#he's gotten no attention but i need to write something for him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haetrack · 3 days

Note

"girl who is going to be okay" back with the hard hour!

i know you tend to write more dominant and sexier y/ns (which i think are chef's kiss, esp the doms) but when it comes to jaemin for some reason i always imagine him with a less experienced y/n.

he wants to be oh so sweet to you, taking his time by slowly dragging his cock through your warm walls, his head nuzzled in your neck, but you just won't stop squeezing around him out of nervousness. idk why but the image of a man trying his hardest to restrain himself from going the pace that he wants, having to come to a still multiple times while all the way inside you to just take a breather and calm down, is just so hot?

jaemin x afab!reader

wc: 6.4k

warnings: pwop LOL, established relationship, inexperienced reader, desperate jaemin, dry humping, fingering, praise, oral, protected sex, soft dom!jaemin, sub!reader

a/n: don't ask me what happened... i lost the fight against jaemin brainrot...

jaemin has been trying to control himself recently.

he’s always been more cautious with you knowing that you still get shy around him. he asks if he can kiss you, softly placing his lips on yours. his hands never grip too tight around your waist, and they never wander down too far. unless it’s you who’s initiating the touching, he’ll keep his hands to himself to stop the need to hold you tight against him.

even if he wants to.

it’s been an ongoing struggle recently. he doesn’t know why, but he’s been filled with the need to have your warm walls around his length. on the late nights where you’re not there with him, he’s left alone to fuck his fist, imagining it’s you wrapped around him. he’d be so good to you, taking care of your every need.

he knows that he’s supposed to take it slow with you. you opened up to him saying that you were more inexperienced and that you were open to trying things with him. you just wanted to take it slow, you weren’t in a rush. he obviously respected your opinion, but he can’t help the thoughts that flooded his mind.

all he could manage was a soft smile and a press of his lips onto yours. he couldn’t wait to have you how you wanted.

jaemin wants you to come onto him. he doesn’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for yet.

it’s one night where you’re both watching a movie. you’re cuddled up into his side, trying hard to pay attention to the movie playing in front of you. you’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but you can’t stop thinking about jaemin. he’s not doing anything, his hand is smoothing over your side as he watches the movie.

you keep thinking of your words from the other day. you were the one who suggested going slow, but as you’re sitting next to him now, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to hold up your words. you don’t know how to bring it up. you’re not even sure what exactly it is that you want.

you can feel heat building up in your body, your cheeks growing hot the more time you spend at jaemin’s side. you bury your head into his shoulder, and jaemin coos at the sight of you. you almost feel guilty for feeling so… like this while he has no idea. you can feel frustration build up inside you, tears threatening to prick at your eyes as you want something you’re not even used to.

you accidentally let out a soft whine, immediately slapping a hand around your mouth. you pull away from jaemin, your shocked eyes looking into his. he looks more worried than anything, his eyes scanning all across your face as he asks, “are you alright, angel? is anything wrong?”

he watches as you shake your head no. for a moment, he’s worried for you, his hands moving to hold yours as he checks over you. he’s quick to realize how your thighs are squeezing together. it’s easy for him to pick up what’s wrong with you. there’s a small smile on his face when he puts one of his hands on your cheek, “you feel hot. you need to tell me what’s wrong so i can help you.”

judging by how he’s looking at you, you can tell he probably already knows what’s wrong. you let out a shaky breath, unable to come up with any words. his thumb rubs softly into the skin of your cheek as you nuzzle into his touch. you take a deep breath before you speak, “i… i need your help, jaemin.”

he tilts his head, “with what?”

“w-want you to… touch me.” before he can do anything, you reach for his hand, placing it softly onto your thigh. he stares at it, squeezing lightly as he feels around. he’s touched you before, but there’s a difference between now and the quick, soft touches that he usually lays onto you. you’re asking him to touch you in a voice he’s never heard from you before.

he calls out your name, getting your attention as he stares into your eyes. you slowly move toward him, softly placing your lips onto his. that’s all he needs, your confirmation as he molds his lips against you. his hands hold your face, keeping you still as your hands stay on the couch. one eventually makes it to his thigh, lightly touching it like he touched you earlier.

he lets you pull away from the kiss to take a breath. he finds himself slightly out of breath, too caught up with the feeling of your lips. he wants to feel you closer to him, despite you sitting right by him. he clears his throat, “can i try something?”

you whisper out a yes. he tells you to stand up as you watch him get more comfortable on the couch, spreading his legs apart. he looks up at you, patting his thighs, “come and sit down.”

the initial nervousness comes back as you feel more heat bloom in your face. your hands squeeze into fists as you debate on what you should do. it doesn’t last long, though. there’s a need for you to be close to him, to have him hold you as you kiss him. you want to feel the heat of his body against you as he kisses you.

you move slowly as you settle yourself on top of his thighs. it’s not uncomfortable, but you’re nervous to have him this close to you. he’s smiling at you, his hands sliding up on your thighs, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. he bats his eyelashes at you, “do you still want to kiss?”

nodding, you learn forward to press your lips onto his. you’re mindful of how you’re sitting on him, not wanting to put all your weight down on him. he’s quick to run his hands down your sides, getting you to fully sit down on him.

he hums against you, gripping down onto your waist. he has you so close, and he can feel how warm you are against him. his tongue darts out, licking at your bottom lip. you open up slightly, letting his tongue lick into your mouth. it’s different from the soft kisses he gives you, and you welcome it as you move your tongue against his.

a soft whine escapes you, and before jaemin can try to get you to make that sound again, you instinctively roll your hips down onto his thigh. jaemin lets out an internal groan, swearing that he could feel you clench on top of him. all he’s done is kiss you and you’re already worked up. you move to get closer to him, your chest against his as he presses a hand to your back.

you roll your hips down, small noises escaping your mouth as you chase any type of friction you can get. your hands make it onto his shoulders for support as you mindlessly grind against him.

jaemin can feel himself getting hard from the way you’re moving on top of him and from the way you’re whimpering in his mouth. he grabs your hips, shifting you right on top of his clothed cock. you don’t seem to notice at first, but when his cock twitches against his thigh, you pull away from him, staring down.

jaemin starts, “when you move like that on top of me…”

“it feels good for you, too?”

he nods, smoothing his hand over your back, “i think i could cum just like this. whatever you do, angel, i like.”

you gasp at his words, feeling his hands snake around to your back, moving you forward against him. he lets out a swear at the feeling, moving his hands to your waist as you grind down. there’s a newfound desperation in your movements knowing that jaemin feels just as good as you feel, that you’re making him feel this way.

you’re on top of him, rolling down your hips in a way that seems too out of character for you. the shy, reserved self that you show to him is gone, replaced with the need to get yourself off with him. you’re using him, pants of his name fan across the skin on his neck as his hands wander a little further down.

he’s no better than you. he’s letting out low grunts as his hips roll up to meet yours. his hands finally make it to your ass, giving it a light squeeze as he lets out a curse. there’s been too many times he’s had to stop himself from doing this, his hands moving a little rougher against you. he helps you roll your hips down onto him, grinding you down onto his tip.

he could easily flip you over, could pull down your shorts and panties and rut against your leaking pussy. but he can’t, choosing to be content with how he has you now. he grits his teeth, pushing away the thoughts as he hears you let out a whimper of his name. he asks with a low voice, “angel, do you feel like you might cum?”

you don’t answer right away, your whines and whimpers filling the air as you try to process what he said. you can feel him twitching under you, rolling his hips up against yours. your head falls to his shoulder, “jaemin, i need… i need to cum!”

his hands grip your hips, setting a pace for you as he grinds you harder against him. it doesn’t take long for you to cum, not when he’s holding you and letting out groans of your name. seeing you so desperate to cum pushes him over the edge, cum staining his boxers as he ruts his hips up.

there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, heavy breaths filling the air as you collect yourselves. his arms wrap around your back, pulling you into a hug. you smile against his shoulder, your arms trying their best to wrap around his slumped figure on the couch.

it doesn’t take you long to start whining, “i’m hot and sticky all at the same time, jaemin. i think we might need to move.”

he murmurs against you, “let me hold you a little longer, angel. i liked this so much.”

“i did, too,” you press a kiss to his skin, “and as much as i did, i need to shower.”

a laugh fills the space between the two of you, “of course.” he pulls away from you, watching as you stand up on wobbly legs. to your embarrassment, he moves to walk you to the restroom, ignoring your complaints.

jaemin thought that maybe just that once, you would act out on your instincts.

he noticed that you let him be a bit more touchier. he didn’t want to push anything, but he let his hands linger on you a lot longer than they used to. you didn’t even shy away when he would, you’d let his hands stay where they want to be. you’re the same, you kiss him more openly; you try teasing him a bit more, too.

he likes seeing you be more open with him, likes seeing you feel more confident in your love. he’ll do anything you want him to if it means he can make you feel more comfortable.

it’s another day that he’s at his apartment with you. you’ve had more time to come over, more time to spend with your boyfriend. he doesn’t expect anything because he has to remind himself: you want to take it slow. he doesn’t mind, he loves spending time with you regardless.

he doesn’t really expect you to come to him that day while he moves you both to his bedroom, a shy look as you approach him, “jaemin…”

he smiles at you, “hey, angel. what is it?’

“can we… can we do what we did the other day again?’

“what do you mean? what did we do exactly?”

you’re not dumb to not notice his sly smirk, a cat-like grin growing on his face. he knows exactly what you mean, but he’s trying to get you to say it. your face heats up, murmuring out words that you can’t even understand.

he moves to sit on the corner of the bed, his head tilting at your mumbled words. he reaches his arms out towards you, “you’re gonna have to tell me what it is that you want, baby. can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

without much thinking, you move to sit down on jaemin’s thighs. he didn’t expect you to move like that on your own, shown by how his breath hitches in his throat. his hands don’t hesitate to move to your waist, bringing you closer to him before they drop to your thighs. his thumbs move to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, causing you to shiver on top of him.

he chuckles at the sight of you, likes how your shorts have ridden up, giving him all access to your thighs. he pushes you right on top of his bulge, and slowly grinds you down on top of him, “i had my baby waiting for too long, hm? i should’ve known you needed me, right?”

you’re already feeling dizzy from his words, trying to grind down on him already, trying to chase the feeling from before. his hands stop you, though, keeping you in place. he bites back a groan when he feels you squirm on top of him, “won’t you tell me how much you needed me?”

your voice comes out breathy, “i- couldn’t stop thinking about you. i tried touching myself, but… it just didn’t feel right without you.”

jaemin’s grip on you gets tighter, his eyes shutting at the thought. imagining you stuffing your hands in your shorts, trying to make yourself feel just as good as he made you feel. he lurches forward, caging you in a heated kiss. he can feel you try to keep up with him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you do.

he can feel how desperate you are, no restraint shown in how you moan into his mouth. you’re more unrestrained, and he loves it, loves how he’s made you like this. he’s just as needy as you are, probably even more than you are. he’s the first one to start moving, his hips grinding up into yours. he’s practically using you like a toy, groaning in your ear at the feeling.

his grip loosens, allowing you to move with him. you drag your clit along his hardening cock, clenching around nothing as jaemin peppers kisses along your shoulder. it feels just as good as last time, but you can't help but feel like you’re missing something. you want him, you need him to help you make you feel good. “jaemin, i-” you whimper, “i w-want more, please.”

he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding up to you, focusing on your words, “what do you want me to do?”

you grab one of his hands, looking at his fingers before placing it back at your inner thigh, “i-i want you to touch me. like how i tried touching myself.”

jaemin’s head tilts back, eyes shutting at your words. you can feel him twitch under you, his hands balling at his sides. he takes a breath before refocusing on you, “can you stand up for me?”

you do, moving off of him, immediately whining when you’re not close to him. he shushes you lightly when he rests against the headboard of his bed, his legs spread, eyes filled with need as he looks at you. “come here, angel. i’ll make you feel good.”

you crawl over to him, and as you’re about to face him, he turns you around so that your back is towards him. he pulls you against his chest, his head resting on your shoulder as he coos at you, “can you take off your shorts for me, baby?”

you’re a bit shy, but do so nonetheless. you struggle, too eager for him to continue. he watches you, eyes zeroing in on the expanse of skin being exposed to him. this is the most he’s ever seen of you, and you’re not even fully undressed. without thinking, he says, “you’re so pretty, angel. so pretty, just for me, hm?”

you’re quick to agree, your back pressing against his chest. you can feel his cock twitch under you, and it makes you more eager. his fingers leave featherlight touches along your thighs, inching close to where you need him most. he hums in your ear, “needed me to feel good, couldn’t touch yourself without my help. you’ll let me help you, right?”

you let out a whine at his words, squirming on top of his lap to get him to continue. he lets out a low chuckle, “my eager baby, i’ll make you feel good. just be patient.”

his fingers trace circles on your inner thighs, enjoying the small noises you let out at his teasing. you don’t try to rush him anymore, trying your best to stay still on his lap. you’re biting down on your lip when his fingers rest on the edge of your panties. he’s sitting there, so close to your heat while pressing kisses to your neck, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“jaemin, please touch me. i wanna know how it feels.”

he traces his fingers along your clothed slit. he immediately lets out a shaky breath when he does, realizing just how wet you are from the little touches he’s offered you. you’re like this because of him, and he knows you’ve never felt like this for anyone else. he’ll make sure you’ll never want anyone to do this to you.

“you’re dripping, angel,” his fingers press against your clit, “is it all for me?”

you gasp, hips twitch at the feeling, “y-yes! all for you, please keep going.”

he can’t say no when you ask so nicely, your sweet voice taking over all of his thoughts. his middle finger makes slow circles on your clit, enjoying the way whimpers easily begin slipping out of you. you hold onto his arm for support, your hips trying to rut up in his touch, unknowingly trying to gain more stimulation.

his other hand that’s not touching you pries your leg open, keeping it from trying to shut around his hand. you’re so sensitive, responding to the light touches with high pitched moans, whimpers of his name rolling off of your tongue. he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding into your ass, biting the inside of his cheek when he can feel himself twitching.

he knows you need more when your nails begin to dig into the skin of his arms. his arm has a hard time trying to keep your legs open for him, caught up in all the sensitivity of his touches. you break when he speeds up the circles on your clit, “j-jaemin, hold on! i might- i might cum!”

“isn’t that what my angel wants?”

you feel embarrassed asking, but if you don’t tell him, he’ll never know, “can we… i wanna feel your fingers on me- or in me.”

jaemin’s head tilts back onto the headboard, all of his restraint lost at your words. “i’ll help you, wanna show you just how good you can feel. is that okay with you?”

“yes… please, jaemin.”

his fingers move to pull your panties to the side, exposing your dripping pussy to him. he bites down on his lip again to contain the moan that threatens to slip out. he can look over and see how wet you are for him, how you’re on display for him. “my angel has the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen,” he lets out a breath at the whimper that comes from you, “so needy just for my fingers.”

you let out a whine, your hips bucking into the air as you try to search for any friction. he finally gives in, two fingers moving to circle at your clit. you melt immediately, head lolling onto his shoulder, loud whimpers filling the air. he mumbles in your ear, “wanna get you all wet for me before i try fingering you, okay?”

“please keep going.”

he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, fingers speeding up on your clit. he can feel you begin twitching on top of him, legs threatening to close on his hand. you try to keep yourself spread open for him. jaemin’s other hand slowly trails up your body, reaching under your shirt to one of your boobs. he groans when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra, fingers meeting a hard nipple.

with jaemin’s fingers on your clit and tugging on your nipple, it doesn’t take long for you to begin dripping all over the sheets. your moans have raised in pitch, calling out to him, begging him for more. “you’re ready for my fingers, angel? wanna feel them inside you?”

a moan of his name slips out of you, pleading for him. he plants a kiss on your shoulder, licking at the spot right after, “of course, baby. gonna take it slow for you.”

his hand slides down, his middle finger making it to your entrance. he shushes you when you start squirming, his finger slowly sliding inside you. it feels different, but good. your legs shut around his hand, and he lets it happen as he watches in awe. you’re so tight, he thinks. he wonders how he’s gonna fit himself inside of your tight pussy.

the thought makes him twitch in his pants, bringing himself back to the task at hand. your legs slowly open back up, your hips rolling in time with the movements of his finger. he didn’t expect to see the sight of you like this this fast. you let out a moan, “wan’ another finger, jaemin.”

“angel’s ready for another?” his ring finger moves to your entrance, slowly entering inside along with his middle finger. he can feel you tightly clench around his fingers, letting out a cry when his palm rubs against your clit. it’s too much, the sensation bringing you quickly to the edge. it’s only intensified when jaemin curls his fingers inside you, finding a spot inside you the sends shocks along your spine.

“feel good, baby?”

you can barely hear him, thighs beginning to shake as he presses he continues presses his fingers against your sweet spot. you’re falling apart quickly, his fingers plunging deep inside you as his other hand moves back to your boob, groping at the flesh. you let out a sob, “gonna cum, jaemin. wanna cum so bad!”

“yeah, gonna cum all over my fingers? go ahead and cum, pretty.”

your head falls back onto his shoulders, a wail leaving you as you cum, clenching on his fingers. his watches you intensely, watches how you’re left a mess because of him. he gives up on keeping your legs open, liking just how much you show how good he’s making you feel.

he leaves kisses along your neck, his hand thumbing over your nipple and his palm slowly rubbing into your clit. you ride out your orgasm, letting out a squeak when the stimulation feels a little too much. he removes his hands from you, choosing to wrap them around you as he whispers in your ear, “did so good for me, angel. loved watching you fall apart because of me.”

while you’re coming down from your high, jaemin subtly brings his fingers that are wet with your slick to his mouth. he almost wants to moan around his fingers, realizing that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. he likes the taste of you on his tongue so much, realizing he might just have to do more than finger you next time.

your breaths begin to even out, your mind becoming clear from the haze you were in. you can feel jaemin nuzzle into your neck, but more importantly, you can feel his dick press into your backside. he’s still hard, and you realize he hasn’t cum yet.

jaemin watches as you slowly turn your body to face him, sliding down to your knees. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, your dazed eyes following his every move. your head moves to rest on his knee, looking up at him with a pretty smile on your face, “are you gonna teach me how to make you feel good?”

he follows your hand that trails up his thigh, dangerously close to his bulge. his angel wants to make him feel good. his hand cups your cheek, thumb sliding across your skin, “gonna be good for me, baby?”

over the course of a few weeks, jaemin has been seeing a change in you.

you’re more touchy now, easing into his side as you cuddle on the couch. you don’t shy away when he touches you either, choosing to go along with his antics. you tease him, a playful smile on your face when you let yourself sit on his lap.

now, you try to initiate more intimate acts with him. you’re still a little nervous, jaemin helping you along the way as you lay back onto his bed, fingers moving inside you. you always return the favor, jaemin liking the way you look with his cock in your mouth way too much. he’s also had the time to eat you out, easily folding when you ask him to use his mouth one day.

which is how he finds himself today, harshly sucking on your clit while his fingers plunge into your dripping cunt. your whimpers and moans fill the air, almost covering up the lewd sounds of jaemin eating you out. every time he does this, he acts like a man starved, licking at your entrance just to get a taste of your slick.

one of his hands makes it to your boob, kneading at the flesh just to get you to moan out for him, just to feel you clench harder around his fingers. you whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, his tongue moving to lap at your hole. what’s different is that his tongue slips in, pressing into your hole.

your hips jut into his face, his nose rubbing against your clit. it feels so new, and it sets off a desire in you. your mind is now needing to be filled up with something more, something that jaemin can easily provide to you.

one of your hands wraps around the one on your boob, moving to interlock his fingers with yours. you can feel him smile against you, speeding up his movements. you call out to him weakly, getting his attention as he hesitantly moves away from your pussy. you try to ignore how his mouth and chin are wet, his low voice asking, “what is it, baby?”

you try to put yourself together, your voice coming out shaky when his other thumb rubs against your clit, “i-i’m ready.”

“ready to cum? i’ll make sure you do.”

before he can plunge back to your cunt, you call him once more, “not for that! well, to cum, but… i think i’m ready to have sex with you.”

at lightning speed, he sits up, eyes bulging out of his head, “really? are- are you sure? it’s not too soon?”

“no,” you smile, “i-i mean, i trust you. i trust you to, um, take care of me.”

he watches as shyness takes over you, avoiding eye contact as you talk. there’s a soft smile on your face, your words being genuine. “you should’ve told me so i could’ve made today more special,” he nags, “i could’ve had a whole day with you, angel.”

you let out an airy laugh, “any time i get to spend with you is special, jaemin.”

he huffs, “if you say you’re ready, then you’re ready. if at any point in time you want me to stop, i’ll stop. we can do anything you want, just say the word.”

“want this, jaemin. want you.”

he lets out an affirming okay, quickly sliding off of the bed in order to take his sweats off, choosing to leave his boxers on for now. he quickly rejoins you, “i’m gonna finger you some more, alright, baby? wanna make sure that you’ll be nice and ready for me.”

you nod, choosing to sit up a little more as you watch two of his fingers slide into you. you’re still so wet, his fingers easily plunging inside you. he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. his thumb hooks around to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that has your head lolling back.

“doesn’t take long for you to get ready for me, hm? my baby just needs my help, right?’ his words shoot straight to your core, pushing you close to cumming. he can feel you clench tightly, adding a third finger as he continues.

you tell him that you’re close, whining that you want to cum with him instead. he smiles at you, cooing, “want you to cum now, then i’ll know that you’re ready to take my cock.”

you immediately let go, cumming all over his fingers. he knows what sets you off now, how to get you to cum quickly with just a few motions. he grins at the sight of you, “so good for me, my baby is so good for me.”

you swat him away when he tries continuing, a small laugh leaving him as you do. his hand smoothing over your thigh calms you, bringing you back to look up at him with a certain look. he bites down on his lip when you speak, “i think i’m ready- think i’m ready for you, jaemin.”

“yeah?” jaemin tries not to sound nervous himself, “my baby needs me already?”

you nod, covering your face in embarrassment at his words. it’s even more embarrassing when you ask, “you have c-condoms, right?”

he reaches over to his nightstand, fishing one out from the bottom of his drawer. since he started dating you, he hasn’t found the need to buy anymore. he thanks his past self for leaving just a few behind, he would’ve died if he had to say no to you now. a bright smile shines on his face when he shows it to you, laughing at you when you look at it weirdly.

“wanna watch me put it on?”

you laugh at his words, thanking him internally for trying to lighten the mood.

as jaemin slides the condom on, he realizes he wants this just as bad as you do. he notices how his chest is heaving with every breath he takes, and he’s not even inside you yet. his eyes glance up towards yours, looking back at him, pleading for him to just do something. “i’m gonna start moving. angel, need you to tell me if i need to slow down or stop moving.”

you nod sweetly at him, hand moving to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over his skin. “i love you, jaemin. you can start.”

your sweet words and action has his skin burning up, his cheeks turning red as he lines himself up at your entrance. he can feel how warm you are, his tip sliding over your slit a few times, working the both of you up. his body hovers over yours, moving to press kisses on your neck when he slides in.

your nails dig into his shoulders when he presses in. he lets out a grunt, “s-so tight, need you to relax, baby. can’t move if you’re not relaxed.”

“s-sorry! i just- you’re so big.”

he groans at your words, his head falling to your shoulder again. he slips out of you, giving you a second to relax before you give him the go ahead again. he slowly slips his tip in, wincing when he feels you clamp down on him. he bites down on his lip to stop any embarrassing sounds from coming out, hand soothing your side as he pushes more of his length in.

it’s a weird feeling for you, it doesn’t exactly hurt, but he is stretching you open. nothing this big has been inside you, so used to his fingers. you let out broken whines, asking him to stop at certain points. your nails lightly scratch down his back,

his hips finally are flush against yours, his cock buried deep inside you. you can feel him twitch, slightly shaking on top of you. he’s trying to calm you down, soft words being whispered into your ear, followed by soft kisses. his thumb snakes between your bodies, tracing light circles on your clit.

if only you knew how much he was struggling not to buck his hips into your cunt. you’re so tight, so warm, clenching down on his cock. your walls are getting used to the intrusion, soft pants fanning across his face. you call out his name, his hips accidentally pushing closer to you as you clench around him. he quickly apologies, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling.

“i-” you let out a breath, “i want you to s-start moving. s-slowly, please.”

“of course, angel. like i said, tell me if i need to stop, if i need to slow down, or anything, okay?”

you nod quickly, jaemin leaning back up, his eyes staring down at where you two are connected. you spare a look, getting embarrassed at the sight. he starts slowly moving, pulling slowly out of you before pushing back in. you can feel every inch of him, your warm walls inviting him in. it’s so easy for you to just let him take over, the feeling slowly bleeding into pleasure as he gets a rhythm.

while you’re getting used to the feeling, jaemin seems to be losing himself in you. every time he moves his hips, he can feel how wet you are. it’s like you try to suck him back in when he tries pulling out, like you need him to keep on fucking you. your arms are wrapped around his shoulder, bringing him closer to you. he’s surrounded by all of you, your scent, your cunt, the pretty sounds you’re making.

when you start moaning his name, he has to stop, head falling to your shoulder as he tries to keep his composure. he knows he can’t just yet, but he wants to fuck into your cunt, wants to have you fucked stupid just because of his cock. the thought makes him twitch inside you, the feeling of his orgasm already bubbling up in his abdomen.

he lets out a shaky exhale before he starts moving again, a little faster than before. “how’re you feeling, baby? tell me how it f-feels for you.”

“feels so good, jaemin! your cock feels so good inside me!”

you clench down on him, your hips rolling up into his. you’re moving in time with his thrusts, your nails raking down his back, leaving trails of red marks for later. he doesn’t care though, not when you’re wrapped tightly around him, not when he gets to hear you moan his name. all he can think about is you, and how badly he wants to flip you over and really fuck you.

“so tight, you keep clenching so tight around me, wanna make this pussy mine. tell me it’s mine, angel.”

“please! ‘s all yours, i’m all yours!”

he lets out a growl, he’s quickening his pace, hands gripping onto the sheets near your head. he needs to kiss you or else he might think about how bad you need him, how he’s been the one to show you all this. you kiss him back, whining into his mouth as your chest arches into his. he can feel your hard nipples against his chest, letting out a low fuck.

he can feel himself getting close, his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit. he can start feeling you clench around him, your voice rising in volume as you start babbling out to him. he prays that your close, too. he doesn’t think he can last much longer, not with the way you’re wrapping around him.

“gonna cum, angel? you wanna cum, gonna cum with me?”

he sounds so needy, just as fucked out as you are. you can barely register his words, but you know you need to cum just as bad as he does. he picks up his pace, his hands gripping onto your hips as he pounds into you. his low moans join your whines and whimpers, jumbled praises leaving his mouth as he gets closer, “s-so good for me, angel. pussy made just for me, only for me. no one else will ever have you like this.”

you nod, tears pricking your eyes as you come undone, cumming all over his cock. he’s quick to follow, unable to stop himself from cumming when you clench down on his cock. he’s groaning in your ear, quickly moving to messily kiss you. he licks into your mouth, moaning when you start milking his cock.

he slows down, quickly sliding out of you. he sits back on his knees, eyes staring at your spent pussy. he’s broken from his trance when you let out an embarrassed whine of his name. he chuckles when you shut your legs, sliding the condom off before tossing it in the trash.

you’re so tired, all of your energy being used up. jaemin rejoins you in bed, hand smoothing over your thigh, admiring the glow emanating off of you, almost wishing he could take a picture. maybe for another time, he thinks, he’ll bring it up later.

it’s quiet, enjoying the presence of your boyfriend as his light touches move all over. before you can fall asleep, his voice calls out to you, “angel, we gotta get you cleaned up.”

you whine, “but ‘m too tired, you did this to me.”

he laughs, hand moving to hold yours, “i know, i know. let me make it up to you, let me take care of my baby, hm?”

you sigh contentedly, “in five minutes.”

he can’t ever argue with you, easily giving up when he lays right by your side, “five minutes, baby.”

#asks #🥤 anon #nct smut #nct dream smut #jaemin smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fic #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines

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luvfy0dor · 3 days

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“Rise and Shine, Sweetheart ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky

warnings; probably a little ooc

description; morning routines with select BSD men

A/n; I'm tired of these hoes omfg but anyways req break cause I think I've done 2 in a row now ^^ 3 more to go! Some of them are kinda harder to write out, but I'll give it my best, even if in the end I have to put them into short headcannons.

Dazai Osamu ★

Dazais morning routine consists of clinging onto your arm, trying to coax you back into a couple more blissful minutes in bed before you go off to work while he makes his decision on whether he's gonna go at all. Needless to say, you're the first one up, but he usually follows soon after, going to the bathroom to shower some mornings and emerging with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist while he rewraps his bandages. Sometimes he even asks for your help if you don't seem like you're running short on time, and he loves it when you assist him. He'll usually sit on the bed while you stand between his knees with the roll of cloth being passed back and forth between your left and right hands until you cover his arm. When he doesn't have you help him re-mumify himself, he'll find something for you to do for him. If he chooses to wear a tie, you're the one tying it. He likes when you hold his coat out for him to put on just so he can shrug it on and turn around to kiss you. His hand goes to cusp your cheek familiarly as he hums against your lips and lets his eyes flutter shut.

“Have a good day, y/n! I'll see you tonight, yeah? Don't take too long getting home, I was thinking we could do takeout and movie night! Maybe this time we'll even pay attention to the screen instead of each other the whole time, hehe.”

Chuuya Nakahara ★

Most mornings, Chuuya wakes up first. Sometimes he'll step onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette before you wake up from the disappearance of his warmth and watch the sunrise. It reminds him of you. When he's done with his cigarette, he'll come back inside and either scooch back onto the bed or lean over you to kiss your forehead and wake you up. He'll shake your shoulder gently and call out your name with his messy ginger hair pointing in all different directions. He'll smile down at you when your eyes peek open and place a kiss on your lips, greeting you and rubbing your arm lovingly. Other mornings, ones on the rare occasion that he had off, he would snooze in bed with you for as long as possible. You'd both cook something for breakfast, far from just grabbing a banana or pop tart like you would before work. Afterwards, he'd head to the shower, which you're always welcome to join, and afterwards brush his teeth and hair.

“Hey...time to wake up, y/n. I'm not comin' in here to get ya again, so you gotta get up the first time. No, no five more minutes- I gotta leave soon, so get up before I gotta leave without a goodbye kiss cuz you're still snoozing.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

Fyodor is often up before you are, whether he slept last night or not you don't know, but you certainly don't mind when moments after you open your eyes he's gotten you some tea or coffee. He's great to be woken up by, because he's making sure you're up. He'll come back into the bedroom every two minutes if he needs to, calling out your name from the doorway and warning you that you're going to be late. While you're getting up and ready, he busies himself with reading and peering out the window at the sunrise. When you're finished, he'll kiss you goodbye at the door, his cold hand lingering on your waist as you turn to open the door. After you're gone, he dresses himself in his worn in white button down and pants, topping his outfit off with his boots, cape, and ushanka. He'll look around at the photos hanging on the wall of the two of you and smile to himself, swinging the door opening and leaving as well.

"Ah, good morning Myshka. I see you're finally awake, it only took me waking you up 6 times. I've brought you tea, but you've got to drink it quickly or else you'll hardly have time to get ready for yourself."

A/n; I cry a lot but I am so productive!!! It's an art!! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

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wonderlandwalker · 3 days

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Adventure Unlocked | Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox

Summary: You unexpectedly figure out a new kink Eddie has and plan the perfect moment to test it out

Content Warnings / Tags: Smut, 18+, porn with very little plot, PnV

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Once again not proofread but I haven't had much time to write recently so still wanted to post this. Got the idea from a request @urhoneycombwitch read and couldn't get it out of my head so here's my take on it.

It was supposed to be just another day at Eddie's trailer, a study date like the two of you regularly had, where you would try and catch up on reading and Eddie would do anything but. Except dates with Eddie were rarely like they were supposed to be, and today wasnt an exception. He was sitting at his desk, working on a new campaign while you sat at the bed with your books spread out, trying to concentrate but inevitably reading the same paragraph over and over again.

“Can you hand me the folder from the nightstand please?” You weren’t listening, not really anyway, only humming in respone, causing him to call out once more.

“Sweetheart, hand me the notes.” He was more assertive now, his tone of voice deeper in order to capture your attention, and it worked.

“Yes sir.” It was meant as a quip, as banter the two of you were so used to, but Eddie’s head shot up the moment you said it. You noticed the blush creeping up on his neck as his mouth was slightly opened, eyes staring into yours. And just as quickly as it had happened, it was gone. A small cough to recover his composure and his focus back on his writing, but you still caught his glance everytime he looked in your direction, still noticed the manner in which he fidgeting wirh his pen. You had noticed, and there was no turning back now.

"Eddie" he only hummed in response to your inquiry, not daring to make eye contact just yet

"Eddie, look at me" he was slow to comply, nervous about your response, because Eddie wasn't stupid, the cat was out of the bag now.

"Does that turn you on?" Still hesitant, he moved his head up once more, not realising how much closer You had gotten to him by now, but the moment he looked at you, all his worries disappeared, because your expression was soft, there was a twinkle in your eyes that he could only describe as exited, and the way your pupils were dilated told him he wasn't the only one into this.

"Yeah" it was barely a whisper, a confession he didn't think he'd be making, so delicately given because he knew you would never crush it.

Just as you were leaning in to connect his lips with yours, the front door opened, and Wayne shouted to inform you he had gotten home from work, having picked up dinner for the three of you on his way, so you decided to put a pin in your new discovery.

The next days came and went as the both of you were busy trying to keep up with life, and Eddie didnt push the subject, perhaps worried it was not something you were comfortable with, but little did he know he only needed to wait a little bit longer, because you had been planning. Planning the perfect moment to continue where the two of you had left off, and right now while you were at the hellfire club is where it all came together,

He looked at the clock above the door and back to you, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“Where is everyone else?” They were never late, always so eager to get started they wouldn’t dare miss anything.

“I told them we’re starting a bit later today” Your tone was nonchalant, and it threw him off further.

“Why would you tell them that?” He looked so cute while thinking so hard, trying to trace back the day to figure out what had warrented this.

“Because I have some other plans first.” You had pushed your chair back, walking over to where he was sitting.

“What are you talking about” He was still very much in the dark, not quite catching on to pitch in your voice dropping ever so slightly.

“Don’t you have a quest for me?” You were standing in front of him now, supporting yourself on the arm rests of his throne, he was getting flustered with how close you were, fidgeting from his clueless nature.

“I didn’t prepare any new adventures.” He looked up into your eyes as you leaned down closer to whisper in his ear.

“I’m sure you can think of one, dungeon master.” You could feel his body shudder from how close you were, and as you leaned back you saw his pupils dilate.

“Do you mean-”

“Yeah” That’s all it took for him to understand, because he immediately took the opportunity to capture your face in his hands and kiss you with all the might he had. You’re sure he could have simply kept doing that all night, but you had other plans. So you started to trail kisses down his neck, paying extra attention to the pulse point right underneath his ear that you knew made him grow weak every single time, he was putty in your hands, and that’s exactly how you liked it.

After a little while you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes. You could see him struggling to keep his eyes open as you palmed him through his trousers, already hard from the idea alone. He wasted no time in shimmying out of them as you tugged at the fabric, letting it pool around his ankles.

You didnt waste any more time taking his dick into your hands, stroking him slowly as you watched his head fall back and hit the back of the chair, but that was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Baby please” it was closer to a whine then it was to a question, and it turned you on just the same. You looked up at him once more, the tension causing him to catch your gaze before you spoke.

“Why don’t you make me?” It was a challenge, one he wasnt about to turn down. It only took one more look into your eyes, seeing the calmth behind them, before he complied. He raked his hand through your hair, twisting it in order to get a grip as he pushed your head down towards where he needed you the most. You were more than happy to comply, using your tongue in a sloppy attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he was pushing down your throat. Eddie’s size had always been hard to take, but with practise and patience you had gotten better at it, breathing through your nose now as he hit the back of your throat, causing a slight gag from you which in turn made him realised a loud moan of your name as he leaned back into his throne.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” It was sweet, how he could be so out of his mind and still remind you, still praising you.

His grip faltered and you took it as a sign to double your effort, taking him deeper until your nose nestled against his pelvic bone, making you gag against him. A borderline sinful moan left him at the feeling, and as you were about to prepare yourself for the feeling of his cum sliding down your throat, he pulled you off him. For a split second you wondered if something was wrong, but the moment you met his eyes and saw the raw lust radiating in them, you knew what was about to happen.

“I need to be inside of you sweetheart, sit on my lap” This was the Eddie you had been trying to lure out, and you wouldnt dare let him ask twice.

So you got off your knees and as you stood up his hands found the backs of your thighs, pulling you into his lap. His mouth attached itself feverishly to your neck, sucking bruises you’re sure would be visible for days, not that you’d mind. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over your ass and finding their way underneath your shirt as he took your nipples between his fingers and tugged at them, causing you to arch your back, leaning further into him.

“Does that feel good baby” His tongue was still hot on your skin, and the question was muffled by your own body, not daring to lean away from him. All you could do was moan out his name, desperate for him to continue. But right after you did you felt a sting on your ass as one of Eddie’s hands was now massasiging the flesh and his other found its way under your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

“That’s not what you call me now is it.” His tone had dropped an octave, and it was driving you insanel. “I’m sorry.. sir” Immediatly a grin appeared on his face.

“Much better sweetheart.” he moved his head in order to be able to attach his lips to the upper part of your breasts, every once in a while using his teeth to nip at the flesh there. In the meantime his hands made their way back under your skirt, kneading your inner thighs as he inched closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me.” He looked up from where his mouth had made its home, a gleam in his eye that you werent sure you should feel worried or excited, but it sent a thrill down your spine nonetheless.

“I’m already touching you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean, hm” His fingers trailed closer to your core as they slipped your underwear to the side, sliding over your folds, teasing you.

“You’re so wet for me already, is this where you need me honey”

“Please-” He kissed you as one of his fingers entered you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your clit as he swallowed your moans.

“That’s it princess, think you can handle another?” You wanted to answer him, but all you could do was nod as he looked at you expextingly, reconnecting your lips in a searing kiss the moment he added another finger, crooking them and causing you to cling onto him, your nails leaving faint scratch marks on his shoulders.

But as the feeling started to build he removed his fingers from inside of you, not leaving you empty for long as you could feel his hard dick at your entrance, pushing all the way inside with one thrust. It always made you feel so full to have him inside of you, and this time was no exception, the way he was stretching you feeling so good.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, perfect for me.” His breathing had become laboured, and the way he was already ruthlessly thrusting up in you you figured he wouldn’t be lasting long either.

“Need you to cum for me sweetheart, think you can do that?” Once again all you could do was whine as your head rested on his shoulder, hoping he knew you well enough to know what you needed.

“Fucking you so good you can’t even talk anymore. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He found your mouth in a slow kiss, much different than the ones before, now he took his time, exploring with his tongue and silencing all the pleas that left you. The moment his long fingers found your clit you were a goner, all that built up tension and pleasure toppeling over as you came undone around him, your walls spasming and gripping him even tighter, etching Eddie towards his orgasm as well.

“Shit baby, where do you want me-”

“Inside, need you to cum inside of me” That’s what did him in, he didnt waste another second as he pushed his hips into you, his cum painting your walls as he let out more profanities.

For a minute the two of you sat there, with him still inside of you as he traced gentle patterns onto your back with his fingertips, his face nestling into your hair as he basked in your presence.

“We’re definitely doing that again.” His matter of fact tone made you giggling, causing him to squeeze his arms around you in a tight hug

“Whatever you say, dungeon master” His eyes immediately grew dark again at the title, looking down at you with that glimmer you loved to see.

“Careful what you say sweetheart, I can go another round right now” Just as he was about to prove it to you, a series of loud knocks came from the door. “Why is the door locked, are you guys in there?” Dustins voice rang from the hallway, and Eddie started to get up in order to let them in.

You got up in order to move to the chair next to him, but just as you were about to sit down Eddie grabbed you by the hips as he sat down in his throne, positioning you to sit on his lap as you got started on today's session. As you were playing his cum started to drip out of you and onto his leg underneath your skirt, and from the way he started squirming you knew he noticed as well, telling you this definitely wasn’t over yet.

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 days

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Just Looking At You Got Me Thinking Nonsense

A/N: happy Day Four of @nestaarcheronweek! Sometimes, to really be a lover, you have to risk it all in a bidding war, ya know? This was a fun little fic to write, and I want to give a big ole shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! I hope everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3

Cassian digs his phone out of his back pocket, opening back up the group chat and the most recent messages still waiting there. With a nod, he pockets the phone again, rolling out his shoulders. There’s a glass case full of pictures and some sort of awards on the wall opposite him, and Cassian uses it as a makeshift mirror. He’s always had a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when he’s nervous, and now his curls are a tangled mess as a result.

A door opening down the hall has Cassian almost jumping out of his skin. He turns just in time to see the exact woman he’s here for walking down the hall, her arm looped with a red head that Cassian is pretty sure was in his trig class last year.

“Trust me, it will be over before you know it,” the red head says as they walk.

“Until I have to sit through some stupid dinner after… You’re lucky that I love you.”

“I know, and I am lucky you’re doing this with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go up there alone.”

“Hey, Nes,” Cassian calls in greeting when they’re close enough, raising his hand in a wave.

Whether she doesn’t hear him or is just ignoring him, Cassian isn’t sure. But both women don’t acknowledge him, walking through another door further down the hall. One that, he presumes, leads into the large hall.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cassian mumbles to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Idiot.”

“Idiot is certainly one word I’d use to describe you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle echoes Rhys’s remark, and Cassian turns to glare at both his brothers. He knocks his shoulders against both of them, leading the way back toward the front of the building and the main doors into the hall. There’s more laughter, but at least his brothers fall into step behind him. He doesn’t have time for their teasing. Not tonight at least. This is his one chance, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up, if he loses it. He needs to focus.

Cassian knew that Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen the first time he saw her walk into his gen-ed English lecture earlier this semester. Her blue gray eyes had been piercing beneath the lights of the lecture hall, and Cassian wanted to dive into them and drown in them right in that moment. Even more so when he watched her roll those eyes at something said at the front of the lecture hall.

Gods, he wanted to make those eyes roll.

He was sure that the Mother must be smiling down on him when Nesta had ended up in his seminar after the lecture too. It was clear that she was smart. That she had a passion for books. That she didn’t take any bullshit. He could sit and watch and listen to her in that seminar for the rest of his life and be happy. And when she absolutely eviscerated Tamlin for his “analysis” of Lolita, Cassian had been ready to drop to his knees right then and there.

It made him try harder. He made sure he actually paid attention in the lecture, made sure he did the readings, made sure he came to each and every seminar with his analysis prepared in hopes of impressing her. He wasn't sure it was working or not, but sometimes, he swore he saw her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile, of a smirk, when he spoke. He swore that sometimes he could feel her gaze on him when he wasn't looking.

And then, one day, he’d walked into the seminar room to find the seat next to Nesta open. He’d practically stumbled over his own feet in his rush to slide into that open seat, earning an amused head shake from Kallias. Using the few minutes before the seminar started, Cassian had called her Nes and gotten a withering glare in response. He was sure the look was meant to cut him down where he sat, but it only stoked the embers in his chest into a full wildfire, only made him grin wider.

It became a game after that. Every seminar, he’d take the seat beside Nesta, and every seminar, he’d spark a back and forth between them. He cataloged every look, every response he was able to draw out of Nesta. Every eye roll. Every derisive snort. Every sarcastic quip. He got drunk off it all and kept coming back for more and more. And when he made Nesta blush, the pretty pink spreading across her cheeks, he knew that was it for him.

He spent the whole rest of the week after that trying to figure out the best way to ask Nesta out, sure that she wouldn’t appreciate being asked in front of their whole seminar group. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her to speak to him after the seminar, prayed to the Mother to take pity on him, and blessedly, take pity on him she did. It’s what led Cassian to finding out that Nesta was pledged to Mor’s sorority.

How he found out that she would be here tonight.

One of the sorority members greets Cassian and his brothers when they step through the doors to the hall, her name tag reading Deidre. She holds out three paddles, but Rhys and Azriel both wave her off, only Cassian taking one. Lucky number nineteen, just like his jersey. They settle into seats at an empty table, and then it’s just a waiting game.

It doesn’t take long before Mor is stepping out onto the stage, giving her welcoming speech as president, but any words she says fade away as soon as the women participating tonight walk onto the stage. As soon as Cassian catches sight of Nesta. Her dress is a silky, silvery blue that, along with the stage lights, brings out the blue of her eyes, and the hem is short enough to show off the stretch of her legs. She has that look on her face that’s Cassian’s favorite, and just the sight of her has his mouth going dry. She’s gorgeous.

“And next up we have Nesta Archeron.” Cassian’s attention snaps back to Mor. “She’s pre-law and minoring in English. She loves romance novels, so you better be ready to bring out all the stops if you’re the lucky one who gets to take her on a date. Now, we’ll start the bidding at–”

“One hundred dollars,” Cassian calls out before Mor can finish, jumping up to his feet and holding up his paddle.

“Mother save us,” Rhys mutters under his breath.

“Wow. That’s…” Mor clears her throat. “That’s quite generous. I guess we’ll be starting the bidding at one hundred.”

“One fifty.”

Anger flares low in Cassian’s gut at the second bid, and it burns even brighter when he turns his head and finds the owner of the voice. Eris Vanserra. Cassian has hated the man ever since he had the misfortune of sharing a class with him freshman year. Ever since he watched him stroll into a college class wearing designer clothes and look down on everyone. He’s pompous, pretentious, and has a face practically asking for Cassian to punch.

And punching Eris’s snooty face is definitely something Cassian’s fist itches to do right now.

“Two hundred,” Cassian declares, turning back toward the stage.

“Two fifty,” Eris echoes.

“Two seventy five.”

“Three hundred.”

“Holy shit,” Mor mutters before seemingly remembering that she has a microphone in her hands. “I mean wow. That’s officially our highest bid. Ever. Do we have a response?”

“Five. Hundred.”

Gasps and murmurs of surprise sweep through the room at Cassian’s announcement. He glances toward where Nesta still stands on stage, her eyes wide and pink settled high on her cheeks. But those wide eyes are pinned on him, not Eris, not Mor, and her attention has his heart stuttering between his ribs, has it tugging toward the stage as though she holds the thread so firmly wrapped around it.

He dares to toss Nesta a wink before turning to smirk at Eris, but Vanserra is still lounging casually in his seat with a sort of cool arrogance that ice starts to prickle beneath Cassian’s skin.

“Five fifty,” Eris declares, eyes cutting toward Cassian with a smirk of his own.

“Fucking prick,” Cassian mutters under his breath before he leans down to speak to Rhys. “Okay, I’m going to need to borrow more than what we originally agreed to.”

Rhys sighs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Seriously, Cass? This is getting a little absurd for a single date.”

“She’s worth it.”

“Is she? You know, I’ve heard stories, and–”

“Fuck you,” Cassian growls, turning back toward the stage before he runs out of time. “Five seventy five!”

“He’s clearly dedicated. You’ve got to give him that,” Azriel mutters with a low chuckle.

“You know Vanserra’s not going to stop, right?” Rhys adds, his tone almost bored.

As if in answer, Eris’s voice rings out again. “Six hundred.”

“Seven hundred,” Cassian calls out quickly before dropping his voice again. “If you’re so worried about your rich boy checkbook, then do something about it.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Seven fifty,” Eris’s voice drowns out Rhys’s question.

“Alright,” Azriel sighs, pushing up to his feet. “This is just sad to watch now.”

Cassian sighs as his brother walks away, knocking his fist against the table in frustration. “Eight fifty!”

He waits for Eris’s answering bid, but there’s only silence ringing out in the hall. Cassian’s brow pinches in confusion, and he snaps his attention back toward Eris’s table. The man in question is on his feet, standing toe to toe with Azriel. There’s a suspicious looking stain across Eris’s shirt, and his lips are pulled back in a sneer.

Whatever lashing Eris is giving for his now ruined designer shirt, Azriel takes it unfazed. He merely reaches for a napkin, the movement nothing short of sensual as he wipes it against Eris’s shirt, against his chest and down his stomach. Even from across the room Cassian can see the way Eris’s face has turned a color to match his face.

With Eris thoroughly distracted, Cassian looks back toward the stage, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Mor.

“Oh! Right,” Mor speaks into the microphone. “We have eight fifty. Do we have higher than eight fifty?” Cassian motions with his hand to hurry up. “Eight fifty going once. Going twice. Sold for eight fifty.”

Cassian falls back into his seat with a relieved sigh, unable to bite back the wide grin that pulls across his face. He did it, he was the highest bid. He gets to see Nesta outside of their lecture, outside of their seminar. He gets to spend time with her one on one and to find out what really makes her tick.

He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.

He’s practically bouncing on his feet waiting for the rest of the women to have their bidding, for the evening to come to a close. He all but jumps back up to his feet, plucking the check from between Rhys’s fingers. The look on Mor’s face is all too knowing when he hands over the money, but even that doesn’t deter him.

He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.

“Eight hundred fifty dollars, huh?”

Cassian spins around to come face to face with the exact woman in question, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed. But Cassian has learned a lot sitting next to Nesta this semester, and he recognizes the light sparking in her blue eyes, the slight pinch at the corner of her lips. Try as she might, she can’t hide her amusement from him.

“What can I say, sweetheart?” Cassian drawls, grin still wide. “I’m quite dedicated to getting what I want.”

“Oh? Is that why you pulled that stunt with Eris?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was merely Azriel flirting.”

Nesta laughs, and it’s already Cassian’s favorite sound, a sound he wants to draw out of her again and again. “He flirts by spilling drinks on people?”

“Everyone has their own version of flirting. Look at us, with our back and forth.”

That comment does earn him an eye roll, Cassian’s blood singing and his heart soaring at the reaction. He dares to step even closer to Nesta, until he has to tip his chin down to keep smirking at her. Dares to reach up between them for a stray strand of Nesta’s hair and tug on it teasingly. Dares to tease the backs of his fingers along her now pinkening cheeks.

“You might actually be crazy, you know.”

“Only because you make me that way, Nes.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#nestaweek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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ellieslaces · 1 day

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KISSING LESSONS.

featuring: hazel callahan x fem!cheerleader!reader

synopsis: Hazel’s worst decision was to join her friend’s fight club, until she met you. or, really got to know you, she knew you, you just didn’t know her. she never thought a cheerleader, much less one of the prettiest girls in the school, would ever pay attention to her. until you did.

content warnings: harsh language; mentions of violence; internalized homophobia; light smut; kissing (wlw); so much loser lesbianism; some homophobic slang (faggot, munch)

notes: mentions of violence (duh, it’s lesbian fight club); mentions of reader being bisexual (more toward women tho); homophobic slang (faggot, munch, etc) ; there is no real smut in this as i do not write explicit content containing minors.

word count: 3.13k

chloe talks: watched bottoms and then hyperfixated on Hazel for two weeks before I decided to write this. God, I need her so bad. Chloe has a type doesn’t she? (soft mascs make me hhnngg). hazels so fucking cute I need her to kiss me ok bye. <3 (also, I hate the way this turned out, I’m so sorry it’s terrible)

now playing: kissing lessons ; lucy dacus

Fight Club — a popular 1990’s film, that’s all those two words had ever meant to you. You’d never even seen the film, you just knew it was fucking gay, despite it not actually being about the hot topic of homosexuality amongst young men (or women, in your case). But, I digress.

It had been your friends, Isabel and Brittany, who managed to get your ass to attend your school’s resident Fight Club. A women’s Fight Club. How fucking gay. Oh well, it would teach you how to defend yourself properly. Which, in this day and age — or any day and age of we’re honest — is horribly necessary.

It shouldn’t be, but knowing how to beat the shit out of a grown man is something you should know how to do. Self defense isn’t a topic to be taken lightly, and it seemed PJ and Josie knew this.

PJ and Josie — or faggot #1 and faggot #2 as the school knew more endearingly — where the school’s resident ‘ugly and untalented gays’, as Jeff and his little crew liked to say. Really, you suspected they were all just pissed because the girls knew their way around a pussy better than any of them did. They wouldn’t know the clit if it slapped them in the face.

It had been about two weeks into the girls’ club that Isabel and Britany attended for the first time. They showed up to cheer practice the following day with busted lips and bruised faces. At first, you hadn’t known what happened. Maybe Jeff’s dramatics had finally gotten the better of him. But no, they had willingly gotten beaten up for the sake of learning how to better throw a punch.

Finally, after hours upon hours of begging and pleading, Britany and Isabel got you to attend a meeting. You had walked in, nerves wrecking your body as you trailed unsurely behind the two girls you considered your best friends. You trusted them, they wouldn’t let something bad happen.

You had planned to spend your first meeting simply observing, but PJ tried so hard to convince you to join in. She almost even pushed you into the fucking ring. When you finally conceded, you were face to face with Hazel Callahan.

You knew of her, but you didn’t know her. You’d passed her a few times in the hall, you had a science class with her. Jeff said she was another one of those ‘loud mouth munches’ — to which you nearly punched him square in the nose had he not been Isabel’s boyfriend and a complete moron.

Hazel seemed nice, she’d smiled in your direction when you walked into the gym. It was a nice gesture, no matter the awkward air it held. You felt sort of bad for putting her in the situation she was in, even though it was PJ’s fault that she now had to fight you.

You stood awkwardly, fists raised in a defensive position, eyes on Hazel as she stood in front of you. She smiled again, still awkward as it had been when you walked in. You were set on not getting the shit beat out of you.

As soon as PJ’s whistle sounded, you barely gave Hazel a chance to move. She’d shifted on her feet, sending a spark of fear through you, causing you to send a punch straight to her face. You’d gasped, watching her face scrunch up as her own hands flew up to cup her nose.

“Oh my God, I’m so fucking sorry.” You cried, stepping forward, ignoring the claps and cheers falling obnoxiously from PJ’s lips.

Hazel let out a choked laugh, brows raised as she held her nose. “No uh, nice hit. Fuck, that was a good one.” She blinked rapidly, momentarily lowering her hands.

You let out a small squeak as you saw that her nose was indeed bleeding. “Shit, your nose.” You stepped forward again, trying to find something to stop the bleeding. But of course, there wasn’t anything you had on you.

“Alright, Hazel’s fine. Let’s move on.” PJ droned, giving her whistle another sharp blow — she really abused her whistle privileges, you thought as you ushered Hazel toward the bleachers.

Hazel gave a thumbs up — her hand covered in blood that dripped from her nose — as she walked toward the bleachers. No one seemed to notice other than you as you walked with her. You felt so bad, so terrible because now this girl was bleeding because of you.

“I’m sorry,” you weakly apologized again, sitting in front of her on the bleachers, looking frantically around for something to give her to stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” Hazel shook her head, trying to convince you she was fine. Even though you both knew she wasn’t.

“Uh fuck, there isn’t anything — don’t do that.” You’d cut yourself off quick, voice deadpanned.

Hazel paused, her head half leaning backward as she looked over in your direction. Her ringed fingers pinched the bridge of her nose — it seemed she’d had the idea to lean her head back to stop the bleeding.

“Lean your head forward, not backward. If you go backwards, the blood could go into your lungs. Go forward and let it drip out.” You instructed, pulling her hand down gently by her wrist, moving to take off your cardigan so she could hold it below her face to catch the blood as it dripped.

“How do you know that?” Hazel questioned, brows pulled in a frown as she leaned her face forward so the blood could freely drip from her nose onto the bundle of fabric in her hands.

“I had to get a certificate to be able to babysit.” You shrugged, moving the strands of hair from her face without thinking about it. When you’d realized what you’d done, you froze, dropping your hand in embarrassment, muttering a sad ‘sorry’ again.

Hazel shook her head, not responding verbally to your millionth apology. Your cheeks warmed, suddenly so embarrassed for an entirely different reason. Not just for punching Hazel square in the nose, but you’d managed to embarrass yourself by noticing just how pretty she was.

Hazel sat on the bottom row of the bleachers in the gym, watching the rest of the group fight each other in turns, different girls winning. Some had busted lips, others a myriad of bruises spattered across their faces.

You took the time to notice just how pretty Hazel was — a sharp jawline that would make Jeff jealous, brunette hair that mussed in just the right way and looked so goddamn soft, her nose that was long and straight save for the small bump in the bridge that made your throat constrict. God, she really was a sight. How hadn’t you noticed sooner?

Maybe it was the fact that Hazel wasn’t in your social circle. You were a cheerleader, friends with Isabel and Britany, the focus of stares. Hazel was a loser — in the kindest and most endearing way — someone who wasn’t popular. Someone who had hardly any friends. And despite the fact that today was maybe the third time in your entire life you’d ever spoken to her, you wanted to be one of her friends.

A quick, sharp quip of PJ’s whistle brought you back to the present, her loud voice announcing the day’s session was over. You blinked, looking away from Hazel. Who somehow didn’t seem to notice you’d just spent the past five or so minutes just studying her face.

She turned to you, eyes apologetic as she held out your crumpled cardigan in her hands. “It’s really bloody, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You can keep it,” you shook your head, holding out your hand. It was only after the words came out of your mouth that realized how stupid that sounded. “I mean, it’s just, you don’t have to give it back. I don’t like it that much anyways. And it’ll probably stain. That sounds bad, I’m sorry.”

Hazel smiled a little at your words that seemed to stumble out of your mouth. You regretted every single one of them. You moved to take the cardigan anyway, acting as if you hadn’t told her to just keep it. But she pulled it back.

“I’ll wash it.” She said simply, standing. There were specks and smears of dried blood on and below her nose. You felt another pang of guilt then, seeing that your punch would definitely cause a bruise across her nose.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You shook your head, standing as well. Isabel and Britany stood a few feet away, clearly waiting for you to come over. You didn’t want to though, for some reason.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you at the next meeting right?” Hazel asked, not relenting and continuing to hold the cardigan in her hands as she started to back away.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.” You shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. You didn’t really want to come back. Not since you’d punched Hazel and made her bleed on your first meeting. But, maybe this would be a good incentive to come back. To see her.

“Cool,” Hazel grinned, nodding in your direction before she walked toward where PJ and Josie stood. You remained sentient for a moment, hands folded in front of your lap as you watched Hazel.

“Jesus, you hit hard.” Isabel’s voice rang in your ears as she and Britany approached, the latter’s eyes wide as she looked at your hand.

“Might want to wash your hands,” the girl motioned to your dominant hand — the knuckles were spotted in blood from where you’d punched Hazel and blood had immediately started to pour from her nose.

Your eyes latched onto the specks of blood on your knuckles, brows creased as you stared. Bright, rusty red adorned the skin of your knuckles, bits of Hazel Callahan’s DNA there. It was strange, but it made you smile.

The attendance of the fight club had steadily grown — girls coming to the gym after school to brush up on their combat skills. All in preparation for the upcoming football game against Huntington. The fear ever since one girl had gotten attacked by one of the boys and word had gotten around about it.

So, attendance had spiked, the ‘female solidarity’ — as PJ liked to call it — had risen in the school, even the girls were kinder and nicer to one another. And your mind was muddled with constant pictures and thoughts of Hazel Callahan.

It was confusing — you’d never felt such a strong connection to someone you hardly knew. Hazel was as much a mystery to you as the rest of the ‘ugly, untalented gays’. Meaning she was a huge fucking mystery. Sure, you were vaguely aware that her parents had divorced, and that the girl mostly kept in the background in school. But other than that, Hazel was purely mysterious to you. And you found yourself wanting to know more.

To remedy thhs, you continued to attend fight club, naturally. Yes, you shared a class or two with the girl, but nowhere else did you have the chance to actually interact with her. To converse with her, hear her voice, see her smile. God, what a loser you were.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that you’d come to realize how disgustingly and embarrassingly obvious your infatuation with Hazel was. And what made it worse — it was PJ who brought it to your attention.

“Yo!” PJ’s obnoxious voice rang through the gym as you stood in the circle with the rest of the girls, watching Silvia and Brittany spar, your name on the girl’s lips as she spoke. “Quick eye-fucking Hazel and pay attention! Huntington is like, two weeks away.”

Your cheeks flamed a bright red as you sunk into yourself, shoulders curling in. God, you wanted a chance at PJ in that ring to strangle the fuck out of her for that. Your eyes quickly cut over to where Hazel stood — her own cheeks dusted with light pink as she avoided your gaze.

Great, now she probably wouldn’t talk to you at all. Fuck PJ and her obnoxious, loud mouth. Your embarrassment was not short lived as the fight club went on. You couldn’t look in Hazel’s direction at all as you waited out the meeting until its end so you could retreat with your tail between your legs and never show your face in this gym again.

It was as you shouldered your backpack, heart still racing, stomach still uneasy with embarrassment that you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You turned, eyes going wide as you were face to face with Hazel. Your eyes trailed down to a bundle of fabric in her hands.

“Sorry it took so long, but uh, I got the blood out.” She held out what turned out to be your cardigan. The cardigan that you’d leant her two weeks ago when you’d punched her too hard.

“Um, you didn’t have to do that.” You said, offering a sheepish smile as she held out the cardigan. You gingerly took it, eyes locked on Hazel’s face. As you grabbed it, you swore you could feel a spark when your fingers brushed against hers. A fucking spark — cliche but true.

It was silent between you two for a moment before Hazel shook her head, jutting her thumb over her shoulder. “Sorry about PJ. Things kind of come out of her mouth without her brain processing first.”

Yikes, Hazel meant the ‘eye-fucking’ comment. You offered a small, horribly obvious chuckle. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

There was another long stretch of silence between you and Hazel, your lips pulled to the side as you held the folded — she’d fucking folded it, Jesus she was adorable — cardigan in your hands. It was strange, but not too uncomfortable. Like that stupid thing from Pulp Fiction, the right person is someone that silence isn’t awkward with.

“I wasn’t eye-fucking you.” You blurted. Great, you made it awkward again. A small groan fell from your lips, head dropping as you closed your eyes with a frown. You shook your head. “Sorry, I dunno what’s wrong with me today.”

“PJ’s just jealous.” Hazel offered with a small laugh. How could one solidarity laugh sound so beautiful?

“Of what?” You asked gingerly, looking up to meet her eyes. For some reason, you were weary of her answer.

“That you aren’t giving her attention. Besides, I don’t think she’d know what to do with your attention anyway, you’re so pretty.” She said it not as an insult to PJ — or at least it didn’t sound like it — but more as an obvious fact. And you were stunned because Hazel had just called you pretty.

You were at a loss. A true loss. How the hell were you supposed to respond to that? So, like an idiot, you just stared at her blankly, eyes confused and wide.

Her own eyes went wide, brows furrowed as a worried look crossed her features. “Shit, was that too much? Too much. Fuck.” Her voice lowered as she cursed, brows knit together.

“No! Not too much, I just… I just didn’t think you thought I was pretty too.” You shrugged, quick to correct her. Quick to reassure that you were flattered and not weirded out.

“I mean yeah, of course I do.” Hazel nodded, her voice soft, words intentional like her statement was an obvious fact.

A smile spread across your face, cheeks warm again. You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt so much about Hazel. You’d never had a crush on a girl before. It was new and strange, but you definitely thought this was a crush.

“Thanks.” You whispered, eyes darting down to the cardigan in your hands for a moment before going back to looking up at Hazel. “For the compliment, and bringing back my cardigan. You didn’t have to wash it.”

“It’s fine, I wanted to. It’s a nice cardigan.” Hazel shrugged. It seemed she was at a loss for what to say around you too.

The gym was near empty by now — Josie and PJ chattering away in the far corner, and Isabel and Brittany waiting for you (but not paying attention to anyone but themselves) by the gym doors a few feet away.

So, due to the empty state of the gym and the disgustingly thick tension between you and Hazel, you stepped forward, pressing a quick and gentle kiss to her cheek.

This took the girl by surprise. Her eyes went wide as your lips pressed to her soft cheek. You leaned back, her brows creased as she watched you.

“Thanks,” you said again, with a shrug. Letting her know that was your way of thanking her. Small, but meaningful to you.

It was a long moment that you stood there, Hazel staring at you with wide eyes. For a couple of long seconds, you thought you’d fucked up. Misread the situation, mistook the tension for something else. But, you were proven wrong as she leaned forward, closing the distance between you by pressing her mouth to yours.

“You’re welcome.” She murmured as she leaned back, your eyes wide now from processing that Hazel had just kissed. That you’d just had your first girl-kiss. Fucking scary, but nice. You liked it. Liked her.

“I’ve never done that.” You whispered, blinking rapidly to ground yourself. “With, with a girl, I mean.” You corrected yourself almost instantly.

You’d kissed a guy or two before. Sadly, your first ever kiss was Tim at the ninth grade freshman dance. He was a bad kisser and you hated it. But, you liked how Hazel kissed. Despite it being a quick peck, it was full of intention and it was gentle too.

Hazel shrugged, a small half smile forming on her lips. “Maybe I can give you lessons.”

You grinned, laughing a little as you nodded, backing away toward the gym doors, needing to escape before you said anything else stupid. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I’ll send you my address.”

“Okay,” Hazel nodded, grinning widely to herself as you mentioned her coming over.

You almost skipped as you walked out of the gym, trailing behind Isabel and Brittany as the girls chittered away, the prospect that Hazel would be giving you fucking kissing lessons. You held the bundle of fabric close to your chest as you walked to your car. And it was then you noticed it smelled like Hazel. The detergent, obviously. But, there was something else that was just Hazel. And you never wanted it to go away. Maybe, you could wear it while she gave you kissing lessons that night.

2023 ©️ellieslaces please do not repost, rewrite, translate, or submit my work to AI or any other platform. please support your creators by reblogging, liking, and following!

how you can support Palestine! 🇵🇸

#Hazel Callahan #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan drabble #hazel bottoms #hazel #Hazel Callahan bottoms #hazel callahan bottoms 2023 #bottoms 2023 #lesbians #wlw post #cishet men dni

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tiathecreator · 23 hours

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⋆⭒˚｡⋆ so american ( hobie brown ) !

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎.𖥔 ݁ ˖✎ᝰ synopsis — " he laughs at all my jokes and he says i'm so american. " blk reader.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟcontains — ooc (?) hobie, fluff, swearing, atsv!hobie brown, hobie is taller than you no matter what, very very slight.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ tia speaks — because nobody told olivia to write such a cute song like my goodness. i love this song so bad ( almost as bad as i love accented men ) so i had to write a piece inspired by it ! i am also using this to be a complete feminism nerd and i almost wrote something similar with another olivia song lol. i totally recommend reading this whilst listening to 'so american' by olivia rodrigo !! happy reading !

despite his punk exterior, hobie is the best boyfriend you've ever had.

you'd first met hobie when you were selected to speak at a diversity conference in london. you were studying abroad in the middle of your second year of university, using the excuse of 'furthering your education' to read authentic european literature and cross of some of your bucket list. he was doing his usual routine when he swung by a billboard advertising the conference. he decided to check it, never one to shy away from social politic discourse. he stopped by a few panels, taking a liking to the minority in leadership panel, before stopping by the gender and intersectionality panel.

hobie's eyebrows rose as he watched you prepare yourself for your own presentation. you were dressed in business professional with the best shaped afro hobie had ever seen. his pulse quickened as you sent the moderator a ready smile before you began speaking.

and you were so american.

your charisma was enchanting, gracefully demanding the attention of the room. you engaged with the audience as you presented, throwing in small jokes here and there to keep the crowded attentive. he even imagined your expression becoming the slightest bit bashful as he caught your eye. you ended your presentation with another dazzling smile and an adorable tilt of your head at the sound of the applause filling the room.

he was even more impressed with your ability to answers questions on the fly. it was as if you thought of every possible questions and came up with perfectly calculated answers for each of them.

"i have a question for y/n. you mentioned white feminism and black feminism as two separate movements due to the lack of inclusion of marginalized women and their concerns. does that mean that you believe that white women are inherently racist?" a commentator asked. a furrow found its way in between your brow before you answered.

"no, i called it uninclusive because i meant it did not include the needs of women who were not upper class, able, educated, white women. black feminism can include women who are not black as it's an umbrella term of sorts. it serves to uplift and represent the underrepresented and unite all feminists, not imply that all white women are racist because of one social group. there are some wonderful white women who can acknowledge their privilege and use it to uplift us all as a united front rather than living in their individual comfortability. thank you for your question."

after your panel concluded, hobie found himself searching for you in the crowd of spectators. he eventually found you holding a bouquet of flowers from the moderator as you put away your things. he casually made his way to you, slipping through the ocean of bodies before standing behind you.

"would've gotten flowers if i had known someone as smart as you would be presenting here. however, i doubt i'd be able to find anything as beautiful as you, ms. america," he charmed, immediately gaining your attention as you turned to him.

"i take it that you liked my presentation," you mused, smiling up at the man before you.

"liked it so much that i'd like to hear it again. maybe over a meal some time, yeah?"

your cheeks stung from how wide you smiled as you punched your number into his phone, telling him to text you the details.

you guys hit it off as your personalities, morals, and routines meshed almost perfectly. you finished your educational responsibilities around the same time he finished his internship, leaving the two of you with enough time to see each other at least three times a week, excluding your weekend.

he's so attentive as he remembers everything about you, including things that you mentioned offhandedly. you'll expect him to pay it no mind until he says or does something that showed you that he was in fact listening to your every word.

and he's so soft with you. underneath your boyfriend's unapproachable persona was a man who was putty in your hands. he melts into your embrace, hands gently cupping your face as he laid a breathless kiss on your lips. he was always touching you when he was in your presence. he usually opted for the casual arm hooked across your front as he rested his chin on your shoulder. it was the perfect height for you to whisper all of your jokes into his ear, ensuring that he didn't miss the chance to indulge in your humor.

you actually guessed that he was the esteemed spider-punk after having rescued you from a mid-evening robbery. you noticed the stature of the hero looked familiar as you watched him swing through the air.

"what happened here?" you asked him one lazy morning, pointing to the bruise forming on his shoulder.

"i slipped in the shower," he mumbled, pulling you closer to him as he tried to go back to sleep.

"are you sure it had nothing to do with that pole the news showed you being flung into?" you mused.

"how'd you figure?" he asked, eyes now open as he looked down at you with a tired grin.

"what kind of girlfriend would i be if i didn't know my boyfriend when i saw him?" you replied, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "plus i’ve tripped over your beat up sneakers enough times to recognize them."

"sneakers," he said, copying your accent. he let out an amused gruff after you painlessly slapped his arm. "you're such an american."

he made the effort to join you for your public demonstrations, only stepping in when someone got mouthed off at you too much for his liking, knowing that you could hold your own but preferring if you didn't have to. he read all of your favorite books as well as any pieces that you mentioned to him. he participates in most of your hobbies, even picking up a few and calling them his own.

he even calls your mom, asking her how she had been since the last time he had the chance to ask. she was more excited to see him the first time you visited since meeting him. she tried to treat him as a guest, but he was set on helping her around the house, taking care of any odd problems she had.

you might just have to marry him if he keeps this shit up.

#☆ — tia the creator!#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black reader #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk x black reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #spiderman atsv x black reader #spiderman atsv

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angelharness · 1 year

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The knight.... hello

#he's gotten no attention but i need to write something for him

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flseur · 3 months

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꒰ 𐙚 it's so lonely in my mansion — jjk men ꒱

⟡ synopsis : you've always gotten whatever you've wanted, and it doesn't stop with the men you're interested in.

⟡ content warning : nsfw ( 18+ ), fem!reader, richgirl!reader, pool boy!gojo, private chef!suguru, ceo!nanami, age gap ( reader is in her early 20s, characters are in their mid 20s to early 30s ), fingering, missionary, semi-public sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, doggy

౨ৎ note : first multi-chara fic in a bit ! it's a bit shorter than what i usually write i think bc i needed to do a bio and cogsci lectures right after but please enjoy ! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

୨୧ SATORU GOJO

❥₊ ⊹ "o-oh fuck!" you moan out, your little frilly pink bathing suit was thrown somewhere haphazardly and your breasts press against the strong plains of satoru's bare chest.

you were staying at your parent's summer house in the hamptons, it's upkeep being done completely by the hired staff. but one member of them would always catch your attention.

snowy white hair with matching long lashes, bright cerulean eyes, and a body that's hard to take your mind off of.

satoru had recently been hired to take care your olympic-sized pool, and you certainly were not complaining at the free (not really free) show that came with him cleaning it.

every time you knew he was coming over to do some work, you'd be out sunbathing, doing pilates, or "homework" outside. and every time you'd ask him for help with something.

your sweet voice would call him over, pouty lips and big eyes stare up at him and ask him, ever so innocently, "satoruuu... can you help me with this?"

which led to where you were right now. after about 2 weeks of asking him for his help, you finally asked him if he could, "pretty please put sunscreen on my back?"

you were flipped over on your stomach, laying on a lounge chair with your skimpy pink bikini bottoms doing absolutely nothing to cover your ass and you swore you could hear him gulp loudly.

his large hands massaged the lotion into your back, getting lower and lower until he stopped right where the string of your bottoms were.

confused, you whip your head around to see why he stopped before turning back over to face him.

"fuck..." you heard him sigh under his breath before hastily pressing his lips onto yours. "you're such a fucking tease."

satoru wasted no time ripping your swimsuit off, one hand coming up to pinch one of your nipples while the other crept towards your aching heat.

his lithe fingers brush against your folds before his thumb finally presses on your clit, making you gasp into his mouth.

satoru continues his ministrations on your pussy until he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, making him stop his movements. "is something wrong?" he asks, concern laced throughout his voice.

"no..." you mumble. "i just want you to fuck me now."

satoru lolls his head backwards and groans, "fuck, baby... you don't know what you do to me. don't know how long i've wanted to fuck you and this pretty pussy."

"then do it." you chide, getting impatient.

hurriedly, satoru removes his black board shorts, his cock springs free. the tip is flushed pink with precum leaking from it.

satoru's hands grab at the fat of your hips, pulling you down the lounge chair and making your ass flush against his his own hips.

you squirm against him, desperate for friction then whimpering when your clit bumps against the head of his dick.

"patient, princess." a small smirk pulls on his pink lips as he watches you pout up at him.

"put it in already." you groan, getting more and more impatient.

and though satoru does like how horny you are for him, he's almost sure that he's more turned on then you are. he swears he's never been this hard before.

he leans down, his arms caging you in as his cock sinks into you. "stop squeezing me... can hardly move." he moans.

"c-can't," you gasp, feeling him stretch your pussy. "you're s'big..."

your ears were ringing and stars blurred your vision, the way he was splitting you open was deliciously sinful.

satoru lets out a low moan before pulling out almost completely, only leaving the tip in before thrusting his full length in.

"oh my god!" you cry out, your manicured fingers wrap around his torso and dig into his pale skin.

his pace was relentless, the feeling of his thick cock dragging inside your walls and his tip continously pressing that gooey spot in you was overwhelming paired with his balls slapping against your ass.

you were on the brink of your orgasm, feeling the build-up in your tummy. "g'nna cum—" your sobs turn into near screams as you feel one of satoru's hands creep down and rub your puffy clit.

"cum for me. cum on my cock, god, baby please cum. c-can feel you squeezing me, oh fuck." he babbles, not entirely sure of what he was saying but he knew one thing, and it was that he was going to make sure he got to fuck you every chance he got before you left for school again.

୨୧ SUGURU GETO

❥₊ ⊹ though you have all the money you need to buy new purses, clothes, and sports cars, money simply could not buy you cooking skills. after countless of cooking classes for beginners (and dozens of burnt meals), your parents decided to hire a private chef for you. and that chef was suguru.

he was there to make whatever you wished for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which you appreciated but ever since he's come into your mansion, you've found yourself craving something... different.

and suguru could tell. each time you first came downstairs in the morning you were always in some silky pyjama set. dainty lace straps of the top would always be falling off of your shoulders where he'd see no bra strap causing his eyes to fall down to your breasts and he would see your pert nipples peeking through.

but this time, you had come downstairs in a tiny little pyjama dress that did not cover your ass at all. suguru had asked you what you wanted for breakfast and you mumbled "pancakes" quietly, still trying to wake up.

you brushed past him to open a top cupboard, standing on the tips of your toes to reach a cup, your dress moving upwards and showcasing your -- oh my god you weren't wearing any panties.

suguru held back a groan at the sight of your bare pussy before muttering a quiet "fuck it" and you felt his large hands grip your hips, flipping you around to face him before he urgently pressed his lips into yours.

soon enough, he has you bare with your ass sitting on the cold marble countertops. black tufts of hair tickle your inner thighs while your mind is overwhelmed with pleasure.

suguru licks a strip up your pussy, from your hole to your clit. then one of his hands creeps closer to your heat and a thick finger plunges into you causing you to moan out.

your hands grab at his hair, pulling at the roots and he moans against you. his fingers work wonders in you, each thrust calculated and precise. every press from the digits would hit that sweet spot that made your ears ring.

his mouth was the opposite of his fingers, wrapped around your clit slurping loudly and messily. his moans made you press his face deeper into your cunt, basically riding his face.

"cum on my face, pretty girl..." he looks up at you, alluring eyes looking at your own. "know you've been wanting to, i'll let you, baby.”

you let out a strangled cry and grind quicker against his face, clit bumping against his nose. your cries get higher in pitch until finally the dam breaks and you orgasm all over suguru's face yet he never once stops his ministrations. his mouth continues to work your clit and his fingers are still fucking into you.

you were about to be thrown into another mind-numbing orgasm, tears lining your eyes and you sobbed out in overstimulation until the high was ripped away from you.

"w-what?" you looked up at suguru, confused.

"this time, you're gonna cum on my cock instead," he says before you hear the buckle of his belt hit the floor.

୨୧ KENTO NANAMI

❥₊ ⊹ he knew he had an important meeting. knew it was with your father, but here nanami is, balls deep in his competitors daughter, whispering about how much he loves you.

you were bent over his large desk, your head facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. cute little tweed skirt pushed above your hips and your gucci monogrammed fishnet tights had a hole ripped out from the crotch.

when kento had ripped the hole, you gasped, ready to give him an earful of how hard it was for you to get those but you were quickly cut off by feeling his thick cock split you open accompanied by his strained voice saying, "i'll just get you another pair... another dozen if i get to do this to you..."

his hands were grabbing at your ass, while his eyes watched it recoil with each thrust of his hips. your pussy was dragging him in deeper, squeezing him impossibly tighter, it took everything in kento to not cum early, he needed to make sure you came at least twice before he does.

the sinful noise of skin against skin, accompanied by hushed moans permeated the office. each thrust of his cock was deep and impactful, but the pace was still quick. as much as he would love to take his time with you, he can't today.

"love you, baby," he moans. "love you so much, g'nna marry you one day, i swear..." kento rolls his hips, the head of his length pressing that gooey spot in you.

you let out a mewl, freshly manicured nails gripping the mahogany wood of the desk. you fuck your hips back onto him, relishing in the sheer amount of pleasure your boyfriend was providing you.

wanting to see your face, nanami's strong arms reach around your torso and pulls you upward, your back arching. he has one strong hand against your jaw, making your head face him while his other hand slithers down to your sopping pussy.

"k-kiss me..." you struggle between moans. "please kiss me."

and kento obliges. he presses his lips to yours as his hand begins to rub hurried circles to your puffy clit, making you moan into his mouth.

the drag of his thick cock paired with the stimulation of your clit was addicting, you pull apart from the kiss and your eyes roll to the back of your head. kento was overwhelming your senses, he was everywhere you needed him and everywhere you wanted him.

as your impending orgasm catches up to you, your hand grips the wrist of the hand playing with your pussy, the blunt of your nails dig into the skin.

"i-i'm cumming!" you sob, cunt sucking his cock in deeper and coating it as well as his wrist in your arousal. "love you s'much kento!" words slurring, still riding out your orgasm.

"one more time, princess... need you to cum one more time." he groans in your ear, moving downwards to press open-mouth kisses to your neck. his cock still bullying your insides while his lithe fingers rub your little clit relentlessly.

"y-yes!" you gasp, chest heaving.

"that's it... cum for me..." he coos.

as you come down from your second high, your ears ring but as soon as you come to, you realize the ringing wasn't from them. but instead it was from your phone.

[ (1) MISSED CALL FROM : DAD ]

dad: Y/N.

dad: Where the hell are you?!

5K notes · View notes

satoruwiki · 3 months

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ WHEN YOU’RE NOT THERE…୭·࣭࣪̇˖

MINORS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DNI!!

content: nsfw; smut; pervy!gojo; fem!reader; porn w no plot; roommates au; masturbation

w.c: 0.4k

n/a: had this thought lingering for a while, pervy!gojo is living rent free in my mind. also lowkey creepy as hell 😭. english isn’t my first language and im still a rookie at writing so bear with me please! any feedback/request/interaction supporting this post is very much appreciated :b

Satoru likes to call himself a germaphobe. Hence, the reason he does laundry day often—including your clothes. "I do all the cleaning, and you do the cooking. No offence, but I don't trust anyone but myself for cleaning," he said when he first imposed those rules.

Satoru, the dude who once left a carton of milk outside the fridge rotting and then proceeded to put it back in without realizing it wasn't good anymore, the same guy that cleans the apartment once a week and has the habit of stealing bites of food from you—likes to call himself a germaphobe. Which makes you think something is not clicking. You're no psychiatrist, but something tells you he's not exactly a germaphobe as he claims to be. So, why the insistence on a strict laundry day?

...

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Satoru whined, burying his face in your bedsheets. He inhaled deeply; the scent of your shampoo and body wash still lingered on them, making his teary cock twitch. "So fucking pretty, so fucking perfect," he moaned, rutting his hips against the pillow you slept on.

Aside from stealing bites of your food, Satoru also had the hidden habit of humping your pillow when you were out for work. He felt slightly ashamed of his actions; his cute roommate had no idea how many times he had cum on her pillow, fucking himself with it. But he couldn't help it. Satoru still hadn't gathered the courage to make the first moves with you, and your slightest attentions to him had him horny.

Satoru imagined the plush of your pillow was your thighs, fucking into them languidly. He couldn't wait for the day he'd have you moaning his name with that sweet voice of yours, he yearned for it.

Close to his climax, he undulated his hips against the soft silk fabric desperately, soiling it with his pre and the drool running down his mouth. "I need you, I need you so bad," Satoru whimpered with your name on his lips.

He shuddered, letting out breathy moans as he spilled his essence onto your pillow. "Fuck, I'll have to clean this up," Satoru huffed, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his forearm, unaware that you had gotten home from work earlier than usual and found out about his dirty little secret, hiding behind a wall with your hand over your mouth and cheeks burning.

1K notes · View notes

hanjisick · 2 months

Text

Orders.

genre. mafia au. bodyguard!lee know x fem!reader

desc. your father is an elite, high ranking official in a mafia family. after your first kidnapping, a bodyguard was hired to ensure your safety.

warnings. nsfw. fingering & sex. torture. kidnapping. murder. violence.

wc. 10k

✉️ : this is my first writing after a 9 month hiatus. i apologize for the unannounced break and i will be answering and writing again shortly. enjoy! :)

You sit in a wooden chair, wheezing and thrashing from days of sleep deprivation and torment. Your body aches, wrists bruised and bloody from the ropes, and you almost feel like giving in and spilling Daddy’s secrets— allowing them to kill you and the family.

But you knew better than that. You knew that you'd be saved.

The gunshots and cries for help weren't unexpected from above the dark bunker.

With an ear-piercing creak, the door swings open and the shadow of a man emerges through the doorstep, shoes squeaking with fresh blood underneath.

He doesn’t let out a single word as he kneels to grab your face and examine it. Your attention follows the ring on his finger. An insignia that he is part of the family. You can depend on him.

But still, you wince, sharply inhaling as his fingers aggravate your wounds.

“Don’t get their blood in my wounds, I don’t know what kind of freaks they are,” You grumble, voice husky from days of screaming.

You let him turn your head, retaining eye contact with the floor as you grit your teeth.

“Relax,” he mumbles, “I don’t bite.”

He leans closer to examine your wounds. “You took a lot of hits. How many people are here?”

He draws back as you reply, “Can’t tell you exactly.”

“About four of them grabbed me while I was leaving the house— stupid on their part, no wonder you were here so shortly,” You trail off before catching yourself back on topic.

“But I’ve only seen three different men since I’ve been here. Only to beat me and interrogate me. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything to put Daddy at risk.”

“I heard two other unrecognizable voices. That would make nine people in the building that I know of. Of course, there could always be more. How many did you shoot?”

“Six,” he responds before looking down at your scrapes and wounds again.

You feel him caress your cheek once more, his cold skin sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re in bad shape.”

“If there’s more here, we need to get out as soon as possible. We can worry about my wounds as soon as these people aren’t on our ass.”

You struggle in your bounds, the ropes burning your already bloody wrists, “Could you untie me, first?”

“Don’t move.”

You obey his command, halting as he unties the ropes, uncovering the painful burn marks and blisters.

“That fucking hurt,” you rotate your wrists, “I could’ve gotten out without your help eventually, though.” Your voice is rough, breath coming out in harsh, sharp drags.

“Sure, you would’ve.”

You stumble to your feet as he pulls you into him for safety. He reeks of gunpowder and high-dollar cologne— presumably something that Daddy has made sure that he has the money for.

“Stay close to me, when we get to the front, you go out first and then I’ll leave right after.”

You follow the unfamiliar man out of the maze, almost slipping on the floor blanketed in blood.

You adjust to the bright sunlight— and it feels gentle against your damaged skin. It seems like time has stood still while you were captured. “Did Daddy order you a car?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Some men are waiting out front to take us to the closest hospital— which isn’t too far.”

“I’m being hospitalized?” You follow him into the backseat, finally slacking for a moment ontop of the fresh leather.

“It’s not my choice to have you taken to the hospital, it’s the orders.”

“Do I have a statement to tell the nurse?” You look at him in concern.

“Am I supposed to say, ‘Oh, I was kidnapped by Daddy’s enemies! By the way, he’s in the mafia! Who wants to arrest Daddy?’”

“Tell them you fell down the stairs.” His flat tone contrasts your own, remaining unfazed.

“How would that cover up my wrists' burn marks?” You hold up the bloody and bruised dents, “Nobody gets these from falling down the stairs. There's way too much blood— and some of it isn’t even mine.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking over to the burn marks on your wrist and then back to you.

“Then tell them you accidentally burnt yourself while cooking.”

“Are you even listening to me? Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not seeming to care about the situation.

“It’s not hard to pay them to be silent.”

“How about I tell them that I was heavily bullied at school and a couple of classmates did this to me? I think that could work.”

You two arrive at the front entrance of the emergency room, he follows behind you, strolling through the automatic door.

“I’m fine, really, I was just beaten by classmates,” You lie through your teeth to the front desk, “My boyfriend took me here to get it checked out.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You comply with the nurses as they check your weight and interview you.

“I don’t have any stab wounds, at least I don’t think so— I don’t remember what they did to me. I was held captive for a few,” Your voice trails off as you wince at a sudden pang.

You glance down at your bleeding side and are unexpectedly whacked with all of the distress that you had been repressing at once.

Your vision starts to fade, face pale as a ghost.

The man rushes over as they carry you to a bed, and he kneels beside you to review your condition. Your body is pale and cold, breathing jagged and rapid.

You hear the whispers of the staff panicking. One nurse checks your pulse, and another elevates your legs.

“I need my blood sugar up,” the first words that come out of your mouth sound weak and painful.

You look over at the man beside you.

You need to lie. But you don’t even know his name.

“Boyfriend,” you determine, “please get me a sugary drink from the vending machine.”

A subtle smirk forms upon his lips, but it vanishes as soon as it appears.

“Fine,” he rises to his feet.

You hiss as the nurses sterilize your wounds, shrieking and thrashing on the mattress at the sting. You try to stay still, but the pain is intolerable.

Footsteps echo and you find the man returning with a chocolate bar, which he holds out to you. He brings it close to your lips and holds the chocolate against your mouth for you to take a bite, “Slowly.”

“I told you to get me a drink,” You disregard his command, biting the chocolate quickly, almost aggressively.

His lips turn up, amused by your action.

The nurses finish stitching up your deep gashes and bandaging your wounds, recommending that you stay the night.

“Pay for the bill with Daddy’s cash and let’s get out of here,” you state coldly, “I need to shower and get all of this blood out of my hair. I don’t want to stay here.”

“As long as you can walk by yourself, we can leave right away.” He replies. The man takes out a wad of bills quickly counts the money and pays for the bill.

You stay speechless until entering the car.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your bodyguard. Your father hired me to look out for you after the kidnapping.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “Will you be staying at the estate with me? Or is it a ‘only when I leave the house’ kind of deal?”

“My primary duty is to protect you from anyone or anything that could harm you, whether that be outside or inside the house. I could go wherever you wish me to follow you, and I will be there.”

“You won’t sleep in bed with me though, right?”

He stays silent for a moment.

“You are correct, I am here to protect, nothing more. I will not sleep next to you. I am merely your bodyguard and take your orders.”

“Good boy,” you grin, “I bet Daddy will pay you very nicely. Why else would you take this job? How much does he give you? Either way, I’m sure you have enough to buy a mansion.”

The bodyguard holds back an eye roll. “I will have more than enough money. Not only that but he also provides me with a home.” He adds with a smirk.

“Good.” You reply.

You fall silent, allowing him to drive, taking in the past few days.

You were never worried about surviving, You understood that Daddy would handle it. But you didn’t expect to be as hurt as you were.

He could’ve saved you sooner.

“When we get home, order the chef to make me something sweet, I deserve a treat,” you state, “I’m going to shower and you are not allowed to enter my bathroom under any circumstance. Even if I’m dying.”

“You would die before letting me enter your bathroom? I get it.” He retorts.

Once you both arrive at the estate, you stumble out of the car. You don’t linger for him.

You’re welcomed by a handful of workers as you enter the home, but ignore them as you make a beeline up the stairs and towards the bedroom.

The door locks behind you and the room is silent. You feel the weariness creep on as your wounds sting. You lean against the door, sliding down.

After a moment of peace, you head towards the shower to comb the dried blood out of your hair.

You scrub your face carefully, avoiding the stitches above your eyebrows.

You wash your body entirely, removing the blood stains with soap, water, and a wash rag. Then you comb out the dried blood.

Once you finish, you dry yourself off and dress in a plain, silk nightdress.

Leaving your bedroom, you turn to look for your guard. He is at the doorway of your room when you walk out. His eyes roam around your body for a brief moment, examining the nightgown.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Did you place an order for something sweet, like I asked?” You peer at his suit, moving in to adjust his tie.

He follows your hand as it moves, eyeing you for a few moments before he utters, “I did, the chef will be bringing it to your room once it’s prepared.”

“Good boy.”

You look up at his face once you are pleased with the positioning. You grimace at his sharp, cold face. The blood was dried, brown, and unpleasing. The man’s hand relaxes on the gun holstered on his hip.

“I order you to come into my bedroom.”

His eyebrows crease. He understands his role as your bodyguard— nonetheless, he doesn’t get a kick out of being ordered around in this tone.

He takes a deep breath. “Your wish is my command.”

The room is massive, a silk-covered canopy bed sits in the center of it. He pays no mind to looking around, concentrating on the job at hand.

“Sit down on my bed,” you demand, steering towards the bathroom and pushing open the double doors.

He obeys your orders without question, crossing his legs, and keeping his hand resting beside his gun.

The bodyguard keeps a close, attentive eye on the doors, supervising the way that you soak a washrag with warm water, squeezing out the excess.

You sit beside him, grabbing his chin and leaning into his face. He tenses.

“Relax, I don’t bite,” you smirk, reiterating his first words from the moment he met you back to him, massaging the dried blood off of his face, “No guard of mine will have a messy appearance.”

You can tell that he feels uneasy, but he can’t reject you. If you wish for him to relax, he will make an effort to relax.

You can’t help but notice his complexion when he isn’t scowling. The apathy melts away as you wipe the dried blood, giving you a new perspective on his appearance.

“You’re handsome,” you state bluntly, “Especially without blood covering your face.”

You toss the rag into the laundry basket carelessly, waiting for a maid to take care of it.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name? You never told me.”

His eyebrows arch slightly at the question.“It’s Minho.”

“I am Y/N,” You reply, holding out your hand to shake his own. His grip is firm and warm.

He keeps a stoic face as he glances at your face and back at your hand, as if he is searching for an ulterior motive behind this handshake.

The food.

The bell rings and the sound of it shatters the stillness of the room. Minho’s head jolts towards the door, hand back on his gun.

He rises instantly, opening it to reveal the maid with a tray of sweet snacks.

He takes it from her. “I will bring it in.”

“What a good boy, Minho,” you praise, clapping your hands together as he sets the tray on your lap.

“I don’t take you for a man who enjoys sweet food much. Do you like sweets?”

“Sometimes.”

You unwrap a piece of high-dollar chocolate, “I command you to open your mouth.”

Minho can’t deny you, it would be disobeying your orders.

He opens his mouth as the chocolate is positioned between his lips.

You relish in the chocolates with Minho and once finished, you set the tray on the floor for a maid to pick up at sunrise.

“I don’t think I mind you being around all that much, Daddy makes good decisions.” You lay down on the mattress.

“Your father does make good decisions.”

His gaze wavered on your face until you drifted off to sleep. Only then did they slowly trail down to your body.

The way your body was built captivated him. Minho was glued to your sleeping form.

He stayed in the room, taking a seat on a chair in the corner to watch you.

He didn’t know how long it had been since you had dozed off, but by the way that the room was now pitch black and noiseless aside from your figure rising and falling, he would imagine that it had been a couple of hours.

“How long are you going to sit there?” Your sleep-filled voice questions him, causing him to snap out of his daze, hand reaching for his gun out of instinct.

“Do you sleep? Are you allowed to sleep?”

“I will only remain in the room as long as you order me to. I do sleep,” He replies, “Now is there anything else you need my assistance with? Or can I return to my duties?”

“So you’re only staying in the room because I ordered you two hours ago?” There’s a tinge of dismay in your voice, but it was masked by sleep, “You can leave if you want, I don’t mind.”

Minho felt a sudden pit in his stomach. You sounded disappointed by his statement.

Your words are perplexing him, and he can’t conclude what you want from him. To stay or to go?

“Should I stay for a bit longer?”

You were already asleep again once he had responded.

You and Minho both wake to a maid opening the blinds and ringing a bell. You groan, stretching your body.

“Miss, let’s get you dressed for today.”

She pulls your nightgown up above your head as Minho’s eyes wander toward your laced underwear.

“What’s on my schedule for today?”

He quickly forces his gaze to look away and stares back at the maid.

“We want you to heal from your injuries, miss,” she answers, “we will start with a nutritious breakfast to encourage recovery, and attend to your injuries, and then you will speak with Daddy about your incident.”

The maid buttons your fitted dress, glancing in Minho’s direction, “Your bodyguard will need to be there for your conversation with Daddy.”

“He will?”

“He needs to tell Daddy what he witnessed from the facility.”

You nod, following her lead down the stairs and towards the breakfast table.

Minho follows suit, remaining at your side the entire time and he watches you eat, staying observant and cautious.

“Are you hungry?”

This question catches Minho off guard.

“No.” He adds in a dull tone— but in actuality, he is starving. He was entrusted to watch over you. He shouldn’t eat on the clock.

“Maid, go order,” You look Minho up and down, “A side of crepes. Blueberry crepes. And two cups of coffee.”

The maid hurries to the kitchen to place the order, and it is brought out a couple of minutes later.

He stares at the crepes being placed on the table, and his belly grumbles. “Thank you.”

The maid carries the mugs of coffee to the table. But it doesn’t take Minho long to catch sight of her cunning smile and the perplexing liquid that the maid slipped into the mugs of coffee.

He stares quietly, calculating his next action.

“Don’t drink it.”

“Why not?”

Minho’s sight narrows as you bring the cup of coffee to your lips.

This time, his tone is warning and direct. “It’s better that you don’t.”

You halt your sip at his harsh command.

The maid pulls out a handgun swiftly after realizing that she has been caught, aiming it at you.

A switch swiftly flips inside of him.

He lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s wrist and twisting the gun to the right, snapping a couple of fingers in the process.

It’s a rapid movement, and he had little time to think before shooting her in the head, watching the life leave her body. His face is apathetic and almost casual.

The maid’s blood spilled onto the floor as the others ran to clean it up.

“He passed the test, we can keep him. A promising guard so far,” Daddy compliments from behind you, “Urgently acting to protect. He knew that she was mindless and weak. He comprehends crises well.”

The older man slips a wad of cash into the breast pocket of Minho’s suit. “Good on protecting her. That was a setup with a stupid maid who was just aching to betray us. You will have the same fate if you are wavered by another team.”

“I think he’s a good boy. He won’t betray me.”

“Y/N, meet me at my office. Guard, follow her.” He swiftly turns away to lead the two of you as you eye Minho.

“You can relax now. No more tests.”

He nods in understanding, heeding silently towards the office.

“Tell me about what you saw at the facility.”

You nod. “Four men had taken me from our garden entrance and used Chloroform to knock me unconscious. I woke up in their van, where my hands and legs were tied. I heard them talking about what they planned to get out of me. They had intentions of murdering me if they got to a week of no answers.”

Minho listens to your explanation with hawk-like eyes, paying close attention to all the details and descriptions.

You clear your throat, running your fingers across your bruised wrist, “I was tied to a chair in their questioning room, and they used forms of torture for me to open up.”

“I was deprived of sleep and beaten if they caught me closing my eyes— trying to get my lack of sleep to cause me to open up about your activities.”

Daddy nodded solemnly, leaning into his chair.

“Waterboarding was their favorite method, but they enjoyed beating me. I assume that was mainly for fun.”

You continued, “Minho appeared and killed a couple of them and saved me, but most are still alive.”

“Still alive? You didn’t find and kill them, bodyguard, why?” Daddy’s intense eyes moved toward Minho, who appeared unbothered.

The fact that he missed a few guys is enough to drive him crazy.

“I had to get her to safety as soon as possible.”

Daddy merely nods. “I will send my men after them. Y/N, did you get any names?”

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about themselves, but I saw a couple of signs of their rival gang.”

“Guard,” he veered towards Minho, “Describe the faces that you saw. I need as much information as possible.”

“They look to be between the ages of 20 to 30, their faces covered in scars. One man had dark skin, and his facial scars were faded. His most notable feature was a slit across his brow. He wore a dark suit. I left him alive but with a bullet in his arm. The other man had a lighter skin tone and his scars were similar to knife wounds. He had gotten away.”

The boss nods.

“Good. I can work with that. Never let my little girl get into trouble like that again, alright?”

The second the words ‘my little girl’ leave his mouth, Minho can’t help but gaze at you. He observes your reactions and motions.

His heart beats by hearing his boss call you that, and his attention is now focused on every single twitch that you make.

“The nurses will be waiting in her bedroom shortly. Be good and do as they say.” He adds, snapping Minho back to him.

“Guard, do not let her go against any of the nurses' rules. She can be convincing. Do not give into it.”

“Yes Sir.”

You roll your eyes, turning away to leave the room.

“Stay safe.” That is the last utterance of the boss before you drag Minho out of the room and towards the bedroom.

“Sit on the bed,” a nurse commands you, and you quickly obey.

She dabs at your abdomen stitches with antiseptic soap and your eyebrows furrow.

“You can’t move around much, got it? No exercising for three weeks until we get these stitches out.”

You agree as she moves on to your wrists, rubbing cream into them, “You’re going to visit us twice a day for six days until the healing is almost complete.”

She yanks a bandage off of your face, causing you to groan in pain. She rubs another ointment on it before substituting it with fresh dressing.

Minho supervises each step that the nurse takes, noticing how she takes care of your body as if it’s her most precious gift.

She turns to Minho, “I need you to make sure that she’s well rested, drinking enough water, and not doing many straining activities. Take her back here once again in the evening, and then we will see her again this time tomorrow morning, got it?”

“Yes, I will take care of her.”

“What about him, nurse?” You eye the small cuts across his face and hands.

She smiles and leans over to you. “He is well trained. Trust me, he’ll survive a few scratches.”

Your eyes narrow. “I order you to treat his wounds to the best of your abilities.”

She sighs. “Yes ma’am.”

She moves towards Minho and checks his wounds, patching the ones that were newly caused. She brushes his face softly with an ointment.

“I don’t like it when my guards don’t keep up a good appearance,” you try to explain away your worry for him, “and being injured will only slow you down when protecting me.”

The man stares straight ahead, listening carefully. “I’m fine. I’ll recover just fine. I don’t need much care as you do.”

“Let her rest now,” the nurse tells Minho, “order the maids to bring her a glass of water and have her sip on it until lunchtime.”

Once she leaves, Minho turns towards you, “I’ll make sure the maids bring you water. You need to stay hydrated”

Once water is on your table, your gaze returns to Minho

“Now, I order you to sit down on my bed with me.”

He examines you with a neutral expression and waits for you to say what you mean, not wishing to assume or take anything wrongly.

“Sit down with me,” you demand again, patting the spot beside you, waiting for him to follow suit.

As soon as you ask him to, Minho does not waver. He sits down beside you, body brushing your own.

You turn to meet his cold expression with intensity. “Do you like your job so far?

Minho is taken off guard by your switch of topic. He stays where he is sitting, but turns his body as well and faces you.

“I enjoy my duties.”

“Good. Because I’m fond of you. You’re handsome, and you are good at your job.”

He stares at you with slight surprise. “Thank you.”

Your hands grab for his, playing with the ring on his finger.

Then, you reach your hands higher, tugging his sleeve up to reveal a cluster of scars littered across his forearm.

“How long have you been in the business?”

“Since I was fourteen. I was trained from a very young age.”

“Have you always been in Daddy’s family?”

“I was loyal to your Daddy from the moment I knew what this life was like. I haven’t had a moment of doubt.”

“Good. That means you won’t leave us, right?”

“I will serve your family until my last breath. You have nothing to fear about that.”

“What a good boy,” you reach to ruffle his hair, landing a swift kiss on his sliced cheek. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

Minho stiffens.

“I order you to take off your jacket. I want to see your body. To see if you’re strong enough to be a good guard.”

Your words are sharp as a knife and they cut deep through his defense system. His jaw clamps and his breathing accelerates.

Minho swallows his breath, nodding his head. His movements are rigid, starting to cautiously peel off his jacket. It takes him a moment to unbutton it, but once his jacket is off, he stays there, waiting.

You slide his jacket to the floor, touching the muscles of his bicep through his button-down. “You’re fit. That’s good.”

Minho yearns for you to keep feeling him. To keep praising him. He swallows. Your words sound like a honey trap to him, and it’s working as intended.

“I order you to take off your tie.”

“Yes.”

That is all that he says, slowly slipping his tie from underneath his collar and tossing it aside.

Unexpectedly, you’re climbing on top of his body. “Take off your button-down.”

He unbuttons his shirt as your eyes sear into his chest. He is now only wearing a black undershirt.

“So many clothes,” you sigh out, groping his bare arms. You run your hands across his biceps, listening to him shudder underneath the touch.

“Take off your undershirt now. I want to see your chest.”

You can feel the heat radiating off him as he shivers. His body is now sensitive, and your hands are making it worse for him.

Your orders are evident, and he hastily lifts off his undershirt, waiting for what is next.

You can see his whole chest with all of its blemishes, with every muscle covered in sweat, exposed for you.

Your hands travel down his chest and abdomen, feeling each ragged scar with your bruised fingers. The delicate contact causes his breath to catch and a soft groan leaves him, fighting to not show that he relishes in your touch.

“Let me kiss you.”

He stares at you for a moment before his eyebrows slightly shift— his way of showing you that he approves of that request.

Minho leans in slightly and closes his eyes, gently placing a timid kiss on your lips.

You smirk against him, pushing him to lie against the bed frame and deepening the kiss. Your hands reach for his dark hair, clasping a handful in your grip.

He kisses you deeply and wraps his arms around you to pull you in closer, offering full control to you. His breath speeds up.

You pull away after a moment, lips brushing against his as you catch your breath, but only for an instant before moving towards his jaw, sucking marks onto his skin.

Minho quivers at your touch, his breathing speeding up once more as you leave red and purple blemishes on his skin. He bites his lip to stop himself from groaning.

Your mouth moves from his jaw to his neck, leaving kisses and hickeys all across him, making sure that he is covered in them.

Your hips grind against him, breathing heavily with anticipation as you make your way to his chest.

Your hands and mouth are touching all of him, and each sensation triggers a reaction that he tries to conceal.

Your lips hover back to his lips, staring at him longingly. “Do I have to command you for you to do anything to me? You don’t have to ask. You have my permission. Do whatever you want.”

You can see his gaze shifting from your eyes to your mouth, to your neck, and then towards your chest.

You swiftly lift yourself off of him to let him remove your dress, leaving your body as bare as his own.

You grasp onto his neck, bringing him in for another deep kiss. Minho remains silent as he kisses you, allowing you to leave him as many marks as you desire.

“What are you thinking, Minho? Speak to me.”

He takes a moment, letting out an unstable breath. “I’m thinking of what you are doing to me. I,” he stammers, “I want to make you feel good.”

“Then do it. Please.”

“I don’t want to harm you,” he breathes out, “you’re injured.”

“The nurses said to not do,” Minho presses his eyes shut as you bring your hips up to meet his, “fuck, anything straining.”

“Remember what Daddy said? I can be convincing.” You sneer as your bodyguard fails to keep his cool composure, but the aching cock pressing into you is giving his true desires away.

You eye his internal struggle between following your orders and his cravings, or the nurse and his boss.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I can go relieve myself in the bathroom.”

“I like being hurt.”

You notice his lip twitch at the comment, and you decide to provoke him further, grinding into him, and set a steady rhythm with your hips.

He groans as his head drops back, tugging onto your hair and trying desperately to control his breath, “Please, Y/N, I just want to take care of you.”

“You can take care of me in another way.”

“I need to follow orders.”

“Then I order you to fuck me.”

His eyes pinch shut as he tries to clear his head and reason with himself.

Perhaps if he were gentle, it would be alright.

But how long could he remain gentle when you were splayed out in front of him, willing to take anything that he gave to you?

He made his decision, gripping your shoulders gently and flipping you, pinning you to the bed, and surveying your face for any discomfort.

When he finds none, he impatiently unclasps his belt, throwing it to the floor along with his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You hold yourself up by your elbows, thighs pressed together and mouth watering at the man in front of you.

His hands were delicate, although they could easily snap you in half, as he unclasped your bra, leaving your top half bare.

Minho stopped to take in the view for a moment before grabbing at one of your breasts, his mouth attaching to the other.

Your whines were like music to him— something that he wanted to hear more of.

Your back arched in pleasure as he moved one hand down to your thigh, caressing it for a moment before slowly slipping his hand into your panties.

“Try to stay quiet, darling, I don’t want any staff checking on us,” He hushed you with his lips attaching to your own once again, feeling your wetness all over his calloused hands.

His thumb brushed against your clit and you whimpered into his mouth, clenching around nothing.

Minho then plunged two fingers deep inside of you and curled them. He was becoming lost in pleasing you, overlooking his own ache between his legs.

Your thighs shook beneath him, feeling him brush against your g-spot brutally. “Minho please, please just fuck me. I want you inside of me so bad.”

At your request, he slipped his fingers out, feeling your cries against his lips from the loss of friction.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled away from your lips, replacing them with his now dripping fingers, lapping it up with his tongue.

Next, your ruined panties were yanked off of you, with his boxers soon to come after.

One hand gently relaxes on your hips, cautious to avoid aggravating your injuries as he uses the other to guide himself inside of you, a deep groan followed by your whines.

He gives you a moment to handle the stretch, but you hardly need it, already begging for him to move.

Minho cautiously thrusts, taking in a deep breath and furrowing his eyebrows in concentration.  This is the ultimate test of patience for him. He needs to be as gentle as possible with you.

Ultimately, he sets a slow pace, hands locating themselves on either side of you, letting out uneven breaths as he tries to control himself from how good you feel around him.

“You really do care, don’t you?” Your hand reaches to cup his face, gazing into his eyes that are hazy with pleasure.

He keeps his response short, too concentrated on the waves of bliss through each thrust, “I do care.”

“Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?”

You study him, watching his adam’s apple move as he swallows deeply, inhaling sharply. He halts his thrusts for a brief instant.

“Both, maybe. I can’t tell.”

That was enough for you to continue, grabbing another handful of his hair and bringing him in for another hungry, deep kiss.

With each deep thrust, Minho’s mind got hazier and hazier, losing himself to pleasure bit by bit. You could feel it by the way his rhythm became rough and desperate, and his pace picked up.

One of his hands left your side, creeping towards your throbbing clit, causing you to let out sobs, all of which he ate up with his mouth against your own.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He coos, knowing that you’re too lost in bliss to respond.

He takes your whines as a ‘yes’, his thumb rubbing circles faster, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing your eyes closed and letting out a lengthy, drawn-out moan as his pace picked up even further.

“Just like that. You’re so good for me, so, so good, fuck,” he talked you through your orgasm between his thrusts, chasing his own high.

His brows crease, hips stuttering at how good it felt to have you gripping so tightly onto his cock. Finally, he let go, his load spilling inside of you and seeping out.

Both of you took an instant to catch your breath, coming down from your highs.

His hands slowly traced your curves in contentment, paying attention to the way your chest rose and fell.

Finally, he has a justification to gape at your body up close.

From your jawline to your hickey-covered chest, down to your bruised sides and stitches near your abdomen, and— Oh fuck.

Your wounds.

Minho slowly pulls away, feeling a sense of post-nut clarity and fright.

His hand slides away from your body, staring at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your own anxiety suddenly displayed on your face, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No,” He panics, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?“

Back in reality now, your wounds ache and your head pounds with exhaustion and overexertion.

His mind calculates the solutions to the situation— ways to explain to the nurses, to fix you, to help you feel better.

It was his shortcoming, after all. He let his urges get to him.

“Let’s run you a bath.” He pulls himself up, tugging on his boxers and heading towards the bathroom.

You hear the tap turn on, lying in bed trying to catch your breath. Your breath is harsh from both adrenaline and pain, but you can’t help but feel as though the latter is more of the cause.

You had slept with a small handful of men, primarily Daddy’s men, but none of them were quite like Minho.

He was tough but breakable. He was still kindhearted at his core— something that wasn’t all that common in the business.

You could tell from the way that he ran the bath, bare muscles glistening from sweat, running his hand through the water to make sure that it was the ideal temperature. How concerned he was about your protection, even through his pleasure.

Not many other men that you’ve met throughout your life have been the same way.

You’re quite fond of the man that you have just met.

You hear the water shut off and footsteps coming towards the room. He holds a faint smile as his steps come towards the bed. Your gaze slowly wanders to his physique.

“It’s ready for you.” He says in a slight whisper.

“I order you to pick me up and bring me to the bath.”

He nods at your order, hooking his arms underneath your thighs and back, his strong grip securing you.

You inhale the powerful stench of gunpowder stuck to his skin, finding comfort in your bodyguard’s presence.

“Will you wash my hair?”

Studying his expression, it’s hard to read, but you let him carry you and place you into the water.

‘I do care,’ you recall his words.

‘Is it because you’re my bodyguard or something more?’ ‘Both, maybe. I can’t tell.’

Perhaps you had feelings for the man, especially while he massaged shampoo into your scalp with tough hands, making sure to rub your temples.

“Have you ever been a bodyguard before?”

When Minho hears your question, he hums while he proceeds to wash you, working on scrubbing the areas where he touched you earlier. “No, you’re the first one I’ve been a bodyguard for.”

“I did things for your father before this. Not as a bodyguard, a more, I guess, dangerous role,” he dismisses the question.

“Is that so?” You fall to silence as he continues to wash you, taking his time and guaranteeing that he gets every part. He hesitates when he washes around your injuries— every stroke and movement of his hands is smooth and temperate.

“Let me relax for a minute alone,” you murmur, “You should put your clothes back on, the maids should be here any moment to take my order for lunch. They won’t find it suspicious that I’m bathing, but they will question why you’re with me.”

Minho nods and pulls away from your body.

He stands up and his feet splash on the wet floor. He takes a double take at your closed eyes.

The way your body floats in the bath is something that catches his attention. You look very pleasing in such a vulnerable position.

He leaves the room, cracking the door to make sure that you are safe.

Minho buttons up his wrinkled shirt, pulling the jacket over it and smoothing it out to ensure that nobody suspects anything.

Minho’s eyes turn to the maid who enters the room with the ring of a bell.

His demeanor is unfazed, a hand on the gun in his pocket once more. He holds eye contact, his stare intense.

He would make sure that there wasn’t another incident.

“Where is Miss Y/N?”

“She is bathing at the moment.”

She nods, walking towards the bathroom and knocking on the door.

You hum, allowing her to enter.

“What would you like for lunch, ma’am?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

A few seconds go by as you immerse yourself entirely in the water before rising back to the surface.

“Minho,” you call out, “What would you like?”

You hear the faint sigh that Minho gives as a response back to your question.

“I’ll just have a sandwich or something, whatever you have is fine.” He replies to both you and the maid as she exits the bathroom, fulfilling her duty of reporting your lunch choice.

The bedroom door shuts behind her.

“Minho!” You call out once again, “I order you to take me out of the bath.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Minho’s footsteps come near the bathroom once again. He grabs a towel as you stand, body bare and dripping with water.

His eyes have an intense focus as he reaches out his hand.

Minho pulls you up from the bath wraps the towel around you, making sure to cover all of you, and begins to dry off your hair.

“Minho,” you begin, “Daddy can’t know about what happened. He’d shoot you dead on the spot.”

Minho pauses for a moment, his eyes darting across the floor.

He is silent for a moment. “I won’t reveal anything to him.”

“Good boy,” you cling to the towel covering your body, “Go fetch a maid to dress me. While she does so, I want you to change out of that suit and shower before lunch.”

“Then I’ll go shower now. I’ll be back.”

You hum in agreement, stepping towards your bedroom as a maid rings the bell.

You drop your towel, letting her sift through your drawers to find decent clothing.

She eyes a hickey on your breast, along with the other injuries across your body from the kidnapping.

“Your injuries look agitated, Miss Y/N, are you sure that a bath was the best idea for you?”

“Don’t question me,” you grumble, “I took a bath because I wanted to.”

“Yes, miss.” She pulls the dress above your head smoothes it out, and clasps a necklace behind your neck.

“You’re all set for lunch.”

The moment that you come out of your room, you can feel his presence. He is leaning against the front door of the room with an unreadable expression.

He has another suit on, a fresh one. Minho’s previously muskier, dark scent has been replaced by a new, sweeter fragrance.

“First shower at the estate?” You question, “Our soaps are quite lovely and mild on the skin. You smell wonderful.”

Minho’s lips curl at the compliment, looking you up and down, “Seems that we both are putting our best foot forward.”

You look around to see if anyone is watching before leaning to ruffle his damp hair and leave a kiss on his cheek, taking the man by complete surprise. He makes an effort to regain his composure, but you can see that his cheeks are blushed from the touch.

As soon as you lean in to lock arms, you feel him lean over to you to whisper something.

“I would love to do that with you again.”

You froze in your spot, heat rushing to your thighs.

You must regain your composure, caught off guard by his blunt words, something unlike the ordinary nature of Minho.

He takes a seat across from you, watching every move that the maid makes to be sure that she doesn’t try anything— he has learned his lesson.

“Pressed Italian Picnic Sandwiches and tea,” The maid states, setting the plates on the table.

You scrunch my nose up. “What’s in it?”

“Artisanal prosciutto, aged provolone, and sun-dried tomatoes inside of a crusty ciabatta,” She doesn’t hesitate to list the ingredients, “and a fragrant blend of rare loose-leaf teas with fresh cream and sugar cubes.”

She sets the teapot and cups out, along with a carton of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.

Minho’s hand rests on his gun, waiting for her to leave before taking a sip of tea.

You follow his action, dumping a couple of cubes into your tea and bringing it to your lips.

I finish my lunch with Minho.

“Let’s go back to my room now. I'm exhausted.”

Minho nods his head and you both finish up the meals quickly.

You both leave the dining area and stroll back to your bedroom.

As soon as you get back into the room, you feel Minho close the door behind you.

You don’t hesitate to climb into bed and lie down.

The guard looks over at you, observing the way that your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He notices every movement that your body is making.

“I command you to lay down with me.” You lean back against the bed, your body still and eyes focused on his unmoving body.

He slips off his shoes silently, slipping into the canopy bed.

You grin, curling at his side, pressing against his body.

His breathing is deep and steady as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position.

Your mind began racing with questions about the mysterious man that you were slowly falling for, burying yourself further into the sheets.

“Minho,” you start slowly, “How did you become tangled with our family?”

Minho stays silent for a few moments and you feel his body shift a little against yours.

“I didn’t have a lot of money or family growing up,” he kept his answer short and simply, “the moment that this job came my way, I took it. The people connected to this business have always stayed on the down low, so this is an easy job to keep."

“Daddy seems to like you,” you grit your teeth.

Minho turns to you on the bed and sits up a little. He looks at you from top to bottom, reading the worry on your face with ease.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“He will kill you on the spot if he finds out. He’s done that to almost every man who has flirted or slept with me.”

You pause for a moment. “God forbid the one he hired as my bodyguard.”

“I am not so easily killed.” The words leave his mouth with a tinge of arrogance.

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

There is stillness between you both for a time, but he breaks it by grabbing your chin and leaning in to kiss you. You soothe into his touch, smiling against his lips briefly before he pulls away.

“I order you to stay here. Like this.”

It’s not difficult for you to drift off to sleep beside him, and as always, Minho pursues your request, keeping a close eye on you. You relax, your breathing slow, and he notes all of the occasional twitches and movements that you make in your sleep.

A couple of hours later, the door is knocked on by a maid.

“Dinner order?”

Minho jolts awake from the knock on the door, a hand swiftly placed on your shoulder to protect you from any threats before turning his head towards the noise.

His voice is full of sleep. “Repeat that?”

As she opens the door, there is a look of inquiry on her face, one that she won’t ask to ensure her job and health.

“Is she asleep?” She questions instead, glancing over at your peaceful figure.

He turns his head towards you to double-check, observing your napping body.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll advise the chef to prepare her dinner later tonight.”

She gives a sharp nod to the guard and scurries out of the room, quietly shutting the door to not disturb the girl.

Minho’s eyes rest on the door for a moment, fully alert now with a hand resting on his gun.

Eventually, he turns over to you. He has his eyes on you for a few seconds before leaning down to kiss you on the forehead, letting out a small sigh.

You stir at the warm touch, scrunching your face up and stretching your body.

“What time is it?” You ask groggily before burying your head into his neck.

“Dinner is in about half an hour. You hungry?”

“Not really,” you pull yourself up and rub your sleep-filled eyes.

He notices your body shiver as you pull yourself up. Minho lets out a short exhale.

“Did you sleep?”

“A bit.” He doesn’t look away or turn his head as he admires the way you stand and stretch your body, smoothing your dress of its wrinkles.

You walk towards your vanity mirror, plopping down in the chair to readjust your necklace to the center. A few marks on your collarbone catch your eye.

“The nurses will be in shortly.” You grit your teeth. “I hope they don’t notice.”

“They won’t notice.”

His figure can be seen from behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His lips are turned upwards as he watches you fix your appearance.

You pull out a couple of foundations and concealers, working on concealing the marks left from earlier.

“The maids wouldn’t, but the nurses will tell the difference between a hickey and a bruise. Especially since these are fresh.”

Even though you are busy with your makeup and covering up the bruises, Minho’s eyes are never off of you. It is a feeling that you will have to get used to— always having a watchful eye on you.

Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you rose from your seat quickly.

“Get up, we’re going to dinner.”

“So bossy.” He retorts. “What will you have?”

“I want to go out, let’s go somewhere fancy. Daddy will pay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to go out when you have had a beating just two days ago?”

He asks it like he thinks it’s an absurd idea, almost condescendingly, yet his tone of voice is soft and full of concern for you, causing your stomach to flip inside out.

“I’m tired of staying inside already. This estate is suffocating,” you pull on your slip-on shoes.

“That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place. I left the house and got kidnapped. That won’t happen with you here.”

“I guess you’re right. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

“Good. I’ll go tell Daddy.” You leave the door open for Minho to come after but don’t wait for him, yet you can tell that he follows behind silently, attending to the way your body moves in the dress as you make your way down the halls.

The door is slightly ajar, so when you knock, it pushes open with a creak, revealing your father inside.

Minho stands behind you like a shadow, his lips pressed into a straight line, gaze locked on your father, keeping his distance from the both of you.

“Come inside,” the older man invites both of them with a welcoming grin, “sit.”

You can sense that your father has something on his mind, which is never a good sign.

“I was going to call you to my office shortly, anyway.” Instantly you assume the worst.

You sit down, taking a seat in front of him. Minho is still standing in the back, his priority on you and your father.

The man looks over at Minho. Their eyes lock for a moment. “Guard, go lock the door. There is a conversation that needs to be had.”

Minho nods and he turns his head, locking the door behind him.

He turns his attention back to you, who is frozen in your seat, breath hitching.

The elite man fiddles with a pen at his desk, clicking it to drown out the tense silence.

The silence in the room seems so heavy that you wonder how neither you nor Minho is feeling sick. Judging by the thick atmosphere between the three of you, it is easy to tell that he isn’t pleased right now.

He fidgets with the pen and you wait for him to finally speak.

“Do you find my daughter to be precious, Guard?” He addresses Minho with a stern voice, finally setting the pen down at his wooden desk with a smack.

“Yes sir,” Minho replies flatly.

“Are you willing to protect her at all costs, even at your life?”

After moments of silence, he answers back confidently. “Yes sir. I am.”

A hand comes to rest at his side, toying loudly with a handgun, which he eventually pulls out of his pocket.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, yet Minho stays concentrated. There isn’t a single sign of fear on his face. He is unshaken, calm, and collected as if he had been foreseeing this exact scenario.

“Do you know why you were assigned to guard my daughter, Minho?”

“I know the reasons.”

“There was a leak to the rivals from a previous staff member that I had a precious daughter in my life,” He turns towards you, “the one that I had climbed to the top of my career to protect and assure her safety and security.”

He cleared his throat before darting back to Minho, “It took less than a day for her to be taken from my hands and placed in the hands of one of my greatest enemies.”

Minho pays attention to every word that he speaks and clears his throat, waiting for your father to continue.

“I care for my daughter more than anything in the world. Which is why I had appointed the most valuable, honest, and competent man in the family to ensure her protection.”

Minho nods.

“Please don’t kill him, Daddy.”

The boss meets you with cold eyes, disregarding your words to proceed with his lecture. “You are my most prized possession. I would hurt anyone or anything to make sure that not a single person touches you. The men who kidnapped you are all taken care of, wiped out by my command.”

He continues. “I know everything that goes on in your life. Every meal, every kiss, every injury, the staff must report every minor thing that occurs in your day. I have eyes on you at all times, and you’re more than aware of that.”

Your shoulders stiffen. He knew.

“Minho,” his stare is burning into the other man, “I’ll get to the point. Did you sleep with my daughter?”

He doesn’t blink. His body tenses up and his voice remains neutral.

“Yes.”

The boss turns the safety off of his firearm and you dig your head into your hands, unable to observe the scene that is about to unfold.

The gunshot is fired, but the man deliberately aims to the left of Minho, grazing his cheek with the bullet before standing up instantly from his seat. The guard doesn’t react with more than a blink as the blood pools at the cut.

“I trust you, Minho. You are a good man. If there is a single person who I would choose to give my daughter to, it would be you.”

Finally, Minho takes this as a sign to let his guard down for a moment as his shoulders drop, lip quivering slightly. It was evident that there was more emotion that the guard was holding back, especially when he took a moment to look away.

“You have my approval.”

Your eyes widen.

“Take care of my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll feed your own heart to her for supper.”

“Understood.”

“Take her to dinner,” a wad of cash is pulled out from one of the drawers, “buy her flowers and anything else that she asks for.”

“Yes sir.” He responds, “I’ll make sure that she gets the treatment that she deserves.”

You run to embrace your father, to which he places an arm around you, rubbing your back before pulling away.

“Get yourself dressed more sufficiently, I will have a car ready for you soon.”

Minho follows you out of his office, letting out a breath that he had been holding in once the door was closed.

“Did you hear that?” Do you know what this means?” You beam at the man before grabbing at his cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss.

He lets out a surprised noise, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.

When you break the kiss, he stares back at you with the first big smile that you’ve seen from him displayed on his face.

“Let’s get you ready.”

1K notes · View notes

i4hischier · 2 months

Text

𝜗𝜚 just come home , lando norris

✦ °. — girl dad!lando norris x fem!reader

✦ °. — plot: your husband has been away due to racing season so when your two year old vocalizes on the phone how much he misses him, he takes a break from his breaktime to come see his two favorite girls.

✦ °. — warnings: none, lando + reader get emotional, really cute like tooth rotting (wc: 902)

✦ °. — mars’ mind: i had this exact dream about lando a few nights ago and really really wanted to write about it before my head exploded

it was slowly getting late as you stood in the kitchen washing up dishes from dinner, while your daughter lily sat in the floor playing with her toys. your phone started buzzing, you looked at it and saw lando was trying to facetime you. you hurried to dry off your hands and swipe to answer.

“hello!” lando beamed once your face appeared on the screen. “hi my love” you smile, propping yourself up against the counter on your elbows. “how are you doing?” he asks, its was bright out, he most likely was just now leaving the track he just raced on.

“oh i was cleaning up from dinner” you pause, “i watched your race, did good today im proud of you!” the praise made lando smile from ear to ear, he got p4 which isnt podium but still something to be proud of. “maybe that why i did so good, cause i had my lucky charm watching me” he giggled at his own remark, even made himself blush.

you walk over to your daughter, sitting on the floor next to her. “actually, you had both of your lucky charms!” you smile, showing lily the phone. lando’s face lit up and he waved at her, “hi darling!” he chimed.

lily reached out for the phone, grabbing it from you and holding it comedically close to her face. “oh okay i guess its her phone now” you joke, smiling at her. “hi h-hi daddy!” she seemed as if she wanted to reach out to him through the phone. lando giggled at just the pure sound of her voice.

“hi there princess, did you watch daddy race today?” he asks. she doesnt say anything back she just nods her head. “i-i miss you” her little voice and her pleading words made your bottom lip stick out in a pout. “aw you do? well daddy will be home soon okay darling?” lily nodded, turning her attention back to her toys and dropping the phone on the ground.

you grab the phone, standing up and walking down the hallway to the bathroom. “well i guess she didnt want to talk to me anymore” he jokes before pausing to take notice of your face. the lines around your eyes and your nose turned pink and eyes watery. “whats wrong baby?” he plead. “i dont know” you shrugged, laughing at yourself for getting teary eyed. “for some reason the way she said she missed you pulled at my heart strings a little bit” you smile.

“i know mine too a little bit, made me feel a little choked up” he smiled. “we do really miss you over here though” you got somewhat serious with your statement. “i know honey and you know i’d be on a plane to you right now if i could but my body desperately needs a break”

you nodded, you knew he was right. it wasnt gonna be like this forever but for the small amount of time that it is, it sucks. “i know baby, and its okay, you know i want you to prioritize yourself right now” you smile, at him. “okay, ill let you get to bed soon, kiss lily for me too okay?” you nodded, sniffling and wiping your face. the two of you exchanged virtual kisses before hanging up, allowing you to get ready for bed.

the next morning was the same as all of them, morning shower, then making and eating breakfast and then cleaning up. lily had just gotten cleaned up and you left her in the living room watching tv so you could brush your teeth. you stood for a minute, looking at yourself in the mirror poking at all of your insecurities you’ve had your whole life.

suddenly you heard lily yell “daddy!” you assumed maybe lando had called you and she got to the phone. “lily honey is daddy on the phone?” you called out walking down the hallway. there was silence, no talking from lily just complete silence. “lily?” you called out again.

you stopped in your tracks when you reached the living room, there stood lando in the doorway, holding lily tightly in his arms as she giggled. “oh my god!” you smiled, lost for words as you ran up to him throwing your arms around his neck. “hi baby” he laughed at the sheer force in which you threw your body at him with. his free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you at the small of your back.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, placing both hands on each side of his face. “well obviously i needed to see my two pretty girls” he smiles, smothering lily with kisses, making her burst into a fit of giggles, slowly sitting her back down.

the both of you watched as she quickly ran back over to toys. you turned your attention back to eachother as you connected your lips, which was the first time in a week but felt like years. “no really why are you here? you need rest and you what, get on plane and choose to lose sleep?” you mutter.

he shrugged his shoulders, smiling at you, “i meant what i said, i wanted to see the two of you, plus i’ll get my sleep eventually.” you felt emotional again, you always felt emotions stronger when it came to lando for some reason, you just couldnt understand how you had gotten so lucky to be with him.

(author’s notes:) i had to rewrite this twice bc tumblr kept deleting it but how do we feel about girl dad lando BE HONEST!!! thank you for reading & don’t forget to join my taglist !!

#lando norris x reader #🎀lando norris #🎀f1 #f1 x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #f1 imagine

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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.”

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day.

“About how she got to the institute.”

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.”

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance.

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...”

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.”

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.”

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?”

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?”

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.”

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London.

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting.

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you.

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means.

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more.

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with.

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table.

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules.

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day.

You wonder if they ever get a break.

Maybe this is a break for them.

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority.

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy.

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you.

Except you don’t know your pack.

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first.

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price.

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after.

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you.

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one.

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs.

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall.

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle.

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers.

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now.

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C.

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too.

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back.

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.”

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit.

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.”

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully.

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most.

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing.

“You hungry?” Gaz asks.

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting.

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh.

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well.

The thought makes something flutter in your chest.

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?”

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.”

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.”

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you.

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his.

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower.

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either.

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight.

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table.

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone.

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling.

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.”

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own.

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away.

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand.

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one.

“Captain John Price.” He says.

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves.

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other.

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep.

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta.

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.”

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA.

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.”

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond.

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.”

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says.

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.”

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.”

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.”

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.”

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things.

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.”

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond.

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says.

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.”

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second.

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.”

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want.

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.”

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole.

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face.

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?”

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base.

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world.

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age.

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas.

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check.

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack.

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings.

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world.

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you.

Or maybe they would have been worse.

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.”

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.”

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?”

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.”

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask.

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?”

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer.

“And how did that go?”

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.”

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?”

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it.

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares.

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer.

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns?

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center.

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways.

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center.

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks.

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night.

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit.

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.”

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.”

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.”

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning?

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being.

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel.

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space?

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.”

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him.

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit?

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence?

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response?

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself.

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.”

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble.

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you?

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside.

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over.

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.”

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.”

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought.

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk.

An unneeded disruption to their lives.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you.

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate.

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you.

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet.

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?”

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.”

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!”

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself.

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?”

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.”

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.”

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says.

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game.

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap.

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him.

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?”

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.”

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch.

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder.

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again.

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.”

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state.

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up.

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made.

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.”

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.”

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face.

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#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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bi-writes · 2 months

Text

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon riley #dark!simon

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