#diesel x reader
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HEARTBREAK HOTEL
So! I originally wrote this for a friend of mine, and i dont usually focus on fem readers but i wanted to indulge her :) this is probably my... longest fic??? so get ready for a read folks. It is i wrote very early on.. so if it’s not the best i apologize. I also apologize for how much i describe the outfit and such since i did make it for a specific friend.
THIS IS AN 18+ FIC IF YOU ARE A MINOR DO NOT LOOK AT THIS PLEASE
anyways i hope you all enjoy it!!!
Your hands tugged slightly on the skirt you were wearing, hands clenching and uncleaning around the fabric as you sat on the plush red heart shaped bed. A palpable nerve in the air… the tall guy didn’t help much either, he was practically as tall as the doorway. Dressed in a black leather vest and pants and sunglasses even though the room was already dark enough. At least you thought it was. The way he kept adjusting his glove over and over caused a small pit of dread in your stomach, he could fucking snap you like a twig probably. You looked foreword to avoid him from seeing your own prying eyes and you glanced towards the open bathroom door. The only clear gleam of normal light coming from it, breaking up the dark red lights of the room you were in and showing the small fog of cigarette smoke that wafted from the bathroom. Hearing the humming from it revealed to you what waited for you… maybe we should go back a little.
You weren’t really… into wrestling. Sure you’d see it on tv every now and then, glance at a magazine in the store or hear others chat about it but you never really thought about it too much. However when the opportunity to see a showing of Monday Night Raw live presented itself to you? Well why not see what the fuss was about. And boy did you see what the fuss was about, it was… amazing! High flying action, people fighting. Hell someone even almost hit you from the metal gate. It was.. exhilarating! You found yourself quickly becoming a fan, Wrestlers like Double J, Yokozuna, you had a soft spot for heels… They were more interesting than the good guys! But your favorite bad guy… your favorite heel. Shawn Michaels.. he was many people's heart throb and the heartbreak kid maybe had you by the heartstrings. When showings weren’t happening in your town you'd find yourself rushing home to catch Monday Night Raw, just to possibly see the HeartBreak Kid.
But how did you end up in this cheesy love hotel? Well you and your friends decided to take a spontaneous trip. Las Vegas.. while you wouldn’t normally agree to it you had Paid Time off you needed to use and hey your friend offered for the ticket. Why not… and when you learned a showing of Monday Night Raw was happening at a theater near your hotel..? Well the two of you decided to go. It would be a fun memory! So there you two were at ringside, hooting and hollering as the match. You were dressed a bit nicer than usual. Your friend had spoken beforehand about how he knew someone who would be working at the event and could possibly slip the both of you backstage after it all to meet a few of your favorites! Maybe get an autograph signed luckily if possible but best to not push you luck too much. So you were dressed in a cute white top, a pale pink skirt and your favorite pink buckled shoes, walking in them could be a nightmare but god were they cute. The match was everything you could’ve wanted and more. Doink and Dink showed up to fight some new baby face, your friend got squirted by the flower Doink had on him, The Qubecers somehow won another match against the Smoking Guns but… that seemed to be a constant with how dirty they played.. and then the best part of the night show far. The familiar choir of woman’s moaning started and you let out an excited gasp. Shawn Michaels, with his bodyguard Big Daddy Cool Diesel making their way down the walkway and to the ring. The way he walked, the way he carried himself. God it was like being shot with Cupid’s bow and he was the first person you’d laid eyes on. You couldn’t deny that Diesel as well was a physical specimen to be gawked at. The embodiment of strength it seemed at some times, he reminded you almost of a Greek statue. As Shawn was doing his. “Glorified strip tease” to prepare for the match you watched the hat be flung in your direction. Excitedly you reached up to catch it in your grasp looking over to your friend with excitement evident in your face as you clung to the hat tightly in your grasp. For the match Shawn was going up against IRS. It was quite the match. Hell even Diesel walked by you guys for a moment to throw IRS back into the ring after Shawn had kicked him out. In the end Shawn won the match, dancing around as he did when he won that had you staring at every movement in awe.
Once the match had wrapped up you were grabbing your bag and looking towards the stairs before your friend grabbed you to motion for you to go back to your seat. “Hey. Remember what I said? My guy just needs us to wait for it to clear out a bit and then he’ll grab us ok? We just gotta wait.” He whispered to you and you nodded. Still holding onto the hat that had been flung at you with a giddiness in your soul. So you two sat, talking about the exciting match you had watched, your hopes for the next one you’d catch on tv before some came towards the gate. “Hey uh.. guys.” He seemed awkward… but this had to be the guy your friend had been talking about seeing how they got up to high five the guy.
“Kenny! My man! You hooked us up right? We’re not gonna get you fired or anything?” Your friend asked and this Kenny shook his head.
“Nahhh. The guys love meeting fans. ‘Specially the chicks.” Kenny said as he looked to you with a half smile. You offered your own weak smile back as you got up. Dusting yourself off before following him and your friend down the ramp, in a way following the footsteps so many wrestlers you were a fan of had.
There was a bustle and commotion in the backrooms of the arena, staff walking by hurriedly to pack up stuff and others talking loudly on flip phones about… well you didn’t even know what. You stuck close to your friend as your heels clicked against the ground. You felt an excitement boiling and bubbling in your stomach that you couldn’t deny, you were actually gonna be face to face with wrestlers you liked! Who were you even going to talk to first… should you ask questions.. would you- your thoughts were cut off by your nudging you. “Hey. You lost in your mind again or something?”
“Huh..? Yeah I’m sorry! I’m just.. really excited.” You offered with a small giggle and Kenny chuckled.
“It’s no worry! I can imagine how exciting this is. So. Who you wanna see first… wait. Let me guess.” He said with a smirk. Glancing back to you and then down to the hat in your hand. “Could it beeeee… The Heartbreak Kid?” He asked and your eyes widened a bit.
“Oh I wouldn’t want to be a burden! I know he was just in the ring and-“ Kenny cut you off abruptly.
“Oh trust me. He’s not gonna mind if it’s you sweetheart.” Kenny snickered before looking at your friend and smirking. “Razor Ramon?”
“What! Am I that predictable?” They asked with a snicker before looking back to you. “Hey… you gonna be ok with them on your own and stuff..? I can always stay with you before I meet Razor and-“ now it was your turn to cut someone off.
“I’ll be fine.” You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Promise. I’m a big girl.” You giggled and your friend rolled his eyes. Shoving you playfully before you both continued to follow after Kenny before he stopped at a door and rapped on it a few times.
“Hey! You got a fan out here.” Kenny yelled through the door and you raised a brow as you heard what sounded like some stumbling before the door flew open. Shawn Michaels. Shawn Fucking Michaels was less then 3 feet in front of you. God he was even more beautiful up close. He looked at your friend first. Half expecting it to be him who wanted to meet him but your friend simply shook his head, motioning to you with a slight head movement.
You froze for a moment as the spotlight was put on you. You cleared your throat and smiled wide. Telling him your name as you took his hand to shake, except he didn’t. He pulled it to his mouth to place a chaste kiss upon it.. you nerves shot and you felt yourself let out a nervous giggle out of reflex, “you.. uh. Would you like this back?” You said as you offered the hat to him that he had thrown during the set. He looked at it before smirking towards you.
“If it’d make you happy you could keep it.” He offered and you let out a small hum of excitement. Looking at him with such admiration in your eyes.
Kenny cleared his throat as he clapped his hands together. “Alright. Perfect. Since you two are getting along so great. I’m gonna get our man here to his own meetup.” He said as he patted your friend on the chest and they rolled their eyes.
“You sure you’re gonna be fine?”
“More than fine.” You offered as you went to give your friend a playful nudge. They chuckled and nodded.
“Alright… just. Keep me in the loop alright?” They offered as you nodded excitedly and they scoffed before turning on their heel to follow after Kenny. You watched them walk off down the hall before feeling an arm wrap around your waist to pull you into their form.
“C'mon in. Be rude to leave you waiting out here in the cold.” Shawn said in a teasing tone that had you giggling like a dumb blond as you followed him into the locker room. He shut the door behind you once you had walked in. You looked around before stopping your movement, you noticed the large man near the locker, leaned against it as he pulled down his fingerless glove. Big Daddy Cool Diesel. Of course you knew him. He was Shawn’s bodyguard… of course he’d be here too.
“Big Daddy!” Shawn started enthusiastically as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “This is our friend (y/n)! She’s a real big fan.” He emphasized real, Causing you to offer a sheepish smile and small wave.
“It’s very nice to meet you.” You started and only received a glance from over his shades before he looked back up. Shawn rolled his eyes and gave your shoulders a small squeeze.
“Promise he’s more fun.. especially if we get him a bit warmed up. But what is it you want sweetheart? Photo? Autograph? What can Shawn Michaels do for you?” He asked effortlessly. As if it was a routine he had done a hundred and one times before.. or he was just a charming devil.
What.. Did you even want out of Shawn Michaels. I mean. You knew what you wanted. But you feared saying that would leave you being hauled away by security and banned from any more shows. You have a nervous smile as you shrug your shoulders. “I’m sorry I just.. I’m very excited to be here right now. It's hard to think straight.” You admitted and Shawn chuckled slightly. “
Oh I completely understand. I would be in awe in front of the Heartbreak Kid as well.”
Humble didn’t seem to be a word in Shawn’s dictionary. So for a while you stayed there. Absentmindedly talking about the match, other wrestlers, upcoming events that maybe you shouldn’t have been let on… but the insider knowledge did make you feel special. As the time kept ticking however Shawn eventually stretched. “Say. You got anywhere to be tonight?” He offered and you quickly shook your head.. what. It was only 11:30… and Vegas never seemed to sleep. “How about you come out with me and Diesel tonight? Make you feel real special. We’ll give you the work around.” He offered as he sprung up from his seat on the bench. Going towards the locker to slip his jacket on.
“Are you sure it won’t be a hassle? I don’t want to be any trouble getting back to my hotel and-“
“You can stay the night with us! It won’t be a burden at all!” Shawn interrupted you as he wrapped a hand around your shoulders to pull you close causing you to giggle. What the hell… why not. When would you ever have this chance again!
So here you were. After a night of being driven around by a taxi driver to see the lights and sights you found yourself in their hotel room… one bed. An obnoxious heart shaped bed that seemed less and less practical as you thought it over, that red wallpaper, and the smell. A smell of sex that never seemed to have fully escaped the room. Your grip tightened on your skirt as you glanced towards Diesel once again. He himself seemed a bit annoyed by Shawn’s… insistence on fixing himself up... but it had been what. 15 minutes now? But just as you thought it over Shawn came out of the bathroom with that lopsided smile that looked perfect on him.
“So sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart.” He said with a somewhat sincere tone. Leaning close to bringing your chin up to meet his gaze before glancing at Diesel. “Diesel! Least you could’ve done was warm the lady up bud. Last thing we’d want is for a fan to be uncomfortable right?” He asked with a cocked brow and Diesel grumbled something as he turned his head to the side.
“Is… is he gonna stay in here during… this?” You asked and Shawn let out a small hum.
“Oh Baby.” He began before smiling.
“We’re a package deal.” He said before bringing your lips to meet his. His kiss was needy. Desperate almost as his hands went to rest on your hips to pull him closer to him. Your own hands went to reach up to cup his face. A kiss that sent electric shocks through your body. It distracted you enough that you didn’t feel the bed dip from behind you, only feeling the sensation of large hands on your thighs and lips attaching to your neck. You let out a small gasp at the new sensations allowing for Shawn to deepen the kiss with you.
You were practically sandwiched between the two. Your wildest dreams finally coming true this very night. Your hands moved to grasp Shawn’s hair. Giving it a small tug which caused a small whine from him that sent shivers down your spine. Diesel’s hands gripped your thighs a bit tighter before the grip loosened as his hand slowly trailed up to the hem of your shirt. Shawn pulled away from the kiss leaving you panting for air as you raised your arms to help Diesel get you top off. You watched as it was thrown halfway across the room practically before watching as Shawn began to shimmy off the jeans he had been wearing, making a bit of a show out of it.. like he did with everything. However your attention was dragged around as you felt a large hand on your face. Directing you to look to the side where you were met by Diesel who continued where Shawn had left off. Kissing you deeply as his hand slowly trailed down your stomach towards the hem of your skirt. You quickly went to help. Sliding the fabric down your waist to leave you in only your undergarments. Diesel moved to slide his hand inside your underwear, large hands quickly finding that sensitive little Nub that had your hips bucking foreword.
“We’ve got a lively one huh?” Shawn teased with a wolfish smirk before sinking to his knees in front of you. “Works perfectly for me. I knew you’d warm her up just fine Diesel! Just next time.. why don’t you do it while I’m getting ready Hm? Don’t want it to be awkward for our company.” Shawn raised a brow before pulling your underwear down your leg and smiling wide at the prize presented to him. Diesel rubbing and teasing your clit, having you moan wildly into his mouth, Shawn quickly moved forward to latch onto your weeping cunt, licking eagerly which had you pulling away to cry out in pleasure. Legs shaking before Diesel set his free hand on one.
“Cmon. You can take it. You were doing so well!” His tone was almost teasing as his fingers kept circling your clit, having your stomach knot and coil. Your hands quickly went to grip the leather of Diesel’s pants and you cried out. Honestly the barrage from both of them had you cumming almost instantly, your back arching as you cried out in pleasure. Shawn pulled away from your pussy with a smile on his face. Wiping his lips before looking to Diesel who also withdrew his hand from your clit as he patted your thigh. His gaze met Shawn’s which had a playful nature to it. Holding his hand out expectantly in a fist, Diesel quickly followed suit as well.. were… were they really playing rock paper scissors? Rock beats Scissors, Diesel had won the game. Shawn rolled his eyes. “Best of Thre-“
“Shawn. You said it yourself. We’ve kept the poor girl waiting long enough.” Diesel smirked as he patted your thigh and Shawn relented.
“Right right. How selfish of me.” He cooed as he tussled your hair before moving back towards the top of the bed. Diesel helped you shift to your stomach. Rubbing a small circle into your lower back before pulling away. Shawn himself sat expectantly. Legs spread as he looked at you with a smile. “You still got energy in you pretty girl?” He asked as he went to place a hand on your head. You nodded before moving a bit closer to take his cock in your mouth, savoring it for a moment before beginning to bob your head slowly along the length, shawn tilted his head back. Letting out a small sigh as he closed his eyes and tightened the grip on your hair. “That’s it sweetheart…. You’ve got it.” He encouraged. But you were brought out of the bubble abruptly.
You felt a heat prodding at your entrance. Big. That was the first thing that came to mind, big, hot, heavy. You glanced back to see Diesel Aligning himself. Teasing a bit with long drags against your pussy that would occasionally graze your clit causing a small whine that caused a groan from Shawn. “Diesel… whatever you’re doing don’t fuckin stop man…” Shawn said before looking to his bodyguard who smirked before finally inserting himself. Your legs shook ever so slightly as he did, back arching as you went to pull away from Shawn to let out a moan. Diesel filled you up in all the right spots, as if he was made perfectly for you. They both were. You almost were sure this was a dream. This couldn’t be possible. But Shawn quickly brought you back to the moment as he cupped your face with one hand.
“Thought you said you had it in you.” He teased and you gulped. Whining for a moment as Diesel worked on pounding into you. You gripped the sheets tightly before you sunk your head down back to Shawn’s length to continue your earlier work, bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along his stupid pretty cock. No wonder he was always so showy about it.. about himself. He was an enigma almost, a modern day Dionysus. You moved your hands to grip Shawn’s thighs instead, it helped you feel a bit more grounded in a sense…
Diesel’s thrusts into you had you seeing stars, he could be so brutal with his grip around your waist… his hands were huge. But it was a good brutal. The kind of brutal you’d think back oh and go man. That was a wild night…
You pulled away from Shawn’s length for a moment to catch your breath. Your hand going to take the place of your mouth, it was well lubed up enough at this rate, you quickly began to move your hand up and down the length. Looking up to Shawn with pretty doe like eyes.
“A-am I doing good..?” You asked with a smile. You knew you were doing good. You placed his tip to your ginge as you kept your hand movements going, Shawn gritted his teeth slightly as his hands gripped your hair.
“Fuck… fuck yeah you’re doing good just..” he let out a small groan, it didn’t take long before he had come undone and was spewing into your mouth. You quickly wrapped your mouth around the tip to try to catch as much as you could, hand still working to pump what was left into your mouth. Once it was over and you pulled away from him, his head slumped as he panted. “Jesus sweetheart…” he began with a smile before looking at you, his eyes softening as he watched Diesel work. Pounding into with a vigor that he had experienced himself. Shawn took his time reaching over towards a heart shaped ashtray to start a smoke for himself, he might as well enjoy the show. Diesel had hiked one of your legs up to get deeper inside, if that was even possible but you seemed to be enjoying it with the way your eyes rolled back and hands dug into the sheets as if at any moment they’d disappear from under you. It didn’t take long before that coil in you snapped once again causing you to spiral and cry out as you came against Diesel’s length, before Diesel himself finished he pulled out abruptly to furiously rub himself to finish. He ended up spraying his load on your stomach as he panted slightly. Looking down at you before fixing himself to put himself back in his pants.
The rest of the night was a blur. To fucked out of your mind to clearly recall but you remembered bits and pieces, heart shaped bathtub, Shawn and Diesel kissing, how comfy the bed was once you were under the covers… no wonder you passed out so quickly… and when you awoke you were on your own. You looked around for a moment before rubbing your hips.. Diesel had done a number on you. On the bedside table sat a tray.. someone must’ve called room service for you before leaving… it made you feel. Nice that they had thought of that for you. Your clothes were neatly folded and set on one of the chairs with your bag, and the hat on top, and near the tray you noticed a little piece of paper.
‘Call me if you ever need some good fashion lovin~’
The flowy handwriting and number made you feel giddy… he left you his number. Shawn Michaels left you his number. You quickly went to put the piece of paper in your bag. Stumbling a bit to get there but once you did your phone began to ring. You stared at the number for a moment before picking up.
“Hey! I was wondering when you’d pick up!” Your friend's voice rang out and you smiled.
“Sorry just… slept in. That’s all.”
“Slept in. Uh huh. Yeah sure I totally believe it.” They teased, causing you to giggle.
“Oh whatever… how’d it go last night with Razoooor Ramon.” You said in your own teasing tone and you could hear the snicker from the other line.
“Oh it went just fine. I won’t get into the nitty gritty… but where are you at? I want to make sure I don’t lose you.”
“I’m at the heartbreak hotel.” You could practically hear your friends gasp in realization at what your night had been like. You snickered, telling your friend to give you a little to get ready before you’d be ready to go…
#shawn michaels x reader x big daddy cool diesel#shawn michaels x reader#diesel x reader#wwf x reader#i popped off on this one i think#wrestling smut#Blowfly Writes#shawn michaels#big daddy cool diesel
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can i get a Kevin Nash fic with pregnancy prompt "I know this is surprising so if you want you can leave and I'll do this alo-" "I'm not leaving the woman I love and my child even if the timing for it to happen wasn't planned"
Omg omg
Not leaving
Pairing: Kevin Nash x Fem reader
Description: Kevin makes a promise to you after learning that you're pregnant
Gif credits to @stratusfactory
You had been sick for a few weeks and decided to get a doctor's appointment feeling nervous about not knowing why you were sick all of a sudden but also that Kevin was out of town so he couldn't be with you. Things seemed like an eternity even though it was only an hour that the doctor came back with results from tests thankfully you didn't have the flu or a bug but you didn't expect that the reason you were sick was because you were pregnant leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions after getting home not knowing how to tell kevin deciding to wait until he was home to tell him feeling nervous as the days passed jumping when you hear the front door open turning to see kev who gave you a quick kiss before showering pulling you into his arms when he came back downstairs noticing the look of fear written on your face "What's wrong baby?" you didn't want the pregnancy to strain your relationship with kevin since the two of you had only been married eleven months, you tremble placing the papers from the doctor's office confirming your pregnancy at ten weeks along as tears rolled down your face. "I know this is surprising so if you want you can leave and I'll do this alo-" before you could even finish he pulls you in a tender kiss holding you in his arms "I can't believe it we're gonna be parents" he holds your face as he wipes the tears flowing down your face "I'm not leaving the woman I love and my child even if the timing for it wasn't planned" both of you beam with smiles slowly telling your friends and family asking his friend Shawn and your friend Lita to be the godparents absolutely over the moon of having a child and as your pregnancy progressed the two of you were in awe and excited to meet your daughter "I'm never leaving" you raise a brow looking at kev as he gently caresses your belly now being 5 months along "What do you mean love?" he places a kiss on your belly before holding the side of your face with his hand "Remember what you said after you told me about you being pregnant?" you nod now feeling a bit embarrassed by it but you were afraid and the emotions had a tight hold in the moment "I'm never ever leaving you and our daughter, even if I have to wrestle across the country you're coming with me" you kiss his palm before sharing a soft kiss laughing at your daughter lightly kicking your belly.
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Sneaking Suspicions With; Tangerine (Bullet Train)
A/n: Are we proud? Two uploads in two days. This is how I procrastinate doing any homework. Could not get this idea out of my head so here we are. This is my first for Tangerine, but I just recently rewatched Bullet Train and couldn’t resist. Had to add Lemon too because it’s simply not complete without him. Also, the bit about Thomas is all true, I was obsessed with that show when I was young. Enjoy!
Summary: The one where your boyfriend attempts to build a kitchen table, and nearly slaughters your neighbor...
T/W: A LOT of cursing, some suggestive humor, mentions of violence...duh
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” You wince as tools clatter in the kitchen. Discarding your current task of rummaging through boxes with Tangerine’s scribbled writing marked ‘bathroom’.
You’ve finally moved in to the new place after months of preparation. Having been together for 8 months, it was about time you moved in together. Tan practically lived at your old place anyway, though taking this step was intimidating for both of you. His brother had egged you on for months, desperately wanting their shared apartment as his own.
Hence why Tangerine is sat on the floor, muttering curses as he attempts to assemble your dining table.
“Tan, why won’t you let me help you?”
“I told you, I’ve got it, love. Fucking bastards,” his shoulders tense with anger as he speaks. “Can’t even make a buildable fuckin’ table. I’ll show them ‘quick and easy’ right up their fuckin’-”
“Did you even look at the directions, baby?” He furrows his brows, turning to you like you’ve grown another head.
“Directions are for morons.”
“Or for people with zero table assembling experience.” You mutter, fighting a grin under his tense stare. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, only sporting a wife pleaser and trousers in the summer heat. You internally cringe at the reminder your stubborn boyfriend intends to install the air conditioner on his own as well.
“Maybe we could ask Brian across the hall, he said he does construction for his dad part time.”
“You chopping it up with that lad already? Right git, he is.”
“He’s nice, Tan.”
“He’s a flirt, and a shit one at that.” It forces a laugh from you, Tangerine frustrated that the sound still manages to ease the tension from his muscles.
“I’ll ring Lemon, then.”
“I swear to Christ, if you call my muppet of a brother-”
And that’s how Lemon ends up knocking at your door, takeout in hand and a bright smile on his face at the sight of you.
“Hello, lovely. Call for reinforcements already?”
There’s a distant “fuck off” from the kitchen, but you nod nonetheless, thanking him for the food and much needed company. Lemon’s rooted for your relationship even before his brother. Insisting he get your number that fateful night in that shitty club all those months ago.
***************
You’d been sharing drinks with a group of friends when a man bumped into you, nearly knocking you over with the size of him. He’d caught you by the shoulders before you could fall, sending the drunken, clumsy patron an icy glare before surveying you for any injury. He’d clasped both his hands around one of yours, profusely muttering overly-posh, accented apologies. You were ready to cuss out whoever had been so careless before you laid eyes on him, overwhelmed with the British charm and piercing eyes.
“Can I buy you and your friends a drink? I’ll be out of your hair after, promise.” His sincerity makes you want to request he sticks around the rest of the evening, though you shake your head. Polite commonalities ingrained in your nature.
“Not necessary, I appreciate it.” You assure with a kind smile, ignoring your friends gawking at the pin-stripe clad gentleman. He nods, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable as he gives your elbow a gentle squeeze in one last apology. Heading back the way he came, sitting beside another well-dressed man at the bar. What looks like a round of chastising from the raven-haired man, and the handsome stranger is waving him off, glancing over at you and taking a generous sip of his drink.
“You did not seriously just turn Poseiden-incarnate down.” Your girlfriend finally manages to close her slacked jaw, frustrated with your shyness.
“He was just being polite, Brooke. I didn’t want to have him buy for the whole table in obliga-” A waitress approaches before you can finish, smiling brightly at the lot of you as she sets down a round of espresso martinis.
“The gentlemen across the bar insisted. On him, of course.” The older woman shoots you a wink, a chorus of cheers from your friends in salute to the man across the way. He sends a kind smile, tilting his own glass and looking like he hates the sudden attention. He meets your eyes for only a moment, starting up conversation with the man beside him in a silent obedience to his promise of leaving you be.
It’s hours before you see him again, headed outside for some fresh air after spending too much time on the dance floor. You’re sober enough to hold your own, comforted in the array of bouncers nearby if needed. You’re sat on a bench just in front of the club, craving some relief from your heels. There’s a flick of a lighter beside you, a curse when it doesn’t ignite any flame. You’re searching through your clutch instantly, offering up your own light without a second thought.
“Didn’t take you for a smoker.” You perk at the accent, trailing the extended arm to meet the man’s gaze for the third time that evening.
“Don’t. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He smiles through the now ignited stick, quirking his head in quiet contemplation. His eyes study you, and surprisingly, it’s almost endearing. There’s no suggestive indications to his observations, like most men you’d encounter. It’s contemplative, as if he’s trying to figure out.
“You always stare at strangers?” Your wit pleasantly surprises him, and his grin grows despite himself.
“Apologies, love. Just taking it all in. Mind if I sit?” You nod, thanking the cold for the constant flush of your cheeks that’ll hopefully conceal the blood that rushes to them at his words. “Never got your name.”
“Y/n, nice to meet you.” You take his extended hand for a shake, wincing at the formality of your words.
“Tangerine, pleasure’s all mine.” He awaits the usual ‘like the fruit’ with sudden irritation, but it never comes, so he relaxes.
“That a nickname?”
“Of sorts.” You don’t pry, not interested in scaring him off just yet. If he wanted to tell, you, he would. In his mind, Tangerine thanks you profusely. Pleased to have met someone uninterested in forcing information out of him.
“Whose your friend?” You mean the other good-looking guy beside him the entire night, who must still be inside.
“Brother,” he corrects, not unkind. “Hoping he won’t be trollied on the way home.” Your eyes narrow, unaccustomed to the slang. Tangerine exhales a stream of smoke away from you, wetting his lips with a twinge of amusement.
“Drunk, love. Or wasted, as you’d put it.” A laugh escapes you, thoroughly entertained with his dramatic mock of an American accent.
“That is not how we sound.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, defensive and patriotic for likely the first time in your life. “You guys are still salty we won.” He bellows a laugh this time, and the warm sound erupts butterflies in the stomach.
“Blokes chucked boxes of tea in the ocean in retaliation. The fuck kind of war crime is that?”
“One that proper fucked your economy.” You attempt your own dramatic accent, curious as to why he tries so hard to fight smiling. You assume he’s usually much more stoic without the aid of alcohol and new company.
“Bloody hell, that was awful.” He teases with no real ill-will, stubbing out his cigarette when his brother stumbles out of the building. You hear him mutter something about ‘shit timing’ as the taller man approaches, kind smile adorning his handsome features.
“You’ve found your Edwards!” He clasps his hands together, absolutely delighted before he sits himself in between the two of you. Tangerine looks absolutely pissed, astonished when you beam brightly at his intoxicated brother.
“Edwards?” You question despite Tangerine’s shaking head of warning.
“Edwards.” He assures, adjusting his suit jacket as he gets comfortable. “Wise, kind...We’ve only just met, I know. But, you see, I’m great at reading people.”
“Christ, here we fucking go again.”
“Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas the-”
“Tank engine!” You finish for him, the pair shocked at your enthusiasm. “That was my favorite show when I was little!”
“You don’t say?” The man beams, looking over at his brother with an undoubted stamp of approval.
“Swear it. Had the stuffy for years, an entire train table set too.”
“The one with the wooden tracks you could build yourself?”
“And the magnetic crane to lift up the figurines!” The two of you are absolutely enamored, enthralled in the conversation whilst Tangerine broods opposite you. Making a mental note to shoot his beloved brother in the foot the second he gets him alone.
“Bloody hell, I loved that set. What a coincidence!” He turns to his brother, shaking with anger.
“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Is all he manages, messing with the rings on his fingers to calm himself from the outright cockblock. Fuckin’ muppet.
“Names’ Lemon. Pleasure to meet you doll, truly. A real Edward, you are.”
“You really think so?” The alcohol ends any fight to conceal your pleased expression, glancing over at Tangerine who forces a smile at your grant of attention.
“Know so. Brother over here’s a Gordon, don’t you think?”
“I could see that.” This time you’re the one to study said man, lip quirking when he shifts under your gaze.
“Alright, we should get you home.” Tan rises with a roll of his shoulders, ready to head back with his head hanging low in a failed feat. Lemon frowns, pushing away the strong arm that’s pulling at him so he can dig through the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. Pulling out a folded and well-worn sheet of paper.
“Here comes the fucking sticker book. Of course.”
“You know I bring it everywhere. Here, love.” Lemon peels the Edward sticker from the sheet. Sticking it onto your finger with a soft ‘boop’. You gasp, delighted.
“The lady’s real chuffed, Lemon. Let her get back to her friends for Christ’s sake.” He pulls the man to a standing position, waving down an approaching taxi with an ear-piercing whistle. “You got a friend getting you home safe, sweetheart?” You nod, pressing the new sticker to the back of your phone and pressing your case back on it. Aiming to keep it safe indefinitely. Tan suppresses a smile, finding it absolutely adorable. He buttons his jacket, straightening in self-discipline to push away the love-sick thoughts.
“Have a good night, you two. It was nice meeting you.” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, the farewell and the unlikeliness of running into them again tugging at your heart strings. Weird, considering you just met the two men and you already want to get to know them more. Especially the handsome fuck with the unrelenting charm.
“Like-wise, love.” Tangerine ushers his brother into the backseat of the car, muttering something to the driver before turning on his heel to face you again. Brows taught in consideration. He battles with himself, weighing if he’s selfish enough to try and get to know someone as seemingly kind-hearted as you. You’d deserve better. He surveys you a final time, every nerve-ending in his body begging for more. You’re about to head back inside when he clears his throat, grabbing your attention.
“Any chance you’d be willing to give me your number, sweetheart? Just to make sure you get home safe?” He prays it doesn’t sound too hopeful, as desperate as he is for you to comply. You cock your head incredulously, and he swears his heart skips a beat.
“Just to make sure I get home?”
“And maybe to ask you to dinner. Or, you say no and I fuck off.” You chew on the inside of your cheek to suppress the excited grin. Hoping you appear nonchalant despite yourself. Taking a few steps forward, you extend your hand. Brows raising in expectation as he stares at you. He snaps out of it, digging into his pocket with a muttered ‘oh, right.’
“All right mate! Thought you’d never get the balls to ask her. Been going on and on about her since you nearly tackled ‘er”
“Fuck off, Lemon.” Tan seethes, eyes averting to you when you giggle through your rushed typing into his phone. “He’s drunk, pay no mind.”
“Trollied, right?” There’s teasing heavy on your tongue, and it takes everything in him not to pull you in for a kiss right there. On the curb of some mangy club whilst the impatient driver honks in warning.
“Right. Goodnight, love. Careful getting home, yeah?” You nod, mindlessly standing up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Night.”
And with that, you’re headed back inside. Feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Only looking back when the door closes behind you. Ensuring he can’t see you spying. He has his head down, biting a smirk from his lips before gaining composure, tossing himself into the cab beside his brother.
***********
“You’re not needed, I have this handled.”
“You don’t actually. I’ve seen corpses more capable of brain activity than this, mate.”
“Piss off.”
“I would, but I like your girlfriend more than you, and therefore don’t want to leave her with this,” he motions to the mess of tools and table parts, “all alone.”
The two of you sit opposite him, Lemon unfolds the discarded instruction sheet with a deep sigh.
“You’ve got the wrong bolt on that one.”
“No I don’t.”
“You do, mate. Considering I’m the one with the fucking instructions.”
“See, if I was a fuckin’ mug like you, I’d need the directions. But I’m not, so I don’t.”
“Well, you must be. Considering that’s the wrong fucking bolt.”
You rub your temples, fighting an oncoming migraine. Taking the drill from the floor and setting it counter-clockwise to remove the damned bolt. Tan takes it from you, setting his hand on your stomach to push your criss-crossed form backward.
“Hey!”
“What did I say? I didn’t want you doing this, Dove. You’ve just gotten those nails done. I-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “We got this covered.”
“This seems patronizing and sexist.”
“Quite the opposite. I respect you so much I’d rather not have you sit on the floor and do this.”
You huff, arms crossed as you glare at him. Too worn out to argue, and figuring there’s an array of boxes to be unpacked, you scramble to your feet.
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later, love. I’m quite busy at the moment.” The cheeky response gets a laugh out of even Lemon, who straightens as soon as your heated gaze snaps to him. You flip them both off, no real anger to it as you head back toward the bathroom.
**********
Another couple hours pass and you’ve finished both bathrooms and are working on the master bedroom. Airpods in to block out the onslaught of arguments. You hum to your music, unaware of the eyes on you.
Tangerine leans against the doorway, finding comfort in watching you in your shared home. It’s weird, new, to share just about everything now. Scary, no doubt. Tan had walls around him so high it took months for you to even shake them. But you’ve done it, somehow. A little minx, he regards you, because you’ve managed to get through to him sometimes without him even realizing. He’s eternally grateful whatever scraps of good karma he had left accumulated to bring you into his life. Terrified it might one day be ripped away. Every time the thought passes his mind, his throat tightens, and he gets the overwhelming urge to hold you and never let go.
Your startled gasp snaps him out of it, a hand clasping over your heart in shock. “Christ, Tan. Give a girl a warning.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He swallows, a beat before continuing. “I love you.” Your eyes narrow at his sweet tone, trying to uncover the mischief in his sultry voice.
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing, honest. I can’t say I love you?”
“You can.” You turn your head from him, suppressing a smirk as you busy yourself with folding clothes. “Just...Not in the hall, okay?”
“What? Why?”
“It’s just,” you’re holding in a laugh now, a death wish for sure. “I don’t want Brian to hear, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, hiding his clenching fists at your teasing.
“You think that’s funny? Taking the piss like that?” You muffle a laugh with your sleeve, morphing it into a cough. “Tread lightly, my love.”
“You know, I bet Brian builds loads of tables. Must be real fast at it, considering he works in construction and all. Lot’s of strong men in that field of work.”
“Y/n.” Your name is rare on his lips, singed with irritation. You’re clearly well-past having him worked up, You press on, keen on getting him back for his suggestive comment from before.
“I always wanted to get to know a blue-collar type. So hardworking, great with their hands-” You’re in the air and flopped onto the mattress yet to have a bed frame before you can even process it. He cages you in, an arm on either side of your head to support himself as his eyes bore daggers into yours. Curls unruly and dampened with sweat.
“Stop it. Or beloved Brian’s in a body bag by tomorrow morning, yeah?” You know he’s not entirely serious, but also entirely capable, so you nod. You press your lips together, thoroughly amused. He takes your jaw in his hand and uses his thumb to pull your lips free. Tugging you into a kiss, he’s only satisfied when you gasp after your bottom lip is bit. Not too hard, he’d never hurt you, but it’s enough warning to shut you up. He gets up, hands on his hips and breathing heavy as he watches you get to your feet. Wordlessly, he sweeps a leg under yours, chuckling when you’re collapsing back into the mattress with an umph.
“You really are a fucking Gordon, you know that?” There’s no time to scramble away from his lunging form as he tugs you by the ankle toward him. One hand grabbing your arm and the other on your leg as he hoists you over his shoulder, cheekily reminding you of the power imbalance as he carries your squirming form down the corridor and into the kitchen. Where Lemon lays sprawled out on the now standing table. The air conditioner hums across the room, and the faux argument is ripped from your mind as you survey the accomplished tasks.
“Nothing a little teamwork and drive can’t do,” Lemon boasts. “You know where I learned that, Tangerine?”
“If you mention the fucking trains, It’ll be the last thing you fuckin’ do.”
*************
“Tan, could you pass the lo mein?” Your boyfriend chews thoughtfully, considering it for a moment before extending it to you. Your eyes narrow when he pulls away as soon as you reach.
“Maybe you should ask Brian.”
“My god, we’re still on this?”
“Should have known better than to tease him with another man, love. Gordons are prone to jealousy.”
“Fuckin’ pipe it, Lems.”
“It was a joke, baby. Are you gonna hold this over my head forever?” You find it endearing, hard to believe Tangerine could think there’s even a hint of honesty to your teasing.
“Until I’m sure you’re proper guilty, yeah.” There’s a hint of play in his tone, and you know he only wants to hear you repeat your devotion.
“Tan, love, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, will you please pass the lo mein to your dutifully devoted girlfriend?”
“Sure thing, love. Could have just said so.” The playful banter is stuttered to a halt when Tan sets the box beside you, the legs of the newly built table creaking as they give out. With their instinctive reflexes, Lemon and Tangerine keep the entire thing from collapsing. You’re slack-jawed, in utter shock at the absurdity and slight victory of being right, as god damn usual.
“Dove,” your boyfriend’s voice strains under the exertion, meeting your eyes “be a doll and take everything off here?” You’re up in an instant, quickly snatching the array of food and plates off the surface. Lemon begins to laugh despite himself, and Tangerine seethes with frustration.
“Maybe we should-”
“Don’t. Don’t even think about saying that fuckin’ muppets name.” Tan stares daggers into his brothers eyes, paying no mind to your stifled giggles. When they finally set the table on the ground, you approach him. Tugging at his arms so you can wrap yours around his waist. You press your chin into his chest, running a hand through his unruly curls.
“Baby.” You’re soft, tone so sweet and eyes big and pleading.
“Lose the puppy eyes, doll. It’s a no.”
“I personally would like to finish dinner not on the floor. But that’s just me.” Lemon purses his lips, brows raised expectantly at his brother.
Tan releases a deep, shaky sigh, dark gaze softening when he meets yours. He tries to tug his head away when your hands hold it, but you’re insistent, making him face you again.
“I’m all yours, alright? I promise.” You kiss both his cheeks and then his neck, some tension leaving him. He tilts his head in faux irritation when you stick out your pinky to him, grinning when he finally gives in and wraps his much bigger one around yours.
**********
“It’s already so nicely decorated in here.” Brian surveys the room with a polite smile, turning to you. “All this is your eye, y/n?” You straighten, hoping the man won’t notice your boyfriend’s homicidal stare.
“Tan has more taste, admittedly.” You’re not just trying to take the attention off you, it’s the truth.
“Well that should be obvious, he got you.” Lemon coughs, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder with tight, grounding grip. The slightly shorter man boils beside him, eyes boring into yours in an enraged ‘I told you so’.
Your neighbor places his work bag on the floor, cringing at the sight of the flattened table. He approaches the brothers, clueless, patting their arms with sympathy.
“Should have gotten me earlier, guys. You know you can call me over any time for some help. Handiwork isn’t for everyone, some things are just left for the professionals.
“No kidding.” Tan mutters, letting Lemon pry his fingers from the biggest kitchen knife you own when the man’s back is turned to them.
“We’ll have to grab brunch sometime, y/n.” He’s blissfully unaware as he talks between rounds of the drill. Unscrewing mistakes and penciling out where they should actually go. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the neighbors. Some of the ones to avoid and all.” Lemon’s practically wrapped around his brother, praying to a god he doesn’t believe that the clueless fuck will shut up. You cross the room while he drills away, placing your hands on Tan’s chest and pressing into him. He can’t even see you, can’t even feel you as his blood burns his own skin. Considering the fasted method of kill and cleanup over and over again in a final stitch to calm himself.
“You’ll have meet Cody first, of course. I’ve already told him there’s finally another young couple in the building. Thank god.”
“S-Sorry, mate?” Lemon loosens his grip in realization, fighting a bellowing laugh.
“My bad, I tend to drill when I’m talking. Cody gets on me for that, too, This is what I mean, sweetheart. We need to escape the doting boyfriends for a little. Enough to drive anyone nuts.” He shoots you another smile, pleased to see you nodding profusely.
“Absolutely.” You turn to Tan, whose brows are taught in utter confusion. “They can be a real pain sometimes.”
“But, alas.” The drill whirs, he stops talking for a beat and then releases the trigger to finish. “We love them.”
“To bits and pieces.”
Tan collapses against the counter, right exhausted from the strain of keeping his composure. Pure relief washes over him, and you let him pull you into an embrace.
“Boys, would you mind helping me turn this right side up? i think I’m all finished here.” They comply, Tan reluctantly pulling away and kissing your temple in silent apology. Together, they set it upright and each give it a good shake to ensure it’s stability.
“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” Your boyfriend gives the now beloved neighbor a firm shake, a hint of guilt in his eyes.
“British and handsome, you two are truly a killer pair.” Brian gathers his things and checks a notification ding on his phone. Sighing fondly. “Speak of the devil.” He waves his phone to you with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “See you all soon.” Giving you a quick hug, he exits as soon as he came.
“Most definitely not a diesel, that bloke.”
#tangerine#tangerine x y/n#tangerine x you#tangerine and lemon#lemon#bullet train#tangerine imagine#atj#atjohnsonedit#aaron taylor johnson#bullet train imagine#tangerine and ladybug#imagines#fanfic#aaron taylor johnson imagine#lemon x tangerine#lemon x reader#diesel#gordon
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Dante Reyes wanted Dom Toretto and his family to suffer for what they did to him. He was planning on killing them, but he had a better punishment for Toretto. He kidnapped his son. The young Toretto was going to suffer for the sins of his father, but only after he had some fun with him.
He saw the young man struggling against his bindings as he desperately tried to escape. Dante found that adorable. This kid was a fighter, but he would soon learn who was in charge here. He kneeled down and leaned close to him. "You're a pretty boy, ain't cha?" He ran a thumb over his lips as the young man turned his head away, trying to get his thumb off his lips.
Dante grinned. "Such pretty boy lips. Bet they would look good wrapped around my cock. What do you say, pretty boy? Wanna take a wild ride tonight?"
"Screw you! He shouted at him.
The older man laughed. "Oh, I'm afraid I'll be the one doing the 'screwing' pretty boy."
#x male reader#male reader insert#male x male#jason momoa#Jason momoa x male reader#dante reyes#Dante reyes x male reader#fast and furious#fast x 2023#fast x#vin diesel#dom toretto#reader is Dom's son
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Fast & Furious Log
2 FAST 2 FURIOUS
"I really like What you've done to me
I can't really explain it I'm so into you."
FAST & FURIOUS 4
"And every time I think that we're over and done, You do something to get me back loving you
And you got me just torn"
FAST FIVE
"Like a moth to a flame. Burned by the fire. My love is blind. Can't you see my desire
That's the way love goes"
FAST & FURIOUS 6
"Through all the ups and downs the joy and hurt
Love For better or worse I still will choose you first"
FAST AND FURIOUS 7
"Although we've come
To the end of the road. Still I can't let go
It's unnatural. You belong to me
I belong to you."
#black reader#black writers#black representation#poc reader#poc writer#black excellence#the fast and the furious#fast and furious#fast and furious saga#2 fast 2 furious#brian o'conner x black reader#Brian O'Conner#paul walker#tej parker#ludacris#roman pearce#Tyrese Gibson#dominic toretto#vin diesel#suki#devon aoki#mia toretto#letty ortiz#black girls#fast and furious x black reader
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Cool Your Jets- Ch. 1: Welcome Home (Riff x newcomer)
People say that as long as you’ve got a home then life will provide.
But what can you say when life doesn’t provide a home?
“Here we are. Your apartment should be two blocks down.”
“Thanks.” I sigh as I tip the driver. After I heave my chest outta the trunk I begin my walk into the West Side. Ever since mom and dad passed, life has been a series of clean’n out old junk, sign’n papers, and be’n forced to move on. I never could’ve afforded my old house in upstate New York, so I had to find cheap rent in the city. Fortunately I found an apartment in a Puerto Rican community. When I agreed to the rent the owner was very surprised and asked it I’d prefer a different neighborhood, but all I cared about was a safe place to stay.
As I walk down the block, I notice a lotta Puerto Ricans give’n me strange looks as if I’m not supposed to be here.
A Puerto Rican shop owner actually comes up and asks if I’m lost.
I shake my head. “No, I’m looking for this address.” I show him a scrap of paper with my new home scribbled on it, and immediately his face lights up.
“Vámonos! This way.” He leads me to a tall building swarming with Puerto Rican women hanging laundry and children playing in the street.
“Thank you sir!” I wave as I look around. Not bad for a city life.
I drag my chest inside and begin climb’n the stairs, earning a few strange looks from passing Puerto Ricans. After a while I begin to realize that I’m the only white girl here.
I find the right floor and am about to open my apartment door when-
“Ay, mi querida! What are you wearing?” A voice behind me asks.
I turn and come face-to-face with a Puerto Rican lady look’n me up and down.
“Where did you get this? It’s hideous! I must burn it!”
I lean back a little, unsure about my need for personal space. “Um… It was the only thing in my mom’s closet that would fit me.”
“Tsk tsk. Mi querida I must insist you come with me so I can make you something much more wearable.” She takes my arm and ushers me into the apartment across the hall towards a room filled with scraps of fabric.
“Anita! ¿Dónde está mi vestido?” Someone calls.
A younger Puerto Rican girl runs into the room. She’s very short, almost as tall as me, and very beautiful. But she seems sad.
When she sees me, her eyes light up.
“Anita, quién es?”
I frown, unable to understand. “Um, I’m sorry but I don’t speak Spanish…”
Anita simply nods. “Maria, this is… I’m sorry, what's your name?”
“Marilyn Jackson.”
“Maria, this is Marilyn Jackson. Please try to speak English around here so she feels welcome. She moved in across the hall and I’m making her an actual dress. Not this scrap of burlap you see. Here.” She hands me a dressing gown. “Put this on and take that disgrace off so I can take measurements.”
I awkwardly take the gown and go into a nearby bathroom to change. When I come out, the two Puerto Ricans seem to be arguing.
“But Anita, es no-”
“English, Maria.”
Maria rolls her eyes. “Anita, why is she here? This is a Puerto Rican neighborhood.”
“The landlord offered me a better deal, and I’m tight in cash as it is.” I wring my hands togedda nervously.
Anita sighs. “Por supuesto, of course the rent would be cheaper for you Americans living with us.”
My eyes widen as I get her drift. “No, no- it’s not- I don’t mind living here, honest! I think this apartment is very homey and I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Maria nods. “Estoy impresionado. I’m impressed. It’s very rare for an American to apologize to us-”
“Maria!” Anita scolds.
“It’s true, Anita! You’ve seen how those Jets treat us!”
“The Jets and Sharks squabble over nothing. All I care is that Bernardo comes home safe. Here, mi querida. Try this.”
She hands me a flowy sea green dress- one far more elegant than any dress I’ve ever worn. I take it to the bathroom and slip it on. It’s a perfect fit- loose enough to breathe but tight enough to outline my feminine curves, and I luv how graceful it is.
When I step out, Anita starts clapping.
“Bravo, mi querida! You look stunning!”
Even Maria is impressed. “Wow Anita, that has to be your best one yet.”
I do a twirl and fall in luv with it even more. “Thank you so much, Anita! This is without a doubt the best dress I’ve ever worn! How much?”
She scoffs and waves the subject away. “No charge. Consider it a welcoming gift to the city! I can tell you’re not used to this, right?”
I blush and look at the floor. “That obvious, huh?”
“Si. So what brings you here?” Maria asks.
At first I don’t wanna say why, but these people have already been so welcoming…
“My- my parents died, and I had to move here to find work. I’ve lived in the upstate country all my life, so I’m gonna have to get used to this.”
Both women’s faces drop each share a knowing expression.
“I know how you feel, Marilyn. I took care of my papa up until he died, and all I have is Bernardo, mi hermano. My brother. If you ever need help, we’ll always be here.”
I shake my head slowly. “Thank you so much, but you’ve already done enough by welcoming me here. Back in the country everybody knows everybody, so it’ll be nice to have already met some friends. Amigos, if you will.”
Maria laughs. “You will need to practice your Spanish, mi querida! Don’t worry, I’ll teach you! Just wait until the Jets meet a white girl who can speak Spanish!”
The Jets?
I begin to ask what that is, until the door burst open and a Puerto Rican boy rushes in, panting heavily.
“Anita… es Bernardo… Los tiburón son batalla otra vez…” He pants.
Both women’s eyes widen and they each share worried looks.
“Cómo está mal?” Anita asks.
“Igual como siempre,” The man answers.
Both look relieved at this, and then remember I don’t speak Spanish.
“The Sharks, my brother’s gang- they’re fighting again,” Maria explains.
My eyes widen. “Gang? As in street gang? Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?”
“What did you expect? Come to the city and go about without running into trouble?” Anita points out.
“Only watch out for the Jets- but if you’re not like us then they might leave you be.” Maria scoffs.
I squint. Must be another gang.
“Thank you so much, for everything. But I’m afraid I have to unpack now and go shopping for dinner.” I pick up my old dress and begin to walk out.
“Quién es esta?” The man asks.
“Pepe, this is Marilyn Jackson. She’s a country girl who moved in across the hall, and she speaks little Spanish so please try to remember that.”
He grunts. “Why should I care about an American girl who can’t speak it?”
Anita glares at him. “Because this chica is very polite and deserves the same respect as all of us.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m joining Bernardo in the fight- we’ve heard the Jets are going to wreck the painting.”
Unsure what to make-a this, I keep walking to my apartment door.
“Hold up, Marilyn! Would you want to join us for dinner?” Maria asks.
“I’m sorry Maria, but I’ve got enough chores to do as it is. Maybe another time.” I give a wave, close the door, and slump against it. Then I take in my surroundings: cramped bathroom, tiny kitchen, drafty bedroom with a rickety bed.
Welcome home, Marilyn.
#riff west side story#west side story x reader#west side story imagine#maria west side story#anita west side story#bernardo west side story#west side story baby john#west side story anybodys#west side story mouthpiece#west side story diesel#tony west side story#musical fanfics#riff west side story x reader
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Just me being a yoonkook (+V) girl
(Credit to me, it’s my pic)
#yoongi#suga#min Yoongi#agust d#Jungkook#jeon jungkook#v#taehyung#bts#aesthetic#yoonkook#vkook#taekook#coquette#Pinterest#outfit#girl#diesel#celine#love#yoongi fanfic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#yoongi x reader#taehyung fanfic#bts fanfic
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Eyes on Me
Sammy Diesel x Reader 18+
You wake up to see a pleasant surprise: Sammy waiting under the covers in front of your crotch. He tells you that he wants you to keep your eyes on him as he eats you out.
You awaken from the sudden shift on the mattress. You took a moment to process your surroundings before seeing a figure under the covers and near your lower body. Pulling the covers, you saw your grinning and shirtless boyfriend resting his head on your crotch.
"Hey,~" he purred, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his cheek against your inner thigh.
You smiled. "Hey."
"I was waiting for you to wake up."
"For?"
"Aw, c'mon..." He pressed his lips against your thigh before continuing, "you know why.~"
You laugh and pull the covers completely off of him. "If you wanted, you could have done it to wake me up. I'd enjoy it very much," you replied and his face flushed.
"H-heh, well...fuck. I just wanted you awake so you can watch me."
"Watch you?"
He nodded and thumbed the hem of your underwear which you had slept in last night. "Yeah, it's sexy or whatever," he murmured and zoned out on your clothed lips and whistled. "Whoa, it's prettier in the light! Don't mind if I do!" He kissed your clothed pussy suddenly with a shameless smack of his lips, drawing out a soft moan from you. "Sam..." You whispered, threading your fingers through his blond hair. He groans against the fabric and presses his hot tongue flat against it. You're breathing heavily now, eyes half-lidded and full of lust.
His hands tug at your panties and pull them down enough for you to lift your hips for him to slide them completely off, discarding them somewhere in the room where they'd be forgotten for the time being. He's back on you in a second, kissing his way up your thigh and pausing once he reaches your cunt. He whistles again and blows lightly at your clit.
"Heh. You're wet already, babe. I can't wait-" he kissed your clit. "-to" another kiss. "eat" another kiss. "you" and another kiss. "Out," he finished and smirked when he felt your legs quivering. He glanced up to see you covering your face with your hands and his smirk grows wider.
"Hmm? Why're you coverin' your face? Don't. I want your eyes on me," he hummed as he drew random shapes on your thigh with his finger. When you didn't respond, he frowned and squeezed your thigh. "Please?"
With shaky hands, you slowly lower them and look down at him with a red face. "Please keep going," you whisper. "Alright, but you better not look away from me," he replied as he dipped his head and ran his tongue through your folds, groaning as he tasted you. You did as he wanted and held eye contact with him. It felt more intimate like this.
He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, making you moan and raise your hips, only for his arms to hold them down immediately as he attacked your cunt with his skilled tongue. He lapped at your clit, sucked it, and did any sort of attention to it with his mouth as his gaze on you became more intense. His hand slid over to your hole and pushed two fingers in.
You closed your eyes and bit your lip in an attempt to muffle a much louder moan. Sammy's not pleased with this. He gently nips at your clit and growls, "Hey. Look at me." You peek at him hesitantly and after he's satisfied with your gaze, he returns to pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy as his lips latch onto your clit.
His stubble rubs against you so perfectly, it's hard to not squirm in his hold. "Mm...Faster...please," you whisper and he speeds up his fingers, scissoring them and curling them whenever he wanted to. Moans fill the room and soon you can feel your orgasm approaching. "W-wait," you whine and he slows down enough for you to speak. "I want to please you too."
He raises his head and grins at you and you can see your juices practically dripping from his chin. "I'm already pleased, hun. I want you to cum and that's all I want right now because you deserve it," he purred, curling his fingers inside of you as he pumped a little faster. "Fuck..." You curse under your breath as he returns his attack on your swollen clit. Your hands find his hair again after his fingers become faster than earlier. Your legs threaten to close but his hand keeps one spread and you know that he'll keep it up regardless if your legs squeeze his head. After all, he did tell you that if you sat on his face and suffocated him, he'd die a happy man — if he can even die.
The coil in your stomach snaps after he adds in a third finger. You came with a loud moan and arched your back, but you didn't dare to screw your eyes shut no matter how intense the orgasm was. Instead, you held your gaze with his. He lapped up your juices until you came down from your high and rose from his position. "That was fuckin' hot," he said lowly, reaching down to release his erection from his briefs. After he was on top of you, you grabbed him and flipped him over so that you were straddling his waist.
He let out a surprised yelp but was replaced by a satisfied hum. "Taking control, huh, babe? I love it.~" You silence him with a kiss. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you can taste yourself on him, which strangely turned you on even more. You sank onto his cock slowly and you both let out a moan.
You pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you to him. His eyes are half-lidded now with his cheeks dusted pink. You smirk and kiss his neck as you raise your hips and slide back down on him.
You sink your teeth into his shoulder and he melts into you, groaning in your ear about how amazing you are. As you move your hips, you realize that he's more vocal when you're on top.
Your fingers wrap around his throat and squeeze, making him groan louder and screw his eyes shut. Curses leave his lips and his hands settle on your hips, raising his to meet your own in a steady rhythm. Another orgasm is building up in you. You continue leaving bites and hickeys along his neck and chest as you rock your hips against his before capturing his lips with yours. He deepens the kiss immediately, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip before slipping it between your lips. The wet muscle tangles with yours and explores your mouth, counting every tooth as he did.
Your hand releases his throat and holds the back of his head to push him closer. His arms wrap around your waist and suddenly his hips are moving faster as his own orgasm approached. You shared moans in the kiss and you found yourself arching into him.
"Sammy, I'm going to—" You pull away only for him to chase after your lips and kiss you again. Your eyes slide closed as you cum on his cock. The squeezing of your walls pushed him over the edge and he came, filling your walls with his hot seed. You collapse against him and his arm wraps around you. You're both panting heavily and very sweaty. "That's a good way to start the morning," you joked, wrapping your arm around his waist. He laughs as he stroked your hair. "Oh, really? I thought so too. Now let's get cleaned up and have breakfast."
After hearing no response, he looked down at you to see that you have fallen asleep. "Oh well, sleep it is," he chuckled and held you closer, feeling sleep take over his body.
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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑
➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone)
➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.)
➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries
➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this.
➸ WC: 2k
❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.
"Oh, yeah? What about?"
"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”
“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.
“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”
You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”
“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”
“I would.” More than he knows.
It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.
Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.
You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.
The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.
You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.
He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.
You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.
The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.
And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.
He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.
Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”
His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”
You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.
(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)
And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.
Of course, you take your job very seriously.
You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”
“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.
“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”
“The verdict, then?”
“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”
Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.
You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.
“You gonna treat me or what?”
Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.
The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.
Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.
“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”
But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”
You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.
You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?
But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.
“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.
He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.
After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.
Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.
And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.
“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.
Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#simon riley fluff#simon riley fic#cod x reader#cod fic#call of duty fic#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw x reader#cod mw fanfiction#cod mw 2
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Hitchhiking
Diesel x Male Reader
THIS FIC IS 18+
Check out my other work! : Masterlist
July 15th, 1996
Heat. The boiling heat of the Arizona sun was practically broiling you alive as you trekked along. Thumb pointing out with every car that passed by to no avail whatsoever. With each car passing you that caused a groan as you tilted your head back. Eventually you just couldn’t carry yourself anymore. You set your bag down sitting yourself on top of it as you stuck your thumb out again. In the distance it caught your eyes. The glint of steel and large wheels. Looked to be some type of Semi.
As the truck rolled to a stop you could only stare up in shock… you hadn’t expected him to even stop for you considering but, at this rate to get out of the heat it was a welcome change. You quickly climbed up to open the door. The welcome gust of air conditioning causing you to let out a sigh of relief.
“Hey thanks man! I appreciate it!” You said quickly as you adjusted your bag to slide it off your back to set it between your legs. You reached over the center console to shake the man’s hand. “(Y/N)! Nice to meet you pal!” You said with a toothy grin before the man held his hand out. It practically engulfed yours. Christ you hadn’t noticed it but this guy was a mammoth! Long dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, sunglasses, leather jacket and matching pants. You didn’t know many truckers… but you were pretty sure they didn’t dress like this most of the time.
“Diesel.” He stated as he shook your hand. You could only snicker for a moment.
“Fitting name huh?” You asked with a smile before he rolled his eyes.
“Yeah. You should meet my sister Petrol.” He smirked before pointing to the back with his thumb. “You can just huck your stuff back in the sleeper. I don’t use it.” You nodded quickly. Shifting in the seat to set your knees on it to reach back and throw your bag in the back. Diesel watched as you did. He paused for a moment however as he caught a glance to the bandana in your right pocket. Orange in color. The glance was quick. Before his eyes returned to the front window and you finally sat back down correctly.
“So.” His voice even in a relaxed state was booming. “Where you going huh?”
“Wherever you’re willing to take me! I’m just letting the people of the road take me around.” You smiled fondly. As if this was just a normal everyday occurrence.
“So, you’re just…hitchhiking too wherever?” He asked the question slowly to make sure he was getting it right. You gave a curt nod his way.
“Eyup! Just letting kind drivers like yourself drive me around for however long you want till you grow sick of me and kick me off.” You paused for a moment. “Or kill me but I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
Diesel let out a small grunt as he began to drive again. “Well since you’re going nowhere. I’m heading to a stop for the night to fuel up.” You nodded.
“Fine by me! I’ve stayed at plenty of stops. They’re pretty cool.” You set your hands on your lap. Absentmindedly tapping your thighs before looking to the radio that played a dull tune. “Any tapes?” You asked as your hand went to Reach for the dial.
“Don’t mess with it too much.” He said quickly, shooting a glance to you that you could feel behind the gaze of his sunglasses. You pulled your hands away and nodded quickly. “My truck. My rules.” You nodded again.
“You got it sir.”
The trip was silent. Occasionally you and Diesel would talk. Diesel didn’t seem to be much of a talker though. Answers short and curt usually when you asked. However sometimes his answers had you intrigued, work as a bodyguard specifically.
“I mean I can understand why this guy would pick you. You could probably kick anyone's ass.” Your arm was resting against the window, hand propping your head up as you looked over to him.
Diesel chuckled for a moment. Shrugging his shoulders. “Eh. Pretty much. It was fun I guess. Paid good.”
“And your person?”
“My person?”
You rolled your eyes. “The person you guarded! Was he cool? Oh oh! Was he like a criminal?” You asked with excitement in your tone. “The president?”
“No no. No one big like that. Just a wrestler.”
“Wrestler...? The hell they need protection from?”
“With an ego like his? And a mouth that didn’t know when to stop? He needed all the help he could get.” He let out a small breath. “Shawn was cool… we were tight.”
“Like. Tight tight or…?” You trailed on with a quirked brow.
“Tight Tight.”
The answer was enough for you. Smiling as you looked forward. “Nice man…” you nodded, silence falling over the two of you again.
By the time the two of you had pulled into the stop the sun was beginning to fade, you stretched your arms with a small sigh. “So, you want me to hop off here? Or can I crash with you tonight?” You asked with a smile.
“I don’t care what you do. Whatever works for me. You’re not too much to handle.” He said with his own stretch before his hands landed back on the wheel.
Tap tap, ti tap tap.
You quirked your brow. Diesel looked over to you. Silent for a moment. “I’m gonna fill her up.” He said before getting up. You watched as he hopped out of the truck and towards the building. You let out a small huff, leaning back and going to turn up the radio to listen to whatever rock was playing on the radio.
Once the door opened you looked over. Seeing him place a receipt down on the seat before closing the door again. Glancing to the side mirror you watched as he went to fill up the tank. How much gas did these things even take… you couldn’t imagine how expensive it probably was. You glanced towards the receipt again. Picking it up and noticing the purchase of a shower too. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a heat growing in your lower stomach. You glanced towards the mirror again, catching the boot tapping against pavement… he had to know. He had too. You looked forward again. It couldn’t just be a coincidence, right? It had to be real. Once he finished filling the tank you watched him walk off the shower building. You swallowed a lump you hadn’t realized formed in your throat before watching him disappear behind the door.
You quickly unbuckled. Reaching behind yourself for your bag to sift through the contents. You were half worried you used your last condom.
With the guy with the van but, just as you were losing hope the packaged rubber found you. You almost shed a tear as you slid it in your pocket. Maybe God was on your side.
Jumping down from your seat and making your way to the numbered stall he chose. You stood in front of it for a few moments before shaking away your giddiness. you tried your best to mimic the tapping he did on the steering wheel with your knock.
Knock knock knknock knock.
You heard the lock click and you quickly went to push into the shower room with a grin on your face.
“Half worried you wouldn’t get it.” Diesel started with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes. He sat himself on the toilet in the stall. Legs spread with a cockiness radiating off of him almost.
“I’m not an idiot you know? I know what I’m doing?” You said as you walked over, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. A smile tugging on your lips. “Are you a no kissing guy?” You asked as you went to press yourself against him. “Cause that would make me really sad.” You pouted and Diesel chuckled.
“Hey I’m like you. Anything.” You grinned at his answers before leaning in to smash your lips against his. Luckily, he met your intensity, grabbing your hips to pull you into his lap. The two of you stayed like that for a while. Nipping at lips and feeling each other up before you pulled away with a pant. Lips red from the frantic make out session. “What’s the plan big guy?” You asked with a smile as you went to sink to your knees. Diesel shook his head.
“While I appreciate the offer I kinda wanna get straight to the point.” He said as he went to rest a hand under your chin to ease you back up. You chuckled softly.
“Oh! What a gentleman you are.” You chuckled and Diesel rolled his eyes.
“You got a rubber?” He asked and you reached into your pocket to reveal the packaged rubber. Diesel nodded and his eyes trailed to the shower.
You let out a sharp cry as he kept rapidly pounding into you. Your attempts to stay quiet futile as you felt your face pressed against the cool wall of the shower. You prayed there was no one in the one next door. You doubted they wanted to hear you getting your guts rearranged. Once he let go of your arms you used them to help prop you against the wall, your legs starting to shake with each thrust.
“Fuck! Fuck!” You yelled looking back. “Cmon Fuck me up!” You said before gasping as you felt his hand engulf your hip as he grunted in response and thrusted deep. Your legs nearly buckled as you saw stars. “Oh fuck… fuck fuck fuck Diesel.” You slurred hands struggling to grip at the wall. You went instead to Try and cling haphazardly to the small shelf in the shower. You felt him raise your hips slightly to get you to stand. Your back pressing against his wet chest as he used his free hand to grab you chin, making your turn to face him as he went to kiss you roughly again. You moaned deeply into the kiss as you felt a coil in your stomach snap, your back arching as you came, your body turning to jelly as Diesel quickened the pace of his own hips and you felt him shudder above you. His arms darted to wrap around you to Prevent you from falling forward. The two of you panted for a moment before you looked up to him with a small smile. He stared for a moment before giving you his own back with a chuckle.
The two of you sat in silence on the pavement outside, say for the hum of the overhead radio. Enjoying the delicacy of cheap truck stop chili dogs and a cigarette shared between both of you. The gentleman had offered after railing you. So far it had been the best aftercare yet on your trip. The Arizona air a bit chilled now under the light of the moon.
“So.” Diesel began after wiping his hands off with one of the napkins. You quirked a brow as you looked over taking another bite. “You sure you got nowhere specific to go?”
“Nah not really. Just doing my own thing.”
He nodded. Moving his gaze forward.
“I’m going up to Oregon for this delivery… you wanna stick for the ride?”
You smiled a bit. Looking forward as well towards his truck. “Yeah. I think that could be a nice change of scenery.”
#teehee hohooooo#Blowfly Writes#big daddy cool diesel#Diesel#Diesel x Male Reader#Big Daddy Cool Diesel x Male Reader#WWF x reader#wwf x male reader
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Kevin Nash Masterlist
I won't hide it anymore 🥺
Swept off your feet 💟
What a surprise 🥺
Wear them more 💟
Chair hit 🫂/🥺
Sharing the bed 🥺
Time to love ❤️🔥/🥺
My life would suck without you 🥺/🫂
Halloween party mischief 💟/🧨/🌲
Getting started 🥺
Old friends 🥺
Not leaving 🫂/🥺/🧸
Wedding confession 💟/😭
Bodyguard 🥺/🫂
Wolf pac's lady 💟
Blanket burrito 💟
Voice within 🫂/🥺
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✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦
simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k
summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.
cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.
ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist
"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house.
The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises.
The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether.
Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence.
"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde."
"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"
The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'.
"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.
"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."
"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"
"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.
"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes."
It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel.
✰
The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.
The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it.
Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that.
Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order.
Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it.
He says nothing.
Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt.
"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"
Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"
Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"
Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils.
"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk.
You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action.
When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much.
Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose.
"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock.
Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'.
Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head.
Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform.
By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast.
"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"
"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.
"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune.
You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed.
A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet.
"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission.
Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you.
The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up.
"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"
"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another."
"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins.
There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side.
"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention.
"I don't know what you m-"
"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."
Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes.
"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"
Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow.
"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth.
"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue.
"The mask stays on."
Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.
“Go.”
The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.
Oh. Oh!
Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.
The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand.
Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise.
Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.
“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”
“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”
Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body.
“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape.
He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave.
“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”
Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you.
“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged.
It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation.
“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”
“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”
When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair.
Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand.
“What was the prize?”
“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes.
“What. Was. The. Prize?”
You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information.
“H-Hassa-ahh!”
You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex.
“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily.
“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression.
“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–”
Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly.
Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress.
The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion.
You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.
He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips.
“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot.
“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing.
“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre.
“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?”
The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth.
“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”
“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?”
You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper.
“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–”
You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name.
“S-Simon! Fuck–”
Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration.
“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–”
✰
“He’s blonde.”
Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull.
The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust.
“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.
“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively.
The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.
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Sour diesel p.2 // dealer Chris
Warnings: shower sex / clitoral stimulation / praise kink / drug dealer Chris x reader / size kink / unprotected sex / vertical prone position (I literally have no idea what else to call this lol) / piercing kink / thoughts of exhibitionism / slight hair pulling
Summary: still feeling the strong effects of the diesel you had just previously smoked, chris now wants a taste, and doesn’t mind pulling you into the shower with him to do so...
Author’s notes: ew why did it take me so long to write this and decide what I actually wanted to do with it lmao. Just a quick disclaimer, if you can’t really remember what happened in the first one I recommend going back to re-read it because this is a continuation of what happens straight after the first one ends. Also lowkey- why does this one get so sappy and soft at the end lol? I should really start writing tooth rots soon too. So anyways… get out ya sour diesel playlists and enjoy ;).
“If you overthinkin’, I get high with you, if you ever sinkin’, I go down with you, all I need, my baby and a cigarette” - CIGARETTES, Amir Obe
. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹
‘shit that is strong stuff…’
You laugh at Chris’ throwaway comment, hyperaware of the way your whole entire body tingles itself into a horny hot-sweat. The thick smell of weed on both of your clothes and the redness of your eyes certainly don’t help in cementing the fact that you are both high out of your fucking minds right now.
Chris feeds his bottom lip into his mouth and tugs on the central silver lip ring he has hooked into his plump flesh.
The sight alone makes your toes curl. It’s as if every single move he makes drags you deeper into a violet haze of ecstasy until you’re so far away from clarity that you can barely see it anymore.
Chris’ soft chest rises and falls as his cock lies there in front of you two, bare, and needing a lot more attention.
Releasing his moist lip from his teeth, it recoils backwards slightly and you watch his lip ring glint hypnotically in the light of the ceiling fan above him.
They look dewy, a peachy pink cream colour… perfect for sucking on.
Your drug dealer’s frosty irises surround themselves with the bloodshot white of his eyes, and the redness almost exemplifies the popping blue colour of them.
His pupils dilate, and he seems to be deep in thought.
You shift uncomfortably on your knees, trying to press your aching heat down onto one of the balls of your feet to suppress its unbearable throb.
Suddenly Chris sighs.
His voice is deep and raspy, almost as if he’s just woken up from a deep slumber. You love it when you two link up to smoke weed together because his voice always drops down to this gorgeous register and it makes your folds slick beneath your underwear every single time.
Unbeknownst to Chris of course.
He’ll just sit there, knowing exactly what he’s doing, yet not knowing anything at all as he balances the blunt in his mouth, blowing out leisurely smoke rings and pumping his system full of relaxant narcotics. Perhaps sprawled out on his back across your bed if at your place or out on his deck in one of his chairs at his…
His voice always ends up the same though, gritty and an octave lower than usual.
‘Wanna take a shower with me, ma?’ He questions casually, as if saying something like this to you is rather a normal occurrence. It elicits a tight tension within your muscles, and you struggle to not grind yourself down onto the ball of your foot.
You swallow thickly at his request, and Chris’ lips twitch up into a little lop-sided smirk. He wants to see you naked. So fucking bad. And he’s not ashamed to admit it. He thinks about it a lot. More than he probably should.
He also just likes to think about you a lot.
Usually when he does his deals with other clients. He’ll always hand over his weed, or his bag of pills and then he’ll think about how much he misses your face.
Then when he’s stretching out his hand and expectantly raising his eyebrows for his money he’ll think about how much he hates letting you pay for your drugs.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he fucking loves spoiling you by giving you free rein of his most expensive strains.
Just a moment of your time is money enough for him.
And then whenever he slinks away from his deals with his black hood up, he leafes through his money and counts it… thinking about how much he can’t wait to see a text from you again.
Sometimes he purposely gives you smaller volumes of weed just so that you run out faster and have to come guiltily crawling back to see him again for more.
With that being said, he takes advantage of this moment, flicking his eyes down to the subtle rock of your hips that rut forward once and then retreat back to their original resting position.
You squirm about at the thought of his shower.
‘Um… yes please’ you clear your throat and mumble politely, your cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. And it’s almost unbelievable to think that you had the thickness of his cock stuffed all the way down your throat moments ago because of how you were looking at him now.
Chris snorts at this nervous reaction, a gruff and teasing giggle slipping past his lips whilst he tilts his head patronisingly. ‘What? You all shy now or somethin’?’.
You avert your eyes as he pokes fun at you, a hint of his Boston accent catching in the back of his throat as he smiles at your endearing behaviour.
You shake your head and muscle up the nerves to look up at him through your eyelashes. You sigh. ‘Sorry it’s just uhh… well- I’m just a little shocked at myself that’s all’.
Commenting on your previously greedy actions, it’s as if you can still feel the soft throbbing of Chris’ thickness stroking against the walls of your mouth. The taste of his cum haunts the base of your throat, and the memory of saliva seeping from your mouth to dribble around his pink head permeates your vision.
The look of the strings of spit connecting his tip to your lips as soon as you had pulled away from him almost become too much for you to bear.
Suddenly, you crack a laugh, and Chris is so fucking high that he finds it within himself to join in, even though what you had said wasn’t really that funny.
After recovering, Chris quickly silences and retreats back to looking at you lustily, his eyes glistening with that primal need to have you for himself, but equally to have you wailing and crying out his name with his windows cracked wide open.
Because he wants passing people to know, to know what’s going on in the bathroom of his apartment. And he wants them to be jealous. Jealous of the way that it’s him who’s pounding into you, him whose skin is slapping against yours, and him whose back is getting clawed at by your nails until it’s red raw.
‘I kinda wanna kiss you…’ he randomly muses to you. And you too, fall silent, and find yourself gravitating towards him naturally. He does the same, his eyes once or twice obsessively looking down to your lips. They hold a begging kind of gaze that almost has you rolling about the floor for mercy.
‘Do it then’ you breathe daringly, both of you two then coming in to bridge the gap. Chris presses his lips into yours, and then immediately you feel the artificial metal ring of his piercing against your own bare skin.
He squeezes his lips closed and traps your bottom one in between his two.
In one solid motion he makes you shiver by smoothly sliding his tongue across the skin of your lip, before wetly detaching himself and doing the exact same thing to your top one. He utters a breathy moan, the cold air on his prick making it throb and harden once again whilst you let him kiss you.
It’s not long before it escalates, and the taste of your saliva has Chris hooked. So much so that he lurches forward a little more to grab both sides of your face aggressively with his hands.
He keeps you held there, the large expanse of them moist with sweating arousal as your mouths drop open even further into the now very messy kiss.
Now it’s just your tongues flattening against each other’s and licking from side to side, spit whipping about and coating the corners of your mouths when sometimes each of you miss your mark.
‘Shower? Please?’ Chris breathlessly pants, his desperate tone almost making him seem like he’s transitioned into heat as his hands slide down your neck, then your tits, only to land on the fabric of your shirt. He boyishly twists it into his knuckles, and impatiently tugs you towards him.
‘O-okay… shower’ you acknowledge him, and then pull away.
Your wobbly feet rise to a stand from off of his scuffed green couch and only then do you realise just how wet you are after your thighs close and rub together.
Chris looks up at you with doe eyes, before grunting and standing up too, trying to pull his grey sweats and boxers up simultaneously.
He messily tries to tuck his weeping cock into his pants, but heaves an annoyed mumble when it takes longer than expected, before he is pushing himself back into you once he’s successful.
He leans in with his mouth already agape hungrily. The fever and determination he has only makes your horniness worse, still in an absolutely trance on your diesel high.
Your tongues sloppily lick each other’s, and Chris moans a quick ‘Mhh, so pretty baby’ into your lips with his eyes feathered closed in enjoyment.
He walks you backwards one or two steps, before humming again in thought and stopping. He then decides to not bother with trying to get you to walk to his bathroom, and so pulls away from your lips to kiss his teeth.
He shuffles back slightly and you eye him quizzically before he’s reaching his palms downwards and turning them up to his ceiling.
They twitch slightly when he purrs ‘up you come baby’, clearly wanting you to leap your thighs into the cups of them so that he can carry you.
You smile slightly at this, and smooth your hands over his shoulders for support before hopping into his hold. He groans a little at the force exerted upon his arms but then quickly flexes them and easily hitches your legs around his thick hips.
‘Atta girl’ he praises you softly before sponging a wet kiss onto the collarbone that sits right in front of the reach of his lips.
He then starts to walk you both through the corridor of his apartment to his bathroom.
On your way there he has to step over piles of his stuff that he’s lazily thrown onto his floor, like a heap of empty Pepsi cans and also his beloved pink North Face puffer jacket that he usually does his deals in.
It lays in a crumpled heap next to his mess of playing card. Presumably he must have had people round playing black jack earlier and just hasn’t cleaned them up yet.
After a bit of turning your head to the side and playfully biting the helix of his ear, he gets you to the door of his bathroom and victoriously kicks it open with his foot.
Twisting to the side, he squeezes both of you past the doorframe and looks up at you with lusting eyes before he is using his foot again to force the door shut behind him. It slams and traps you two into Chris damp-smelling bathroom, the scent of his cologne combatting the mould of the old walls and intoxicating your senses.
You forget how fucking good Chris smells underneath all of that weed.
He suddenly releases his grip on you, and you drop to the floor, your feet padding onto his white bathmat.
He pecks you on the lips once, before twisting around to turn his attention to the shower. He reaches into it and twists the dial which makes water come spurting out of the head. Whilst doing this you simultaneously take off your top and unbutton your jeans.
You slide them down your dewy legs as Chris reaches his palm in to test the temperature of the water before looking back at you, his stomach flipping in excitement at the sight of you standing there in your bra and underwear.
‘Is the shower ready?’ You speak up timidly, standing squished and self consciously with your arms folded over your stomach as you look at the man who has always been on your mind outside of deals, and not just because of the drugs.
He hums. ‘Hmm, not yet, wanna make it nice for you…’.
He turns back around and leans out of the shower.
Shaking his wet hand, a couple of droplets fall to the floor before he is taking off his zip up and letting it plonk to the bathmat. ‘Still feelin’ shy ma?’ He comments with a smirk on his face at the fact that you haven’t yet taken off your underwear.
You laugh and shake your head, his silly attitude managing to ease the tension. ‘Mhh, a little bit’.
Sometimes you get extra nervy when you’re high. It isn’t necessarily Chris’ fault that you feel this way, it’s just the kind of influence the drug has on you depending on what kind of strain you smoke.
His white shirt peels off next, before both of his sweats and his boxers come off.
‘That’s ok, I’d prefer to be the one taking off your underwear anyway…’ he rambles, the sentiment of his want travelling straight to your clothed core and making it burn with heat.
He stands there in his naked vulnerability and by now the shower has heated up enough to billow steam into the room and fog up the mirror in front of his sink.
‘Can I?’ He speaks gently and raises his eyebrows whilst gesturing to your white panties, decorated with a little brown teddy bear logo on the front of them. As if Chris couldn’t adore you more, your taste in panties makes him feel warm and fuzzy, the effects of the sour diesel only making his attraction to you worse.
You nod and Chris takes that as his chance to step forward and feed his thumbs into the soft cotton fabric bunched around your hips.
To distract you whilst he pulls them down, he starts to kiss you again, and you find yourself sucking on his lip ring whilst your panties drop to your ankles.
Chris’ arms then snake around your back, both pulling you towards him and enabling him to fumble around with the strap to your bra. After successfully unclipping it, he whimpers in victory before pulling away from you.
‘Ladies first’ he jokingly gestures and grasps onto one of your hands like a gentleman whilst he leads you into the shower.
He steps in after you and shuts the glass door, both of you getting soaked in the scalding water as it trickles from the shower head and onto your hair. Chris is quick to make sure that you’re directly under the stream of water so that you can absorb all of the warmth, and he looks at you through water droplet-stained eyelashes.
You smile and blush up at him whilst he gingerly trails his fingertip up the endless waterfalls of water slipping down your curves.
He then starts to draw aimless patterns on your skin, like an artist ravishing his muse.
He threads one of his hands through the thick sopping wet mop of your hair, strands clumping together as he drags his fingertips through it and looks at it in fascination.
Your lips crash against each others once more after a single look passed between you two.
Now it’s almost as if you literally can’t breathe without a constant taste of each other’s flesh.
A nicotine addiction, but for bodies.
After kissing slowly, for a while, Chris’ cock begins to ache.
He detaches himself, now the two of you fully soaking wet and the steam residing between your bodies making its way down your throats. The atmosphere is hot, choking, lustful.
Manoeuvring around you, your slickness throbs at the sight of his arm reaching up to unhook the shower head from its hold. Fat water droplet gather at the bottom of the strands of his long hair, and they drip down to the floor at every movement he makes.
‘Your turn baby…’ he lilts cheekily into your ear after using his other free arm to wrap around your front and pull you into his chest. Using the hand gripping the shower head, he teasingly turns the pressure up until the force of the water is hammering out.
He kisses your cheek, and you feel the grin on his face as you struggle not to crumple into his hold. Your knees feel like buckling, and the ache between your legs is almost strong enough to make you feel dizzy.
‘Chris I-’ you stutter quietly, but he doesn’t give you a chance to finish before he’s quickly moving the burst of water and concentrating it upon your clit.
Your throat echos a cry as you arch your back, your head falling into the crook of his shoulder as he licks his tongue over the tepid skin of your throat.
‘Yeah, you like that don’t you…’ he mumbles cockily against your flesh, the hold he has against the shower head unrelenting, even when trying to squirm away from it.
He keeps a firm lock over your body, and the waves of sensitivity it brings you almost makes you pass out. You whine and pant, slinging your arms behind your head and clawing at Chris’ neck.
You feed your shaking fingertips into his hair to yank on it, practically begging for mercy.
‘Feels so good’ you whimper, and Chris nudges your head to envelop your mouth into his once again. This way, he swallows your noises of extreme euphoria for himself.
Your wet bodies slide together, steaming rising from in between your legs as Chris starts to control the water’s flow against your core by moving the shower head in a circular motion.
‘Open up a bit wider for me baby’ he instructs you soothingly, and uses one of his kneecaps to knock into the back of yours, commanding you to spread your thighs a little farther.
You feverishly nod with an ‘o-ok’ before your wobbling legs are stepping further out and the vibrating pleasure is increasing the more Chris gains access to your clit.
You feel his hard cock brushing in between your ass, and it throbs wildly, Chris no doubt aching to bend you over… which he does, unexpectedly.
He presses your left cheek against the wall and your hands come flying up to slap against the cold tiles whilst he forces your back into an arch.
‘Fuck baby’ you mumble, drunk off of the feeling of Chris touching you in the best possible way.
‘Give it to me momma… wanna hear how good I fuck you… make it loud’.
Chris is smug when he presses his tip into your weepy hole, one of his hands coming up to also lean against the tiles above your head, which gives him the right kind of support. His other hand still works the shower head down at your core, and you let out a strangled moan after he fits himself inside of you.
He stretches you out from behind, and you whine a little in pain at his thickness. ‘Ahh Chris… l-little slower please’ you hiss as you suck your teeth, the rough skin of his cock throbbing inside of you and spreading your walls apart. Your mouth is dropped open and your focus is on breathing as soon as you say this, a line of drool accidentally falling from out of one side of your mouth.
It splatters heavily to the floor next to your foot.
Chris sees this slimy mess, and smirks at how much he’s fucking you up, his ego stroking itself as he slowly pushes his hips forward as per your request.
‘Fuck, look at you getting all hot and bothered… my cock really that big huh?’ He patronises you whilst watching your back rise and fall laboriously at having to take in deep stuttering breaths.
You moan a ‘yes’, feathering your eyes shut just for a second to regain your composure.
Chris grins devilishly, mumbling back a stern but simple ‘take it.’ In response.
So you do, and wait until he fully bottoms out to whine for him to move again.
Chris obeys, and his wet hips snap against your ass, causing a resounding clap sound to cacophony across the expanse of his bathroom with the water in his shower still running and its stream battering quickly against your heat.
Tears almost draw within your eyes as you fully soak in how well he’s treating you, fucking you up from both the front and behind.
He groans lowly in a humongous effort to try and hold off his orgasm, just so that you can have yours first, because he realises that you deserve it a lot more than he does after letting him thrust his cock up into your mouth.
‘That good baby? I feel nice?’ He questions, but of course he already knows you love it because of the way you’re almost pathetically crying for him to go faster.
‘Make me cum please- please make me cum’ your fucked-out voice drawls, your fingernails clawing at the tiles of his shower for traction as his fat tip nudges against the most sensitive part of your core with every thrust he makes.
With the shower head still firmly held against your clit, he helps you build up your organs and after a couple more thrusts, he finally finishes you off.
He drops the still running hose to the floor in favour of gripping onto you and making sure that you don’t fall, his hips continuously going but slowing their roll as he helps you calm down from your high.
After your cunt gets too sensitive to withstand anymore of his hard prick, you tap out, and Chris pulls out, panting in tiredness and stickily jerking himself the rest of the way to his own eventual orgasm.
He squirts his cum rapidly onto your back, and you shiver at the feeling of its warm consistency, twisting your body to try and get a look at it erotically dripping down your ass cheeks.
Both of you heave, trying to catch your breaths in the heat of the shower, which proves to be an even more difficult task as soon as Chris turns you back around to face him.
‘C’mere… want more kisses’ he babyishly mumbles, requesting for your lips softly on his once again with a pretty pout on his moony face.
He whimpers happily after you give in, laughing a little at his afterglow submissiveness before pressing small peppering kisses around the corners of his mouth.
You kiss each other once more, and this time instead of you biting against his piercing, he bites against your bottom lip, your tongues lazily twisting in the swelter of the shower.
You guess that the hot water probably washed away a good half of the drug, because you didn’t feel as high anymore.
You stay there, kissing for a while until Chris decides that he wants to rinse you off.
He passes the shower head that had once been firmly focused on stimulating your clit around your body to wash any cum and sweat away, before announcing that he also wanted to wash your hair for you.
You almost melt at the sentiment and patiently stand there whilst he massages a dollop of shampoo into the roots of your hair, sudsing it up and smiling whilst he combs his long fingers through your strands.
After gently whispering ‘okay, now lean back for me…’, he passes the stream of water over your hair and bites his lip in concentration, wanting to make sure that the experience is just as soothing for you as it is for him.
You almost forget that Chris is just your drug dealer as he helps you out of the shower and grabs one of his white towels from his radiated hand rail.
Wrapping you up in one, he makes sure that you’re warm and snuggly before tying a spare one around his own waist.
Water droplets still drip from his chest as he grabs a small hand towel to place on top of your head. He then gently rubs your hair and tries to dry it as much as he can.
You both giggle at how silly you look in the mirror with the towel messily strewn across your head, which is exemplified by Chris deciding to make you laugh even further by vigorously shaking his wet hair out like a dog.
After you’re dry, he helps you back into your clothes, before playfully patting your ass as you both exit his bathroom, Chris shutting the door behind you two.
You suddenly swallow nervously and get anxious once again.
You just had sex with your dealer… twice.
What the fuck does that mean for your relationship? Are you going to have to block him and never speak to him again? Are you going to have to pretend like none of this ever happened?
You sure hope not.
As all of these worrying thoughts swirl about your mind like a raging storm, Chris suddenly comes in like a ray of sunshine and scares the clouds away with a silly sounding ‘hey, wanna play video games with me? I got a really cool new one over the weekend’.
As if he hadn’t just railed the shit out of you moments earlier.
You feel like this is Chris’ own special way of telling you not to worry about it, you can both think about the consequences later… so you smile back at him, returning to the living room where his old green couch lies before plopping down onto it.
‘Turning down a chance to beat you in Mario Kart like I always do? Never… gimme a remote and you’re on!’
. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹
Author’s notes p.2: I want to make out with drug dealer!Chris to the song Percolator by SZA so bad. Bye- this is so specific but MUCH needed. Thank you all for waiting on the much anticipated arrival of Sour diesel part 2, I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did and likewise, I should be getting to work on cherry popper real soon! Ask, and request anything as always… until next time babies :)
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diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow
pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader
word count 4k
synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.
content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping
“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?”
An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.
The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features.
Don’t think about how handsome he is!
Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.
But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.
On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.
“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year.
“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age.
If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment.
“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence.
As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”
You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—
—who you share most of your classes with!
You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes.
That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore.
“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”.
You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan.
“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.”
You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.
“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.
“Never.”
“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”
You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either.
“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!”
The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession.
“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud?
“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now.
Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you,
“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.”
Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty.
And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence.
Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.”
When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience.
Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.
It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is.
The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…
Hungry.
The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze.
If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.
The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra.
“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him.
“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.
But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.
In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.
More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back.
“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.
“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes.
He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway.
“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”
The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you.
You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway.
He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens.
“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.”
He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—
—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.
You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?
“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.”
He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even.
“Y-you’re a virgin?”
You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole.
“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.”
And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.
But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity.
“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver.
Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now.
“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”
You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval.
“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.”
He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—
—and the world stops spinning.
No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again.
“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak.
Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain.
You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.
You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”
There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession.
“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down.
He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.
Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around.
Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.
He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only.
He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.
But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.
And now that you have confessed…
Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:
You’re his.
#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x you#smut#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow smut#one shot#lemon
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Text
Derailed
pairing: tangerine x assassin!fem!reader
summary: When Tangerine spots you in the middle of his mission on a bullet train, he gets entangled in your plans and loses track of his own...
word count: 2.8k
warnings: SMUT, p in v, fingering, hair pulling, slight marking, dirty talk, canon!typical violence, drinking
"Got it, sir," you say before hanging up the phone and stepping onto the train. This was your first mission since you left the White Death's payroll and you had to prove yourself to your superiors if you wanted to rebuild your reputation.
You have no idea what is waiting for you on this train, but you can imagine a mission as straightforward as retrieving a briefcase will be anything but simple.
Straightening your bartender uniform, you push through the throngs of people exiting the train and strut down the aisles as you search for the package you were assigned to find.
***
"Enough with the Thomas the train shit," Tangerine groans to Lemon as the bullet train finally leaves the station. "I don't give a flying fuck if you think I'm a Thomas or Diesel or whatever."
"Well, first of all," Lemon interjects, lifting a finger, "it's Thomas the Tank Engine. And second of all, I never said you were a Diesel. I made that very cle-"
Tangerine stops listening when he notices your figure pass them down the aisle, your gait tantalizingly familiar.
What the fuck are you doing here? he thinks before standing up abruptly.
"Lemon, hold that thought."
Tangerine grabs the briefcase and slowly follows you down the aisle, making sure to keep a safe distance so as not to alert you of his presence. He's skirting around the other passengers trying to put their luggage away, and he's about to catch up with you when a person in a large Momomon costume steps in front of him.
"Get the fuck out of my way," he grunts irritatedly, shoving the figure into one of the seats, before noticing all the children around him. "Apologies for my language."
He leaves them with a small wave, but it's only then that he notices you are missing.
"Fuck!" Tangerine exclaims again, kicking the seat next to him. He doesn't waste any more time and rushes down the aisle, waiting as the sliding doors take their time to open in front of him.
When the door finally slides open, he steps into the corridor, only to feel a lithe hand grab the back of his neck and push him forward. He spins around, but is pushed to the floor before he can register what is happening.
The next thing he knows, he is kneeling on the ground, looking up at you, as you press a small gun to his temple.
When did you start using guns?
Tangerine immediately puts his hands up, knowing the only way to diffuse this is to play to your soft side (okay, softer side).
"Hey, hey," he urges you in a charming tone, "I just wanted to talk, sweetheart."
"Yeah?" you challenge, pressing the cold metal harder against his head. "Let's hear it then."
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the soft curls back from his face. "It's been too long, doll. I wanted to catch up, see how you've been."
He can't imagine that any of this is working on you, but he has to try if he's going to finish this mission in one piece.
You smirk, finally taking in Tangerine's kneeling form before you. If your employer had told you that this mission would involve beautiful men on their knees, you would have signed up ages ago.
You met Tangerine six years ago at a job that ended up going completely awry...for him at least. The White Death had sent you to Japan to kidnap the son of one of the remaining Japanese crime families, and when you arrived, Tangerine and Lemon had already been walking him out the front door. They were nothing if not punctual, but back then, that was about the only thing they were good for.
Your weapon of choice had always been tranquilizer darts -- but you never said no to good ol' hand-to-hand combat -- and your lack of real weaponry eventually become a calling card of sorts. Especially because you always made it out alive, and with the job completed to perfection.
That day, Tangerine and Lemon clearly hadn't been expecting anyone, because upon spotting you, they didn't even bother to blink. You had played into their naive mindset and when you got close enough to grab the kid, they were each left with a tranq dart to the neck and a nice, long nap to recover from the shame of losing their asset.
Since then, you have been on opposite sides of many more missions, but the retrieval of this briefcase is the closest encounter you two have had in years.
In your reverie, your gun loosens in your hand and Tangerine must have noticed, because he shoots up, pushing your hand to the side and yanking his gun from his waistband. You aim your weapon at him again, and you are both left pointing your guns at each other, your grip tightening as your heart rate quickens slightly.
"Alright, darling, give me one good reason not to kill you right now?" he threatens, his jaw tightening by a fraction. "You fucked up our entire operation in Bolivia when you knocked out Lemon and got the White Death's men out before we could kill them all."
"Oh, honey, I've done much more than that," you smile, cocking your head to the side. If this was the game he wanted to play, then you would play along, but only as long as he kept it interesting.
"And as for why you shouldn't kill me," you continue, your eyes glinting with amusement. "It's because you need me."
Then, before he can react, you whack the side of his head with your gun and grab the briefcase from his hands. He grunts, clutching his temple, and you use the moment of distraction to dart out of the corridor and down the train cars, sprinting past the passengers and the angry ticket collector.
When you reach the bar compartment, you pull open a random cabinet and stuff the briefcase in a garbage can. It's not a moment too soon, because a second later, Tangerine bursts through the doors, his chest heaving and expression getting more agitated by the minute.
Reaching down, you grab a cocktail shaker and pour in the ingredients laid out on the counter, preparing a drink for yourselves.
"Where the hell is it?" he demands, stalking towards you.
You shrug, fighting the curve of your lips. "You'll get it when I've gotten what I need from you."
Your gun is sitting idly on the counter, so he tucks his own into his waistband and shrugs off his suit jacket, tossing it to the side. He starts to roll back his sleeves and you lick your lips as you shake the cocktail.
If nothing else went right on this mission, at least you'd be getting some eye candy for the evening.
Along with all of the times you've screwed up his missions, there have also been a multitude of other close encounters. Whether it was his hand around your throat as you stole his asset right from under him, or his breath against your neck as he snuck up behind you during a stake-out, his presence always entranced you.
Tangerine's seemingly magnetic hold on you has never escaped your notice, but it has also never gotten in the way of you finishing your jobs.
He sees the glint in your eyes, but doesn't say anything, deciding to use it to his advantage.
"Come on, sweetheart," he smiles sweetly, placing his rough hands on the counter in front of you. "Where is the briefcase?"
"Why do you need the case anyway?" you ask him, your eyes imploring his with something akin to genuine curiosity.
"It's the ransom money for the Son of the White Death," he responds honestly, watching your movements carefully as you grab glasses from below the counter.
You seem to ponder this. "Intriguing. On a separate note, how is Lemon these days? I heard they're calling you two the fruit twins now."
Tangerine rolls his eyes, his hands slamming down on the counter as he loses his patience. "He's fucking fantastic. Now where is the case, y/n?"
You don't respond, and instead pour out two drinks before sliding one towards him.
He doesn't bring his lips to the glass until you gulp down your whole drink and even then, he only takes a few sips.
He sees you watch his throat bob and he feels an unfamiliar pleasure at the thought of you finding him attractive.
"Look, Tangerine," you say with a resigned sigh, "I'm not working for the White Death anymore, but I still would like that briefcase. You know, for leverage."
He's not sure how to respond but then you start unbuttoning your blouse and, even after that drink, he feels his mouth go dry. His mind goes blank and he can't formulate any thoughts as your long, smooth neck becomes visible. Only when the first few buttons pop open does he realize that you're showing him your bullet proof vest.
Running a hand down your padded chest, you shoot him an amused look. "In case you try anything stupid." You pause, your hand sliding down your thigh. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you never liked these anyway, did you?"
This time, he anticipates your movements, and when a knife goes flying out of your hand, straight towards his chest, he manages to dodge at the last second, watching as it sinks into the hard back wall of the compartment.
When he turns back around, you're gone.
***
That was a lot closer than you would have liked, and you slink down the train cars, gripping the handle of the briefcase between your fingers.
It feels like everyone's eyes are on you as you walk down the aisle, slipping past the economy cars. When you reach the first class car, you stash the briefcase in the luggage compartment and are about to wait for the next stop to arrive when a man in a white suit takes a seat across from you.
"Can I help yo-" you begin before he cuts you off.
"You will pay for what you did to my family."
"Listen man, I don't know who you are," you try to tell him, but he pulls a massive knife from his belt and you know you can't just sit here any longer.
Swinging your legs out of the seat, you shove him away and grab the laptop of a sleeping woman a few seats over. Using it as a shield, you block a few of his jabs and slices before his knife finally starts to pierce through the metal and glass.
Chucking the laptop at him, you run in the opposite direction, back towards the briefcase, but he's right on your tail.
You push your way into the corridor, but the man grabs you from behind, shoving you forward and slicing down with his knife. The edge grazes your bicep and you wince, but right before you can brace yourself for the next swing, a gunshot rings out from behind you and the man falls to the floor, a shocked look plastered on his face as the life leaves his eyes.
You immediately jerk your head back to see who your savior is, and you admit that you're surprised to see Tangerine lowering his gun.
"Thanks," you gasp out, not wanting to waste another moment. He's tucking his pistol away when you reach towards the luggage to grab the case, but he sees your intentions and acts quickly.
His corded bicep locks around your neck from behind, pulling you back with an extraordinary strength that has you flying off the ground.
You gasp, struggling to breathe, but then you manage to lift your legs and kick out at the wall, pushing the both of you back. His grip loosens slightly, but it's just enough for you to spin around, sending him a kick to the shin that makes him grunt.
Tangerine strikes out at you, his fist narrowly missing your jaw, and you knee him in the groan, making him double over in pain for a few moments.
"That was low," he groans, his face turning red, "even for you, doll."
You chuckle, backing up. "It's a man's world, Tan."
Nevertheless, he's stronger than you remember and he recovers quickly, locking his forearm against your neck and pushing you back into the bathroom. You press up against the wall, facing him, and you can't help the smirk that reappears on your lips.
Well, this is certainly interesting.
"You're better," you huff, your voice straining from the weight of his arm, "than Bolivia, I mean."
You dig your fingers into his hard muscles, trying to pry him off. "You two were absolutely miserable back then, but you've got some chops now."
Tangerine smirks, leaning forward so his breath tickles your nose. "You haven't seen the half of it, darling."
Your eyes dart down to his mouth for a split second, but he's just as fast and he notices your hitched breath. His eyes darken immediately, and before you can utter a word, his mouth is on yours.
His arm lets you go and his large hands grasp at your waist as you press into him, clinging to his body for support in the small bathroom.
His calloused fingers on your skin send a shot of heat down to your core and you bite his lip harshly. He pulls back for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise and lust, and you notice the drop of blood a second before he wipes it away.
Your lips crash together again and he doesn't take his time while grabbing your loosely hanging hair and tugging back, exposing your neck to him. Tangerine licks a line up the column of your throat and your fingers split open his vest and button-down in one go, sending the buttons flying to the floor.
You gasp when he tears off the velcro of your bullet proof best, chucking it to the floor, before kicking the bathroom door closed with a loud click.
Thankfully, your skirt provides him easy access, and he doesn't hesitate before yanking your panties to the side and sticking a thick finger into your pussy. You cry out, your head falling back against the small mirror as he hoists you up onto the sink.
He doesn't warn you before adding another finger, his quick pumps hitting the walls of your cunt with a harsh precision that has you getting close embarrassingly fast.
"Look at you," he smirks, watching your eyes roll back, "whimpering like a school girl from just my fingers."
You are about to finish, and he must feel the tightening of your core, because he pulls away, leaving you impatient and unsatisfied.
"Bastard," you groan as he chuckles, bringing his fingers up to your lips.
You suck them into your mouth, and he almost moans at the feeling of your hot tongue around him. When they're clean, he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop and reaches down to undo his buckle.
Tangerine pushes his trousers down to his knees and angles you back before sheathing himself fully inside of you in one movement.
He groans from the wet heat of your cunt and the tightness of you squeezing around him has him gripping the counter for support. He doesn't wait before thrusting up into you at the pace of a bullet train, his rhythm never faltering even as your head falls back in pleasure.
Tangerine leans down and sucks a bruise into your neck, enjoying the way the purple and red blossom against your skin in a delicious mark.
You start to tighten around him and he knows his release is imminent, so he lifts you up off his cock and turns you around so your elbows are on the counter. He starts to fuck you from behind, one hand on your waist while the other grips the back of your neck, holding you to him.
You arch your back, changing the angle in a way that has both of you moaning with pleasure. You come apart a moment later, and he follows close behind, relishing the sound of your whimpering as his body slowly relaxes.
He pulls away from you, grabbing a paper towel to clean you both up, when he hears a light hiss from the ceiling.
He looks up to see a thin green snake slithering down from the vent, its teeth bared and ready. Both of you shriek as the snake shoots down toward Tangerine. He smacks it away and into the toilet, but not before it takes a sharp bite out of his shoulder.
His vision starts to blur and you grab his arms, leaning him back against the counter before you move to open the door.
"Please tell me you spiked those drinks from earlier with the antidote," he groans, his face growing hotter as the venom spreads through his system.
"Well," you whisper, your voice fading as he loses consciousness, "I guess today was your lucky day."
#bullet train#bullet train tangerine#tangerine smut#tangerine x reader#tangerine x fem!reader#assassin!reader#aaron taylor johnson#aaron taylor johnson smut#aaron taylor johnson x reader#fanfic#aaron taylor johnson fanfic
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