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writersdrug · 1 month

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Training for Two: pt. 5

Simon Riley x Dogsitter!Reader

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Warnings: cursing, obsessive behaviour, pining, still pretty tame at the moment, a hint of angst?

A/N: Ugh I meant to post this sooner but work was kicking my butt - that and I'm a bit sleep deprived. I've got more in the works, though! Hope you all enjoy! PS Running out of gifs to use so I'm using fan art and OMG I am obsessed with it all!!!!!

art by @sleepyconfusedpotato

The drive back to Simon's house was quiet and dark. Price had turned on the radio, letting classic rock play quietly in the background. He tapped the steering wheel every so often, humming to whatever lyrics he could remember.

Simon sat in the passenger seat, staring at the cars ahead, occasionally glancing at the signs that whizzed by the truck. Each sign that brought him closer to home made him ache. He thought about his bed. He thought about Riley. And, of course, he thought about you. He knew you most likely wouldn't be there - it was after midnight. But he liked to imagine that you'd be waiting there, sitting on his couch with your book and mug of tea, Riley settled next to you, ready to greet him with your smile - the smile that he'd been thinking about in every stolen moment during the mission.

"Alright there, Simon?" Price cut through the silence, dragging Simon back to earth.

He cleared his throat. "Yes sir. Jus' ready to be back."

Price scoffed. He knew Simon didn't consider his house a home. If anything, it was a safe house between missions. "I'm sure Riley will be happy to see you."

"We'll see about that." Simon said with a chuckle. "This dog-sitter might've stolen her from me."

"Nah, she's yours. Been with 'er through it all." Price said as he turned into Simon's neighborhood. "I'm sure she enjoyed the company, though."

Simon grunted. "Seems like it." He said, remembering the picture you had sent him; the way Riley had cozied up to you, the way she seemed so docile and calm in your presence. He imagined you running your fingers through her fur, the perfect ratio of scratching to gentle pets. He wondered what it would feel like on his scalp...

A shiver ran down his spine. How does one become jealous of their own damn dog? It was ridiculous.

"Speaking of the dog-sitter..." Price said, "Johnny mentioned she's a real-"

"Whatever Johnny told you, you can disregard." Simon grumbled. "I told him not to worry 'bout it."

Price chuckled, which made Simon burn with frustration. "Touchy subject, eh?"

"There's nothing to discuss." He replied bitterly. Quite frankly, he didn't like the picture Soap had managed to paint of him. His entire team thought he was whipped by someone he had barely known. Despite it being entirely true, it was the complete opposite of the image he had built of himself - and he had a reputation to keep.

"Right." Price nodded. Simon could tell he didn't believe him, but as long as he didn't try to pester him anymore about it, Simon would take it as a win.

Price pulled into the driveway, and Simon immediately unbuckled. He reached into the back and grabbed his duffel bag, then yanked his door open and got out.

"Y' know this isn't over." Price said, right before Simon could close the door. "We most likely 'ave a week 'fore we get sent out again. Just don't get too comfortable 'ere."

"Never do." Simon replied, shouldering his bag. "I'll wait for your call."

Price nodded, sending Simon off with a wave. He watched as he closed the passenger door and walked up the path to his house, before pulling out of the driveway and heading towards his own home.

Simon sighed as he fished his keys from his pocket. He heard Riley barking on the other side of the door, and a small smile formed on his face. When he pushed it open, she immediately jumped on him, whining and sniffing him all over. He knew she could smell the others on him, and probably wondered why he didn't bring her this time.

"Hey, girl..." he said, yanking his balaclava off and kneeling down to ruffle her fur. "Sorry I's gone so long. Miss me?"

She stood her front paws on his knees and licked his face, still whining and swinging her tail rapidly.

"Yeah, missed you too." He chuckled. "D'ya have fun? Did she treat you right?"

Riley dropped down to the floor as Simon stood. She turned towards his duffel bag and began sniffing, eyes focused on the fabric as she took in all the new and familiar scents.

Simon sighed. "'Bout time for a proper cuppa." He said, making his way into the kitchen. Despite it nearing one in the morning, it would be a while before he was decompressed enough to fall asleep.

He reached into the cupboard for a mug, ignoring the way his back popped. When he placed the mug down and reached for a teabag, he saw a note on the counter. With a furrowed brow, he picked it up and read it.

Hello Simon!

Hope your deployment was fun good! Riley and I had a blast! She learned how to play dead - if you want to try it, just make sure to give her a biscuit for it (she's only had one today, and she was a bit bitter that I left before giving her a second one). Also, she's had her medicine for the day. I gave her last dose around 9 pm.

Can't wait to spend more time with her, but I'm sure she's happy to see her dad! Let me know when you need me next!

Have a nice evening!

P.S. I had to use your washing machine, I hope that was alright. I got a bit muddy trying to teach her the new trick.

He stared at the note for a good amount of time. His eyes wandered over your meticulously neat handwriting. He noticed how often you liked to use exclamation points - the same way you did in your texts and emails. It made him annoyed - but not with you. He was annoyed that he found it... adorable. He shouldn't. You were too bright and happy; your personality should burn him, not warm him up.

He tried to brush it off, blaming his obervant behaviour on the recent mission. Old habits die hard, he lied to himself.

"Riley, c'mere."

Upon hearing her name, Riley meandered into the kitchen and stopped in front of Simon. She sat on her hind legs and looked at him expectantly.

He looked back at her - he felt a bit silly, commanding a retired veteran dog to do simple party tricks. But, it sounded like you put a lot of effort into teaching her this - not to mention, you had somehow dirtied your clothes over it - so he decided to entertain the idea.

"Play dead." He said firmly.

Riley immediately flopped down onto her back, sticking her paws into the air. She even let her tongue hang out of her mouth to really sell the image.

He felt an immediate rush of pride. "Atta girl..." he praised, kneeling down and patting her affectionately. Despite all the annoyance he felt a moment ago, Simon couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face.

She twisted and sat up, snuffling and groaning as he rubbed her fur. She barked once, sharp and demanding.

"Yeah, yeah- suppose you deserve a biscuit, huh?" He stood up and grabbed the box of peanut butter and bacon treats, fishing one out and tossing it to Riley. She caught it perfectly, crunching it with an open mouth and licking her lips afterwards.

He watched her with a smile, his arms folded over his chest. Sure, tricks were dumb, something only glorified house pets did for small rewards. But he was impressed that Riley had so effortlessly followed a new command, especially after being out of work for so long. And he was warmed by the fact that, not only did you watch her, but you engaged with her. He was confident he'd found the perfect pet-sitter.

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After starting a load of laundry, Simon had taken a cold shower. He scrubbed his eyeblack off with nothing but his hands and the generic body wash from the corner store. He slathered some of his 3-in-one hair gel into his scalp, giving it no more than seven scrubs before rinsing it out. He stood there for a while, letting the water beat against his sore back as the details of the previous mission swarmed throughout his head. He picked apart what he could have done better, what had nearly gotten him killed, and what had probably saved his life.

His eyes flickered to the corner of the tub; there was a cluster of travel-sized bottles, labeled "face wash", "body butter", and so forth. He let himself imagine - who was he kidding, he had no control over his thoughts when it came to you - your body, standing under the stream of the shower. You probably liked hot showers, didn't you? You most likely stayed in there for an hour, going through your meticulous routine, lathering yourself in scented soaps and creams... you'd be appalled if you had seen the three-minute showers he takes, wouldn't you? Maybe you would pull him into your routine, once Simon did eventually get the balls to ask you out, despite how much the thought of being romantic with someone made him scoff. He'd let you wash his face, or shave his balls, or do whatever it is you would do to him.

He suddenly snapped out of his trance, realizing he was holding one of the bottles labeled "conditioner". His thumb was on the edge of the cap, ready to flip it open and take a whiff of the scent - but he quickly stopped himself. He put the bottle back with the rest, then splashed cold water over his face. Quit being a fuckin' creep... he thought.

After turning the shower off and drying himself with a towel, he went into his room and grabbed a pair of sweatpants. He made his way back into the basement, patting Riley on the back as he passed her by the door. He pulled his laundry out and placed it on top of the washing machine, and opened the dryer. Just as he was getting ready to toss his clothes in, he noticed something hiding in the back of the barrel of the machine.

He reached in and pulled it out - it was your flannel. The same green-and-grey one you'd been wearing during your interview.

He paused for a moment, posture rigid as he held the fabric in the air. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it. It was just a flannel... but it was your flannel. He fought with his muscles, resisting the urge to bring it closer and inhale the scent - he tried to reason with himself. Maybe she used my soap, and it would just smell like my detergent. Nothin' special.

He dropped it on top of the dryer, still wrinkly and warm - but, strangely, that felt too rude. It's a fucking piece of clothing, for Christ's sake... he thought. Not her dead nan. He then attempted to hang it on the rack, but that felt too formal. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with irritation. How something so insignificant was causing him so much turmoil was beyond him.

He ended up bringing it back upstairs. Riley sniffed the fabric as he passed her - she thumped her tail eagerly on the floor as she smelled your scent. Once again, Simon was jealous of the dog being able to act so carefree with you - he knew for sure that if he tried sniffing your flannel, he would be a certified creep. Or, worse yet, he might not care, and wouldn't be able to stop himself.

He tossed it over the back of the couch, planning on forgetting you had ever even worn it. He dropped himself onto the cuhions with a groan. Riley immediately took her place in her bed, just a few feet away from him. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the telly, flicking through the channels until he found some action/drama that caught his interest. He watched it boredly, drowning himself and his thoughts in the drone of the movie.

Suddenly, Riley barked. Simon looked at her - his gaze was met with hers, mouth opening and tail thwapping against the wall.

"Hmm?"

She let out an impatient, garbled sound. She lowered her head to the edge of her bed, still looking at Simon.

He shrugged internally and looked back at the screen. He settled further into the cushions and let his eyes fall shut. He thought about maybe drifting off then and there - the din of the telly might help keep the nightmares at bay...

Riley barked again, making Simon jolt. He snapped his head towards her - she was standing at the foot of the couch, ears back and panting.

"Wha' d'you want?" He asked in an annoyed tone.

She barked again, shifting her weight from one paw to the other.

"Ya need to go out?" He asked. He stood from his seat, only for Riley to scamper back to her bed and plop down on it. She looked at him expectantly.

Simon huffed. "'M not following." He dropped down to the sofa again. Riley groaned, making a scene of dragging herself out of the bed again and walking over to Simon.

"Now, don't you go 'n start aga-"

She cut him off with a shrill yap.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew it couldn't be time for her medication - you had just given her some at nine. But he was entirely stumped on what she was trying to communicate to him. Was she hungry? She wasn't usually, after she'd had dinner... did she want to play? But... she was acting like she wanted to go to bed.

"What are you on 'bout?" He asked, leaning down to ruffle her fur. She dodged his hand and backed up a bit, yowling out a frustrated sound.

He scoffed. "Fuckin' hell..." he mumbled, pulling his phone from his pocket. Only one way to fix this, he thought, as he tapped through his contacts, until he landed on yours.

He stared at the picture for a moment, familiarizing himself with the details he had spent so long ogling at: your smile, your damp hair, the curve of your cheekbones, the way you marked your spot in your book with your fingers-

Riley barked again, making Simon scowl.

"A'right- just hush." He ordered, sending her a stern glance as she shuffled back to her bed. He started the call - he felt unusually nervous, his gut twisting as he listened to each ring on the line. Maybe he really was whipped, he thought.

Eventually, the call picked up. His shoulders tensed as he heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

"... m... hello?"

Fuck. You sounded tired- no, you sounded like you were still asleep. He quickly pulled the phone away and checked the time; it was nearly two in the morning. Of course you'd been asleep.

"Uh... hey." He said, mentally cursing himself. "Shit, I, uh... didn't even consider you might be asleep."

"No..." You mumbled - were you even awake at all? "No, iz fine... yeah..."

Simon waited a moment, expecting you to say something else - but you didn't. Eventually, he heard the soft sounds of your breathing again.

"Hello?" He asked cautiously.

"Up... 'm up... what's up?"

Simon shifted in his seat, slightly ashamed that he hadn't put two and two together and ended up calling you so late. "Right- jus' a quick-"

Riley barked again, staring at Simon impatiently.

Simon covered the speaker to his phone and sent her a harsh glare. "Oi! 'M workin' on it, hush!"

Your sleepy giggle wafted through the phone and into Simon's ear. "Sweet baby..."

Simon's breath caught in his throat, and he coughed nervously. She means the dog, the fucking dog, you idiot.

"Uh, sorry- jus' got a question for ya."

"Hmm?"

"Well- she's acting a bit funny," he stared at Riley and held a cautioning hand up as she shifted her weight and whined, "she's runnin' around and yellin' at me. Keeps gettin' in 'er bed, then comin' back like- like she wants somethin'. I have no bloody idea. Just wonderin' if she was doin' this with you."

"Oh, yeah..." Simon could hear your smile through the phone, and he desperately tried to push the image of your tired face from his mind. "She wants her blanket."

Simon paused. "She- she's got her blanket."

"No- she wants you to tuck her in."

"She wha' now?"

You laughed again. "You need to tuck her in her bed. She's right under the air vent and she gets cold."

He looked back at Riley. She was now sitting down, mouth closed, as if agreeing with what you said. He scoffed, rising from the couch and shuffling towards her. She slowly thumped her tail as he approached.

"Never 'eard of a dog gettin' tucked in..." he grumbled. He grabbed the felt blanket behind her, swaddling it around her body. She groaned, slowly blinking at him in an appreciative manner.

"Ya spoiled, you hear me?" He said quietly, tucking the blanket in between her and the cushion of the bed. She sighed happily, completely unaware that he was insulting her. She licked his cheek when he bent down close enough, and he grumbled and wiped the spittle away.

You giggled in his ear - Christ, you've got to stop doing that, do you have any idea what it does to him? - as he sat back down on the sofa. "All better?" You asked.

"Seems t' be-" he replied, watching Riley as she settled into her cocoon, "ya turnin' her into a princess."

"Well, she is one." You quickly replied - Simon could hear you stretching your limbs, followed by a long exhale.

He wanted to talk to you all night. Hearing you prattle on was like a balm to his jagged mind. But he knew he couldn't. You were half asleep, after all.

"Well, tha's all I needed- oh, and you, uh..." he grabbed your flannel off the back of the sofa. "Y' left your flannel here."

"I did?"

"Yeah. The green one."

"Oh, bullocks, I knew I-"

"Who are you talking to at this hour?"

Simon felt his heart stop when he heard the other voice. It had hit him like a train, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His brain went into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible scenario. Break in? Crazy stalker? Murderous ex? "Y' aright, love?"

"Simon." You said, and he couldn't tell if you were talking to him or someone else. Were you trying to warn him? To ask for help?

"Talk to me."

"Who the bloody hell is Simon?"

"My client, ya git."

"Oh- sorry love-" Simon heard more shuffling, then a kiss, followed by a grunt from you. He let himself linger in the confusion of what was going on - but, in the back of his mind, he understood it completely.

"Got me right in my bloody eye-"

"Oh, hush."

"Left your flannel at his house."

"My green one?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you were using the grey one!"

"Well, I was, Tyler, and then I wanted the green one!"

"That's it - I'm stealin' all ya knickers tomorrow."

You laughed again - this time. The sound nearly shattered Simon. He felt like it was wrong to hear you laugh so sweetly.

"Well, uh-" he was speaking before he even realized it. "You can pick it up- or I'll drop it off- or, uh, I can drop it- I mean, I'll-"

"You can shove it in the closet until next time, if that's alright?" You said, yawning shortly after.

Simon paused. He needed to get it together. "Yea, that'll work. I'll let you go then - sorry to call so late."

"It's fine, really. But let me know when you'll need me again, ok?"

"'Course I will. I'll send you an email, as usual."

You scoffed. "I know you said we should only text for emergencies, but you can text me if it's something small, Simon."

"Right, will do. I'll text you."

"Is everything ok?"

"It's fine. You should sleep. I'll talk later."

"Ok. Goodnight, Simon."

"G'bye."

He ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, until your contact photo faded away. He leaned his head back and sighed. His thoughts suddenly came rushing back - except this time, they were about you. How he should have expected you to have a partner. How could you not? You were so bright and bubbly, of course you'd be snatched up. He felt stupid for thinking you'd be single. Maybe this whole idea of you falling for him was stupid. Maybe this was better - he was saved from rejection, even if this situation stung painfully within his chest.

Whatever. Hopefully, your personality would finally drive him over the edge of annoyance and anger, and you'd be more of a nuisance to him. That'd be the easiest way you could let him down.

He looked at the flannel in his lap. It's not even hers. He thought. He crumpled the fabric into his hand and flung it behind him.

Riley's head snapped up at the movement, and she floundered out of her bed, chasing after the flannel.

"Riley, no- don't-" he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard her scuffling across the floor. He kept his eyes closed as he heard her come trotting back, before she stopped at the edge of the couch.

She whined and tilted her head. Simon opened his eyes and looked at her.

"That's not even hers, ya ninny." He said. He looked away and turned up the telly, hoping that everything in his head would just disappear into the back of his mind.

Riley stepped around Simon's feet as she carried the flannel in her mouth. She then hopped onto the couch and settled next to Simon, depositing the (now damp) clothing onto his lap. He grunted as she laid her head down on his leg, whining and flattening her ears. She looked up at him with curious eyes, slowly thumping her tail on the cushion.

He exhaled through his nose. He stared at the flannel, then back at Riley. "Ya really like her, eh?"

She licked her lips and blinked, sighing through her nose.

He chuckled, patting her side and looking at the ceiling. "I know. I do too." He closed his eyes.

"We'll be alright, girl."

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Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae @cum-tea-and-towels @boystepper @definitelynotaclown @your-wifes-boyfriend @ghostslittlegf @bossva @poppingaround @katzykat @mileyraes @chocolate-noodles @jupiternighties @sadlonelybagel @rorysbrainrot @reevesdriver @kingshitonly @ghost4love @lilyofhoon

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #cod fanfiction #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod x reader

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tojisun · 8 months

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not even lying but i couldn’t stop thinking about biker!simon ever since 😭

just imagine biker!simon at the bar with his friends, lounging, waiting for the time to run because after this little after-work drinks, he’s going to drive home to your place. his attention is split between his phone and the chatter of his friends, laughing in bursts at whatever embarrassing thing mactavish is recounting, before turning back to reading the message you sent.

> wearin ur shirt tonight <33

his lips curl in a smile and his heart flutters at how cute you truly are. he types out a response, licking the back of his teeth at the thought of coming home to see you in his shirt, when the chatter dies down in the group.

he catalogues the change, swiftly shutting his phone off before tipping his head up to assess what caused the shift in the mood, only for his eyes to land on a small group of women hovering by their table.

“uh, how can we help you lasses?” johnny, ever the gentleman, asks.

while one of them does respond to johnny, another slides into the empty space beside simon with a giggle.

“hey,” she trills, batting her lashes at him.

simon’s hand tightens around his bourbon, the quiet satisfaction that filled him up throughout the night dissipating. he nods in acknowledgment before turning back to his phone, seeing that there was no immediate danger for him to focus on.

ignoring his obvious lack of interest, she wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs hard enough that simon has to turn his attention back to her. he does so with a sigh.

“it’s so stuffy here,” she says, fanning herself, her eyes drawn onto the helmet he stupidly brought with him inside the bar. she presses close, rubbing her tits along his inked arm. “wanna take me out for a ride?”

simon snatches his arm from her hold, his face pinching in irate. “no, not interested.”

she pouts, cheeks flushing and simon wonders how much of it was because of the alcohol and how much of it was because of shame. he flicks his eyes up to the rest of the group, narrowing his eyes at the unabashed glee in johnny’s face at seeing simon be cornered by someone who can’t take a fucking clue, before shooting a betrayed glare at price and garrick who are choosing to ignore him.

the girl’s friends are now left sitting awkwardly, watching as their friend flounders for simon’s attention – something he’d never give, anyway.

“c’mon, big boy,” said friend croons, twirling her hair. “don’t wanna take a sweetheart for a drive?”

simon sighs, done for the night. “again, not interested," he replies. "'sides, i’ve got the sweetest darling waiting for me at home. i don’t want you, miss.”

and with that, he stands up, snatching his helmet from the table and nodding his goodbyes to his friends. he doesn’t stay long enough to hear her sputter or watch her storm off because simon’s already out the door and walking to the parking lot.

he wears his helmet and slides his gloves on, before fishing for his phone to finally send you that text that he had been wanting to send.

See you soon, sweetheart. <

pocketing his phone, simon finally hefts himself up onto his bike and kickstarts the engine, the machine purring underneath him. he adjusts his helmet, zips up his jacket, before caressing the embroidered letters on his gloves. he traces the initials of your name, feeling his heart fluttering, and brings his gloved knuckles to brush his lips against them.

snapping the visor down, simon revs up the engine and drives off, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

(ext02.) (ext.03) // mlist!

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #what the fuck i was just tryna write a lil thirst headcanon what is this 😭

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miguelhugger2099 · 4 months

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What a Man!

Summary: Times where Miguel reminded you that he's kinda the ideal man. Art by AndalusiaLu on twt :) Next>> Miguel x GN!Reader, Fluff, Drabble

You were used to dating shitty men. One way or another they'd disappoint you so you've learned to pick your poison. You'd much rather date a broke man than an abusive one, as sad as that sounds.

So, when you meet Miguel, a six foot nine, muscle built rich man, you half expected for him to fall into one--but not limited to--three categories. Gym rat, machismo, or a entitled narcissist. It wouldn't be your first and it wouldn't be your last either. But, you were pleasantly surprised when he offered to take you out to a nice restaurant as a first date.

You asked for the address of the place he named and were met with pure confusion on Miguel's end. "Why would you need the address?" He asked.

"So I can drive there?" You raised an eyebrow. Miguel's lips tugged downward.

"I was planning on picking you up," He shrugged. "But if it's a matter of safety, then let me at least pay for your ride there and home."

You were gobsmacked. No forcing you in his car? And he offered to pay for the expenses? You pushed down the slight leap in your chest and coughed. "Picking me up is fine."

Miguel had set the time to pick you up at six thirty and when he texted he was outside, you had to embarrassingly ask him for another five minutes to finish the touches on your outfit. He assured you it was fine and to take your time but you still hurried anyway, not wanting to take up too much time when he's the one driving.

You opened the door the exit and you gasped, taking a step back at seeing Miguel right in front. His back was facing you but when he heard you and the door opening, he turned around and gave you a charming smile. In his hands was a small bouquet of flowers, his suit neatly tailored and it looked snug on his toned body. His white collar was popped open just enough to see the gold chain draped on his neck.

"Forgive me. I should've asked what type of flowers you liked beforehand but I hope these roses will do." Miguel handed them to you and you had to remember to pick your jaw up off the ground. Flowers? On the first date? Flowers at all? You accepted the bouquet with a bashful smile, smelling the fresh scent of the roses with a murmur of your favorite flower.

Miguel's smile grew slightly at your pleased reaction. "I'll be sure to remember that, cariño." He held out his hand to you and you took it with him then leading you to his car.

You subconsciously reached for his car door handle but his larger hand reached for it first. Popping it open, he helped you inside the comfy leather seat of his luxurious car with a gentle squeeze of your hand and closing the door. He opened the door for you? Good lord. You fanned your face to ease the heat growing on your cheeks and dumb smile on your lips.

On the road, he engaged in small talk that consisted of asking about your day, listening to your small rants about work with him pitching in when you asked your own questions. The chemistry was there, conversation and bantering flowing seamlessly between the two of you.

Once at the restaurant, not only had he opened the door for you but also pulled out your chair! You two picked up the menu and you struggled to find the cheapest option available, not wanting to hurt his pockets. Seeing your eyebrows knit together, Miguel nudged the menu down with his finger to meet your eyes.

"Pick what you want. I'm paying anyway." He tilts his head slightly.

You chuckle nervously. "I just don't want you to spend too much. It's rude."

Miguel tuts, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, like I said, I'm the one taking you out. Everything is on me," He leans back in his chair, gazing at the steak section. "Besides, I have more than enough. A few extra dollars won't make a difference."

Jesus Christ. These prices couldn't hurt his bank account when yours is crying just looking at it? "Well, maybe this pasta here looks good?" You point to the one you've been subtly eyeing. Miguel gives a hum of approval.

"You have a good eye." He praises with a small wink and making you giggle. The waiter comes by to collect your order, Miguel adding a wine by a name you can't pronounce. He then hands both your menus to the waiter and faces you again.

"Now, what was that about your boss giving you shit at work?" He smirks, remembering and even wanting to hear the rest of your story from the car. You laugh and lean your elbows on the table, starting from the top while Miguel listens with open ears.

After being in an established relationship, you learned Miguel was private about your relationship but not secretive about it. He often invited you as his plus one to his works banquets at Alchemax, his arm around you at all times whether on your shoulder or around your waist.

Miguel would show you off with pride. "And who's this lovely one next to you?" Someone would ask mid-conversation. He'd perk up, standing a bit taller and moving his hand to the middle of your back.

"This is my wonderful partner." He smiled, announcing your name to them and kissing your temple. You felt shy even with the small public display of affection. Too much made you feel icky and too little made you feel sad---Miguel knew just the right amount to get your heart fluttering.

While Miguel had been talking to another group of men, you tugged on his suit to grab his attention. He immediately put the conversation on hold and looked down on you with a hint of of concern. "What's wrong?"

You smiled reassuringly. "Nothing. I'm just gonna grab a drink--kinda thirsty. Want one?" You asked. Miguel relaxed after knowing you were okay and he nodded.

"That'd be great. Gracias, cariño." He lifted your chin to give you a quick peck that you reciprocated and slipped you his card before letting you be to find the bar.

You squeezed through the crowd of rich and smart people alike, making your way to the familiar counter filled with various types of alcohol. You leaned over to catch the bartenders attention and order two drinks, passing Miguel's card to him and sat on the stool while you waited.

You glanced around the banquet, mindlessly taking everything in to the chandeliers and the different types of people you'd never thought you'd be in the same room if it weren't for Miguel. Speaking of which, your eyes landed on him, smiling to yourself as he chatted along with his colleagues. You admired the way he was confident but not egotistical, kind but not a push-over, humble but knows his worth. You really lucked out with this one.

The clinking of two glass cups snapped you out of your lovesick gaze and you smiled at the bartender, giving your thanks. You hopped off the stool and picked them up carefully before looking up and stopping in your tracks. Where you meant to walk towards Miguel, there was an older man introducing what you guessed was his daughter to Miguel. In the pit of your stomach, you pushed down the feeling of jealousy, instead focusing your emotion on how Miguel would react.

You've spent too much time entertaining men and their games, whether it was to purposefully piss you off or discard you for an ounce of someone else's attention. So you watched how Miguel would handle it and you hoped he wouldn't disappoint you.

The woman smiled a little too big for your liking, obviously making herself seem more attractive in his eyes. Which would've been fine--if it wasn't to your man. Your eyes narrowed when she reached for his bicep but then Miguel stopped her. You blinked as you saw him try to shove her off as professionally as possible but you saw him clench his jaw to hide his disgust. He faced the older man without sparing another glance at the appalled woman, gesturing to himself and shaking his head. You assumed he was explaining he was taken and was proven right when he turned in your direction and his eyes met yours. His face morphed into something softer when he looked at you, a smile on his face when he turned back to the man-- "happily in a relationship" his lips said.

The weight in your chest lifted instantly. Miguel wasn't playing a childish game to make you jealous and he was committed to you. To you, he had gotten so much more attractive in your eyes.

You felt a small poke to your shoulder and you turned around, seeing a man with slicked back blonde, almost white, hair. He sized you up and down which made an uncomfortable shiver run down your spine. You took a step back and smiled politely. "Can I help you?"

The man chuckles. "Just wondering what a pretty thing like you is doing all by yourself. Especially with two drinks. Someone ditch you? That's a shame." He sauntered over closer to you but you took another step back up until you hit a wall. Or what you thought was a wall. You smelled the familiar scent of Miguel's signature cologne and looked up.

Miguel was right behind you, his eyes void of the softness just moments ago and narrowed at the man in front of you. His arm had wrapped around your middle and pulled you closer to him possessively, his other hand taking one drink from your hand. "Thank you for getting us a drink, mi vida," He kissed your temple then down to your cheek. "Kron, seems you've just met my partner." His smile was strained as he hissed out 'partner'.

Kron, as you now know, had stopped smiling instantly. He tried hiding the obvious hatred for Miguel but it still seeped out. "Miguel," He greeted. "Seems I have. Didn't mean to intrude. Have a nice night." He excused himself and grumbled while walking away. Miguel watched as he did so, taking a sip of the drink you had gotten him, the cubes tinkling against the glass. He bent down to your ear after swallowing the bitter taste, his breath warm and tickling you with how close he got.

"From now on, you don't leave my side. I can't bear people thinking you're not mine." His deep voice rumbled and his grip never left your waist the whole night. Wherever you went, he went along and wherever he went, his hand was always somewhere on your body. You head spun the rest of the night, flushed next to him while he managed to slip in that you were his in every conversation and even stealing a few kisses here and there. To have a man this proud of you, it made your heart flutter like no other. Private but not secretive.

A/N: something short and sweet in the middle of writer's block :')

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099

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blarshwritezz · 2 months

Note

Yandere ceo × male actor reader. I imagine that the CEO is the owner of one of the biggest Hollywood agencies of all time and is a reference in entertainment, he is the cold type and gets to know you during an event.

The reader is an actor who appears in successful films and he is nice compared to the ceo.

I imagine Ceo would make indecent proposals to you and force you to marry him

Capital idea!

Yandere CEO x Actor Reader

Male yan x male reader

TW - general yandere behavior, slight NSFW abuse of power, manipulation

"What do you say, won't you be my husband? You know what will happen if you don't..." CEO!Yan whispered, his hot breath tickling your ear as his bruising grip on your waist tightened further. Is this really what your life has come to?

You never expected anything like this to happen when you met nearly two years ago. You were at a party hosted by your company to celebrate what a success your latest movie was.

It was your first time in a lead role, and you absolutely crushed it! It was a massive success at the box office, one of the greatest hits ever produced by your agency!

The CEO even showed up, much to everyone's surprise. You've seen him in the news and on interviews, but he was much more attractive in person. But also so much more intimidating, too. You swore just one gaze from him could freeze you over.

The first time you spoke was when he congratulated you on the role. Specifically, on using that role to fill his pockets with more money. He didn't seem genuine, not at all. He even made a few remarks about how, despite the massive success, you still could have done better.

You thanked him kindly and went off to enjoy your night. You wanted to keep that as your only interaction. Keyword, wanted. With other people, you enjoyed lighthearted conversations. You made sure to remind people that seemed to be giving you a little too much credit that it wouldn't have turned out even half as good without the entire team. You enjoyed a few drinks with your team, maybe a few too many.

Having gotten tipsy and way too brave, you approached the CEO once again. You just couldn't stop staring! He was hot, and you deserved some action after all the hard work you did.

You approached him, flirting a bit. Telling him how good he looked on that custom-tailored suit.

"You know, I look much better without it." He put a hand on your waist, sliding it down and giving your ass a good squeeze. "Why don't you come spend the night at my place? I can assure you, you'll get plenty more roles like this."

And the next thing you knew, you were waking up in his bed, your ass sore from the night before. Well, more specifically, you woke up laying on his chest with one of his arms holding you in place.

That definitely made you wake up. You couldn't believe it! Did you really sleep with your boss?! Sure he was hot and, now that it was coming back to you, really good in bed, but that wasn't what was important here! What if you lose your job over this?! And right as you were really starting to get a name for yourself too.

You carefully crawled out of his arms, trying to find your clothes so you could leave. You could only hope that he wouldn't remember the events of last night.

But oh he did. Like promised, you were soon offered a role in an upcoming movie. The lead role. And with it, a little note saying the spot was guaranteed to be yours...if you just stopped by his office. And if not, he'd ruin your career...

So it became something of a routine. You got incredible roles, and all at the price of your body...in interviews and when speaking to fans, you would always be congratulated and complimented. You really were an incredible actor!

But deep down you knew that you were most likely ruining someone else's chances. There were plenty of other talented actors in this industry that were actually putting in the effort to get parts like this.

But at the same time, he'd absolutely ruin your reputation and career if you didn't do what he said. He had the power and influence to absolutely end your social life, even if you left the industry.

Slowly, your encounters became more...intimate. More loving. He'd start taking you out on genuine dates, and on some rare occasions those dates wouldn't end with him pumping you full of his seed like usual.

He'd even visit you on set! The only issue was how touchy and clingy he got. He'd glare at anyone who got too close to you, even if it was for a scene. People definitely noticed, and rumors soon spread that you two were together.

You told him to tell the truth, to let everyone know that you weren't really together. And what did he say? "Why should I deny it? You're mine, and everyone should know."

Everyone definitely knew, and slowly they all resented working with you. They knew the only reason you got so many roles was because of your relationship with him. And they all avoided you like the plague, fearing what he might do if they got too close.

It kept getting worse and worse, leading you down a spiral of self hatred. He was the reason you were getting things you didn't deserve! But he was the only one who made you feel better, holding you tight and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Telling you how much you did deserve it. How much you impressed him every day.

All that leading to this moment. Him holding you close as if he hadn't just massacred your throat, all while slipping a ring on your finger.

"Remember, if you say no, you won't have me to protect you from all those awful people. You deserve the world, my dear~"

And we got it! I don't know if you really wanted much nsfw or not, but I added some anyway.

#x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #blarsh writes #male yandere #male x reader #yandere x you #yandere x male reader #x male reader #male reader #yandere x darling #yandere x male darling #yandere x y/n #yandere ceo #ceo yandere

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sentientcave · 2 months

Text

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#Retirement Party #Chapter 2 baybeee #Doll is coming to terms with the weirdest situation she's ever been in #cod mw fanfiction #John Price x Reader #x reader #Some hints of Poly 141 (I think it'll crop up properly later on)#Gaz wearing his kiss the cook apron wondering why Doll's not kissing him ): (It's because you kidnapped her)#Johnny never change baby boy you're a dog and we love that about you

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jelliessoap · 9 months

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Idea! he team found out about Price's husband on a tv game, which they were watching out of boredom. His last name on the jersey is [lastname]-price. They think its a coincidence. But when he makes a winning shot, and the camera pans to him, he dose this specific hat thing, like pinch and smuge the rim of his hat, like when you pinch salt. They realize, its what Price dose! Coincidence I think not!

OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA SM!!!! IM !!!!!!!

hehehe some hcs under the cut thank you anon!

no warnings i can think of, m!reader, reader is a pitcher in this!

- john would have the game on at the base, ultimately forcing the rest of the task force to watch as well

- literally put the remote in his pocket so they couldn’t change it. they just assumed he really liked the sport for some reason and watched it as well.

- soap was and gaz ended up being the only ones truly paying attention, ghost would give the screen a glance every now and then, mostly just listening to the announcers voice as background noise.

- price only paid attention when you were on the field as per usual, sat next to gaz puffing away at his cigar, soap sat on the floor ( swears its more comfy ), with ghost at the opposite end of the couch

- it was bottom of the 9th and the opposing team’s bases were loaded, 3 balls 2 strikes and 2 outs. your team was up by two points but if they managed to hit a run or walk there was a good chance they could catch up. you needed to strike him out.

- price was stressed. his body tense as he leaned forward eyes fixed on the screen.

- gaz is looking at him like ‘???’ because price never mentioned being a baseball fan.

- it wasn’t that he kept you or your career a secret, it was well known he was married. he was just never questioned about it by the boys and the topic never got brought up

- he also figured it might be safer for both of you seeing you were such a public figure and he had plenty of threats with his job, it wasn’t exactly something he bragged about at work. should your identity fall into the wrong hands he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to you

- ghost ever the observer couldn’t help but notice the way price paid extra attention to the player with, [last name]-price on the back of their jersey. though he figured it was just coincidence

- soap was just excited to be watching a sport tbh, thought it was boring but started to understand as the game went on. now that things were tense he was at the edge of his seat.

- “c’mon luv…” price would mutter under his breath barely audible as you prepared for the pitch that could make or break the game

- you threw a strike with precision, striking their batter out and earning your team the win for the night

- you had your signal to price, it’d become a bit of a signature move for you. as your teammates joined you on the field, cheering and celebrating everyone pumped full of adrenaline you smiled brightly eyes searching for the camera

- as soon as you found it you pulled your signature move, pinching the bill of your baseball cap and smudging your fingers along it while shooting a small wink to the camera. every one of your movement a direct communication to price. that you’d played for him, you won for him, that you were still thinking of him

- gaz noticed your gesture and looked to price in slight confusion. he’s seen price make that exact gesture with his boonie hat more times than he could count.

- ghost noticed too, also taking note of the way price’s lips twitched upward when he watched you and your team celebrate on screen. he was already sure there was something deeper to price’s interest in the game

- soap of course was the first to open his mouth

- “s’like he’s yer soulmate er somethin, captain.”

- “he is.” price would state so seriously, not a hint of joking in his tone. only fondness, even a bit of pride, his eyes never leaving the screen clinging to every bit of you he could get while so far away

- gaz’s eyes would get all wide and he’d say something like “right way to go cap.” finds the fact that price would watch a whole baseball game just for you and your on screen silent communications really romantic ( hopeless romantic gaz truthers rise up! )

- ghost pats himself on the back mentally, muttering a “knew it.”

- then there’s soap who turns his head so fast he nearly gets whiplash, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “YER GAY??” which earns him a light nudge in the side from ghost’s boot and a chuckle from price

#I LOVED WRITING THIS SO CUTE!!!#might make this a series or something #cod #cod headcanons #call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x male reader #ghost cod #gaz cod #soap cod #john price #captain john price #john price x male reader #john price headcanons #headcanons #cod mw2 headcanons #male reader #cod modern warefare 2

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charliemwrites · 3 months

Text

A reader x Simon commission piece I just recently finished for my sweet bean N.W. I had a lot of fun writing a little scenario I never would have thought up on my own!

(Reader is described with FAB anatomy, but no gendered pronouns are used. No sensitive content warnings, just spice.)

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is a bright golden marble in a perfect jewel sky, toasting the sand into a powdery bed. There are only wisps of flossy cloud to interrupt the light, a feathery salt-soaked breeze to soften the edge of heat. The water is nothing but lazy ripples, foamy waves crawling up the coastline before slithering back.

And your coworker is soaking wet.

When you first signed on as a lifeguard, you didn’t expect more than some extra pocket money. A little financial cushion while you finished working through your master’s program. A chance to get some sunshine instead of holing up in your room. Maybe the occasional bit of eye candy while you fished children out of the shallows and fussed at families for littering around the barbecue grills.

You didn’t expect Simon “Walking Wet Dream” Riley. (Okay, that’s not his actual nickname – apparently it’s “Ghost.” Because of course it is.) You didn’t expect his big, fuck-off muscles, or his perfect sun-bleached hair, or the dark ink of his tattoos, or…

Well.

You got more than just eye candy when Mister Price hired you. Simon is a whole damn feast. Especially when he’s fresh from a cool-down swim, red trunks weighed down by water and tides, revealing the tantalizing curves of his hips. Droplets skittering over the bulges and divots of his body, sparkling in the sun…

“Excuse me?”

You try not to jolt, head jerking to the guy that hopefully hasn’t been standing there too long. He looks about your age, maybe a bit older. Wavy, chin-length brown hair and eyes nearly as blue as the water. Pretty, in a young Instagram prince kind of way. Maybe your type in another time – the time Before Simon.

“Hi,” you say quickly, “did you need something?”

“Do you have any plasters?” he asks. “My little brother scraped his knee.”

You glance at the kid shuffling just behind him, his knees dirtied and one red with a bit of blood. Nothing serious, you determine, but could use some first aid.

“Oh, poor thing!” you say. “C’mon, we have some bandages in the shack.”

You wave to get Simon’s attention, make the quick hand-sign indicating you’ll be gone for a moment. He notices you, the two boys, then nods and makes his way back to his usual lookout spot.

The shack is a quiet, cool oasis away from the heat. You’ve dozed off next to the mist fan more times than you care to admit, only to be woken by Simon pressing a cold water bottle to your cheek. It used to annoy you, but now you appreciate the reminder to hydrate.

There’s a robust first aid kit in one of the cabinets, though you groan a bit when you see how high Simon’s stashed it this time. Damned tall man; you could swear he does it on purpose. You try to reach it on your toes, but when that doesn’t work, you jump a bit. Still no luck. You’re going to have to get the stepstool at this rate.

“Here, I’ve got it.”

You jump a bit as Insta-Prince comes up behind you, sliding in close before you can scoot out of the way. He stretches his arm over your head, tugging the kit down from the shelf. When you glance up – concerned about something falling on you – you find him smirking down at you.

“Thanks,” you say trying not to snatch it out of his hands.

“Seems like an… inconvenient place to put that,” he muses.

You sit the younger brother on a plastic chair near the door and kneel, kit open on the floor. “We usually keep it lower… I think Simon forgets I’m shorter than him.”

The kid winces a bit at the sting of wound wash but puts on a brave face when you smile at him.

“Seems pretty rude. Is he hard to work with?” Insta-Prince asks.

You hesitate, trying to think of how to respond. Simon was intimidating, at first. Dark eyes and stoic expression, he was difficult to read. Always within a stone’s throw, you used to feel like he was hovering. Like he didn’t think you could do your job right.

Over the months, though, that insecurity has bridged into a tentative friendship. Even if he’s not talkative himself, he lets you chat to your heart’s content. Keeps you hydrated, reminds you to eat snacks and apply sunscreen. Even handles the rowdier beachgoers when they break rules, his bigger stature and sharp glare enough to cow even the most entitled people.

“No, he’s—”

“What’s the hold up?”

You glance up at Simon’s broad form angled in the shack’s doorway. His eyes aren’t on you or the kid, though. They’re on Insta-Prince – standing a little close to you, now that you’re not focused on the younger brother.

“Just finishing up,” you answer, smoothing a waterproof bandage over the scrape. “You did great, buddy, high five!”

That earns you a little smile and the requested high-five as the kid hops out of the chair. When you stand, Simon’s eyes flick to you. Darker than deep water, something swimming within that you can discern from the surface. It makes you fidgety, like you’ve been caught out doing something you shouldn’t.

“Remember to log it,” he rumbles.

“On it!” You lean over the wooden counter to pluck the clipboard from the wall on the other side, relieved that someone put the pen back for once.

“So, you have to write down all the injuries people get?” Insta-Prince asks, trying for casual conversation. The air feels oddly stifling, and gets worse when he settles closer, peeking around to see the sheet.

“Just if we use medical supplies,” you answer, scribbling quickly.

“Lifeguards only in the shack, kid,” Simon interrupts. “Get moving.”

You try not to snort in amusement. While Simon might tolerate you, he’s got a general disdain for most beachgoers – ironic considering how adamant he is about safety. But he seems to find the average person a nuisance to be constantly monitored and herded away from trouble. Like a shepherd with a flock of particularly stupid sheep.

“My brother was hurt, man, give me a break,” Insta-Prince protests, annoyed.

“And now he’s not,” Simon replies. “You should catch up with him. Kids need to be watched, isn’t that right, sunshine?”

You hum absently in agreement, signing off on the injury log with your initials. There’s a beat of silence that itches at the back of your mind. When you look up, Simon’s arching an eyebrow at the guy, thick arms crossed across his barrel chest.

Sir, firearms are not allowed on the beach, you think, before wrenching your eyes from Simon’s biceps.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask Insta-Prince.

“Just what time you get off work,” he replies, giving you big, soft, hopeful eyes.

You blink, a bit shocked. Flirting happens rarely for you, except maybe platonically with Soap or Gaz. To be fair, you’re not exactly the female lifeguard idol that most people would fantasize about. Half the time you jog around in shorts and a rash-guard, more comfortable in unisex swimwear and keeping the worst of the sun off yourself. Helpful to avoid wardrobe malfunctions if a panicking swimmer grabs at you.

Besides, you’re not really looking to get hit on. Hard to keep an eye out for emergencies if someone’s chatting your ear off for a shag by the restrooms. (You didn’t think people really did that until Farah groaned about it at the bonfire when you first hired.) Still, now that it’s happening… you don’t hate it. This guy is objectively attractive, apparently cares about his younger sibling enough to get him first-aid, and is weathering Simon’s increasingly annoyed scowl.

You figure there’s no harm. Not like someone else is showing a similar interest.

“At sunset,” you answer. “So, uh…”

“6:30,” Simon offers.

You shoot him a grateful look as the kid begins scooting for the door, skirting around Simon’s wider, thicker frame. Christ, the difference is stark. You tug at the front of your rash-guard to relieve some of the sudden heat.

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” he says before disappearing around the corner.

You stare after him for a second. He didn’t even ask for your name. “Huh.”

“The hell was that, sunshine?” Simon grouses.

You turn to him and shrug. “No idea.”

“Really now?” he scoffs.

You shake your head, already agitated by the whole thing for no reason you can pinpoint. Lean over the counter again to hang up the clipboard. “Really.”

“This isn’t a place for your silly summer fantasies and little meet-cutes,” he growls. “This is a real job, with real lives on the line.”

You twist around, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open in offense. “I know that.”

“Do you? Then why the fuck were you in here flirting?”

“I was helping the kid,” you argue, “you saw him!”

“Real convenient, that. When the older one’s been eye-fucking you all damn day.”

Any snappy retorts drown in the shock of his crass language and the accusation. All day? That guy? And Simon noticed? Never mind all that – Simon would seriously think you’d use a kid’s injury as an excuse to… what? Get cozy with an attractive stranger while on duty?

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” you huff, “but I need to get back out there.”

As you pass, a big, rough hand snaps out and catches your elbow. You come up short, half-turning towards him, face hot. Equal parts angry and ashamed for some reason. Summer romance your ass.

“Get it together,” he orders.

You click your tongue at him. “Same to you.”

You wrench your arm back and storm out onto the sand, snatching your floatie from the shack railing along the way. Don’t know what jellyfish stung his ass, but you hope he figures it out. Don’t think your self-esteem can take another round of… whatever that was.

The rest of the day passes tense and slow. Without Simon to talk to, and the beach relatively peaceful, you’re left to fixate on the incident in the shack. What was that about? You thought for sure you’d grown on Simon a bit. Sure, you’re one of the younger lifeguards, which is why Price assigned you to Simon’s post, but you’ve worked hard. You thought you’d proven yourself.

Checking your watch, you find that it’s nearly 6:30. The sun doesn’t seem that low yet, but the beach got empty while you were idly keeping watch. Might as well pack it in, you figure.

Not even thinking of Insta-Prince when you hop up the little wooden steps to the shack. Simon isn’t back from wherever he’s monitoring yet, and you’d like to be clear before that changes. Just in case he’s still in a bad mood.

You shed your blue swim-shorts and rash-guard on the counter, leaving you in the more standard one-piece. Roll your shoulders a bit uncomfortably, itching to squeeze into your binder after a day with tits-out. You’ve gotten accustomed to the sensation of leaving it off for the job, but you’d still prefer to wear it when safe.

You flop onto the counter, reaching over the side to fish your bag out from its cubby. Of course, that’s the exact moment that you hear Simon’s heavy step on that creaky board by the doorway.

“Bloody hell,” you think you hear him mutter.

“I’m just about to head out,” you assure him.

“Meeting up with that knob?”

Your temper flares. You abandon your bag and land on your feet, spinning around. Come up (very) short when Simon’s right there, not enough room to breathe without your chests brushing. But you don’t allow yourself to be deterred.

“So, what if I am?” you challenge.

His eyes darken, then narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play, sunshine.”

“Maybe I do,” you insist, planting your hands on your hips.

He exhales slow and heavy, boxes you in against the counter with hands on either side of you. Your stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat, then trips into double time. Normally he wears a rash-guard too, but not today. No, today it’s swathes of tanned, scarred skin. And it’s so, so close to yours.

“You won’t win,” he warns.

Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, maybe because your thoughts feel the same way. Now, you’re not always the most aware of “signals,” but there aren’t many other ways to interpret someone near-pinning you to a counter with smoldering eyes.

You scramble to review the earlier confrontation through a new lens. The way Simon glared at Insta-Prince, not you – until you seemed open to his interest. Oh. Ohhhh.

You wet your lips; the way his eyes lock onto the movement bolsters your courage.

“What if… I don’t want to win?” you ask.

His eyes dart up to yours, something a little sharper than longing when he whispers, “I’d make you a sore loser.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you; his teeth flash in a crooked smile as he scoops you up so easily. He sits you on edge of the counter and steps between your thighs, pelvis bumping against yours. You gasp, head dropping to stare wide-eyed at the frankly monstrous bulge in his trunks.

“W-wow,” you mumble faintly, thighs squeezing around his hips.

“C’mere, sunshine,” he growls, cupping your jaw.

You tilt your face up, sigh softly as his mouth slots over yours. He tastes like blue powerade and sea salt, tongue curling against yours when you grant him enthusiastic access.

Your hands make scattered, eager work of exploring him, unsure where you want to touch first, just that you have to. He’s as solid as you always expected, densely packed muscle under healthy, hydrated layers of fat. Sun-warm beneath your palms, shudders as your skim them dangerously close low on his twitching abdomen.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging gently at the shoulder strap of your swimsuit.

“Yeah,” you mumble, wriggling closer.

He huffs in amusement, peeling the elastic material over your arms and down your chest while you scatter kisses over his jaw and neck. You gasp into his peck when his calloused thumbs brush your hard nipples. Just a small touch, yet electricity is racing up and down your spine.

“This alright?” he checks.

You hum the affirmative, pressing into his touch as he pinches and rolls the sensitive peaks, slow searching. Reclaims your mouth to swallow each and every little mewl and moan that spills off your tongue. You can’t help rocking against him, hot and hard through the thin layers of swimwear.

“Simon,” you whine against his mouth, “c’mon.”

“Impatient,” he teases, nipping your bottom lip.

“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” you complain, tugging at his trunks.

“I know, sunshine,” he coos, “just wait a bit longer.”

He takes the tiniest step back, fingers hooking in your swimsuit again to roll it the rest of the way off. You lift your hips to help, nearly squirming as strings of slick web between the fabric and your pussy. But Simon seems hypnotized, snapping the strands with his fingers and following them back to your swollen cunt.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” he rasps.

You make an embarrassed noise – which quickly graduates into an alarmed squeal when he drops to his knees.

“Simon, wait, I’ve been working all day and—”

“Don’ give a fuck,” he growls, “I’ve been dying to taste you for weeks.”

He yanks your thighs over his big, strong shoulders and dives in. It’s messy and obscenely loud, filling up the tiny shack and all the empty space in your head. Would be embarrassing if you had any room for something so frivolous. Instead, you’re gone on the way he sucks your clit and laps thirstily at your entrance. Utterly obsessed with the deep, throaty groans that leave you throbbing.

It's been a while, true, but you know he’d have you on edge so fast regardless. And he does, rushing up on it like a building, rolling wave. The devastating kind that’ll drown you in unyielding currents.

“Wait, wait,” you squeak, tugging at his coarse hair.

To his credit, he stops instantly, though he sounds absolutely gutted about it. Pulls back licking his lips like a cat with cream, chin practically dripping.

“Alright?” he asks, voice shredded to ribbons.

“I just,” you pant, “I just w-wasn’t ready to – to… I wanna cum on your cock. Please, Si?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He surges up, pressing you down flat to kiss you stupid(er) and senseless. The taste of you isn’t as offensive as you expected, not coming from his tongue. “You’ll get anything you want if you keep talking like that.”

“Just want you.”

He helps you off the counter, drags you by the wrist to the plastic chair by the doorway. You’re about to protest – no way can that chair support someone his size, never mind both of you. But then he’s spinning you around, crushing you to his chest, and yanking you down into his lap. Any such nonsense as good sense dissolves like a sandcastle.

You can feel the length of him pressing hot and a little wet against your spine. (So, so high up your spine, good god). When he freed himself from his swim-trunks, you’re not sure, nor do you care at this moment. Your priorities narrow down to one absolute necessity: getting him inside you now, now, now.

“Easy now, baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he purrs in your ear. “Let me help.”

He curls big hands around your hips, tight enough that you relish the bruises that may bloom there later. Supports your weight as if it’s nothing to him, propping you over his lap as you line up his cock, dragging the flushed head through your pooling wetness. He curses low and rough, sinking you down until the tip catches on your entrance.

“There we are,” he grits, hands flexing in your soft flesh. “Nice and slow now, sunshine.”

If you had your way, he’d already be balls deep in your aching pussy. But his grip is firm and unrelenting, lowering you inch by thick inch down his shaft. You back and squeeze around him, encouraging him deeper, faster, helpless little noises escaping from your gaping mouth.

“That’s it, halfway there,” he breathes. “Doing so well.”

You choke. Halfway?! You already feel stuffed, walls gripping every contour of his cock like you were made for him.

He twitches inside you, bulbous, leaking head grinding deliciously, and your resolve cracks right down the middle. You dig your nails into his thighs and slam your hips down, crying out as he buries deep inside. Can feel him nudging your cervix, stretching your silky walls, all the way down to where your opening is sealed tight around the base of him.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper, head falling forward as you clench around him.

Oh, you are definitely going to be so perfectly sore after this. You can’t fucking wait.

“If you’re that impatient to be ruined,” he chuckles breathlessly, “best brace yourself, lovie.”

You barely manage to get your feet planted before he’s fucking up into you, hard and mean. Just what you want, what you need. Your head falls back to cry your pleasure to the shack roof as you bounce. Rocking your hips each time he bottoms out, grinding him against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you. It’s mind-numbing; you’re leaking around him, know it must be dripping onto the floor at this point.

He snakes a hand around to your front. Brushes where the two of you are connected, the strange and dangerous sensation making tears prick at your eyes. Then his fingers skip up to your needy, oversensitive clit. You almost want to stop him, already so overwhelmed with pleasure. But again, anything like coherent thought is ripped away on a tide of ecstasy when he begins rubbing quick, tight circles.

Your rhythm faulters at the new stimulation, but Simon just widens his stance. It changes the angle, drags the head so perfectly against your g-spot. With the hand still on your hip, he starts jerking you down to meet each thrust. It’s slightly slower, but so much sweeter, combined with the rhythm he’s strumming on your clit.

Your orgasm rises like a tsunami, higher and higher, a devastating force building up inside.

“Simon,” you keen, “Simon, I’m gonna – right there…”

“That’s it, sunshine. Get me nice and wet with your cum.”

That voice, saying such filth in your ear, sends you over the edge. You nearly convulse, eyes rolling back in your head as you scream. Back arching, writhing and gripping crescents into his thighs. And you can feel yourself gushing all over him, onto the floor.

“Yes, yes, fuck, just like that.”

You’re near limp as he keeps hammering into you, practically using you like a toy to get himself off. The thought alone makes you squeeze around him again, a powerful aftershock bringing another flood of wetness. Your head lolls back against his shoulder, crying into his ear, begging him to cum inside you, fill you up…

He crashes his mouth into yours as he cums, groaning into your lax mouth, jerking violently into your overstimulated pussy. You swear you can feel him spurting inside you, thick and white-hot. It feels… it feels…

You break the kiss to suck in a deep breath, lightheaded and still squeaky with pleasure. Simon trails soothing kisses over your shoulder, grip easing up to caress over the forming finger marks. You hum softly, voice husky. Flutter your eyes open and blink at the pink sky out the window.

“Is it… is it just now sunset?” you ask.

Simon chuckles against your ear. “Looks like I was about thirty minutes off. Whoops.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #commissioned work #ko fi commissions #simon x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lifeguard au #beach au #simon ghost riley

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dante-mightdie · 11 months

Text

my thoughts about ceo!john price and trophywife!reader…

warnings: minors dni, smut, blowjobs, finger-sucking, daddy kink, fluff, john spoils you rotten <3

john price is a powerful man…

successful, wealthy, strong, attractive…

what else would you expect from a man who owns his own private military company…

he drew you in the moment you first laid eyes on him…

sat in the back of the painfully boring soiree that you had been dragged along to his black suit, a glass of scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other…

he must be an important man here because apparently he’s the only one allowed to smoke inside…

it wasn’t the way that his suit fit in all the right places that made you blush…

nor was it the way he sat… legs spread wide with a prominent bulge on display…

what made you blush… was that he was also looking at you…

it wasn’t long before he was striding up to you, as confident as anything, and offering to buy you a drink…

and the rest is history…

now you’re by his side everywhere he goes, a pretty little thing on his arm to show off and spoil…

perfectly manicured nails, more clothes than you know what to do with, a disgustingly expensive wedding ring…

weekly date nights at the fanciest restaurants, top-shelf liquor and kisses that taste like champagne…

nothing is too much when it comes to you <3

you’ve never had a man that takes care of you like john does…

he buys you everything you could ever want and more…

all he asks is that you sit pretty on his lap and empty his balls for him :(

but he never has to ask :)

you are more than happy to get on your knees for daddy…

thanking him for the brand new red-bottoms he bought you…

sucking on his balls and stroking his long, thick cock…

he’ll watch you with a content smile, interlocking his fingers with yours, watching as the diamond on your engagement ring twinkles in the sunlight…

don’t think it’s over once you’ve swallowed his cum…

you gotta make sure you climb back into his lap and cockwarm him whilst he smokes…

let him stroke your hair and press kisses your cheek whilst he praises you…

“such a good little thing for me, aren’t ya, lovie?”…

he’ll coo the words in your ear before he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, letting you press a kiss to it before he slips it into your mouth…

“‘m gonna give you the world, sweetheart…”

call this man daddy in public and see what happens…

call him daddy in front of simon or gaz… I dare you…

he’ll be dragging you to the nearest private room and tearing your panties off then stuffing them in his pocket…

this isn’t horny but john matches his suit pocket handkerchief to your dress…

this is horny but you match your lipstick and nail colour to the tip of his…

he didn’t notice until you gave him a blowjob and he couldn’t stop staring at your lips sucking on the head of his cock…

“you little minx…”

if you’re really good for him… he might be nice and let you pick a 141 member to have for your birthday…

he’s seen you eyeing up simon for a while…

and god knows the man needs to unwind…

john is an old-fashioned lover <3

he only has eyes for you…

and he’s such a gentleman…

he’ll kneel down and tap his knee for you to place your foot on so he can strap up your heels…

gives you his jacket when it’s cold…

opens doors for you…

kisses placed to the back of your hand…

“love…” “darling…” “honey…” “dear…”

“daddy’s good girl…”

personal headcanon that john is a big james bond fan…

owns an aston martin and everything…

you giggle everytime he orders the famous martini…

john loves it when you spend his money…

loves getting notifications from his bank when you go shopping…

especially when he sees that you ordered something from the Italian lingerie store that he adores…

but he especially loves when he sees that you’ve clearly bought something for him…

£2,750 at The Whisky Exchange, £1,080 at Sautter Cigars…

you know him so well…<3

I feel like this version of john would still have the 141 working with him…

and he’d pick one of the boys to be your personal bodyguard…

maybe soap because he knows you’ll like his fun personality…

john favourite thing to come home to is you in sage green lingerie, white stockings and his bucket hat…

bonus points if you’re already touching yourself when he gets home…

john spoils you rotten on birthdays, anniversaries, etc…

you wake up to dozens of designer bags strewn about, bouquets, huge stuffed animals…

but the most treasured gift john has ever given you is a emerald locket with the letter ‘J’ engraved and your wedding picture inside <3

gonna think about him all day at work…

#john price x reader #price #john price #mw2 x reader #call of duty mw2 #mw2 #captain price #captain john price #captain price x reader

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

Text

An Unlikely Duo

Request by ✨ anon: Can I perhaps get a Ghost x GN!Reader, where reader got transferred to TF 141 and has two personalities? Like cold and badass on the battlefield and super friendly and chirpy back at base. So Reader, on day 1, already sees Ghost as a best friend and she loves hugs, so she decides to hug him after a missions success and leaves him frozen and a blushing mess?

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,310

Notes:

Big thanks to my ✨ anon for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it! Hope I did well on my first request!

Fluff (the platonic kind)

Want more?

———————————————————————

You walk behind him, holding a container filled with freshly washed strawberries. His strides are long and confident, making it hard for you to keep up with him as you walk to the truck.

“Would you like a strawberry?” You ask, extending the container to him, but he ignores you and quickens his pace.

You try to catch your breath as you follow him, but it’s difficult. Whenever you think you’re closing the gap, he increases his speed and pulls away again. You break into a light jog to stay close.

“So, I presume... you’re not... a strawberry fan?” You ask, out of breath. Instead of responding, he lets out a dismissive “tsk” and continues walking.

“Why don’t you like str-”

“Get that damn thing away from me and keep moving,” he says as he pushes your hand away. “We have work to do; no time for strawberries.”

You come to a complete halt. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, strawberries are-”

“Just get in the damn car,” he orders, opening the back door and gesturing for you to get inside.

It’s your first day as the newest member of Task Force 141, and the base already feels like a powder keg. But that doesn’t bother you; you’re excited to be a part of such an elite team and contribute as much as possible to future missions. Soap and Gaz were surprised but amused by your cheerful personality when they met you this morning. However, not everyone on the team seems to be on the same page; Ghost was less than impressed. He sized you up from head to toe, looking for any sign that you were ready for the mission. But, instead of finding comfort, he was met by your cheery attitude and endless questions about his fruit preferences.

“What is this, Captain?” He grumbled at Price, “I asked for an explosives specialist, not a fucking Jack Russell.”

“Laswell swears by their abilities,” Price reassured him, “just give ’em a chance, brother...”

Despite his trust in the captain, Ghost remained skeptical. Was it the way you expressively waved your hands while speaking? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking about strawberries? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking in general? Whatever the reason, Ghost was clearly not on board.

He has the same attitude as he sits across from you in the truck, driving to your assigned mission. It’s a look of concern and contempt. as if he can’t believe what fate has brought him this time—like he’s been dealt bad cards yet again.

But that’s okay; you’re used to feeling like an outcast, and you’re not going to let that get in the way of this mission’s success.

“Yo, Lt.?” You ask excitedly, attempting to break the ice by pulling a purple star-shaped charm from your pocket, “Do you like it?”

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “You look like you just got out of a toy store.” He comments flatly.

“That wasn’t my question, sir,” you say wryly, “and if that’s the case, then you look like you just got back from trick-or-treating.” You smile and attach the charm to your assault rifle.

“Take that off this instance,” he says, “I won’t let you and your sparkles hinder our position.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re not sparkles—they’re sequins,” you say, waving your gun around so he can see the charm, “and second, they won’t even see it when they’re dead.”

“Stop talking.” He sighs.

“I’m conversing, not talking.”

“Then stop conversing.”

“Like, who doesn’t like strawberries?” you ask, lowering your voice.

“I told you to stop.”

“And sequins are pretty cool, man.” You mutter to yourself as you cross your hands over your chest.

“Shut it and put your helmet on; we’re almost there,” Ghost says sternly.

You fall silent as you gaze out the window at the passing scenery. The tension in the truck is intense, but you refuse to let it get to you. Instead, you take a deep breath and relax.

As the truck comes to a stop, Ghost explains the goal of the mission: get to the door where the valuable information is stored and collect as much intel as possible. After his brief rundown, you quickly exit the vehicle and assume position. It’s game time, and you’re determined to prove to everyone what you’re capable of.

You move fluidly through the environment, using your firearms, knives, and bare hands with precision to take out any targets that come your way. You are agile and swift, never staying in one place for too long and using your surroundings to your advantage. He takes quick glimpses at you every now and then to check if you are okay. He seems impressed yet wary; as if he’s testing you to see if you’re up for the challenge, yet careful enough to not put you in danger. As you work through the guarded area, you keep calm and focus on the task, finally reaching the steel-framed door. However, the door remains unyielding despite using military-grade hammers and refuses to budge.

You turn towards Ghost to plan your next move when you notice an enemy approaching him from behind.

“Get down, Lt.!” You yell and throw a knife at the enemy. The lieutenant is stunned but quickly regains his composure. He turns to thank you, but you cut him off.

“This isn’t a playground, Lt.; I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly won’t become yours.” You firmly tell him as you push him aside and place the purple star-shaped charm on the door’s lock. “Step back,” you order.

Ghost looks at you, puzzled.” What is-”

“You must learn when it’s the right time for chit-chat and when to listen to the specialist, sir; please take a step back.” You repeat, and he follows your instructions.

With everyone clear of the area, you pull the cord and duck for cover. Five seconds later, your bomb detonates, blasting open the door and granting you access to the information inside. You quickly survey the room and pinpoint the location of the vital information. You approach it with calculated precision, relying on your training and experience to predict potential threats. The room is full of guards, but you’re prepared for them; you take them out, using your weapons with deadly accuracy. The intel is kept in a secure case, and you begin working on cracking it open. You have a special tool for the job, and the lock gives way in seconds. You open the case and extract the valuable information.

After a quick glance at the documents, you are pleased to see that it is exactly what you were hoping for. Ghost calls for backup to secure the scene, collect the documents, and transport them back to the base. As he completes his orders, he turns to the team for a debriefing, but instead is met by the old, cheerful you.

“LT., WE DID IT!” You yell and leap onto Ghost, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He freezes and raises his hands as if he’s been arrested for a crime.

“Get off me,” he orders with an unusually high-pitched voice.

“No, you deserve it.” You object and proceed to pat him on the back.

“I did nothing wrong to deserve this, soldier; get your fucking ha-”

“Shhh, Lieutenant.” You cut him off by putting your hand over his mouth to silence him. “You must feel the hug.”

“I said-”

“They’re right, Ghost,” Soap interrupts him with a sinister grin, “you must feel the hug.”

“Yeah, listen to the specialist, sir,” Gaz adds, trying hard not to laugh.

Ghost looks at Price for help, who has a satisfied smirk on his face. The captain turns to Ghost and mouths an inaudible “told you so,” establishing you as a valuable member of their team from now on.

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #✨ anon #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod ghost

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callsign-datura · 4 months

Text

putrid pride

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader warnings: ghost being a dick, unrealistic character, sexual tension, oral (f receiving), ghost not fucking you as a punishment for you being a little brat a/n: he's had me in a chokehold for the past year. i kinda want to do a character analysis series not gonna lie song: get stoned ~ hinder

Sometimes you wondered why Price assigned you to be his partner. He thought it'd be a good learning experience for the both of you. Since you were a sergeant you were bossed around by everyone else already, and you've only been there for a few weeks. In most missions you've been assigned, Ghost has been part of it one way or another and you noticed that he treated you differently than his mates. Whether it was the fact you were a woman or the fact you were a talented sniper, or what, you didn't know. He always made these little jabs at you that could be passed off as light teasing or playful banter. You felt a bit crazy for thinking he was being rude to you because he wasn't rude to anyone else; why you? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Damnit," he grunted, his back towards you. "You always fuckin' do this." His tone was laced with anger and venom, and your heart sunk. "You never fuckin' listen." he hisses, turning around and taking a few steps towards you. The look in his eyes pissed you off. You made the right decision, or so you thought. Sure, you disobeyed his direct orders and nearly got yourself killed, but you completed the objective and came back in one piece. You got the intel, confirmed the target's identity and best of all, did it quick and quiet. Why was he angry? You did everything you thought you were supposed to, but here he had you, in his office and standing in front of his desk and staring at him blankly.

"You never fuckin' listen, always disobey my orders despite th' fact your ass would be dead right now if it weren't f'me." His accent is thick, his voice steadily rising as he gets more pissed. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" In truth, he didn't even know why he was so angry. Was it because you had disobeyed his orders again, or was it the fact you almost got yourself hurt? Or maybe it was the fact you did the mission better than he would have? "I don't know why you're so intent on breakin' the goddamn rules, but it's gettin' old." He snaps, brown eyes piercing yours as he splays his hands out on the surface of his desk, leaning forward so his face was inches from yours, his breath fanning over your face, hot and smelling faintly of alcohol.

"Look, Lieutenant. I may have disobeyed your orders but I saved lives in the process--" "Nearly losing your own." "But I completed the objective." "But you put yourself in danger." "I came back in one piece, didn't I?" "Barely. You escaped that goddamn explosion by a hair." He hisses through gritted teeth, leaning back and putting his hand in his pocket. "You're always so reckless. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?" "You're one to talk about self-preservation," you snort, your eyes widening slightly in disbelief at the mention. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten the time you hopped in front of a bullet to keep a sergeant from taking it?" His eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrowed. "I knew what I was doin', girl. Don't question me or my choices. It's not your fuckin' place to do so."

You snorted again. "Oh, yeah? Don't like it when I call you on your bullshit, huh? If you would have done this, we would have been expected to thank you and ignore the fact you could have been killed. But the moment I do it, you get on my ass."

"I am your lieutenant. I make decisions, you follow them. You don't question why I do what I do. When I tell you to do something, you do it without a second thought. When I order you to not engage, you do not engage." He spits, his eyes narrowing further and his chest tightening in barely contained anger. "You're lucky I don't fuckin' suspend you. The decision you made was a thoughtless, reckless and stupid one." "At least Price would understand where I'm coming from."

His eyes widen, and he laughs. "You think he'd take your side?"

"I think he'd understand why I did what I did. I think he wouldn't give me bullshit for making the right decision."

"Well, sweetheart, that's the thing. He isn't your CO, I am. So if I'm givin' you bullshit for makin' a decision, you stand there and take it and make a goddamn change." You shake your head and laugh. "I know what I did was right. I'm not going to stand down just because you think my execution wasn't proper." He's practically fuming now. He feels his chest tighten further, and he balls his hands into fists. "You're such a brat. For what? Just because you wanna be right?" He steps around the desk, moving and getting in front of you, his frame towering over yours. "You wanna be right so goddamn bad because you're new, huh? You don't want people to think you're weak, hm?" He leans in, his face inches from yours once again as his hands tremble at his sides. Your eyes focus on his brown ones, piercing with a newfound depth you haven't seen before. You take in a breath through your nose and against your will you take notice of his cologne; woody, citrusy. He's so close to you. You feel your body start to tingle a bit from the closeness and the tension.

"Oh, well, look at that..." His head tilts, his eyes softening for just a moment. "Now you've got nothin' to say?" He says, his tone faintly mocking as he backs you up against the wall. He's painfully aware of this situation and he's painfully aware of the source of these feelings, but he's refusing to see it. He's stubborn and he knows you are too. "Nothin' to fuckin' say cause I'm in your face?" He growls, his gaze burning holes into you. He brings his hands upwards and cages you against the wall, looking down at you with an intense mix of lust and anger. To him, it's just pure emotion and you feel slightly intimidated by this newfound situation. So, you do the only thing you know how to do. "Fuck you," you hiss, moving onto your tiptoes to get in his face in return. A chuckle leaves his throat in a growl and he doesn't back down. If anything, he finds this show of dominance to be... charming. Endlessly fucking irritating, but charming. Some twisted part of him wants to crush it; crush your insubordination, make you finally respect him. He takes in a breath and the hairs on his neck stand up as your scent wafts over his senses, and his eyes twitch briefly before he grunts and moves closer. "So fuckin' feisty. But we both know you've got nothin' more than bark." He murmurs, his voice raspy and low and with a tone that makes your heart thump in your chest and your cunt pulse between your legs. Despite yourself, you feel him leeching the fight from your body. You growl slightly. "You don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, your tone just as low as his as your gaze searches his for something other than this overwhelming lust.

"I think I do." He murmurs, tilting his head and leaning in so he's right near your ear. You ball your hands into fists. "I don't think you can fight me, cause you don't wanna. You like it when we get into this, don't you?" He questions, one of his hands coming up and cupping your cheek. "I think you like seein' me pissed. I think you like bein' a fuckin' brat 'cause you know it irritates me, an' you wanna see what I'll do..." He smirks, and you can hear it in the way he talks. "Well, I think I know how to solve your little problem now, eh?" He moves, his hand coming down and cupping your throat, applying gentle pressure to keep you against the wall as he moves back, pulling his mask over his nose and leaning back in to nip at your earlobe. You grunt and you feel yourself melting in his grasp. His other hand comes and holds your hips, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt as he tilts his head and kisses at the flesh of your neck his hand doesn't engulf. Your body heats up and you suck in a gasp, tilting your head back slightly and unintentionally revealing more of your neck to him. "Mm-hmm." He murmurs. "Yeah, all bark, no fuckin' bite. You wanna be all tough? Takes more than just an act, sweetheart," he grumbles, words punctuated by rough little nips to the flesh of your throat as he withdraws his hand and slides it down your side and to your hips. He moves and lifts your shirt and once again, despite yourself, you lift your arms to make it easier for him. He throws it aside and his gaze travels over you hungrily, focusing on the curves of your chest and your waist, and the way your jeans sit on your hips. He grunts quietly and dives back into your neck, holding your hips and drawing you against him as he starts kissing and biting at your neck with renewed vigor. One of his hands slides to your ass, giving a little squeeze as he hoists you up, still assaulting your neck with kisses and bites. You whine out at him, the sensation making you shudder. He chuckles against your flesh and his other hand is already working at the button of your jeans.

He sets you down, working your pants and panties down your legs, tugging them off hastily before he's kneeling in front of you. A wave of embarrassment comes over you as he gazes up at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He grunts slightly and his gaze flickers to your cunt. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh and down before cupping your knee and pulling your leg up and to the side, humming in satisfaction at the way you follow suit and open yourself up for him. His gaze focuses on your cunt, glistening with your slick. You're soaked. He sees it, and he smirks and chuckles a bit when he sees your cheeks flush red. "Pretty fuckin' cunt," he murmurs, before leaning forward and letting his eyes flutter shut as he drags his tongue along your folds, letting out another hum as he tastes you. He grunts and his grip on your leg tightens, his free hand cupping your ass and squeezing as he slips his tongue between your folds and drags it upward along your clit. He swirls it with the tip of his tongue before closing his lips around it to suck gently, grunting as he tastes you and he feels you tremble. Your eyes roll back in your head and you tilt your head back against the wall, your hips arching forward in attempt to get more of that stimulation. He chuckles at your eagerness, giving your ass another squeeze. "Patience, dear." He murmurs against your cunt, before swirling his tongue over your clit with ease and pushing it down, teasing your hole with it before he pushes it inside briefly, moving back up to flick his tongue over your clit in a new pattern that has you trembling and whimpering in seconds. The hand gripping your ass comes to your cunt, and he rolls his pointer and middle fingertip against your hole, gathering your slick. You jolt at the feeling of his cool flesh and you whimper eagerly yet again, a harsh gasp leaving your lips as he pushes those fingers into you. Your walls make an embarrassingly wet noise as he sinks his fingers into your plush heat, and your face flushes and warms up. You're too distracted about how good it feels. He grunts in satisfaction once more, curling his fingers and brushing the tips against that spot along your walls that has your vision going white.

At the same time, he swirls his tongue a bit faster over your clit, using the opportunity of dual stimulation to send you spiraling. And he does, successfully. Your leg trembles and tenses, and your walls squeeze around his fingers as he laps at your cunt like a man starved. He grunts against you as you mewl and the coil in your belly tightens before releasing. Within seconds, you're coming undone on his fingers your back is arching, your hips are bucking, and your hands are pulling him closer. Your vision goes white and you throw your head back, your lips falling apart in a whine of his name, your fingers grasping at the fabric of his balaclava. Your walls tighten again on his fingers, and he helps you ride the orgasm out before he's gently pulling away and dragging his fingers out of your sensitive cunt. You pant and tilt your head forward, watching him withdraw his fingers from you. You whimper at the feeling and you tense up, your gaze flickering to his mouth. You're sensitive, but as you watch him kneeling under you, you find yourself wanting more. He smirks as he notes the way you're looking at him. It's taking a lot of restraint for him to not bend you over his desk and pound you senseless, but... he has a point to make here. He gets to his feet and he looks down at you, cupping your face and placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "Get yourself dressed. Y've got some training to do." You swallow and blink up at him. "W-Wait... that's... it? You're not gonna--" "Fuck you?" He laughs, as if the suggestion is odd. Your face flushes in embarrassment. "Not after the way you've been actin', love." He murmurs, kissing your forehead. "If you start behavin', then maybe I'll consider givin' you what you really want, eh?"

#ghost x reader #ghost mw3 #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley #callsign datura

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aseaofyoongi · 1 year

Text

just desserts | jjk

jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: one night stand; neighbors; set in the summer cause i miss it dearly.

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: jungkook is your next door neighbor who you have only crossed a few words with. however one hot summer day theres a city wide blackout and strangely enough, he shows up at your door w brownies. . and other delights.

warnings: crush culture; mentions of lack of confidence; masturbation (f.); foul language; naughty thoughts; penetrative sex; unprotected sex (wrap it up); dry humping; oral (m. receiving); praise; sub-ish jk!; jk has a huge dick;?brief mention of seokjin and joon; oc is very hørny for jk basically; those fucking gifs of jk w his long hair and glasses inspired this so thank you jeon jungkook; edited but excuse any mistakes please.

word count: 6,3 thousand words

posted: monday - january 30, 2023

A sixth floor walk up in the middle of the scorching month of July was certainly not fitting on your basis of an ideal home. But after your extensive apartment search always ended with high-priced, rodent infested corners New Yorkers often mistook for apartments, you were happy to shake on the deal for this studio apartment with Seokjin without having to break your piggy bank or burn a staggering hole in your pocket.

“When is the elevator going to be fixed, Seokjin,” you fanned yourself as beads of sweat adorned your white tank top.

“That’ll have to be when I finally win the lotto,” he guffawed from behind the plexiglass square standing between you and his office.

“Very funny,” you mumbled, beginning your journey up the stairs. He didn’t hear you though, instead his focus remained on whichever drama he played on the television.

Kim Seokjin, was the name of a superstar—or so he says. He claims to have attended the Juilliard School for about two years, with dreams of becoming the newest face of Hollywood and all of their high-priced productions. When Seokjin’s dad fell ill, he couldn’t keep up with the demands of keeping so many residence buildings open, he had to close more than half his buildings and just like that, financial strains created a hurdle the size of Mt. Everest in the life of Seokjin. He was left without his dreams, without his father and taking care of a building where the rent was too cheap to gain a profit, making just enough to cover the mortgage.

Normally, you weren’t so exposed to details of your landlord’s lives, but Seokjin was different. He was also your friend.

“I put water bottles around the halfway mark. The last thing I need is a lawsuit over a dead body,” he yelled up as you barely made it to floor two.

“How considerate. I’ll try not to die while you’re on the clock,” it was too hot to continue your journey up. . too hot to form coherent sentences. You just wanted to make it to your apartment and sit in front of the fan for the rest of the day.

“That’s all I’m saying,” you heard.

Once your foot met the landing on the third floor, your eyes desperately scanned for the promise of beverages Seokjin had informed you of, but the small table set-up on the other end of the hallway was completely empty. Leaving behind only the particles of dust and pure oxygen to inhale. Fuck—you actually felt like you were going to pass out. Just three more floors.

You wanted to yell down a snarky remark towards Seokjin but you figured that required too much energy you simply did not have.

Moving to New York was a decision you had made impulsively after feeling like you had overstayed your time in your parents house post-high school. You averted college at all costs because it just wasn’t for you. Lectures seemed like a bore and professors were individuals being paid to legally torture their students so you joyfully averted that nightmare all together. Your immediate option was to get a job, but after many places began getting closed down back home, you found yourself job hopping as a means for survival.

It was not convenient, so you boarded a train to the city that never sleeps in hopes of never looking back. . And you haven’t since setting foot here eleven months ago.

“Just one more floor,” you uttered to no one in particular but the patchy silver handrail and the chipped white walls.

Your apartment was now in your line of vision and the only thing standing between you and the black steel door were just ten sets of stairs. Walking into the building your body was glistening with a thin layer of sweat but now you were drenched, your top was sticking to your skin and the thick beads of dampness rolled down your body like the condensation on soft drinks from fast food places.

Heaving with exhaustion you took a seat on the very last step of the sixth floor, finally you made it but you just needed a minute, just a single minute to catch your breath. The fucking heat was unbearable; intolerable; irregular, you could have sworn the sun inched closer and closer to planet earth as the day progressed.

Initially, you hadn’t heard as much as the squeaky hinges on the door frame, you were too divulged in your suffering from the days heat. Not to mention, your eyes were closed and you were too focused in a state of cooling down before hiding behind the thin walls of your apartment.

“Are you ok?” His voice became trapped in the muggy air surrounding the two of you. The bass in his tone never ceased to make your knees turn to jello, to make your toes curl and to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.

Was the heat not enough suffering for one day?

“Oh,” you cleared your throat, “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”

“Yeah, it definitely feels like we were shipped straight to hell today.”

“I don’t know, I think hell might be cooler than this,” he chuckled lightly—you’re foolish stammer and poor excuse of words enlightened him. The sun was still beaming brightly but you swore you saw stars after he had serenaded you so sweetly with the sound of his infectious laugh.

“I think you might be right,” he locked his door and walked past you on the stairs, “have a good day neighbor.”

“You too, Jungkook,” you called after him as he began his way down the unfortunate set of stairs.

Sometimes, you felt as if you’d been blessed as the main lead in the plot of a cheesy rom com, but after today the idea was really cemented in your head. Ok, look. . Jungkook was your hot neighbor, like very hot, unearthly hot, like he was handcrafted by God himself, kind of hot. Furthermore, only you and him resided on the sixth floor, living in a pair of tiny apartments right beside one another. Although that was all you had gathered so far, besides his name, it was enough to fill your head with delusions and daydreams of the man your eyes loved to gawk at every chance you got.

You read him very well, like the everlasting pages of your favorite novel. His silky hair was long and inched over the nape of his neck, he wore specs that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose accentuating his big doe eyes. Though his features seemed soft his aura was borderline the complete opposite—a silver hooped piercing sat in the right side of his rosette lips while tattoos peeked right out of the sleeves of the white button up he usually wore.

You closed the door to your apartment, removed your shoes and hung your keys on the flathead thumbtack pierced into the wall by the front door.

The apartment felt even more scorching than the bustling sidewalks. After opening all three of the windows you were bestowed to have between your room and the living room, you turned on your fan and walked into the bathroom to draw a much needed cool bath. Stripping off your sweaty clothes, you stepped into the tub. For a minute, you were immersed in the utter silence floating around you—all your ears detected was the distanced whirring fan all the way from your room.

Behind the back of your eyelids, the world was dark and your thoughts brought you back to your encounters with Jungkook on the stairs just moments ago. Your interactions with the boy were usually extended to a whispered, ‘hi’ or ‘hello,’ never as prolonged as it played out today.

In your thoughts, Jungkook strolled by day and night, as you embraced every look, every utterance, every single time he brushed his hair back using his slender fingers. He was the cultivation of your desires and the reason why your heart strummed against your chest a bit harder the days you saw him leaving around 12PM every afternoon.

It baffled you how he always managed to look fucking good every single day—even during the hottest days of the summer, while you looked like vile beast he managed to look so perfect.

. . So fucking perfect.

The faint tingles traveling through your body, caused your skin to form goosebumps. The pulsation of your clit is what really began driving you to clouded thoughts to imagine his hands against you. You imagined the pads of his fingers to be soft mimicking a delicate velvet fabric and while you crumbled under his touch, he would murmur the filthiest of words against your ear.

Those ministrations could be enough to have you coming hard—he wouldn’t even have to fuck you. Shit, even looking at him was enough.

Being away from all of the toys you safely stored in your nightstand, you grabbed the detachable shower head and adjusted the water pressure, prepped your feet up on the rim of the tub aiming it in between your legs in an inevitable attack against your clit.

Your head lulled back in sure bliss as you fed your carnal desires, the only thing missing was him.

“Fuck—” How you longed for him to have you in this position, so sensitive to his sinful doings; so aroused for him. It was like a hunger your fingers, toys and this stupid shower head could not satisfy.

The vibration of his name dripped from your lips like a chant and you felt that bubbling fervor form in the pit of your stomach. Spurts of pleasure rushed out of you so intensely you were overwhelmed by the explosions of fireworks as soon as your orgasm erupted.

When your breath had settled and you finally felt like you could stand, you opted for a quick shower, rushing to get into your pajamas and plopped down on your bed right in-front of the fan for a nap, having your dreams quickly invaded by him.

Work sucked on Monday afternoons.

All you ever did was stare out of the ticket booth at the movie theater as the few customers who despised the weekend rush came in. Besides, there was rarely anything to occupy your mind with on slow nights like this. You had already sweeped and your co-worker, Namjoon was surveying the screening rooms for any shenanigans the younger crowds could possibly be rattling up.

You always left that up to him—he was the more intimidating one between the two of you anyway.

“Room 5 is a wreck,” Namjoon announced his entrance into the lobby, “I’m gonna go clean up.”

“Walkie me if you need help,” you tapped the walkie clipped onto your belt buckle and he nodded, grabbing the broom and a few rags.

Your stomach grew irritated as you continued golfing down copious amounts of candies but the truth was you were starving and had no time to eat breakfast this morning; let alone make something to bring to work to eat for lunch.

Namjoon was a film major. He was the spitting image of a cliche by the way—his parents wanted him to become a doctor but that wasn’t his passion so he ran away to the city and began trotting up the golden stairs to his dream. You wished you had even an ounce of his determination, he knew exactly where he wanted to go and how to get there while you still stood at the base of the mountain of your life. . unbeknownst on how to tackle it or which way it was to begin your way up to the summit.

There was nothing you had a passion for and quite frankly sometimes you were utterly clueless as to what your purpose was in life.

Had no dreams and no goals to strive towards; nothing extraordinary you expected to blossom in your future. There was nothing, nothing and more nothingness occupying the hours of your days.

“My child,” Seokjin walked in through the glass door, he looked like he'd been chilling in an oven.

“Seokjin,” you narrowed your eyes in his direction, “what are you doing here? I thought you never left the air conditioner in your office plus don’t you hate the movie theater?”

“You’re absolutely correct. The dimmed lighting here is horrid and I deserve better than that. .”

“Of course, you do.”

“But,” he leaned over the counter, “I saw your little neighbor boyfriend leaving the building today and I was fucking gagged.”

“Trust me, Seokjin. I know how good he fucking looks in that white button up. I’ve lived it.”

“No,” he squealed, “He had a black short sleeve shirt today and—”

“Spit it out, bitch.”

“He has a full fucking sleeve,” he squealed.

“No. Fucking. Way.” The pauses in between your words were not placed for dramatic effect—you were in fact attempting to paint a detailed mental image of that sinful man.

How unfair is it that he gets to walk around us mortals with our average looks while he exudes such grand flawlessness.

“Looks like someone owes me fifty bucks.”

The bet. . you had completely forgotten about that.

“I'll pass it over on Friday once I get paid.”

“I told you,” he began, “once a man gets one tattoo they’re usually covered in them.”

“Yea, but he has this soft look to him, you know?” you shrugged, “I thought he might have had a few. But a whole sleeve?”

“Jungkook is a walking juxtaposition.”

“I suppose he is.”

Seokjin sat on the counter emptying a handful of sweets into his palm, “what are you doing eating all of this candy anyway?”

“Uh,” your thoughts were still filtered towards Jungkook. You wanted to see him so bad, “I’m starving and just waiting on Namjoon to finish cleaning room five so I can go on my lunch break.”

“Namjoon as in the buff hottie with the deep voice?”

“I guess.”

“Room five?” You nodded.

“I’ll take one ticket for whatever the fuck you guys are showing right now.”

“Didn’t you say you hated it here?” You printed a ticket to. . you looked down, to the latest minion movie and ripped off the top half, “you complained about the lights or something.”

“Can you just give me a ticket? I need it to execute my master plan,” he rushed your actions in cutting the ticket you had printed, “besides you owe me for coming all the way down here with vital intel about your secret crush.”

“I owe you nothing. I’ll be paying half a hundred for that by the end of the week, remember?”

“Consider this,” he snatched the ticket from your grasp, holding it beside his toothy grin, “your down payment.”

Before you could form a further argument, Seokjin vanished from in front of you and sprinted down the main hallway to screening room five.

The best thing about your job were the designated days off you had throughout the week. Tuesdays and Fridays were yours to enjoy and while today was Tuesday your schedule was still jam packed with an abundance of errands to complete come the early morning.

You had paid your utility bills, finished your laundry, cleaned your apartment and even set out poultry to defrost by the time you made it back home. It had been a very productive day.

Your last stop was the grocery store.

Oftentimes, you’d wander aimlessly, losing yourself in each aisle wondering about how the better half lives, how much better life would be if you didn’t have to keep incessant reminders of your weekly budgets stamped to the back of your head.

How much easier life would be if money wasn’t such a big determinant in the choices we were forced to make in our day to day lives.

Oh, how much easier life would be.

You only grabbed the essentials for the next couple of weeks including—rice, greens, fruits, water, milk, meat, and a variation of breakfast options.

Temptation roamed in the air as you headed out of the cereal aisle you were face to face with a bakery section where an unhealthy amount of baked goods were sprawled out—practically blaring out your name. All of the delicious delights made your mouth water and you couldn’t help but gravitate deeper and deeper, guided by the aroma of the sweet desserts.

“Neighbor?” It was his earthy voice, the same one you’d only heard vibrate among the walls of the tiny hallway of the sixth floor the two of you shared.

“Jungkook?” You looked up from the brownies and your eyes met his figure, in the same clothes you usually saw him leave his apartment. It was his work uniform, “You work here?”

“Is that judgment in your tone I hear?”

“N-no,” You stammered. Was he fucking with you? He had to be fucking with you. “Of course not. I would never judge—”

“I was just playing, neighbor.” Phew.

“I always come here. How come I haven’t seen you before?”

“I’m usually baking in the back. I was just coming out to set these down,” he held up the dozen cupcakes sitting inside the boxed packaging.

“You bake?” Hopefully, you sounded more stunned than judgemental because you were i. fact stunned.

“I’m an aspiring pastry chef. I go to culinary school,” Jungkook, your beautiful, doe eyed, tattooed, pierced neighbor was also a baker. Ok.

For some reason that made him so much more attractive.

“I would not have been able to guess that even if I tried,” You mentally kicked yourself at the lack of filter in your words. You weren’t trying to offend him and hopefully he does not take it as such.

He chuckled—that’s a good sign, “People tend to simulate that very reaction but you can certainly knock on my door if you’re ever craving something sweet. I promise they are amazing.”

Craving something sweet?

Your thoughts traveled back to the enticing thoughts you possessed a few days ago while you took a bath, the vivid image of the water pressure against your cunt and the pure desire to have him near made you dizzy. And now he was near, just a couple of feet away.

A wave of warmth traveled through your extremities, the pulse on your clit turned to an overbearing throb, you wanted to rub your thighs and alleviate the feeling. But you remembered where you were, in the middle of the grocery store and Jungkook still stood right before you. Nevertheless, you tried to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs; dampening your panties.

“I practically poured out all of the basic details of my boring life. I think you owe me at least something about you.”

“There’s not much to tell,” you shrugged, “but I work at the movie theater down the street if that piques your interest at all.”

“It does. I love movies.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there before.”

“Well, if I’m honest I haven’t gone in a long time but that’s only because work and school keep me pretty busy.”

The lust streaming through your body doubled to make your heart beat with fondness and you grew endeared in the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up when he talked about his aspirations to become a baker.

“You’ll have a free ticket waiting for you whenever your schedule clears up.”

“Promise you’ll join me when I decide to go.” His words carved themselves into your brain like a permanent tattoo, just as those decorating his arm. The fluttering feeling in your abdomen heightened as a result of the dithers, without being aware of it, that is the effect Jungkook had on you.

“As long as it’s on a Tuesday or Friday.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

“See you, neighbor.”

Thursday was the worst day of the week so far.

Technically you were supposed to be at work, it was already 4:00PM, but instead you were still home. Even just sitting down in the muggy atmosphere of your in the miniscule space, you were doused, staining your clothes with sweat.

You were not willingly suffering at the lack of mercy the scorching weather subjected the city and everyone in it to, unfortunately the power had gone out. And while usually you had the luxury of a fan to cool down, today you had nothing.

Your windows and front door were left wide open in an attempt to cool down the place and still you felt as if you were sitting inside a fucking oven set to hightest temperature. There was no use.

“Neighbor.” Jungkook called out lightly knocking on the opened door.

Jungkook? Not Jungkook again when you looked like an absolute wreck.

“Hey Jungkook,” he stood at the door frame, a wide grin painted on his lips—he held a to-go box in his hands, “you can come in.”

“Do you want me to shut the door?”

“Sure,” you gave in, it’s not like it was actually doing anything. Besides, the last thing you needed was one of the crazy residents from the lower floors coming to bug you.

Jungkook took a seat next to you on the couch, he wore a sleeveless top exposing all of the ink embellishing his skin, every line, every curve, every word was so intricate and seemed so unique to him.

“I didn’t know you had these many tattoos,” a small fib was a price to pay to not seem like a weirdo, “did any of them hurt?”

“Some did,” he pointed at his tricep, “mainly these and a few others but I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Well, they’re beautiful,” you scanned his arm some more. It was truly like a mural embodying the beauty of art, “were you a singer?” you signaled at the microphone sitting on his forearm.

“I guess you could say that,” he adjusted himself on the couch, his nylon shorts rode up his thighs and you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the way your eyes glanced down constantly. Jungkook didn’t notice though, he was too busy averting eye contact and scratching the back of his head, “My highschool friends and I used to make music. We recorded a mixtape.”

“I need a link to this mixtape. . like now,” You laughed hysterically.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

“Ok, ok,” Again, another surprise from the man you thought you had all figured out—every single day he surprised you more and more, “were you like a vocalist or a rapper?”

“Vocals mostly. I did try rapping once though but I sucked so badly they scratched it off the track.”

“At least they were honest and didn't let you crash and burn in public.”

“You should’ve seen me though. I thought I was the shit.”

Jungkooks giggles were everlasting as he recounted the many times their parents grew exhausted of kicking them out of their garages for their disturbances in the making of their great musical legacy.. He filled the room with vibrance. The longer you sat in the presence of Jungkook the more you were exposed to the colors that made Jungkook, Jungkook. Of course, you were intrigued by the phosphorescent hues allowing them to inch you closer in his direction. Wanting him to spare no details in the adventure of his life.

“What’s that?” you pointed at the packaging box beside him on the arm rest.

“Brownies,” he handed you the box, “I saw you eyeing them when you were at the bakery but you didn’t buy any. So, I figured I would bring you some.”

In your mind, this was his way of saying he was thinking about you—that’s what you chose to believe anyway.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Besides, I wanna see what you think of my baking.” Jungkook’s eyes were bigger than usual behind his specs, he fidgeted with the hem of his shorts.

If only he knew, the actual taste of the brownies would hold no significance in your criticism. You would love them anyway simply because they came from him.

“How about we have one together?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, “let’s go to my room. There’s two windows in there and I’m literally about to pass out from heat stroke out here.”

The two of you sat by each one of the windows, the box of his remaining six hand crafted sweet delicacies sat between the two of you on the nightstand.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

“1, 2,” the two of you held the chocolaty dessert up to your mouth, “3.”

Even after just one bite your taste buds were enamored.

“What do you think?”

“They’re amazing, Jungkook. You’re an amazing baker.”

“You can call me Kookie, you know.”

You nearly choked after taking another bite, hurdling into a coughing spiral, “that’s so fitting. Kookie the pastry chef.”

“Forget I said it,” he shook his head, laughing.

“Wait, no,” you loved the soft tint of pink dusting his cheeks, “that could be the name of your future shop.”

“Kookie’s Cookies.”

“Kookie’s Cookies,” you confirmed, “and I wanna be credited for the idea too.”

“Better yet, you’ll be my business partner.”

“That’s not a good idea. I’ll eat everything and you’ll just end up bankrupt,” your eyes were set on the congested sidewalks outside your window—everyone was out likely catching a break from their scorching apartments but here you were melting away all at the expense of being in Jungkook’s company just for a bit longer.

“I wouldn’t mind as long as you’re with me.”

Those eight words sent your mind into a spiral, head first into the rabbit hole of your fantasies. You couldn’t really make out if he truly meant what you thought he meant.

“Jungkook. .”

“I mean it.”

“Please don’t make me believe there could actually be something here,” Your voice was low and your thoughts were a scribbled mess. There was not a single coherency in your being at that point in time.

“I’m not lying,” your name tasted saccharine on his tinted lips—much like the brownie he had baked for you, “I like you.”

“Jungkook. .” was all you could muster.

“I’ve liked you from the moment you moved into the building.”

A single strike of thunder traveled down your spinal cord, you felt paralyzed in that moment and his sweet sweet words just continued looping inside the walls of your skull.

You were malfunctioning; shocked.

It’s astonishing how oblivious and just plain stupid human nature can make a person. For the past months, you had concealed the schoolgirl crush you developed on Jungkook and convinced yourself that there was absolutely no way in hell he could like you back.

Your insecurities had deceived you and now you sit here after so long with a thumping beat in your heart, giddy with excitement and lowkey wanting to slap yourself for not having noticed earlier.

“You like me?”

Obviously, he just fucking said that. He nodded.

“I like you, too.” You finally said out loud.

The temperature continued to rise in the small bedroom and between the two of you the heat became unbearable. With each passing second, you could feel the streamline trickles of your sweat cascading down your temples; your entire body matter of fact.

If eyes were the windows to the soul then Jungkook’s chocolate gaze was compelling.

And they were calling out for you so loudly.

“What happens now?” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

“Can I kiss you, Jungkook?”

You caught on to Jungkook’s mannerisms and body language rather quickly within the past hour. For example, he was pretty straight forward with his words yet whenever he spoke his fingers fidgeted with a random object as a distraction, this time it was the black beaded bracelet sitting on his wrist.

He nodded yet again.

Your heaven resided in the comfort of Jungkook’s thighs. You realized it the moment you straddled him. The rich smell of sandalwood was a scent unique to him, so earthy and rich. It was the only thing you ever wanted to smell for the remainder of your time on earth.

After raking your hands through his soft hair you tugged at it a bit, guiding his face up towards you.

“If you want anything from me. You’re gonna have to use your words, Jungkook.”

“You know what I want,” his eyes traced the corners of your lips down to the intricate details, “just kiss me, please.”

There are an abundance of perfect scenarios in life. For one there was the idyllic scene of snowfall on Christmas day; the legendary creamy combination of cookies and cream; then, there was the way your lips danced against Jungkooks, composing a choreography so intricate and beautiful only the two of you could execute it.

You were in a haze, entirely stupefied and addicted to his soft and warm lips. Then, his hands snaked around your waist as he guided you back and forth on his lap. His covered erection rubbed against your clothed slit in a pace so slow, it was agonizing yet delectable. Jungkook pulled away, continuing to lead your movements against him. Your mouth remained agape and you couldn’t help the sounds escaping your lips.

You wanted to pinch yourself, you’d only ever dreamt of this. Was this all a fabrication of your dreams? You hope it wasn’t, it felt so good.

“God, I’ve always wanted to have you like this.” His voice was husk and he spoke in between grunts.

If today was dictated as your last day on earth, you’d die being the happiest woman.

His warm breath fanned your sweaty neck. A tickle ran down your back but you focused on the knot forming at your abdomen.

“I’m so close.”

“Let go for me.”

His commands were sweet like candy and the utters of his guidance to have you crumble on his lap were all you needed to send you over the edge.

“You were so good for me, darling.”

“Call me that forever.” Your knees were sore, your voice was hoarse and you were sweltered from head to toe but you craved more, you grew wetter just imagining what else could arise from this encounter.

“Darling?” You nodded. “Jungkook?” He hummed lightly, opening his eyes and lifting his head from where it rested on the wall.

“Are you tired?”

“I just had a long day yesterday.”

“Can I help you unwind?” your lower lip now tucked under your teeth, “can I touch you?”

“Please.”

Your hands tucked under the hemline of his shorts and underwear. The way you illustrated Jungkook in your dreams was close to what you would imagine a modern Greek God to look like and you quickly realized that was the case when his shirt lifted revealing that he should be the one on display in museums instead of those silly little statues.

Your chin rested on his shoulder, while your hand moved up and down the length of his cock. You couldn’t see it, not yet. But he felt so big in your palm.

The hushed moans and curses leaving him fueled you to maintain at the same pace. Your lips found themselves leaving wet kisses on his already dampened neck.

“Please—please don’t stop,” He was a stuttering mess, his hand was gripping the window still so tightly his knuckles turned white. Hypnotized by arousal Jungkook began meeting your movements, enraptured by his desire for release.

“You’re not being a very good boy, Jungkook,” you whispered in his ear, “besides I thought you were tired.”

“I’ll—I’ll be so good I promise,” he continued fucking himself into your hand.

Jungkook whined as soon as you released his cock from your grip. Instead you tucked off the pesky fabrics covering his lower half, with his help of course, your theories were proven to be correct. Jungkook, your hot neighbor with piercings and tattoos also had a pussy destroyer in between his legs because of course he did.

“There’s only two rules baby.”

“What are the rules?”

“You have to keep your hands to yourself and no coming until I say so. You got it?”

“Yes, darling.”

Opening the last drawer on your night stand you pulled out one of your vibrators and held it up for him to see, “is it ok if we use this?”

“Mhm.”

You shoved it in your pocket for later.

Taking him into your mouth, you began swirling your tongue in circular motions around the head of his cock. His labored pants were hushed and almost inaudible, you would’ve missed them if the two of you weren’t in complete silence.

Licking up and down his shaft you focused on pressing your tongue on the tip, as your hands began working, pumping him where your mouth couldn’t reach. You bobbed your head up and down occasionally, allowing the head of his cock pop in and out of your mouth. Slurp noises began invading the atmosphere around the two of you along with his whimpers. Your pace was fast and there were traces of your saliva coating his length entirely.

“Fuck darling,” his hands were reaching to grasp anything in his path but instead he ended up knocking everything off your night stand. “Y-Your lips were made to be around my cock. You know that?”

Jungkook’s praises were treats for your ego and you made sure to devour them in their entirety. He was a pleasant mess; his hair stuck out in all directions while his lips were swollen and vibrant with a scarlet hue as he kept biting down on them harshly. His glasses were slightly fogged and there were traces of saliva sitting on the corner of his mouth. All you wanted was to continue seeing him lose himself at your mercy.

You reached into your pocket and turned on the palm sized stimulator—you placed it against his balls before hitting the on button, setting off its vibrations. His head fell back and his hips buckled forward, causing you to gag around the majority of cock.

“I’m gonna come,” he cried out.

If anyone would’ve told you having Jungkook’s dick in your mouth would be this heavenly, you would live on your knees in front of him forever. Pleasuring him at every hour of every day but today you had different plans and once again he let out frustrated whimpers as you removed your mouth from around him.

“No—no, darling you’re fucking killing me. I need to come now,” he sounded desperate, “It hurts so bad. I need to come.”

“Don’t worry baby. We’re getting right to that,” you placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you bring any condoms?”

He shook his head, “I wasn’t exactly expecting things to go down this route.”

“Are you. .?”

“I’m clean. Are you?”

“I am.”

There was a timid breeze coming in through the opened window, it was enough to cool you down just a bit, well as cool as you could be without a fan.

Bouncing on Jungkook’s dick was even better than having him in your mouth. Sure, you loved the way he became a stuttering mess with the teasing of your tongue but having him deep inside of you, you felt like you were in your own heaven. On a deserted island somewhere with nothing but the swift breeze coming from the palm trees and his touch on your skin.

“You take me so well,” he whispered in your ear but you were too busy consumed by your own pleasure. Hyper focused on the way his hands dug into your waist; the way he swiftly pushed his cock in and out of you.

The sounds of your skin slapping against his blared through the room, as well as your profanities and his words of praise just as before.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as you felt a build up of tension tightening in the pit of your stomach, causing you to arch your back. Seemingly, the way you clenched around Jungkook he seemed to have noticed you were extremely close.

“Come for me darling,” with each word he buried his dick deeper into you.

It was a blissful paradise painted on the back of your eyelids as Jungkook continued to mold your insides with his dick, he was careful but rammed into you with such force, your voice was strained and you couldn’t hold it any longer. You finally came as sights of the beeming sun behind your closed eyes blinded you entirely.

“Come inside of me,” you managed; even more sweaty than how you began, absolutely tired and completely out of breath.

He chanted strings of your name as finally filled you up.

“Please come over more often and bring all of your brownies with you,” you were pressed up against him as he hugged your waist, placing a soft kiss on your head.

“How about we begin by going to that movie tomorrow?” It was so funny to you how Jungkook had practically just split you in two and now he was back to being soft spoken.

“It’s a date.”

It was now Friday, the power was finally back on around the city and Jungkook followed through on his plans to take you to the movies. The only problem was when you approached the theater you spotted your nosey landlord standing in line right beside Namjoon. “Before you say anything, Seokjin. Please just shut the fuck up.”

“You always think the worse of me,” he placed his hand on his chest, “all I was going to say is my Cupid’s bow is to thank for the two of you finally getting together.”

“In that case, thank you Seokjin,” Jungkook said.

“Don’t thank him.”

“Actually, please do. But the next time yall fuck in my building please keep it down. Just like the walls, the floors are also thin and the fifth floor did not appreciate your day of passion.”

“Seokjin, please go back to your own date,” you hissed, hoping no one else in line heard his little rant, “pretend we’re not here.”

Jungkook’s shame sat in his now red tinted cheeks, you peppered kisses on them to ease him.

“See, they can’t even keep their hands to themselves in public,” you heard Seokjin whisper.

This is going to be an interesting date.

a/n: this was pretty fun to write but supposed to be out on my birthday a couple days ago but i couldn’t meet the deadline sadly but please enjoy and disregard the smut scene if it’s bad. I tried lol my brain just wasn’t working 100%.

thanks for reading. comments, likes, reblogs and messages are always appreciated. let me know what you think ;)

#bts #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook drabble #very brief mention of seokjin x namjoon #bangtan sonyeondan #jungkook x you #bts jungkook smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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The long, bloody lineage of private equity's looting

Tomorrow (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Fans of the Sopranos will remember the “bust out” as a mob tactic in which a business is taken over, loaded up with debt, and driven into the ground, wrecking the lives of the business’s workers, customers and suppliers. When the mafia does this, we call it a bust out; when Wall Street does it, we call it “private equity.”

It used to be that we rarely heard about private equity, but then, as national chains and iconic companies started to vanish, this mysterious financial arrangement popped up with increasing frequency. When a finance bro’s presentation on why Olive Garden needed to be re-orged when viral, there was a lot off snickering about the decline of a tacky business whose value prop was unlimited carbs. But the bro was working for Starboard Value, a hedge fund that specialized in buhying out and killing off companies, pocketing billions while destroying profitable businesses.

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

Starboard Value’s game was straightforward: buy a business, load it with debt, sell off its physical plant — the buildings it did business out of — pay itself, and then have the business lease back the buildings, bleeding out money until it collapsed. They pulled it with Red Lobster,and the point of the viral Olive Garden dis track was to soften up the company for its own bust out.

The bust out tactic wasn’t limited to mocking middlebrow family restaurants. For years, the crooks who ran these ops did a brisk trade in blaming the internet. Why did Sears tank? Everyone knows that the 19th century business was an antique, incapable of mounting a challenge in the age of e-commerce. That was a great smokescreen for an old-fashioned bust out that saw corporate looters make off with hundreds of millions, leaving behind empty storefronts and emptier pension accounts for the workers who built the wealth the looters stole:

https://prospect.org/economy/vulture-capitalism-killed-sears/

Same goes for Toys R Us: it wasn’t Amazon that killed the iconic toy retailer — it was the PE bosses who extracted $200m from the chain, then walked away, hands in pockets and whistling, while the businesses collapsed and the workers got zero severance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/business/wp/2018/06/01/how-can-they-walk-away-with-millions-and-leave-workers-with-zero-toys-r-us-workers-say-they-deserve-severance/

It’s a good racket — for the racketeers. Private equity has grown from a finance sideshow to Wall Street’s apex predator, and it’s devouring the real economy through a string of audactious bust outs, each more consequential and depraved than the last.

As PE shows that it can turn profitable businesses gigantic windfalls, sticking the rest of us with the job of sorting out the smoking craters they leave behind, more and more investors are piling in. Today, the PE sector loves a rollup, which is when they buy several related businesses and merge them into one firm. The nominal business-case for a rollup is that the new, bigger firm is more “efficient.” In reality, a rollup’s strength is in eliminating competition. When all the pet groomers, or funeral homes, or urgent care clinics for ten miles share the same owner, they can raise prices, lower wages, and fuck over suppliers.

They can also borrow. A quirk of the credit markets is that a standalone small business is valued at about 3–5x its annual revenues. But if that business is part of a large firm, it is valued at 10–20x annual turnover. That means that when a private equity company rolls up a comedy club, ad agency or water bottler (all businesses presently experiencing PE rollup), with $1m in annual revenues, it shows up on the PE company’s balance sheet as an asset worth $10–20m. That’s $10–20m worth of collateral the PE fund can stake for loans that let it buy and roll up more small businesses.

2.9 million Boomer-owned businesses, employing 32m people, are expected to sell in the next couple years as their owners retire. Most of these businesses will sell to PE firms, who can afford to pay more for them as a prelude to a bust out than anyone intending to operate them as a productive business could ever pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

PE’s most ghastly impact is felt in the health care sector. Whole towns’ worth of emergency rooms, family practices, labs and other health firms have been scooped up by PE, which has spent more than $1t since 2012 on health acquisitions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

Once a health care company is owned by PE, it is significantly more likely to commit medicare fraud. It also cuts wages and staffing for doctors and nurses. PE-owned facilities do more unnecessary and often dangerous procedures. Appointments get shorter. The companies get embroiled in kickback scandals. PE-backed dentists hack away at children’s mouths, filling them full of root-canals.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

The Healthcare Private Equity Association boasts that its members are poised to spend more than $3t to create “the future of healthcare.”

https://hcpea.org/#!event-list

As bad as PE is for healthcare, it’s worse for long-term care. PE-owned nursing homes are charnel houses, and there’s a particularly nasty PE scam where elderly patients are tricked into signing up for palliative care, which is never delivered (and isn’t needed, because the patients aren’t dying!). These fake “hospices” get huge payouts from medicare — and the patient is made permanently ineligible for future medicare, because they are recorded being in their final decline:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Every part of the health care sector is being busted out by PE. Another ugly PE trick, the “club deal,” is devouring the medical supply business. Club deals were huge in the 2000s, destroying rent-controlled housing, energy companies, Mervyn’s department stores, Harrah’s, and Old Country Joe. Now it’s doing the same to medical supplies:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

Private equity is behind the mass rollup of single-family homes across America. Wall Street landlords are the worst landlords in America, who load up your rent with junk fees, leave your home in a state of dangerous disrepair, and evict you at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/16/die-miete-ist-zu-hoch/#assets-v-human-rights

As these houses decay through neglect, private equity makes a bundle from tenants and even more borrowing against the houses. In a few short years, much of America’s desperately undersupplied housing stock will be beyond repair. It’s a bust out.

You know all those exploding trains filled with dangerous chemicals that poison entire towns? Private equity bust outs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/04/up-your-nose/#rail-barons

Where did PE come from? How can these people look themselves in the mirror? Why do we let them get away with it? How do we stop them?

Today in The American Prospect, Maureen Tkacik reviews two new books that try to answer all four of these questions, but really only manage to answer the first three:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

The first of these books is These Are the Plunderers: How Private Equity Runs — and Wrecks — America by Gretchen Morgenson and Joshua Rosner:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/These-Are-the-Plunderers/Gretchen-Morgenson/9781982191283

The second is Plunder: Private Equity’s Plan to Pillage America, by Brendan Ballou:

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/brendan-ballou/plunder/9781541702103/

Both books describe the bust out from the inside. For example, PetSmart — looted for $30 billion by RaymondSvider and his PE fund BC Partners — is a slaughterhouse for animals. The company systematically neglects animals — failing to pay workers to come in and feed them, say, or refusing to provide backup power to run during power outages, letting animals freeze or roast to death. Though PetSmart has its own vet clinics, the company doesn’t want to pay its vets to nurse the animals it damages, so it denies them care. But the company is also too cheap to euthanize those animals, so it lets them starve to death. PetSmart is also too cheap to cremate the animals, so its traumatized staff are ordered to smuggle the dead, rotting animals into random dumpsters.

All this happened while PetSmart’s sales increased by 60%, matched by growth in the company’s gross margins. All that money went to the bust out.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/antoinegara/2021/09/27/the-30-billion-kitty-meet-the-investor-who-made-a-fortune-on-pet-food/

Tkacik says these books show that we’re finally getting wise to PE. Back in the Clinton years, the PE critique painted the perps as sharp operators who reduced quality and jacked up prices. Today, books like these paint these “investors” as the monsters they are — crooks whose bust ups are crimes, not clever finance hacks.

Take the Carlyle Group, which pioneered nursing home rollups. As Carlyle slashed wages, its workers suffered — but its elderly patients suffered more. Thousands of Carlyle “customers” died of “dehydration, gangrenous bedsores, and preventable falls” in the pre-covid years.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/opioid-overdoses-bedsores-and-broken-bones-what-happened-when-a-private-equity-firm-sought-profits-in-caring-for-societys-most-vulnerable/2018/11/25/09089a4a-ed14-11e8-baac-2a674e91502b_story.html

KKR, another PE monster, bought a second-hand chain of homes for mentally disabled adults from another PE company, then squeezed it for the last drops of blood left in the corpse. KKR cut wages to $8/hour and increased shifts to 36 hours, then threatened to have workers who went home early arrested and charged with “patient abandonment.” Many of these homes were often left with no staff at all, with patients left to starve and stew in their own waste.

PE loves to pick on people who can’t fight back: kids, sick people, disabled people, old people. No surprise, then, that PE loves prisons — the ultimate captive audience. HIG Capital is a $55b fund that owns TKC Holdings, who got the contract to feed the prisoners at 400 institutions. They got the contract after the prisons fired Aramark, owned by PE giant Warburg Pincus, whose food was so inedible that it provoked riots. TKC got a million bucks extra to take over the food at Michigan’s Kinross Correctional Facility, then, incredibly, made the food worse. A chef who refused to serve 100 bags of rotten potatoes (“the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in my life”) was fired:

https://www.wzzm13.com/article/news/local/michigan/prison-food-worker-i-was-fired-for-refusing-to-serve-rotten-potatoes/69-467297770

TKC doesn’t just operate prison kitchens — it operates prison commissaries, where it gouges prisoners on junk food to replace the inedible slop it serves in the cafeteria. The prisoners buy this food with money they make working in the prison workshops, for $0.10–0.25/hour. Those workshops are also run by TKC.

Tkacic traces private equity back to the “corporate raiders” of the 1950s and 1960s, who “stealthily borrowed money to buy up enough shares in a small or midsized company to control its biggest bloc of votes, then force a stock swap and install himself as CEO.”

The most famous of these raiders was Eli Black, who took over United Fruit with this gambit — a company that had a long association with the CIA, who had obligingly toppled democratically elected governments and installed dictators friendly to United’s interests (this is where the term “banana republic” comes from).

Eli Black’s son is Leon Black, a notorious PE predator. Leon Black got his start working for the junk-bonds kingpin Michael Milken, optimizing Milken’s operation, which was the most terrifying bust out machine of its day, buying, debt-loading and wrecking a string of beloved American businesses. Milken bought 2,000 companies and put 200 of them through bankruptcy, leaving the survivors in a brittle, weakened state.

It got so bad that the Business Roundtable complained about the practice to Congress, calling Milken, Black, et al, “a small group is systematically extracting the equity from corporations and replacing it with debt, and incidentally accumulating major wealth.”

Black stabbed Milken in the back and tanked his business, then set out on his own. Among the businesses he destroyed was Samsonite, “a bankrupt-but-healthy company he subjected to 12 humiliating years of repeated fee extractions, debt-funded dividend payments, brutal plant closings, and hideous schemes to induce employees to buy its worthless stock.”

The money to buy Samsonite — and many other businesses — came through a shadowy deal between Black and John Garamendi, then a California insurance commissioner, now a California congressman. Garamendi helped Black buy a $6b portfolio of junk bonds from an insurance company in a wildly shady deal. Garamendi wrote down the bonds by $3.9b, stealing money “from innocent people who needed the money to pay for loved ones’ funerals, irreparable injuries, etc.”

Black ended up getting all kinds of favors from powerful politicians — including former Connecticut governor John Rowland and Donald Trump. He also wired $188m to Jeffrey Epstein for reasons that remain opaque.

Black’s shady deals are a marked contrast with the exalted political circles he travels in. Despite private equity’s obviously shady conduct, it is the preferred partner for cities and states, who buy everything from ambulance services to infrastructure from PE-owned companies, with disastrous results. Federal agencies turn a blind eye to their ripoffs, or even abet them. 38 state houses passed legislation immunizing nursing homes from liability during the start of the covid crisis.

PE barons are shameless about presenting themselves as upstanding cits, unfairly maligned. When Obama made an empty promise to tax billionaires in 2010, Blackstone founder SteveS chwarzman declared, “It’s a war. It’s like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.”

Since we’re on the subject of Hitler, this is a good spot to bring up Monowitz, a private-sector satellite of Auschwitz operated by IG Farben as a slave labor camp to make rubber and other materiel it supplied at a substantial markup to the wermacht. I’d never heard of Monowitz, but Tkacik’s description of the camp is chilling, even in comparison to Auschwitz itself.

Farben used slave laborers from Auschwitz to work at its rubber plant, but was frustrated by the logistics of moving those slaves down the 4.5m stretch of road to the facility. So the company bought 25,000 slaves — preferring children, who were cheaper — and installed them in a co-located death-camp called Monowitz:

https://www.commentary.org/articles/r-tannenbaum/the-devils-chemists-by-josiah-e-dubois-jr/

Monowitz was — incredibly — worse than Auschwitz. It was so bad, the SS guards who worked at it complained to Berlin about the conditions. The SS demanded more hospitals for the workers who dropped from beatings and overwork — Farben refused, citing the cost. The factory never produced a steady supply of rubber, but thanks to its gouging and the brutal treatment of its slaves, the camp was still profitable and returned large dividends to Farben’s investors.

Apologists for slavery sometimes claim that slavers are at least incentivized to maintain the health of their captive workforce. This was definitely not true of Farben. Monowitz slaves died on average after three months in the camp. And Farben’s subsidiary, Degesch, made the special Zyklon B formulation used in Auschwitz’s gas chambers.

Tkacik’s point is that the Nazis killed for ideology and were unimaginably cruel. Farben killed for money — and they were even worse. The banality of evil gets even more banal when it’s done in service to maximizing shareholder value.

As Farben historian Joseph Borkin wrote, the company “reduced slave labor to a consumable raw material, a human ore from which the mineral of life was systematically extracted”:

https://www.scribd.com/document/517797736/The-Crime-and-Punishment-of-I-G-Farben

Farben’s connection to the Nazis was a the subject of Germany’s Master Plan: The Story of Industrial Offensive, a 1943 bestseller by Borkin, who was also an antitrust lawyer. It described how Farben had manipulated global commodities markets in order to create shortages that “guaranteed Hitler’s early victories.”

Master Plan became a rallying point in the movement to shatter corporate power. But large US firms like Dow Chemical and Standard Oil waged war on the book, demanding that it be retracted. Borkin was forced into resignation and obscurity in 1945.

Meanwhile, in Nuremberg, 24 Farben executives were tried for their war crimes, and they cited their obligations to their shareholders in their defense. All but five were acquitted on this basis.

Seen in that light, the plunderers of today’s PE firms are part of a long and dishonorable tradition, one that puts profit ahead of every other priority or consideration. It’s a defense that wowed the judges at Nuremberg, so should we be surprised that it still plays in 2023?

Tkacik is frustrated that neither of these books have much to offer by way of solutions, but she understands why that would be. After all, if we can’t even close the carried interest tax loophole, how can we hope to do anything meaningful?

“Carried interest” comes up in every election cycle. Most of us assume it has something to do with “interest payments,” but that’s not true. The carried interest loophole relates to the “interest” that 16th-century sea captains had in their cargo. It’s a 600-year-old tax loophole that private equity bosses use to pay little or no tax on their billions. The fact that it’s still on the books tells you everything you need to know about whether our political class wants to do anything about PE’s plundering.

Notwithstanding Tkacik’s (entirely justified) skepticism of the weaksauce remedies proposed in these books, there is some hope of meaningful action. Private equity’s rollups are only possible because they skate under the $101m threshold for merger scrutiny. However, there is good — but unenforced — law that allows antitrust enforcers to block these mergers. This is the “incipiency standard” — Sec 7 of the Clayton Act — the idea that a relatively small merger might not be big enough to trigger enforcement action on its own, but regulators can still act to block it if it creates an incipient monopoly.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

The US has a new crop of aggressive — fearless — top antitrust enforcers and they’ve been systematically reviving these old laws to go after monopolies.

That’s long overdue. Markets are machines for eroding our moral values: “In comparison to non-market decisions, moral standards are significantly lower if people participate in markets.”

https://web.archive.org/web/20130607154129/https://www.uni-bonn.de/Press-releases/markets-erode-moral-values

The crimes that monsters commit in the name of ideology pale in comparison to the crimes the wealthy commit for money.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farbenizers

[Image ID: An overgrown graveyard, rendered in silver nitrate monochrome. A green-tinted businessman with a moneybag in place of a head looms up from behind a gravestone. The right side of the image is spattered in blood.]

1K notes · View notes

seravphs · 1 year

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO X HAIRSTYLIST! READER

“Boss! Your favorite client is here!”

Hurriedly, you wipe your damp hands off on your apron and frantically tidy your hair in the mirror. Then you muss it back up. Then you smooth it down again.

How messy is too messy? You want to hit that effortless cool factor of looking like you don’t care, but just enough.

You don’t have time for this! He’s going to be here any minute!

“He’s not my favorite customer,” you scold your receptionist.

“I’m not?” Says a voice behind you. “Aw, you wound me.”

He’s not just about to arrive.

He’s already here.

Gojo Satoru had always operated on his own schedule. You slowly turn to greet all 6 feet and 3 inches of him, grinning like an idiot. Next to him his manager looks extremely apologetic.

“I’m so so so sorry,” she rushes out before you can manage to say anything. “I know our appointment was later, but it’s an emergency. Can you please make an exception?”

You don’t even have to consider it. Gojo’s company is a regular, and that makes them VIP. Especially combined with the fact that Gojo tips three times the actual price of whatever service you provide him, you’d kick your own sister out of the salon to get him booked.

Thank god your last appointment just left. He follows you to the usual room you reserve for important guests. He’s characteristically nonchalant, whistling as he walks, hands shoved into his pockets.

His roots are a little grown out, you notice.

Gojo likes to tell his fans that his signature icy white hair is all natural. “Grows out of my head like that,” he says with a wink.

No one believes him, of course, but they all indulge him. There has never been a single soul who’s immune to Gojo’s charm, besides poor beleaguered Utahime, who’s banned him from all of the sets she works on.

His hair is an important part of his image, so you always make sure to take special care of him. That, and the fact that you just have a soft spot for him.

“Did you miss me?” Gojo asks as you shampoo his hair. His eyes are closed, soapy hair still lying in the basin unwashed as you freeze.

So much.

More than you can imagine.

Rather than be honest, you laugh and poke his cheek. “Who’d miss you, you overgrown man baby?”

“I dunno,” he says, poking his tongue out at you. “I feel like you’d miss your favorite customer.”

Your face heats up.

“You’re not.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “And my hair isn’t black underneath all this bleach.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

2K notes · View notes

hotvintagepoll · 5 months

Text

Propaganda

Ronald Colman (Arrowsmith, Random Harvest, Prisoner of Zenda)—"God! Ronnie Colman! Wasn't he marvelous? He had the greatest movie technique I've ever known in my life!" -Vincent Price

James Dean (Rebel Without A Cause, East of Eden)—can i just say that while james dean was horrendously hot, he also had a i-want-to-pick-him-up-and-carry-him-around-in-my-pocket-slash-hoodie-and-feed-him-treats kind of vibe to him? maybe it was because he was only 5'7, or maybe it was because (to me, at least) he constantly looked like a sopping wet poor little meow meow, or maybe it's because his eyebrows looked like they were too big for him. whatever it was, i'm beginning to understand why people still have posters of him in their rooms.

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

James Dean propaganda:

Ronald Colman propaganda:

No one, not even Douglas Fairbanks, could match Ronald Colman's screen close-ups. They were marvellous because he had a beautiful face, and because he had a deep but gentle masculinity: the ideal of the dark Englishman. — Laurence Olivier

Ronnie became not just an actor for me, but a way of life. — Vincent Price

"I wanna give some propaganda for Ronald Colman! His face acting made him a star in the silent era but when the arrival of the talkie brought one megastar after another down to earth he was one of the only ones to become more popular due to his voice, and became the blueprint for the “mellifluous voiced Englishman” type that Laurence Olivier and James Mason would later become known for. And to prove it here he is reading Shakespeare"

"1920s heartthrob to 1930s matinée idol to 1940s silver fox Oscar winner to 1950s comedy radio star, this man could do it ALL. I feel he is unfairly neglected today despite his smile making it into P.G. Wodehouse novels and the knee-melting qualities of his voice making it into a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical. A women's college made him the winner in their hottest celebrity poll in 1942, and I am right there with them. He was by all accounts an absolutely lovely person, as well, but I recognize that this poll is about the hotness and I think that Ronald Colman deserves more recognition for being ridiculously handsome and doing heartbreaking face-acting and having weaponizable quantities of charm. Also he saved David Niven's life (according to the latter's memoir) by shooting a shark once. Very sexy of him."

He was a wonderful friend; steady, true, full of wisdom and humour. He was generous and completely unbitchy unlike so many actors. A great actor, the master of the understated playing, and one many people (including me) tried hard to copy. A glorious speaking voice, dirty great brown 'fan' eyes, a smile that lit up the whole of Beverly Hills, and a man who could give a lame dog or a struggling actor a lift with never a thought of self-congratulation. — David Niven

#james dean #ronald colman #round 3 #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old man

295 notes · View notes

lovable-liar · 3 months

Note

UNPAID INTERN SCHLATT ASK

Schlatt watching y/n with the kids and just loving how they interact with them. Like Y/n hitting Schlatt over the head for teaching them about Andrew Cuomo and the kids laughing...

...I have baby fever.

...as do I, and it's his fault.

I also went very off task with this, I'm sowwy 🥺

When you got a message from Ludwig asking if you would like to be a contestant on a new game show of his, you were honestly very excited!

You were a huge streamer on the platform, but it wasn't often that you were called upon to compete in real life games!

You were a fan favorite on Name Your Price, for your style and your ability in the game, so after Ludwig pitched Unpaid Intern to you...

You were hooked.

And you were reeled in even further once you found out who you would be competing against!

Daniel Thrasher, a man of many talents and one you found yourself quote tweeting about a lot on your alt to "thank" him for his "service" in "aiding" you to "learn piano"

Lily Pichu, a lovely little lady that (when you ever encountered her) had only ever been the kindest thing to you

Kyedae, a friend of yours that you frequently streamed with and raided!

And jschlatt, infamous, Jonathan Schlatt.

A personal friend of yours!

You and Schlatt first met during the days of the Lunch Club, dark days, sure, but Ted, Charlie, himself, and yourself pulled each other up by the boot straps and created salvation!

Chuckle Sandwich was is that salvation.

And through salvation, you two had formed a strong bond. You created inside jokes for your communities, inside jokes between you and your co-hosts, and inside jokes that only the two of you would ever come to understand.

But, to say you were just friends is an understatement.

To be honest, neither of you really knew what you were.

But you both liked that!

Sure, it became a pain when trying to figure out if you could go out on a date with someone, but it was also nice because technically nothing was happening, you didn't have to hide anything from viewers.

But, Schlatt was always one of the first people you turned to if ever something happened, which, something had happened! You were competing against each other soon! You had to text him-

jslut: yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

toots💙: wat

jslut: ur on upi?

toots💙: upi?

jslut: unpaid intern

jslut: luds thing?

toots💙: ah yes upi

jslut: r u?

toots💙: yes...? 👀

jslut: kk

toots💙: ur so dry over text wtf?!!?!

jslut: i love you too, sugar tits 💙

When-

jslut: how long r u gonna be in texas for?

toots💙: couple days prob

toots💙: im trying to find ppl to film/do stuff with bc i dont wanna fly over just to do one thing and then just fly back

toots💙: productive, you get me?

jslut: film with me

jslut: ill find something for us to do

toots💙: alr but ive got a lot of bitches on my roster so be grateful im spending my time on you, slut

jslut: shut the fuck up, you're the slut here

toots💙: that's blatantly (racist/homophobic/sexist/etc.)

jslut: bye

toots💙: bye bye bbg, daddy can't wait to see you again <3

WHEN YOU GOT TO TEXAS (swear to god if you interrupt me again-)

You texted Schlatt a picture of you in the airport, stood in front of a promotional poster that had the american flag on it, saluting.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket in search of some good fucking food, but you couldn't quite focus on reading the menu while your ass cheek vibrated with fifteen (you counted each vibration) messages.

jslut: first of all, ur supposed to put ur hand on your heart, not fucking salute

jslut: second of all, what airport r u at?

jslut: i'll come get u

jslut: don't order an uber, they're shitty

jslut: i'll be ur uber

jslut: ill bring u a red fucking carpet

jslut: toots

jslut: babycakes

jslut: did u order an uber?

jslut: did u get kidnapped? wtf

jslut: answer me toots

jslut: send me ur location

jslut: as soon as i see u im downloading a fucking tracker onto ur phone

toots💙: can you stop vibrating my ass for two seconds? im getting food

jslut: vibrating ur ass?

jslut: i wish

toots💙: food acquired, im at dfw

jslut: kk omw

toots💙: where should i meet u?

toots💙: r u kidding me?

toots💙: fuck u

You hunkered down in the food court to wait of the arrival of your beloved uber driver while you ate and played on your phone

You were expecting him to text you back any minute now since he never left his messages unanswered for too long (that's not entirely true, he never leaves *your* messages unanswered, ever, but he'd never tell you that, ever.)

But as 1:00pm became 1:26pm, you began to feel a little anxious

How long have you been sat here for?

Does that man want to sit here?

Should you move?

Are people staring?

Okay- just, stay seated, he'll be here soon.

Where are your headphones?

Where are your bags?!

Oh- okay, it's right there... where you left it.

And your headphones are around your neck.

Do you have your wallet?

Yeah, it's in one of your bags.

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR BAGS-

"Heeey, toots! 'S good to see you again." A deep, familiar voice calls out, he has your bags too!

"I got you a baggy of fruit from seven eleven!"

"Aww, you shouldn't have!" He twirls his hair around his finger.

"Gotta feed my baby girl right."

"Alright, you're done." Schlatt announces, before bending down to grab a handful of the meat just above your knees before throwing you over his shoulder and tucking your bags under his other arm.

"Jonathan! You put me down right now!"

"No."

"People are staring!" You whisper shout.

"You called me 'baby girl' 'n the first five finger-fuckin' seconds of our first face to face conversation in three months instead of kissin' me, 'm not puttin' you down."

The walk back to his car consisted of kicking your legs, lots of people staring, a surprising amount of awing, Schlatt having to readjust your clothes every two to three seconds just so you'd keep a semblance of your dignity, and a security guard even opened the door for him!

I mean- this man could have legitimately been kidnapping you, and nobody even *attempted* to help you!

But, then again, you weren't really putting up *much* of a fight.

Once you reached his car, he opened the trunk and shoved your bags in before sauntering round to the passenger's side.

After he so chivalrously opened the door for you, he plopped you down into the seat from your perch on his shoulder, making sure to hold your head so you wouldn't bang it before he placed one hand on the dash and the other on the head rest.

He leaned you back slowly, playfully, before finally accepting his kiss from you.

It was nice.

It re-awoke the butterflies in your tummy that seemingly crisped up and died whenever he wasn't around.

After the extraordinarily drawn out kiss, you embarked on the scenic drive to Schlatt's house, where you found yourself having the first 'argument' with him in the months you hadn't seen each other.

"Where're you stayin'?"

"I booked a hotel-"

"Bull-fucking-shit I'm lettin' you stay at a fuckin' hotel, hotels are good for nothin'. You sleep in my room."

"But I paid money for that hotel room?"

"Ok? I'll pay you back."

"What?"

"Anythin' in these bags ya don't want me findin'?

"Wha-"

"I'm unpackin' for you, sweetheart."

"No, wha-"

"Ya jet lagged, go sit on the couch, watch somethin', I don' care."

Schlatt then proceeded to haul your bags upstairs and into his room, where, promptly, he shouted for you.

"Toots, I thought you said there was nuthin' in here! I've seen one of these before! 'S a.. fuckin' 'rose' vibe, or some shit?!"

"Don't touch that!"

"Whaaat?! Like I haven't seen your toys before! Like I haven't *been* your toy before."

"Schlatt!"

He also found your outfit for Ludwig's video.

"Heeey! This is cute! Gonna look like a little 50s detective more than an intern, but shit, are you gonna look adorable. 'S this your perfume? Shit, that smells good..."

He absolutely douses his own clothes in it

ONTO THE MAIN EVENT! (If anyone's still reading, anyway.)

You and Schlatt arrived together at 9:44 (which ended up giving you 2 points, whereas it landed Schlatt with 1)

After being presented with your first task, keeping a trio of toddlers entertained for fifteen minutes straight, you went straight into action.

You managed to find play dough, bubble wrap, a box of legos, some cardboard boxes, and some coloring materials!

You were the first of the bunch to entertain the kids.

"Helloooo everybody! Who do we have here?"

"Elijah!" "Rooney!" "Caleb!"

"Hey guys! I'm Y/N. Can you spell that? Let's see your handwriting, huh? On the board, can you guys write your names and then my name?"

Overall, you have an absolute blast with these guys.

First, they wanted to pop as many bubbles on the bubble wrap as they could while your phone counted down a ten second timer.

You laid out a sheet of the wrap before you all stood on your own section of it and danced, bounced, and rolled on it until the alarm sounded.

Then, the kids wanted to decorate their own boxes as cars that you pushed them around in!

A chorus of giggles and squeals could be heard emanating from the conference room from all the way across the building, even your own chuckles!

After that, Rooney, Elijah and you sculpted with the play dough while Caleb built with the lego.

Rooney made a dinosaur and Elijah made a lion, but you all gave extra props to Caleb who built all of you!

You were a little disappointed when the fifteen minutes were up, you gave each kid a high five and a ruffle of their hair before you stepped out of the conference room and closed the door (but the interaction truly ended after you pulled a face at them through the window.)

(That face definitely ended up as Schlatt's home screen.)

Next up, you were burdened with having to ensure that your backward speech is coherent and understandable!

Your key phrase was "Can I hold it while you pee?"

Surprisingly, VERY HARD!!!

You managed to get 'hold it' and 'pee'

But the rest of it?

Nada.

"Do people actually wanna hold guys'... you know... when they- pee..?" Daniel asked.

"Well- surprisingly, yes!" Ludwig, oh so helpfully, replied.

You immediately turned to Schlatt

"No, you cannot hold my dick while I piss."

Everyone erupted into laughter.

At this point, you were tied with Daniel in first!

For the map task, you were paired with Schlatt.

You two made a fucking powerhouse of a duo.

With his drawing skills and your knowledge that there was a map on the wall right to the left of you? You were UNSTOPPABLE.

And, with the last and final task, you immediately had to opt out.

The simultaneous, wet chewing sounds of EVERYONE in the room?

FUCK NO

You were not gonna be in that room for another *second*

But you didn't have to be!

You had already surpassed everyone else with flying colors.

Lud even gave you extra points for opting out because he needs a 'well-behaved employee who won't blow bubbles and stick gum to the underside of the desks.'

Schlatt did offer you some of his gum though, and when you stuck your hand out for, i don't know, a pristine, unchewed piece still wrapped in it's packaging, you got the complete opposite!

Just a glob of fluorescent pink, wet and chewed gum in the pit of your hand.

But, that's also how you found yourself here, in Schlatt's car after a long day, waiting in a drive thru.

"Today was great! You were real great with those kids, toots."

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah!"

"I kept the lego figure Caleb made of me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"I wanna fuck a kid into you."

"Schlatt!"

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt fluff #schlatt #schlatt fluff #schlatt x reader

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