Revigorated. All part of the facade.

Your smile doesn’t falter when you meet the first few people, low associates, executants. It is bright, all white teeth and red lipstick. They make no comment, no sarcastic remarks about Chepe’s hand on your back, you let him lower it, let it curve around your waist. His eyes burning and threatening enough that no one dares to look for too long.

Your cheeks hurt, jaw a bit sore from speaking Spanish for the past hour, but the wine feels good and bitter down your throat, helping make those meetings bearable. Chepe is beaming, all laughs and handshakes, like a true socialite, a fish in water. You enjoy watching him more than you do partake in this whole thing. It is different for him here, and you can tell. You thought you would have been the last one arriving at the house, and as much as Chepe shuts down any remarks about the time you spent in the garage and as much as you pretend not to understand what they imply, you know words have already spread in the villa. Staying civilized in this jungle is harder than you would have thought.

It happens merely minutes after Chepe excuses himself to fill up your drink, the shift in the room. How everyone stands taller, pushes their shoulders back, sobering up. Whoever supplier Chepe left you with does not have eyes for you anymore. Here they are. The lions.

You see Pacho first, in the corner of your eye. You can tell it is him, from his silk shirt to his waxed brown shoes, from Chepe’s stories, there is no doubt in your mind. You have to bite first, you think, use this fake confidence to your advantage, and make this meeting yours. Your new wannabe-gangster friend had already abandoned you the second they entered the room. You have no choice but to stand your ground and stay tall too.

You force a smile on your cheeks as you turn to him, charming and warm. Pain and Chepe’s absence be damned. Pacho’s smile mirrors your own, like an old friend, a deadly trap. You like him already, you decide, not so different from you, you can tell. Cunning. Smart.

Your glass of wine is quickly put back in your hands, splashing around in the cup, as your man pushes at the guests around you to meet Pacho’s embrace with a laugh. They exchange quickly in Spanish, how are you doing, how’s the weather over there ? You let them catch up, soaking in how easily the moment flows, perfectly happy to stand on the sideline.

Chepe half turns to you, still going on to Pacho about this plane story of his that you have been waiting for the punchline for a while now. His hand finds your waist, absently bringing you closer to the two of them.

‘’ Hermano, ‘’ he begins, ‘’ Let me introduce you. ‘’

You don’t know what burns more, his warm fingers pressing gently into your skin or how Pacho’s eyes catch him doing it. You had agreed to this, but still, stares and looking eyes make you feel uncomfortable. He leads, you remind yourself, he knows, let him.

‘’ This is Y/N, ‘’ Chepe smiles, chest puffed out, proud, ‘’ My favorite partner in crime. ‘’

Pacho’s eyes are back on you, not on Chepe, not on his hand on your back. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The air feels lighter, your fingers regain color around your glass. You let yourself fall back slightly into Chepe’s embrace, putting some of your weight on him. You share some stories about Pacho’s favorite clubs in New York, how you have to change entry port from now on after the last DEA bust, and how the margins are still going up even though.

‘’ You want another? ‘’ Chepe leans towards you, softly speaking the words in your ear, nodding to your empty cup,

‘’ I’d love that. ‘’ you say back, turning, nose almost catching his, ‘’ Maybe white this time, please? ‘’

‘’ Por supuesto, reina. ‘’

You don’t miss how Pacho’s eyes flicker back for a second on Chepe as he leaves. Pacho clears his throat, looking at you over his whiskey,

‘’ So, ‘’ he starts, ‘’ Favorite partner, favorite reina. ‘’

You nod, sending a smile his way, playful, trying to keep it civilized,

‘’ I’m his favorite lie detector too. I’m never wrong.‘’

Pacho laughs, thank god. He holds out his hand to you, and you put yours in his, giving it a nice shake,

‘’ You take care of him good? ‘’

His hand is firm in yours, he makes no move to withdraw, standing there, a step closer now. You get it then, why his handshake is so strong, why his eyes are sharp and serious, menacing. Brotherhood.

‘’ I do. ‘’ you stand your ground, hand unmoving, arm strong and chin up, ‘’ As he does to me. ‘’

He lets go of your hand as he turns to discard his drink, switching it for two champagne glasses that he swiftly takes from a nearby waiter,

‘’ Good. Good.‘’

You watch him look around, almost bored, unimpressed by all the festivities. Pacho takes a sip first, nodding in approval before holding up the second flute toward you for you to grab,

‘’ You know what I think, Y/N? ‘’

He smiles at you, knowing, sincere. He toasts the rim of his glass against yours, making a stream of bubbles burst from the bottom,

‘’ I think you and I will do great things around here. ‘’

67 notes · View notes

bbybrainrot · 3 months

Note

Can you do a Clark Kent, with a mate? Maybe she gets jealous of Lois but doesn’t know why; an to get over him she tries to go out with another guy but Clark is like no. Your mine.

.⋆｡Office Crushes｡⋆.

Alpha!Clark Kent x omega!plus size reader

Little bit of Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

Your best friend has an office crush that seems to be becoming something more, maybe you should get your own office romance but not because you’re jealous- obviously

Warnings: a/b/o, jealousy, mutual pining, idiots in love, little bit of angst, protective!clark, fluff

WC: 3.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was quite common for any office to have its workers develop a sort of infatuation with each other. A confined space where you spend upwards of 40 hours a week with the same people, feelings are destined to arise, especially when it’s such a large mixture of alphas, betas and omegas. Hormones tend to go wild.

You were proud that you had never developed an office crush, knowing how disastrous it could be if the relationship ended, but you doubted your best friend could say the same. Clark had a big heart that he always wore on his sleeve and tended to attract a lot of romantic interest from practically everyone in the office. And apparently, Lois Lane was the lucky one who finally caught his eye.

A strange churning in your stomach began as you looked over the wall of your cubicle and spotted Clark leaning on the small kitchen counter, head thrown back in laughter as Lois chuckled over her now full cup of coffee. You know you should have seen it from a mile away- they were constantly paired up for articles, their chemistry was unmatched and they were by far the most attractive people in the office. You had even teased Clark on occasion for how often he met up with her after hours for some new lead, calling them dates.

Evidently, you were right. And for some reason, it was really bothering you. You felt physical disgust as Clark bent down to whisper something into the smaller omega’s ear and down right nausea as she placed a hand onto his broad chest to steady herself.

You swallowed down the bitter emotions and forced yourself to return to editing your article though a sour taste remained on your tongue. Maybe it was finally time to get your own office crush and the perfect opportunity had just landed in your inbox.

‘Bruce Wayne Interview- I trust you’ll get this done professionally’. You bit your lip at the offer, not only would an interview with Gotham’s golden boy boost your career, but whenever you had encountered the alpha before, he had always asked you out and you had always brushed him off. It was a win-win for you, and maybe it would stop the inexplicable rage you felt when you looked up and saw the goofy grin on Clark’s face as he sat back down at his desk.

Your nose wrinkled as you caught Lois’s scent clinging to him. Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you quickly sent a response back to your boss, accepting the offer.

You just needed a distraction and then everything would go back to normal.

——————

The tension in the conference room at the top of Wayne Enterprise was so thick you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You cleared your throat and tugged down your pencil skirt, over-aware of just how high it sat on your plump thighs as you reclined in one of the many expensive seats in the room.

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to where your hands were curled into the material of the skirt and then back to your eyes but not before stopping very briefly at your lips. “Mr Wayne-“ You began again, glancing at your notepad. The small talk had gone well as did the customary chit chat about any new scandal he happened to have instigated and the photos of the both of you for the article.

“Bruce please, I think we’re far beyond that now.” He winked and you swore that his tone held a bit of a teasing purr. Your stomach flipped at the blatant attention from the alpha but it quickly dropped as yet another wave of thick, bitter scent filled the room making you cringe away from the other man standing to the side.

Through a series of several unfortunate events, your usual photographer had fallen ill and his stand-in got hired from right under the company and left so the only person that even had the slightest bit of talent with a camera in the office was forced to come with you today for shots of the billionaire. And in the worst stroke of luck, that person happened to be the very man that ‘inspired’ you to take the job in the first place.

Clark shifted on his feet and you barely repressed an eye roll. He had been very vocal in his disapproval of the whole thing given how often the mogul had put the moves on you but none of his arguments had done anything to deter you, instead they only fuelled the fire.

Bruce’s jaw clenched and you watched in fascination as the muscles beneath his skin moved, although they were not nearly as impressive as Clark’s (you would never admit that out loud). “Well Bruce,” He beamed at you, “Wayne Enterprises has just introduced a new product line that promises to ease the severe heats often experienced by omegas, my question for you is, what about this product is so different from all others on the market that promise the same things yet all others have failed?”

The alpha leaned back in his seat, his muscular thighs spreading slightly, instantly drawing your gaze to the thick bulge that was perfectly hugged by the material of his pants. Your eyes immediately flicked back up to him but given the smirk on his lips, Bruce knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’m actually quite proud of my team for this, they’ve worked tirelessly on development for years and I believe that it really shows. While other products are usually prescribed by doctors in the forms of ointments and perfumes that mimic the scent of an alpha, which almost never work by the way, we have gone in a totally new direction. Instead, omegas can buy these pouches at any pharmacy and when heated, they give off the scent of a pup.” Bruce gestured to the small bags that were barely the size of your palm that sat on the table next to him. They gave the appearance of a miniature version of a microwavable heat pack but he was right, if you concentrated hard enough, you could smell the mixture of milk and flowers that all babies had.

“It is common knowledge that the presence of pups actually help to lessen the effects of a heat whereas the scent of an alpha is far more complex to manufacture and can actually make an omega’s heat worse if they don’t have any other-“ he paused then, his smirk growing as the room seemed to grow smaller, “-tools to help them through it.” You barely suppressed a squeak and quickly ducked your head as if you were checking your notes once more.

You gathered yourself for a moment then spoke again, missing the way that Clark was glaring at the other alpha over your shoulder. “And how affordable are these products?”

“Wayne Enterprises are donating 2 million to women’s shelters throughout Gotham and we plan to sell them for less than $10.” As if anticipating your next question, Bruce licked his lips and continued. “While it is not feasible to gain a profit from such a low price, I would rather give them away to the people that need it but I do have a board that I have to listen to… sometimes.” He winked at you.

Heat crawled up your neck and settled onto your full cheeks. You squeezed your thighs together though you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were attempting to feign arousal or keep him from looking up your skirt. You laid a hand onto your notebook, shutting off your recorder, as you leaned forwards and offered him your other one. “Thank you for being so open to this interview, you have been a hard man to pin down.”

You could feel the way Clark’s body seized as Bruce’s smirk grew and his eyes twinkled deviously. “If it’s by you miss Y/L/N, I would gladly be pinned down any time.” He shook your hand with a firm grip, letting the tips of his fingers brush against your wrist. “For an interview that is.”

He rose to his feet and politely helped you to yours, steadying you with a hand on your waist as you wobbled on your heels. Once he was sure that you were steady, he ducked down and grabbed one of the unopened boxes of Heat Helpers (quite the cheesy name in your opinion) and gave it to you, along with a small piece of cardstock. “Why don’t you take this, a thank you for a great conversation.”

You flipped over the piece of paper to reveal a phone number scrawled on in pen. You gave him a questioning look to which he chuckled. “My number, if you ever want to have a one-on-one with me, with or without the tape recorder.”

You swallowed thickly and stuttered out some kind of polite response before Clark ushered you out of the room, muttering under his breath about being in a time crunch. You were barely able to catch one last, “Anytime miss Y/L/N” before the heavy door slammed shut and you were quite literally pushed into the awaiting elevator by your friend.

As soon as the doors were shut, you were on him. “What was that all about?” You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a scrutinising look. Clark refused to make eye contact with you, instead he stared at the elevator doors like he was willing them to open.

“He was flirting with you.” You rolled your eyes and looked away from the tall alpha. “And you let him.”

“So what? He’s attractive and available, as am I. It was only natural.” Clark’s shoulders tensed, his grip on his camera tightening until his knuckles turned white. The confined space was now filled with a bitter scent that made your stomach drop and your omega howl in displeasure.

“Why are you so concerned about this, Clark?”

The elevator doors opened with a ping and he quickly walked out. “It’s nothing.” He said and you knew you weren’t going to get anything else out of him until he decided he was done throwing a tantrum.

——————

“So have you called him?” Lois was leaning against the bar next to you, her drink half empty but the flush on her cheeks told you that it wasn’t the first one of the night.

“Called who?” She rolled her eyes like it was obvious.

“Bruce Wayne! He obviously wants you too, I saw the photos Clark took. He’s fucking—what’s the word— enamoured!” You scoff behind your tumbler of whiskey which you had been nursing since Perry gave it to you an hour ago. The whole office had gathered at the bar down the road for an end-of-workweek drink and against your better judgement, you had decided to join.

Clark had been convinced into joining a game of pool, leaving you without anyone to talk to but it’s not like he would anyway. For some stupid reason, the alpha had been giving you the silent treatment for days and it was really starting to piss you off. You regarded Lois with a look but she was far too tipsy to get it.

“He was just flirting, he does it with everybody.” You dismissed it but she scoffed.

“Then why did he ask Perry for your personal number?” Your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “Clark didn’t tell you?” Evidently, your wide open mouth and lack of a verbal response told her everything she needed to know. Suddenly, Lois was very sober, a serious expression on her face.

“We were in a meeting with Perry the day after the interview and Wayne just strolled in like he fucking owned the place. He said how great you were and that he was hoping to get your number for a follow-up interview sometime soon. Clark said he would handle it, I assumed that he would have talked to you.” Her gaze travelled over to said man. “Shit I guess he didn’t.”

You slammed back the rest of your drink and without any sort of conscious thought, stormed over to the group of men huddled around the pool table. “Where the fuck do you get off Kent?” You snarled. Immediately all of the men seemed to find their phones incredibly interesting.

“I’m sorry?” He asked in that way too polite way he did that really meant ‘what the fuck is the matter with you’ but you were having none of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me Bruce asked for my number?”

“There’s a lot of Bruces in the world, you’ll have to be more specific.” He dismissed.

Anger flared in your gut. “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.” You snarled, making Clark stand up straight and meet your eyes. In the dim light of the bar, his expression was far darker than you had ever seen before as aggravation rolled off of his powerful body in waves. “You had no right to keep something like that from me!”

“I had every right! He was just going to use you and then never talk to you again! I was protecting you!”

“I didn’t ask you to!” The bar went completely silent as Clark visibly flinched but you were far too upset to care. “You know what, I’m done.” You raised your hands in surrender as you turned and pushed through the stunned crowd, your anger slowly trickling away into sadness.

The night air was like a punch in the gut but it also eased the tenseness in your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself not to cry. It wasn’t like you were in love with Bruce, but even if you were, Clark’s blatant disapproval of him and his distrust in your decisions made you feel incredibly small. And it was breaking your heart.

He was your best friend, he was supposed to be supportive if not a little teasing about your choice in men. He was supposed to console you when things went wrong, not say ‘I told you so’. Why did he get to control your love life while you could only sit back and watch him fall in love with someone else?

Your feet carried you further and further from the bar as the urge to sob was quickly becoming overwhelming. “Y/N!” You turned in time to see Clark throw open the door, the light from inside spilling out onto the street as he endeavoured to chase you.

“Leave me alone!” You cried or at least tried to, but then suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs and you were looking up at the stars.

The shrill screech of a speeding car came from somewhere on your left as bright headlights illuminated the mass of a man above you before the sound was in the distance and darkness folded over you both. His weight kept you pinned to the slightly damp grass and you had the vague thought that you must be in a park of some kind, even though just a second ago you were standing on a sidewalk- or was it the street?

“Are you okay?” That was Clark’s voice but he had been so far away from you. “Omega?” He sounded distressed and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why.

“Say something!” His huge hands were planted by your head and it was only when one of them cupped your cheek did you find your voice again.

“Clark?” His whole body sagged with relief and he let his forehead rest against yours.

“Thank god. I thought I didn’t get to you in time. The car came out of nowhere and you were so close.” You turned your head away from him, your eyes focusing on the bar… that was across the street… a block away. The glint of something in the grass catches your attention, Clark’s glasses.

He looked so different without them and all your confused mind could think was just how blue his eyes were when they were unobscured by the glass.

His button up shirt which was normally so perfectly done up was unbuttoned, exposing the tight material of something navy beneath. “What?” But you couldn’t get out anymore, not when he shifted his weight, exposing even more of what was covered by his shirt and you were stunned into silence.

The red ’S’ practically glowed as realisation dawned into you. His brows scrunched in confusion, following your gaze. “I- I can explain.” Your head spun as he yanked you to your feet, though his hands never left your skin like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.

“I was going to tell you but then I realised how much danger it would put you in and if you were hurt in any way because of me, I couldn’t even stand the thought. And then we had known each other for months and Lois said you would feel betrayed so I kept it a secret-“ You placed an open palm onto his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His mouth snapped shut with a click.

“Is this why you were acting so weird about Bruce? You thought he would hurt me because of you?” Your voice wobbled with emotions as your nails dug into his warm peck.

Clark’s growl was shocking in its intensity. The vibrations shot up your arm as the ground shook beneath your feet with its power. “No, he would never even dare to fucking touch you. He knows who you belong to.” Your heart skipped a beat, this possessiveness was nothing you had ever seen from the soft-spoken reporter before. You knew that you should find it disgusting considering how he had been treating you but instead your veins filled with warmth.

“And who is it that I belong to? There’s no claiming mark on my neck.” His grip on your hips tightened which should have been a warning but the anger was quickly returning now that the foggy haze of danger had passed. “If I can remember correctly, you’ve been courting Lois, not me.”

“I’ve been asking her for advice on how to ask you out!” He said, exasperated. “I just couldn't find the perfect time to do it.”

“You’re an idiot.” You retorted before grabbing his black curls in a tight grip and yanking his mouth to yours. His body tensed but then quickly melted into you, groaning against your lips.

Maybe you did have an office crush but it’s not like you’d actually admit it.

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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“Call Mom” – Richie x Reader one shot

This came about thanks to a request from @dreamboat-annie-98 who had some thoughts (don’t we all) about Richie’s ‘call mom’ scene.

It’s basically filth from start to finish, angry-office-quickie-style.

Rating: E, 18+ only please

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: a little bit dub-con at the start, but enthusiastic consent thereafter. Dom/sub but nothing too heavy. Unprotected PIV sex (the pull out method demonstrated here is not, I repeat, not, a reliable method of contraception.)

Reader is female. No description of appearance other than reader is shorter than Richie.

If you like it, let me know. Your lovely comments really make my day. Inbox is always open and anons welcome <3

“I’m going to call Carmen.” You take your phone from your pocket and unlock the screen.

“Don’t do that.”

“He needs to know about this, Richie.”

“First of all, he does not need to know, and second of all, I’m the supervisor, I can handle it.”

“First of all, supervisor of what exactly? And second of all, you cannot handle it. I’m calling Carmen.”

He mutters under his breath, “fuckin baby.”

Fuck this, you’ll call Carmen from out front, your car, anywhere that Richie isn’t. You turn to leave the office, but he stands between you and the door, pushing it closed.

“You can’t stop me.” He raises his eyebrows at that, like it’s a challenge. “I’m calling him.”

“Don’t you fuckin dare.” He steps towards you.

“Or what?” you pull up your contacts.

“Don’t you fuckin dare.”

“You need to grow up, Richie.”

“Y’know what, I actually dare you.”

“I will.”

“Go ahead and see what happens.” He’s in your face now, an edge of threat in his voice. It is not hot. Richie is not hot.

You shake your head, “I am dialling the number.”

“Do it, call him.”

“It’s ringing.”

“Yeah?” He whispers. “See what happens.”

Richie is so close you can feel his breath on your face, you can smell cigarettes and something sweet and minty like gum. Your heart is pounding, and you push down the thought that you could kiss him right now, that maybe it would shut him up. You are relieved when Carmen answers.

You open your mouth to speak, but Richie presses one hand hard over your mouth, hitting the end call button with the other hand. A second passes, then a dark corner of your brain overrides every other fibre of your being, and you whimper against his palm. Shit. You pray that Richie didn’t register it.

“What was that?” He appraises you with a heated look, “this doin it for you, sweetheart?” You shake your head minutely against the press of his hand, this cannot be happening, and he releases you.

Fuck. You wipe the back of your own hand across your mouth. He’s still looking at you with those blue eyes, and your face burns under the scrutiny. You gather all the composure that you can before speaking, “Richard, that was inappropriate..”

You’re interrupted by your phone vibrating. It’s Carmen calling you back. Before you can answer it, Richie grabs your phone from your hand and holds it above his head.

You step closer, trying to reach it, grabbing at the gold bracelet at his wrist in an attempt to tug his arm down. He laughs and lets the call ring out, then presses any icons he can reach. The screen flickers as it jumps between apps. So goddam childish. “Don’t fuck my phone, Richie.”

He tosses the phone onto the desk, and pins your wrist in his hand when you reach for it. He pulls you close, “I swear to god, I will fuck anything I want to fuck.”

The silence that follows seems to stretch out. His eyes are still on you as you swallow. He reaches out his hand and you turn your head away, but he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning you back to face him. You exhale shakily, and he strokes his thumb against your lower lip, eliciting another traitorous sound from you.

“I fuckin knew it.”

You want to tell him that he doesn’t know shit, but you don’t trust your voice, and when his thumb pushes past your lips into your mouth, you let your eyes slide shut, curling your tongue against the pad. Richie grunts at that, letting his thumb drag against your lower teeth, before smearing the wetness across your mouth.

He kisses you then, his hand sliding round to cradle your jaw where he can feel your pulse thrumming under his fingers. You bring your free hand up to his chest. You should push him away, and you make the feeblest attempt to, but then his tongue licks into your mouth, and any remaining coherent thoughts turn to dust. He lets go of your wrist, and you wind both arms up around his neck, stroking your fingers through his short hair.

His hand is at your thigh now, skating slowly upwards, bunching the fabric of your skirt towards your waist. When he hits the edge of your underwear, he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass, and pulls you towards him, bringing your body flush with his. A whine escapes your throat when you realise you can feel him hard against your stomach through his sweats.

“D’you want this?” He’s breathing heavily, voice rough and low in your ear.

You nod blindly, eyes squeezed shut, but he presses his forehead to yours, and his thumb strokes downwards across your cheek until his hand is loosely spanning your throat. Oh fuck. Yes.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches and he feels it against his palm. Slowly you open your eyes to meet his, “I want it, Richie.”

He swipes his tongue across the edge of his top teeth, “was that so hard, sweetheart?”

Piles of paperwork fall to the floor as Richie backs you up against the desk. You start to scoot your ass up into the cleared space, but he pulls you towards him and back off the edge.

“Nuh uh, turn round and bend over.”

Fuck. That’s so, so hot. You scramble to do as you’re told, pressing your palms into the cool surface of the desk.

“Such a good girl for me.” You hold your breath and wait for him to touch you, but when you look over your shoulder you see he has his head tilted, brows knitted.

“You need a fuckin ladder..” he looks around then kicks a produce crate over to your feet, “up.”

You step warily onto the upturned crate, before smoothing your hands back against the desk.

He stands close behind you, pushing your skirt up over your ass, and now you can feel the hardness of him right against your pussy. Suddenly the crate makes sense. He steps back a little then, and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pushing them down your legs until you are exposed to him. The air feels cool against you, and you suck in a breath when Richie swipes his fingers between your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart.” Your face burns, and you bite your lower lip between your teeth. “If I’d known you needed it this bad I woulda fucked you sooner.” His fingers don’t break contact, sliding over your clit and working tight circles around it, his other hand is firm on your hip, holding you in place.

“Fuck. Richie. Please”

“Fuckin beautiful,” he grunts, pushing his ring and middle fingers into you. “So fuckin tight.”

You let out a keening whine at the sensation of his fingers deep inside, thrusting steadily against a perfect spot that you can never reach alone.

“Shhh, sweetheart. You don’t want anyone finding you like this d’you?

You look back over your shoulder, panic flaring in your eyes. “I.., I”

“That’s what I thought,” he says darkly, licking his lips, “you better keep the noise down.”

He pulls his sweats down then, taking his boxers with them, and your eyes follow as the v of hips is exposed just enough to free his cock. He wraps one hand around himself, and strokes the other up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

“You good?” he meets your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” Your head drops between your spread arms as he pushes into you. He feels so fucking good. “Jesus. Fuck.”

He fucks into you in earnest then, big hands on either side of your waist. It’s deep and satisfying and your bones feel like they’re melting. You press your face into your arm to stifle your moans.

“Shit, look at you” Richie can’t take his eyes off where your bodies are joined, “so fuckin good for me.”

You can feel pleasure building, can taste it almost, and you focus in on it. “Yes. Yes.. fuck.” You sound wrecked.

He can hear in your voice that you’re beginning to unravel. The thought makes him grunt and snap his hips into you harder. And oh fuck. Fuck. That makes you see stars.

“More. Fuck, please.”

He does it again, and again, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter.

“That feel good, baby? You gonna come for me?” he reaches one arm around your hips, and the other snakes up between your breasts, pulling you back against his chest, his hand settling at the base of your throat.

“Oh fuck, Richie, that’s, that’s... Don’t stop. Don’t st...” your brain shuts off when his fingers find your clit.

“That’s it, good girl. Fuck I can feel you, so goddam, so tight.”

You’ve been trying your best to stay quiet, but you’re undone, “oh fuck, jesus, ye-”

Richie’s hand clamps over your mouth as he fucks up into you, and every muscle in your body tightens as you come hard around him. He keeps thrusting until he feels you begin to relax in his arms.

“Christ. Fuck. Fuck.” He pulls out and pushes you roughly back down to the desk. He hikes your skirt up with one hand, and you hear him groan as he fucks into his fist, three, four more times, before his own peak hits, and hot splashes of come paint your ass.

Ten seconds pass in which neither of you speak or move. Then Richie pulls his t-shirt over his head and uses it to clean you up. “Shit. Sorry.”

You pull your underwear up, and step down from the crate on shaky legs. “Don’t be sorry, that was, uhh...” you try to think of the right words.

“Fuck yeah, it was.” He looks at you, almost disbelieving, laughing quietly. You can’t help but join in.

You’re both picking the paperwork up from the floor when you find your phone under a stack of invoices. Seven missed calls and four voicemails from Carmen. Shit.

At that moment the door to the office swings open. Carmen. Of course. His mouth hangs open as he takes in the scene of Richie in his undershirt, you on your hands and knees, and the restaurant's papers everywhere.

He looks at Richie with raised eyebrows, “cousin?”

Richie scrubs a hand over his head and looks at the floor, “Carmen.”

“You alright?”

It takes you a second to figure out that Carmen has directed that question at you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You smooth your hands over your crumpled skirt. “Sorry, I’ve just seen your calls, Richie and I were uhhh...”

“Doin some paperwork.” Richie interjects.

“Yes, paperwork, thanks, Richie, and umm my phone got buried.”

Carmen clearly does not believe a word of it. “Shit, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something.” He rubs a hand over his eyes, “turns out it was worse than that. What did you call me for anyway?"

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bbybrainrot · 3 months

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12K notes · View notes

bbybrainrot · 3 months

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OBSESSED: YUTA

A/N: Sweet, innocent, puppy-eyed boy who is no better than the frat boys you detest 🤭 (this is for anon who requested a lil crazy special grade sorcerer doing ungodly things!! Shoko feat The Boys ™️ is up next, then I SWEAR I’m done and back to AO3)

C/W: Aged up characters, College AU. Masturbation. Mature, 18+

“YUUTA?! Are you kidding me?”

You stop time.

Heads turn in his direction. But Yuuta doesn’t register any it because of your smile.

The 1000-kilowatt smile that the locker room rumors about. The smile that stops traffic. The one that obliterates his train of thought.

365 days since he’s seen it in person.

And suddently the year in Morocco for his University degree feels frivolous.

Yuuta places two bottles of disgustingly expensive champagne (courtesy of Satoru Gojo) in between the half filled red solo cups.

He’s doing his best to keep his eyes above your delicate, sharp collarbones.

He’s doing his best not to follow the Barbie pink hair string around your neck.

The Barbie pink string connected to the triangular bikini that is defying the laws of gravity, Mother Nature, AND physics to keep your busty, perky chest supported.

Not to mention the sheer netted tissue thin excuse for a cover up. Draped around the curve of your hips. It warms him hotter than the Moroccan sun.

You wire yourself through the crowded sorority house kitchen. And Yuuta gnaws on his inner cheeks. The predatory stares from from the frat drones scattered about ignites a guttural flame.

But he’ll deal with that later.

Because Aphrodite is barreling toward him and he is not worthy.

“I can’t believe you made it!” You launch yourself into him.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Happy 21st birthday, gorgeous.”

One of his arms is more than sufficient enough to wrap around your baby doll frame. Other hand in his pocket, while he easily lifts and spins you around twice.

Airy giggles spill from your lips. So clearly surprised by how strong he has grown. He’s bulkier. More toned. Hell of a lot more confident too.

Is he showing of a little? Of course he is.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” You stare up at him with stars in your eyes. Still in utter disbelief.

Your tiny, warm hands cup his face. Yuuta subconsciously melts into them. You always did strum his body like a harp.

“Yuuta, you must be so tired. Your bedroom eyes are even more…bedroom-y.” You tease.

Yuuta laughs to choke down a groan. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained mulberry right now.

Because why would you mention a bedroom while you are wearing a bikini he could snap with his eyes?

“Hey, be nice! You know there’s no amount of caffeine that can fix the bags.” Good, fucking save.

He swallows thickly and averts his gaze. If he keeps looking at you, he’d drown. Like how he drowned freshman, sophomore and junior year.

A continent, couple oceans and a sea away from you couldn’t keep him afloat.

A palpable silence drapes over the two of you. There’s so much he wants to say.

“Who’s is the hot guy birthday girl is talking to?”

“Okkotsu, I think.”

“No WAY. If she doesn’t fuck him i—“

“OKAY!!!” You exclaim loudly, prompting giggles from your sorority sisters behind you.

Your cheeks are now matching his. You both burst into incredulous laughter, letting some of the pressure out of the proverbial valve.

“Give me a tour, birthday girl.” Yuuta grazes his fingers over your bare shoulders because he can’t not touch you.

Your hand magnets to his wrist and you both beeline up the stairs. He knows, you know, -you both know- you are heading straight to your bedroom.

Yuuta’s heart is throbbing so hard his whole rib cage is vibrating. Cotton lines every corner of his mouth and he’s suddenly forgotten how to swallow.

Forgotten how to breathe apparently too, because he chokes on air when you pull him to the front of your room door.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse playfully.

And now his cock is at full staff. The measly silver zipper is definitely not strong enough for this.

“I-Im sorry?” Yuuta gurgles through the saliva pooled in his mouth like a hungry puppy.

“It’s a pool party, silly. C’mon, you can use my bathtoom to change.”

Yuuta makes the mistake of letting his eyes drop down the dip of your pretty spine. Tracing all the way down to your matching bikini bottom. That’s a thong. Lining between your perfect, plump ass.

God.

No.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

He follows behind you, nails digging into his dark jeans.

“Bathroom’s through the closet, be quick.” You flash him another pristine grin and…and..

..what is his name again…?

Yuuta returns your smile with a lopsided one of his own. The walk to the bathroom is 13 miles long. There’s no way. No way he’s going to be able to hide his unreasonable, rock hard length through his weightless swim trunks.

He halts. Suddenly enchanted by your hanging clothes. Like a Venus fly trap. You’re everywhere.

Your clothes. Your delicious scent. Your jewelry. Your shoes.

Yuuta is in the eye of your vortex.

A long, silky sleeve tickles his cheek. So soft. Electric currents surge through every engorged vessel in his cock. He takes in a long drag of the faint cherry vanilla notes etched into your clothes.

An addict. A hopeless, pathetic addict in a field of his vices.

His fingers earthquake against his buckle. Clumsily stepping out of his jeans.

Just a quick touch. It’ll help him relax. Just really fast, you won’t know.

Yuuta whips around to bury himself in your silk shirt. Heart thundering in his ears. Fingers tickling the hem of his trunks. Shaft fully tented from nothing.

“Yuuta? Did you get lost in there?” Your dulcet voice knock Yuuta’s lust-drunk thoughts loose.

“Ha-N-no! I’m c-coming!”

Yuuta shakily unbuttons his white linen shirt, exposing his lean but chisled core. His cock is diamond hard. Any slight movement and his blunt, leaky tip will peek over the hem.

He strategically folds his pants over the indecent bulge. He just has to count backwards from 500 then he’ll soften and leave the jeans behind.

“Come out!! I won’t bite!” You coax again.

The second Yuuta re-emerges from your closet, he digs the heel of his palm into his crotch. Trying to will his erection down by sheer force because counting just won’t do.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning against your palms flat on the duvet.

Your bikini has grown smaller.

It has to have.

Because the way your supple tits spill around the cruel joke that is that top fucks his brain to mush.

Soft curvy lines of your breasts. Feminine pretty lines of your tummy. The swell of your thighs just begging for Yuuta’s lips, his hands…his dick. He could drop to his knees and worship at your alter this second.

“Oh my god!” You giggle again, waving him over to the bed.

“You’re so, big, now.” Your hand lingers on his tensed bicep, currently losing the war against his cock angrily thrashing around in his pants.

“Am I?” Yuuta asks stupidly. Long sentences are off the table.

“Mmhm,” he watches your eyes lazily drink in his face. He must be an embarrassing shade of violet at this point.

Your hand makes its way into his hair and Yuuta just couldn’t choke down the “ohh,” that bubbles out of him.

“God, I’ve missed you, Yuuta.” Your face is so soft. So earnest.

And Yuuta is there with you, he swears he is. It’s just, you’re speaking directly to his cock right now and all the blood has drained from his head to his head.

“I mi-missed you. More.” He manages to grunt out, precum pooling on his thigh.

Hold it together. Fucking hold it together.

You turn your body and scoot closer to him. The peaks and valley of your cleavage, tantalizing him into a mindless fool who can only think about fucking his fist.

“Guys here suck. But not you. You’ve always been amazing,” you murmur, circling feather light shapes against Yuuta’s scalp.

He shudders under your touch. Biting his cheeks so his jaw doesn’t hang open. Drool already threatening to leak from his lips.

“So kind and sweet.” Your eyes drop to his lips at the same that your hand falls to his tensed abs.

And Yuuta is caught in your quick sand. His limbs loosen. Hand on his crotch melts away. Allowing his member to spring upward with all the blood he has in his body. The sudden movement causes his jeans to slide to the floor.

His ears and cheeks burn at his indecency. But he can’t move. He is at your complete mercy. His cock rhythmically pumping out his precum now.

“I..” Yuuta croaks, but in one dizzying motion you dive your lips onto his.

He snaps.

Yuuta’s left hand flies to his neglected, weapy shaft. The friction through his thin trunks evoke a deep moan into your mouth. His other hand grips the back of your head, pressing you forward onto his tongue. He didn’t ask for entry into your lips like he normally would. It’s too dire. He’s too needy.

His hand pumps his length while his tongue maps every corner of your warm mouth. You let out soft, high pitched sighs. Which nearly bring him to finish instantly.

“Oh, Yuuta.” You moan his name. And Yuuta’s hips rut harder into his hands.

He’s hoping, praying you’re too distracted by the bruising kiss to notice the pitiful way he’s bucking his hips. Humping his hand. He’s no better than the guys you were talking about. No better.

“OH BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!!” Shrill voices from just outside your door rip you two a mile apart.

Yuuta scrambles to his feet, his arm unsuccessfully covering his crotch. You are panting, thumb stroking your bottom lip. Both of you still brimming with your electric chemistry.

“Enough birthday sex!!! Time for TEQUILA!” Your sorority sisters babble and laugh, about 2 seconds away from opening the door.

You grip the handle. Face and body flushed warm rose.

“I-I-uh I have to-“

“Ye—yeah of course, I’ll meet you, down. I’ll meet you down there.”

Both of your voices nervously collide. Looking everywhere but each other’s eyes. You flutter out in haste. Leaving Yuuta in the middle of your room rock hard and a pre cum covered mess.

Like leaving a fiend with an array of illicit substances.

Yuuta turns on his heel and disappears into your closet. He’s not thinking. Logical thought has long ceased to exist. All he can think about is how much his balls ache for you. How drunk he is off your touch. Your taste. Your smell.

His eyes laser down to a crumpled pair of lace panties just a few paces away from your hamper.

Yuuta’s gaze could burn it through the floor.

Stop, Yuuta. Don’t you dare.

He scolds himself. Even though his hands do the opposite. He drops to his knees and pulls his heavy cock free from its barrier. The other hand toying with your worn panties.

He’s filthy. A dirty, nasty scumbag.

Yuuta tugs his cock, aggressively. Jaw hanging open. Short desperate huffs of air escaping his lips.

No, don’t. Stop. “Nnhhgh s-top…fuck..n-no.” His jagged thoughts and jagged words intertwine. Squelching noises from his arousal pierce through his groans.

Yuuta brings your panties to his nose, and nearly blacks out. Your scent. So fucking delicious. So perfect.

He needs to taste.

His groans become garbled when he stuffs your panties into his mouth. Every single nerve ending in his body ruptures.

Yuuta pumps his cock with both hands. Feverish. Sloppy thrusts of his hips colliding with his white knuckled fists. The world around him dampens. Blurs.

“Nnnghh..uhhgh..f-FUCK,”

Your spit-drenched underwear rolls out of his mouth onto his sensitive tip. Ropes, and ropes and ropes of his cum fill your soft négligée.

Yuuta hangs his head back, leaning against his calves. His dick still twitching through his nirvana.

After a few moments, the fog slowly lifts from his mind. His vision returns. Yuuta wipes the remnants of his arousal off his cock with your panties. Before tucking them into his pocket.

Unable to look himself in the eye, he quickly rinses his hands, intending to rejoin your party at once.

But, when his hand connects with the cold knob, a voice in the back of his mind pipes up.

Take another one.

And in a trance-like state, Yuuta rushes back to your closet hamper to find another pair of your panties.

A pretty, delicate red number catches his eyes and he stuffs it into a free pocket before scurrying out of your room.

He’s no better than them.

He’s worse.

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