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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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sant-riley · 5 months

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Domestic Simon Riley? 👀 -🪴

[With you] [Simon 'Ghost' Riley domestic headcanons]

(Romantic Ghost x Reader)

Summary: Simon is your disconcerning boyfriend, to most people it seems as if he'd be incapable of gentle touches and affection, you know better though.

More info: You're apart of 141, no one knows you two are dating, you are younger than him and are shorter than him in this.

Warnings: usage of the word Girl once but it is more geared towards fem! (This is so fucking self indulgent im sorry) possibly ooc for Ghost (idc tbh) , do these even count as domestic? Idk ive never dated someone, nothing else that I know of but do let me know if there is anything that needs to be tagged!

Ghost is so painfully subtle in public with the way he treats you, he'll never outwardly do anything romantic but his actions and how he looks at you while he does it makes people pause.

In your own quarters or homes though, its different.

He's extremely attentive to you, your wants, your needs, your dislikes, he knows it all, he classifies it as important as missions. Simon didn't have a good father growing up, he didn't get to see what a good husband was supposed to be like, he's learning from the bottom up and he takes it seriously.

You'll never have to ask him to make breakfast, he's always up before you and has it cooked on the table with your drink.

Knows exactly when it's the time you wake up, and if he's able he'll go wake you up personally, brushing your hair out of your face and gently running his fingers through to detangle it from your sleeping.

Despite how cute you are sleeping in just his large hoodie, he won't let you sleep in, y'all got stuff to do.

He'll pick you up and bring you down to the table, pressing a kiss to your temple, if that doesn't wake you up (you usually will look up for a real kiss), he isn't afraid to grab your face in one hand and just, smoosh your face, he knows you hate it but it's gonna wake you up bc you're trying to slap his hand away.

He sits across from you, but reaches out one arm across the table with his palm facing up so you can grab it whenever, he likes it when you play with his hands.

Don't get me started on Simon and washing dishes, he always takes over washing duty and let's you dry ‘em. But every other time, he's gonna let his hands stay wet and will tell you to “think fast” and flick water over you (if you truly hate it, he'll stop though)

you know that saying of peeling oranges? He's the biggest proof that there is somewhere out there that will do it for you without question. Doesn't matter what it is, if you don't prefer driving, he has no complaints about driving you everywhere, if you don't like washing your hair? Just tell him what products and what order you use them in, just sit there and relax.

If you wear makeup and you're too tired to take it off yourself, he'll do it for you and it makes me emotional.

In your shared bathroom, he sets you on top the counter and uses one hand to gently grab your chin, taking the remover and firmly rubbing off your eyeshadow/eyeliner/blush/etc, afterwards he'll murmer a “that's my girl.” (He loves you with or without makeup, but he loves you for you, doesn't matter which you choose to do that day or any day)

He covers the corners of the meeting tables when you bend down to grab at the pen you dropped, it's just second nature for him to protect you from hurting yourself. He's yanked you from the street, picked you up just with one arm to make sure you don't walk into something gross on the street, gotten in front of strangers who try and get in your face for something. His body completely covers your own, and he always has weapons on his person, he isn't afraid to resort to maiming someone for you, you're his number one priority.

Simon loves having you sleep on top of him, he finds the weight a good reminder that you're there, you're not going anywhere if you do, he'll notice right away. If you get up to go to the kitchen, he'll sleepily follow you and just stare at you for an uncomfortable amount of time til you realize he's there. He'll make fun of you too “You should know ‘m right here, what kind of soldier isn't aware-” “Simon, I'm literally in just a bra and boxers right now.”

He demands your attention, this is one he'll do on bass in front of others bc technically he can get a with it. You're next to a recruit he doesn't like? Suddenly there's papers on a recent mission he needs your signature on, or he needs you for special 141 training reasons (he wants you to come with him to the dining hall, he's hungry and he doesn't want to go alone)

Dude stands right up against your back, in every scenario. His chest is probably an inch away from your back. He's playfully called your shadow by Price and the rest of the guys.

He grabs your hips alot, usually just to rest his hands there, occasionally rubbing small circles into the flesh, humming.

Simon will try and subtly leave as well if you leave the room, he gives it 10 minutes before he makes his way out to find wherever you wandered off too

Price finds it fucking hilarious, he'll look down at his watch and mentally countdown to when Simon makes his escape. Simon can fool most people but not John, the way Ghost will tap his foot and roll his shoulders are tell tale signs that he's had enough of being there.

He'll dance if you want him to, though he simply sways with you in his arms, if you're of a specific culture, he'll try his best to learn it but no promises, while he is fast learner and perfects everything he does, he's a big man, he's not that graceful.

Without thinking if he sees you're cold, he's stripping off his jacket to give it to you, he doesn't ask, he just moves behind you to drape it over your shoulders.

He'll take off his mask with you, and let you trace the scars that litter his face, let you trace his features too, he's fallen asleep to you doing it and he doesn't know how much you cried silently when he did.

Simon practices new jokes on you, to get your opinion of them until he can tell the others, the louder you groan the better the joke is in his eyes.

Soap asks why you don't even react anymore and you just sigh. You are tired.

When he's especially annoyed and done with the day, he just shoves his head into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you in a death grip while he takes deep breaths, in the least weird possible, your scent and body so close to him helps him destress.

One thing he makes a huge point to do is to clean your guns for you, yes you should do it yourself but ever since y'all have gotten together, he's taken it upon himself.

He's scared, more scared than anything that something will go wrong when you're both not on the same mission, this is just a way he can ensure your gun will fire correctly and efficiently, that you can defend yourself when he isn't there.

Speaking of weapons, he gives you one of his personal knives for you to keep, he'll ask for it back only to sharpen it, everything has to stay in its best shape.

Likes when you drape yourself over him when he's sitting, alas he is just a man so he likes to feel your chest against his back.

Pulls you into his lap if you walk by, he'll let you get up if you truly want to but he'll position you to sit sideways and will rub your legs as he watches whatever is on the TV.

For anyone who has arthritis, Ghost will take the time to rub your ointments into your hands, he knows what weather makes then worse and keeps his own tube of it onhand so he's prepared.

He's always buying you things, he knows that it's not necessary but for him, it sees it as ‘if for some reason I fail at something else, at least I can provide this’ someone hug him he's fighting for his life.

Stocks up on every single essential you can ever need, your comfort food and snacks? Always on base and always at your flat, if you two are walking around the shoppes and he sees you eyeball anything, bet your ass he's going online to order it for you immediately, and when it shows up, he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a big deal, it's just money. Which is very cute but also a ps5 is NOT cheap sir, you can't just-

#ghost <3 #kayla writes <3 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #call of duty headcanons #cod headcanons #call of duty x reader #call of duty #kayla asks <3 #fem reader

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kirbyskisses · 1 year

Note

idk soft dom very tired jason todd has been holding my mind hostage 🫠 coming home after a long night and walking in on u devastated because u've been soaked for an hour (rip) but u can't make urself come so ur near / in tears when he finds u. i feel like u kinda hide urself from him bc he must be exhausted but also ask him to please help u maybe,,

hiiiii anon!!! sorry this took sooo long, university is kicking my ass. anyway; fem!reader, latino!jason w/ spanglish nicknames, vv soft, praise kink. i hope you like it!!! tagging: @mxonigirimiya @reveluving and @sems-diarie. also i guess this is a celebration because I JUST HIT 2K

“fucking hate this city.” jason mumbles, lying to himself. if he truly hated gotham he wouldn’t be working so hard to defend it. he just hates how much the endeavor takes out of him.

still, he loves many a thing about gotham - principle of all, he loves that gotham has you. his one spot of hope, his angel of light who’s always smiling away in his apartment for him like a shining beacon in otherwise dark terrain.

but this time you’re not greeting his tired body at the door. you’re not shining that heart-melting smile in the kitchen. you’re not even ignoring his presence in the living room because your head is buried a book or focused on a show or because you’re agitatedly writing a document for work.

“baby?” he calls out, voice still distorted by the red hood helmet. he shrugs and takes it off. he gives an exhausted smile up spotting the clothes that you left out for him. it comforts him that they still carry a semblance of your comforting scent - it only makes him long to cuddle you in bed.

oh! the bedroom! he almost laughs at the idiocy of not thinking to check there, slipping on the pajamas expecting to find you having fallen asleep or gotten distracted from his earlier shout by scrolling through your phone.

he doesn’t not expect to see his pretty angel bouncing frustratedly on a fake silicon cock, wearing one of his oversized shirts, fingers desperately rubbing at your chubby clit. even in the dark with tired eyes, he thinks he can make out wet spots on the covers.

he doesn’t announce his presence with anything more than a cough and a click of the lamp; immediately your glossy eyes turn to him in embarrassment.

“you look like you need some help there, sweet thing.” he gives a tired smirk when your eyes meet.

“j-jay!” your voice cracks. “i didn’t - i thought-”

“were you waiting up for me?” he yawns a bit and walks his heavy form closer to you, arms caging you in as he leans over, green eyes admiring your trembling lips.

“had a bitch of a patrol - but clearly i shouldn’t have kept my baby waiting. let me make it up to you.”

“ ‘s okay. jay you’re tired a-and it’s late.” you sigh out, still stuttering from teetering on the edge of a high, foggy brain trying to be reasonable despite your boyfriend kissing down your neck.

“ay, cariño… how long?”

“how long?” you repeat, dumbfounded and he lets out a low chuckle.

“how long have you been trying to make her cum while i was gone?”

you feel yourself gush a little bit more at how jason refers to your core like its own person. you hesitate as he sucks a mark into your neck, threads of spit connecting his lips to the bruised skin.

“tell me, baby. don’t be embarrassed.”

“a-… an hour…”

“an hour? fuck, pobrecita… ‘m gonna take care of her now, aight? spread your legs for me.”

you do as he says, as always, gaining a smirk and a kiss to your clit from your act of obedience.

“she’s crying baby.” he pulls the soaked fake toy out and tosses it. he gives a teasing, unimpressed laugh, finger rolling over the soaking bud and making you whimper.

“heh. no wonder you couldn’t get off princess with that; i’ve gotten you too used to something bigger.” you hear the fabric of his boxers drop. “usually i’d use my tongue but you’ve gone and prepped yourself for me so well, mamita.”

“please…” you sniffle, still feeling bad for bothering him. “pl-please help, i don’t - jay, i don’t wanna wait anymore.”

he shushes you - his large, battle-scarred hand gentle stroking your cheek and the other guides his fat tip to kiss your warmth.

“sshh. i gotcha, sweetheart.”

“ ‘m sorry…” you whisper out still feeling like a burden for your neediness - lengthening his already difficult night.

“no. no te preo. don’t you be sorry. you did so good, mamita, y’know that? i should be thanking you for letting me have this sweet treat.” jason makes a loud groan as he inches in.

“fuckkk… i’ll take care of ya, sweet thing. you just relax and let me do everything fr’m here.”

jason loves to feel needed. if you need him, he’s there - no matter the cost or the exhaustion.

and if he gets to sink his fat cock into a soaking wet, tight little pussy while doing so - that’s just the cherry on top.

#jason todd x reader smut #jason todd #latino jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #x reader #smut #request #kirby’s asks🌸

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itadores · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆

synopsis: you like buying little gifts for your boyfriend. it only makes sense for you to buy him a photo-card of his favorite idol when you come across it in a JPOP store.

note: my silly guy <3 haven’t written in ages so i’m a bit rusty

pairing: tōdō aoi x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, petnames (tōdō calls reader babe, reader calls him baby), reader’s love language is gift giving, tōdō is bit of an overdramatic crybaby (affectionate)

You happen across the store as you’re walking through the shopping center that you typically frequent. It’s a new shop if the banner with the words “Grand Opening!” printed in bold block letters was anything to go by. However, the banner is not what originally caught your eye as you were passing through. It’s the name of the place itself that did: JPOPTOWN. Admittedly, you’re not an avid fan of JPOP, moreso a casual enjoyer, but your partner on the other hand…is a very big fan. Very. Honestly, Tōdō is the main reason why you know what you do about JPOP.

You make the quick decision to enter the store, simply out of curiosity for what it may hold within its walls. Maybe, you can find something to buy for your boyfriend. As soon as the door slides open, a catchy tune croons out from the speakers scattered throughout the store. You recognize it as one of the top trending JPOP songs at the moment, having heard it numerous times over the radio or in other shops. Your eyes rove over the walls and shelves of the store, unsure of where to start your journey now that you’re inside. There’s simply so much merchandise of various JPOP artists lining every space of the store that you’re a bit overwhelmed at first.

However, once your gaze lands on an idol more than familiar to you, you immediately gravitate towards the section, your feet leading you to the area solely dedicated to your boyfriend’s favorite idol: Takada-chan. You idly peruse the numerous shelves full of her merchandise, looking over what sort of items they carry. A lot of what the store offers are items that your boyfriend already owns, which makes you deflate a bit.

You were excited to see what this store held within once you had gotten a glimpse of its name in hopes that you could buy a little something to surprise your boyfriend with. Not for any sort of special occasion, but you enjoy surprising Tōdō with little things when you could. His reaction whenever you present him with some trinket or snack is one of your favorite things in the world, especially since he’s always so animated. You would think he’s playing it up to boost your ego with how overdramatic he can be, but you know that your boyfriend is simply like that.

You feel nearly defeated, ready to leave the store empty handed until you see something in your peripheral vision that makes you instantly perk up. There’s a plain binder propped open in the midst of a sea of Takada-chan merch, displaying an array of photo-cards of her.

Tōdō already has quite a few of her photo-cards, even carrying one in his wallet alongside a picture of you, but his collection of her photo-cards is small in comparison to the rest of her other merchandise that he's amassed throughout the years. You only hope that you can find a photo-card that he doesn't already have and doesn't break the bank for you.

You carefully flip through the plastic sleeves containing the photo-cards. You'd hate to accidentally damage them in any way. Tōdō was too rough once, too excited at the prospect of purchasing a Takada-chan photo-card, that he accidentally damaged a whole sleeve full of them. The amount he had to pay in damages that day makes you shudder just thinking about it.

Your eyes scan over the photo-cards as you try and recall which photo-cards Tōdō already has in his possession.

He already has this one, already has that one, already has this one too…

Your eyes light up when they land on one that you know he doesn't have yet, and if you're remembering correctly, he mentioned wanting this one as well. You're pretty sure he shoved his phone in your face to show you how another photo-card collector had it in their possession, but wasn't willing to trade or sell it to him no matter how much he flooded their DMs with vague threats. He ended up blocked after that.

You’re even more delighted when you read the little white sticker with the price in the corner of the plastic sleeve and realize the photo-card is well-within your budget for a little gift for your boyfriend. With the utmost caution, you gently slip the photo-card out of its slot from within the binder, cradling it carefully in your palm. Once you’re sure the photo-card is safely in your possession, you lift your head up, craning your neck around as you search for the photo-card holder area of the store.

As soon as you spot it, you make your way over. Presented with so many options, you’re now faced with the difficult decision of what photo-card holder you should buy for Tōdō. He’ll be pleased with anything you get him, but you want him to like what you get him, not because it simply came from me, but because he genuinely likes it. That means you need to find something that you (and Tōdō) will find cute but not overwhelmingly so.

You stand there for awhile, mentally comparing and contrasting photo-card holder versus photo-card holder until you finally decide on one that you think will suffice. You pluck your chosen photo-card holder from where it's hanging on the wall, turning it over and over in your hand, inspecting to make sure it's in perfect condition. It's a soft plastic photo-card holder with black stars of varying sizes covering the front's borders and the entirety of the back. It's simplistic enough, but still cute, meaning that Tōdō will (hopefully) like it.

After making sure once more that the photo-card holder and the photo-card itself are in pristine condition, you make your way over to the cashier, paying once it's your turn to check out and then exiting the store, more than satisfied with your unexpected purchase. Giddiness floods your system as the door to the shop closes behind you. You can't wait to surprise Tōdō.

With your free hand, you dig your phone out of your pocket, opening the messaging app to shoot your boyfriend a quick text, asking if you can swing by his place in an hour. You don't even have a chance to exit out of the application before you receive a response from him.

aoi ♡ : Is that even a question? You're free to come over always.

You huff. Of course your boyfriend would say something like that. If it was up to Tōdō, you would probably never leave his place. You quickly reply back, informing him that it’s polite to ask and that you’ll be over soon before closing the app and slipping your phone back into your pocket. You readjust your grip on the bag containing the goodies for your boyfriend. A small smile graces your lips.

Time for you to make your way to Tōdō’s now.

The commute to Tōdō’s place doesn’t take long, and sooner than you know it, you’re at his front door. You raise a fist to knock, startling when the door swings open right before your fist can make contact. You place a hand over your chest, willing your racing heart to slow before tossing a glare at the offender standing in the doorway.

“Aoi, you scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” he responds, entirely non-apologetic as a grin spreads across his face. He takes a step towards you, bundling you up in his arms in one easy swoop. You make an undignified sound at the sudden action, but you quickly relax in Tōdō’s hold. The familiar and comforting scent of his cologne infiltrates your senses, and you can’t help but squeeze him a little tighter. “I missed you babe.”

You laugh lightly, pulling away so you can look at Tōdō, who still has a wide grin on his face. “We just saw each other earlier this week, Aoi.”

“And? I can’t miss you when you’re not around?” The corner of his lips pull into a frown, prompting you to playfully roll your eyes.

You sympathetically pat him on the bicep. “Of course you can.”

When you’re met with nothing but an expectant look, you squeeze Tōdō’s bicep and huff in slight amusement. “And I obviously missed you as well. How could I not miss my lovely boyfriend after spending so much time apart?” Your hand glides up from Tōdō’s bicep to gently caress his cheek, which he leans into. Your lips curl into a small smile.

You may be teasing Tōdō, but you did truly miss him as well. The two of you stand there for a bit just enjoying the moment.

“Now, are you going to invite me in or are we going to spend all day out on your doorstep?”

Your words quickly spur Tōdō into action. He grabs the hand resting on his face and entwines it with his own, dragging you inside his place. You stumble a bit (Tōdō sometimes forgets his own strength), but you manage to regain your balance as the door closes behind you both.

Much to Tōdō’s dismay, you let go of his hand to take off your shoes, placing them on the shoe rack before sliding on the slippers designated as yours. They’re of a silly pattern, but Tōdō insisted on getting matching pairs, and well. Who are you to deny him?

“What’s in the bag?” Tōdō questions, pointing a finger at the bag in your hand as he follows you into the living room area of his apartment.

You plop down onto the couch, tucking your feet beneath you before patting the cushion right beside you. Tōdō sits down next to you, his thigh pressing against yours and an arm around the back of the couch.

“A surprise,” you simply say.

His eyes light up.

“For me?”

You huff. You consider teasing Tōdō, but you nod, replying “Yes, for you, baby.”

He crowds into your space, nearly squishing you against the arm of the couch. His eyes shine brightly with unbridled excitement. “Can I open it right now?”

You hold the bag up between you. “Go ahead, baby.” Before Tōdō can grab the bag from your hand, you warn him, “It’s nothing too big, so don’t get too excited.”

He rolls his eyes as he takes the bag from you. “I’ll cherish anything you get me no matter how big nor how small it may be.”

“Okay Romeo, go ahead and open your gift then.” You wave your hand, urging him to open the bag. Although you did give Tōdō a warning that you didn’t get him anything too big, you have a strong feeling that he’ll like what you got him.

It doesn’t take Tōdō long to open the bag. As soon as his eyes land on its contents and his brain processes what he’s looking at, he makes a noise that sounds almost like a squeal. His hands are shaking as he carefully takes out the Takada-chan photo-card and the accompanying photo-card holder out of the bag. The plastic bag drifts to the floor, now forgotten.

When Tōdō finally tears his eyes away from the photo-card that he’s cradling oh so gently to look at you, his eyes are shiny with wetness. His lower lip wobbles.

“Babe, have I told you that I love you and that you’re the best partner a man could ever ask for?”

You smile, reaching out to place a hand around the back of Tōdō’s neck. “I’m glad you like your little gift, Aoi.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Babe, I love it. Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to trade or buy this photo-card for so long now. I can’t believe you found it.”

Tōdō carefully places the photo-card and the photo-card holder you’ve bought for him on the table in front of the couch before turning back towards you to engulf you in a tight hug. You yelp as you're suddenly pushed back onto the couch. Your hands cling to Tōdō's shoulders as he slides a hand behind your head to make sure you don't bump it against the arm of the couch.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he repeats over and over, littering kisses wherever he can on your bare skin. He presses his lips to your neck in chaste kisses before moving onto your face, kissing your forehead, nose, and cheeks over and over before he finally presses a kiss to your lips.

"Thanks, babe." He says once more, pressing another kiss to your lips. You slide your arms from his shoulders to wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Tōdō bends to your will, but is careful to not crush you beneath his weight.

You lean up to kiss him this time, and he chases your lips when you pull away, making you giggle lightly.

"Anything for you, Aoi," you softly say. You're sure that you have a terribly lovesick expression on your face, but Tōdō isn't faring much better. A small smile tugs at your lips.

You'll gladly buy Tōdō little gifts for the rest of your lives if it means you'll get a reaction like this from him every time.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #todo x reader #todo aoi x reader #toudou x reader #toudou aoi x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #from.jujutsu kaisen #new.mail #love.todo aoi

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mistyresolve · 2 months

Text

| This Isn't Normal - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 560

Summary - Simon Riley believed himself to have moved past the anger issues. He never thought he'd have an outburst again, least of all have it directed towards you.

Tags/Warnings - Trigger Warning! Abuse, untreated anger issues, yelling, established relationships (ending of said relationship), angst, disassociation.

A/N - As some may know Simon canonically had anger management issues and I'd like to think my baby girl version of him would NEVER act like the Simon in this one shot. I would also everyone to know that this type of relationship is not healthy and if you find yourself in a similar situation please seek help. Everyone deserves love and respect.

Masterlist ❤︎

It was nights like these where Simon truly wished he was anyone else, where he could step out of his own skin and turn away from himself. The nights that were made silent by his shouts and outcries of anger. He hated the putrid rage that seeped from his pores, how his fury rushed through his veins like fire. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t control himself. His mouth had grown a mind of its own and words had left his lips before they were a fully formed thought.

At some point, he’d stopped seeing. His vision of blur of colours and shapes. His perception of his surroundings was made skewed by the overwhelming disgust toward himself. He couldn’t remember what even started this fight.

He was sure whatever it was wasn’t deserving of this reaction.

But he couldn’t stop.

You had long since stopped responding. Your eyes glazed over as you stared off into the distance, your mind undoubtedly protecting itself from the onslaught of his anger. You didn’t even try to defend yourself.

He would never understand why you didn’t just get up and walk away from him. He didn’t understand why you didn’t lock the bedroom door behind you and call the cops on him.

He has never and would never hit you. He never got violent like that. Never punched walls or threw glasses but he yelled. He spewed hatred like it was a sport when he was triggered.

He thought he was doing better. It had been nearly a year since his last outburst. Or his first outburst with you, depending on how you wanted to look at it. He had promised you it would never happen again.

A memory flashed before his eyes and he froze, his eyes widening his shock. His father's face, red from yelling at him and his mother, seared into him. The air was sucked out of his lungs and his mouth snapped shut.

The silence in the room was deafening, and his ears rang from it. He backed away from you, biting hard into his fisted hand.

Finally, your eyes shifted to his, emotionless, and his heart shattered. What was he doing to you? He was once again sick with himself.

You took the pause in his attack as your time to leave. You stood from the couch and walked out of the living room.

Several hours later he found you on the back balcony, leaning on the banister with a very full glass beside you.

He opened the door to the balcony, stepped outside and leaned on the banister a few feet beside you.

“I think you should leave me,” He murmured into the cold air, his breath curling in front of him, “I know,” he corrected himself, “I know you should leave me.”

You turned to face him, your cheeks blushed from the cool air. Your eyes searched his face, before looking back out the skyline. You remained silent for a while before saying, “You need to get help…This isn’t normal.”

He nodded, “Yeah. I do,” he had gone to therapy and gotten treatment for his anger before, and had thought he’d moved past this.

“I think you should find a place to stay for the night. Maybe even the week,” you took a sip of your wine.

He bowed his head between his arms, his chest tightening, “I do too.”

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #task force 141 #ghost x reader

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euphoricfilter · 10 months

Note

For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!

youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:

tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3

notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.

notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺

𓇻 i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.

𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.

𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.

𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore

𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.

𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.

𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation

𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing

𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.

𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.

𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.

𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom

𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face

𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.

𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”

𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.

𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.

𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon

𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help

𓇻 the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening

𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.

𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”

𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background

𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in

𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts fic #bts imagines #bts headcanons #jungkook headcanons

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

6 to 1 | lando norris (part 9)

pairing: lando norris x leclerc reader part 9 in the 6 to 1 series (read part 1 here)

attention was a funny thing. for so long, you were under the impression that you had lando's. with the way he treated you, the way he worked up your driver ranking, the way he made his intentions clear. but now you had to fight for it and lets just say you've never been afraid of getting your hands a little dirty

word count: 4k tags: this is soft and then its not is all i have to say, also alcohol consumption i guess

The universe was never on your side.

Lando stayed with you at your place for only a little while before he had to return to his flat. Just because he had a bit of time off between races, didn’t mean he could stop working. He had Quadrant obligations, training, meetings, he even had to make a quick trip back to the UK on Thursday as he was needed at the McLaren Technology Centre.

It was no fault of his own, but he had no time for you. You genuinely didn’t think you would see him until the weekend, and even then you had your own commitments and still hadn’t decided if you wanted Lando to accompany you to dinner.

Of course you wanted him there, but you still hadn’t spoken to Charles. You knew if you showed up to your mother’s place with Lando at your side, a heated conversation would undoubtedly commence.

You wanted Lando’s opinion. You weren’t even sure if he would want to come to dinner. The plan was to sit down and talk to him about it, but you hadn’t had a chance to all week.

Now it was Friday and as far as you were aware, Lando was supposed to be coming home sometime today. You expected he would at least give you a call when he was in the car from Nice.

You didn’t expect to return from your jog in the afternoon and see Lando in your kitchen helping himself to the groceries you purchased yesterday. He turned over his shoulder when he heard the door open, cheeks full with whatever sandwich he had just made for himself.

He looked good. The sleeves of his t-shirt tightened around his biceps. His curls weren’t as prominent, he must have gotten a bit of a trim in the UK, but you still wanted to run your fingers through his hair. The summer sun was doing wonders for his skin, he probably had a darker tan than you did and god he was literally glowing.

He approached you slowly, gaze raking over every inch of your body. Monaco was hot, you had to dress appropriately for your run. And you doubted Lando was complaining about the sports bra and matching athletic tights you had on.

“I regret telling you my key code,” you told him. Lando only stifled his laughter in response as he finished chewing. He held out the end of his sandwich to you, offering you a bite. And you were starving after that run, so you happily obliged.

“You don’t have mustard in your fridge,” he pointed out.

You held your mouth in front of your hand as you swallowed, “I don’t like mustard.”

“But I do,” he took another bite.

“Well next time I go grocery shopping I’ll be sure to ask for your list, yeah? Any dietary restrictions I should know about? Is the almond milk in my fridge not up to your standards?” You raised your eyebrows, but it was clear your questions were full of sarcasm and Lando didn’t have anything else to add as he slowly finished chewing.

You patted his chest and started to pivot, planning on taking a shower and changing but Lando grabbed hold of your hand and pulled you back towards him. He kissed you, not letting your teasing stop him from greeting you the way he wanted to.

“Hi,” he said quietly as he pulled away just enough so his lips were still hovering over yours.

“Hi,” you repeated, hating how quick he was able to make you smile. There was no point in trying to hide it either, it would only make your cheeks hurt more. “Is it bad that I’ve missed you?”

“I don’t think so because I’ve missed you too,” he kissed you again.

He had just been busy. He hadn’t been able to make the time to see you or take you out, and you couldn’t blame him for that. Sure it was a little frustrating knowing he was in Monte Carlo for most of this week and you couldn’t do anything about it, but at least he was with you now.

You may have never been in a relationship before, but you knew exactly what this was. It was the honeymoon phase. You wanted to spend as much time with him as humanly possible and him having a job that kept him occupied and travelling was a little bit of an inconvenience for you.

Lando offered to make you some lunch while you got ready for the rest of the day and you had to admit, it was kind of nice having someone around who wanted to take care of you.

When you finished your shower and stepped into the hall, Lando was in the kitchen and singing quietly to himself whatever song was playing from his phone. You watched for a second as he opened up a few cupboards until he found the plates he was searching for.

After you had changed and and rang a towel through your hair, you joined Lando in the living room. There was a plate on the coffee table with a sandwich and a variety of fruit on it and you wanted to thank him, but he was on a phone call.

So even though he was here with you, he wasn’t actually present.

Regardless, you weren’t going to let it bother you. You tuned him out for the most part, responding to a couple friends you had been neglecting to text back. It wasn’t until he somewhat mentioned you in his conversation that your interest piqued.

“...at my girl's place,” but you looked at each other at the exact same time, wearing very similar expressions of uncertainty. Lando even sounded unsure as he said it, like he wasn’t confident that was the right thing to call you.

Your confusion turned to amusement as whoever Lando was talking to presumably asked about you and he struggled to explain what you were to him exactly.

“Yeah she’s-” Lando paused, feeling the weight of your stare. “It’s uh, it’s pretty new.”

That wasn’t technically wrong.

“No, she’s cool, you’ll like her,” Lando assured them. Now you were really wondering who he was talking to. Lando dropped his hand to your leg. “But I gotta go, I’ll talk to you in a bit, yeah?”

You waited until he put the phone down to question him, the smirk on your face was making your jaw hurt and he preemptively rolled his eyes in anticipation for whatever you were going to say.

“Your girl?” You exclaimed, reaching forward to playfully press your hand against his cheek. “Am I your girl, Lando Norris?”

Lando opened his mouth and then shut it again, settling on a heavy exhale as he took your hand in his. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and gave you the sweetest look he could muster.

“That’s a trick question so I’m not going to answer it.”

You snorted, “Please elaborate.”

He sighed again, “If I say, yes, you’re my girl, you’ll be upset because I haven’t actually asked you to my girlfriend yet, which-” he held up a finger, “-is a bit of a childish term, might I add. We’re not twelve, Y/N.”

You held up a hand in defence, feeling a little attacked, “I didn’t say anything.”

He continued, “But if I say no, then you’ll still be upset because you know that you are in fact my girl.”

You hummed in response. You could understand how he saw it as a trick question, even if you hadn’t intended it as such. Maybe he was smarter than you gave him credit for.

“It’s a lose-lose,” he added. “For me, at least.”

“There’s a simple solution.”

“Which is?”

Your eyebrows raised, surprised you even had to spell it out. “Ask me to be your girlfriend.”

“Will you-”

“No!” You interjected. Lando flinched, having not expected you to raise your voice all of a sudden. But this is what he was talking about, this was the lose-lose scenario he now found himself in.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted, a shy smile teased his lips. It was cute. He was cute. But he should have known better.

“Lando, I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” you reminded him quietly. There was nothing embarrassing about that statement, but what you were asking for was, in a sense, childish. “I don’t care that we’re adults, I want to be asked out properly. A whole grand gesture.” You waved your hand in front of your face for emphasis, “Sweep me off my feet or something, I don’t know. Don’t just ask me out, put a little effort into it.”

Lando’s grip slid up your arm to be able to pull you onto his lap. Your legs straddled either side of him as his fingers found your waist. He leaned his head against the back of the couch as he looked up at you, the same timid smile on his lips.

He nodded, “Okay, effort. I can do that.”

“Nothing embarrassing.”

“Aren’t grand gestures usually embarrassing?” He retorted.

“I have faith you’ll figure something out that saves us both from humiliation.”

You leaned down to kiss him and it had finally sunk in that you could do this without any cause for concern now. Granted, you still had to be cautious out in public and there was still the looming issue of your brother, but right now, in the comfort of your own flat, you could kiss him and not have to worry about any repercussions.

The only thing you had to worry about was his phone going off again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You groaned, dropping your head to his shoulder as he reached for his phone that you thought he had finally put away for the day. Lando rubbed your back as he checked out who had texted him.

It was his manager, someone he couldn’t just ignore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. You both looked at the message and you grew even more annoyed when you saw he was asking for Lando to meet him at his place.

“Selfishly, can you just stay here?” You asked, hoping that batting your eyelashes would do the trick.

“I want to, you know I do,” Lando muttered, sending a quick response to his manager telling him he’ll head over. He then put his phone down and pulled your face towards his. He really did seem disappointed that he had to leave again. His thumb grazed over your cheek, “Let’s go out tonight, yeah?”

You hummed, “What did you have in mind?”

You could see the gears grinding in his head. “There’s a handful of drivers in Monaco right now. A few of them had mentioned going to Sinistre. Could be fun?”

You had been to Sinistre a handful of times. It was definitely one of the places to be in Monaco on a Friday night. It was exclusive too, it wasn’t easy for just anyone to wander in. Plus it would be a good opportunity to be out in public with Lando without it too obviously being a date.

If you could keep his attention, that was.

Lando was still responding to texts as he got up to leave. He slid his phone into his pocket as he kissed you goodbye, squeezing your hand too, a gesture you were starting to get very used to from him.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he told you. “And then I promise, this weekend I’m all yours.”

You still hadn’t brought up the idea of inviting him to dinner. And now was clearly not the time to as he was on his way out the door. So you just nodded and kissed him once more. You didn’t want to worry about tomorrow night’s dinner just yet, you just wanted to focus on tonight.

ynleclerc

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ynleclerc amour sans fin

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danielricciardo we get it, you're french

ynleclerc im monégasque you kiwi shit danielricciardo im austrailain ynleclerc ohhh hurts when someone gets your nationality wrong huh?

carlossainz55 bella

ynleclerc ❤️

landonorris can you even walk in those

ynleclerc no but im taller than you in them so

paddockswags so all the boys on the grid love her huh

Lando grabbed your hand when you exited your flat, keeping you from walking towards the car. Your brows cinched in confusion when you noticed him eyeing the top of your head and then down at your heels.

“You’re not taller than me,” he scoffed. “We’re the same height.”

You tilted your chin up, “No I think I’m taller.”

Lando rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle of the car door. You weren’t wearing the blazer anymore, you had stolen that from one of his suitcases he had left at your place for the sole purpose of the photo. When you posted it, he was still out, but he made sure to text you, telling you that you could wear his clothes any day.

When he climbed into the backseat as well, you noticed he still had Instagram open and was looking at your photo, more specifically, the comments.

“I think he has your notifications on.”

You pushed your hair over your shoulder and leaned towards him, trying to see what had caught his attention, “Who?”

“Carlos.”

You snickered, “Why do you think that?”

“He’s always one of the first people to comment on your pictures,” Lando’s eyes met yours and you wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to worry about Carlos. That Carlos and you were only ever friends and that Instagram notifications on your phone screen didn’t mean anything.

You would have, had his phone not started ringing.

You inhaled a sharp breath and Lando laughed at your reaction to his phone pulling his attention away once again.

“I’m about to throw that thing out the window.”

Lando let it go to voicemail. He gently placed his hand on the side of your face and pulled your lips to his.

“It’s officially my weekend now, I promise.”

“If I hear your phone ring one more time-”

Lando chuckled again, “You won’t, don’t worry. I’m all yours.”

And you believed him because his hand stayed on your leg for the duration of the car ride from your flat to the club. You believed him because he tried to shelter you from nearby paparazzi and fans that were waiting outside of Sinistre, hoping to catch a shot or two of any drivers. You believed him because he didn’t let go of your hand once you stepped inside.

But because he was holding onto your hand, he was able to pull you in the direction of his teammate who was standing near the bartop, chatting away with some friends. As far as you were aware, Oscar didn’t even live in Monaco so you had no idea what he was doing here.

Oscar eyed the way your hands connected between your bodies, a smile growing on his face.

“Why hello lovebirds,” Oscar teased. “Fancy seeing you two here.”

And then Lando became lost in a conversation with Oscar. As if he hadn’t just promised you that he was all yours.

To be fair, Lando was a social guy. He could find any opportunity to chat with literally anyone and it was a trait of his you admired.

But you were selfish tonight. You didn’t want to share him. You had to share him all week, you had barely seen him all week.

You scanned the club, wondering if there was anyone else here that Lando might want to talk to after Oscar and you wanted to scream when your eyes landed on Carlos sitting at a nearby bench, talking to his own friends.

There was no way Lando was going to pass up an opportunity to chat with one of his best mates.

You glanced at him and then back at Carlos, and then an idea came to mind.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, unsure if Lando even heard you as your hand slipped from his.

You made your way across the club, not oblivious to the way a few heads turned as you balanced yourself in those heels. But you didn’t want the attention of strangers, you only wanted Lando’s attention.

You approached the Spanish driver, “Carlos, I need you to do me a favour.”

He turned his head and glanced up at you from where he sat on the cushioned bench, “Anything, hermosa. What did you need?”

You turned over your shoulder to make sure Lando was still chatting away to Oscar by the bar.

Lando didn’t explicitly say it, but you knew your driver ranking was still heavy on his mind. And with the lack of attention you had been getting, you felt as though it was time to challenge Lando at his own game.

“I need you to not leave my side.”

Carlos raised his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

He was already a few drinks in. Which might honestly make it easier. Everyone was flirty when they were drunk.

“I don’t know, just-” you looked over your shoulder again, Lando glanced your way and smiled before falling back into his conversation “-pretend you’re into me. Pretend I’m someone you want to take home. Pretend Charles wouldn’t kill you if you tried to hit on me.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, “Just have fun with it and make sure Lando sees.”

“Why?” Carlos asked. “Aren’t you here with him?”

“Yeah but he’s had it too easy recently,” you said through a faint breath of laughter. “Come on, Carlos, help me out here.”

And then it clicked for him. It was like you could see all the gears shifting into place and he hummed in response. “I get it. This is about your driver ranking, isn’t it?”

“That’s exactly it,” a devious grin spread across your face from cheek to cheek. You made sure you had Carlos’ full attention as you pressed both of your palms on either side of his face. “So unless you want him to beat you, don’t leave my side.”

Carlos didn’t need any more of a reason to grab your hand and pull you sideways onto his lap, a squeal passing through your lips as you didn’t think he would act so suddenly. You snaked your arm around his shoulders as his fingers instantly found a home on your leg, spread out across your thigh.

Your faces were inches apart, you could smell the tequila shots he had undoubtedly taken as soon as he got here. The corner of his lip was tugged upwards as his eyes landed on the curve of your smile before darting back up to meet your gaze. The strobing pink and blue lights all around you only highlighted the glossed over expression he wore. Carlos wasn’t drunk yet, but he was certainly on his way there.

You noticed how his eyes dropped once more and you called him out on it, “I’m not kissing you again.”

“So that was a one time thing?” He asked. “And in front of your brother? You really did me dirty there.”

“I needed to prove a point.”

“Which was what exactly? That you leave half the drivers on the grid speechless?”

Your eyebrows furrowed together as Carlos said almost the exact same thing Lando said earlier in the week. You never did get a chance to ask Lando about what he meant by that.

Carlos saw you about to turn your head in the direction of the Brit but he cupped your jaw with his hand and kept you from looking anywhere else. His thumb traced over your lower lip, it was brief and so light you couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not.

“He’s looking,” Carlos told you.

You had to admire the move, making sure your attention was on him and solely him. You could only imagine Lando’s reaction to seeing Carlos’ hand against your cheek.

He said something else but his voice was nearly drowned out by the music playing through the speakers that you had no choice but to lean in so his lips were right next to your ear. Again, you couldn’t tell if Carlos’ did that with intent or not, lowering his voice so you’d have to close the gap even further.

“Are you mad at him?” Carlos repeated himself.

“I don’t think mad’s the right word,” you said, pulling back slightly. Carlos kept the placement of his hand on your face, the tips of his fingers lost in the strands of your hair. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t think messing with Lando’s driver ranking plan is a valid enough reason to be asking for my help like this,” He pointed out. You were surprised that he was more well-read now a few shots in than he was on any given day. “Annoyed?”

You nodded. “He hasn’t been paying me any attention,” you rolled your eyes when you realised how needy you sounded. Carlos even chuckled at your reasoning. “So I just want to flip the cards. I want him to work for my attention.”

“Well I think it’s working,” Carlos got a devious glint in his eye. In your peripheral vision you could make out the McLaren driver slowly making his way towards you. Carlos cleared his throat when Lando was close enough and looked up at him with a blameless grin. You kept your eyes on Carlos for a few extra seconds, a little paranoid to see Lando’s reaction.

“What the hell is going on?” Lando asked, slight humour in his tone.

But when you finally looked at him, you could see the light heartedness didn’t extend past the question. His jaw was clenched, his stare was narrowed directly on you. You wanted to reach forward and smooth out the creases in his forehead, but you stayed seated on Carlos’ lap.

“Just about to get a drink, ‘scuse us mate.” Carlos answered. You slid off his lap but his hand connected with yours as he led you away from Lando and towards the bar.

Lando followed, obviously, walking at your other side, “Okay, honestly, what is going on?”

You stuck out your lower lip, “Oh, I’m sorry Lando, did you forget that he’s still above you on my driver ranking?”

It was slowly starting to sink in for him now what you were doing. You leaned against the bar, Carlos’ hand still on your lower back and you purposely leaned into his side as you looked at Lando on your other side. Your pout turning into a machiavellian smirk only had Lando shuffling closer to you, trying to figure out what the driving factor was behind you suddenly clinging to Carlos.

Carlos handed you a drink and you glanced down at it, seeing the margarita he had just ordered for you. You slid your index finger over the salt that rimmed the glass to collect some on the pad of your finger. Then you locked eyes with Lando as your tongue poked through your lips to lick the salt off, tasting that hint of lime in there as well. Lando watched as you purposely tugged your lower lip down slowly before bringing your face daringly close to his. Your gaze dropped to his throat as he swallowed in anticipation, waiting for what you were going to do and hating that Carlos’ hand was still on you.

Your eyes met his again. When you took a breath it hit Lando’s face and he would have given anything to taste that lime and salt combination that was still present on your tongue.

But you were on a mission. He had to put the effort in tonight.

“Do you want to know why Carlos is higher than you, Lando?” You asked, sounding sweet with intention.

It was an act. You wanted to lure Lando closer with your voice, and it worked. He nodded, probably not even comprehending the question at its fullest.

“I don’t have to work for his attention,” you answered, retreating closer to Carlos once again. You watched as Lando’s features hardened when Carlos’ hand slipped further around your waist. Your smirk shifted into a smile, “But now you have to work for mine.”

part 10 here | masterlist here

taglist: @moneymasnn@thotd-f1 @masonspulisic @mcmuppet@f1-futurewag-16-3-4-63 @alilstressyandlotdepressy @themisric @happydazzz123 @moonxblossom @norrisleclercf1 @scarlettisconfused @sbgal @e-lisa-bettan @harrysdimple05 @ophcelia @alesainz @fandomxs1 @majx00 @sbgal @mehrmonga @themockingjayreader @f1mockingjay @topguncultleader @lclrnelliluvs @moonxblossom @dr3lover @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @noescapricho-essentimiento @xqueenslytherinx if i missed someone im so sorry

#lando norris #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

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satubby · 6 months

Text

Yandere God Gojo headconons

[As promised, a bit late I know, but I needed my time to not cry for Satoru so an apology. So since I'm not good at describing powers and let's add to that Jujutsu Kaisen has mathematics, which I hate... I just won't go into his god-like powers]

This post comes from the previous idea, you can find it in my profile. Credits to the artist and me for the edition.

⚠️ Warning: This is MY interpretation of the character but it does not define the canon, I want to show my love for him (Fuck Gege for all I care) There may also be pronoun errors because damn my dyslexia affects my eyesight.

On an ordinary night, your mother sent you to the mini supermarket, a place similar to convenience stores like pharmacies. 「More common in my native Mexico, such as an Oxxo.」

Unexpectedly, a curse/demon began to haunt you. Without knowing how, you ended up cornered in an alley, the rain adding a touch of desperation to the atmosphere. Exhausted, you tripped over a trash can, lacerating your leg in the fall.

The unimaginable happened when your blood, the fruit of the scrape, awakened a god enclosed within a bucket, multiple eyes arranged in a dice-like pattern 「Yeah, I fucking used 'It' you thought」. Your blood acted as a call for the imprisoned being lying in there.

Satoru, the god that lay dormant, awoke. Upon realizing your situation, he offered to help you, but not before uttering the words that would seal your fate: "Tell me, mortal, do you accept that I save you by giving me something precious? Yes or no, the choice is yours."

Given your young age of six and the impossibility of facing the dreadful monster that pursued you, you had no choice but to accept. How could you refuse? Hell, you were a brat who could barely carry your mother's bag of errands, much less fight that dreadful thing that wanted you dead.

And so the deal between you and the unknown god was sealed with…. a tongue kiss. 「Despite its polemical nature, it is crucial to the development of the plot」.

❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Satoru, in his divine form, is an extraordinarily powerful being. Sometimes, his impressive abilities can lead you into complicated situations, such as when a simple sneeze from him transported you to another dimension. Such is his level of power. 「In this version, we will represent him as an invincible individual to explore his unrestricted potential…. P.S. I hate you Gege」 ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Gojo is often playful and teasing, he often jokes with you, even going so far as to claim that you are his "wife" although it sounds like a joke, he really means it. His attitude toward other people's opinions is indifferent. He enjoys showing affection, kissing and caressing you, although he has waited for you to reach adulthood before formally considering you his mate in public. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he is not using his 'real' form, we see him as the canonical Satoru, though obviously with Lovecraftian touches to his powers. Despite his divine nature, he exhibits a somewhat childish side, similar to what he shows in canon… BUT 100% times worse, as he has been alone and being powerful, he doesn't have much morals as he considers it stupid to abide by the rules of 'lesser beings'. Despite his playful and relaxed attitude, he hides a dark side. He is aware of how capable he is of destroying a city with a single finger, if he so desires. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Handling his jealousy is not his strong point, given that he has always gotten what he wanted and not knowing how to deal with humans despite having spent millennia observing them or making deals before being 'sealed' 「More like sleeping」It always makes it difficult for him to respond to his own emotions. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Since he is not human and was born in the void of nothingness and everything, he has wandered and fought in various places, often just for fun or out of sheer boredom. His reactions can be fickle and capricious. This Satoru is a mixture of his adolescent and adult stages, mostly acting like a spoiled brat and playful with you but when he is jealous or sentimental, he acts according to his divine position. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he feels jealous, his reaction is unpredictable. If the reason for his jealousy persists 「Examples are like a male human talking to you」 And already for that reason he might decide to eliminate the source of his discomfort. For this reason, you hardly interact with other people. It is intriguing how loving words and gestures can appease him…. Although sometimes that doesn't assure you that those poor souls who crossed words with you will be saved from him. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ As a divine being, he has the power to materialize anything you desire. His gifts have no limits, and he takes you wherever you want. Sometimes, on a mere whim, he grabs you and takes you on unexpected rides using his abilities. It is curious how he shows jealousy towards any thinking human being, and even animals, taking you back home without allowing the date to continue or any activity prior to his jealousy.

"Toru… for once, let me enjoy this vacation. If you take me somewhere, make it really worthwhile. I couldn't even ride the roller coaster just because the ticket booth clerk was a man…" You looked at him as he pretended not to have pulled you out of the amusement park just 5 minutes ago due to his jealousy.

"Come on, couldn't we go another time…? It's no big deal, you know I can take you anytime, why don't we cuddle instead of fighting, would you like me to shower you with kisses, mmh? Come on, my sweet bean mochi!!! I want to…" You looked at him, almost incredulous. You really doubt he'll let you go to a crowded amusement park. If you go, it will surely be when he's off duty or with a snap of his fingers, it's not for nothing that he can stop time.

"Even if you do that, it doesn't mean I'm no longer upset with you." You watched her pouting expression. Despite having six beautiful eyes and six arms, you didn't want to fall for his game.

Gojo was unwilling to listen to your complaints. He was in a bad mood, convinced that you would understand his position. He acted like a child seeking to get your attention to deflect your anger. And so, he devised a plan. He moved closer to you by climbing up on the edge of the bed. "Mochi, do you prefer something sweet or sour?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to change the subject? I'm still annoyed with you. Hey, let go of me!" You felt his firm embrace, laughing as he kissed your neck and his chest pressed against your back.

He took a lock of your hair behind your ear and fiddled with it in his mouth. A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed your earlobe. "Why are you playing hard to get when you know I know you well? Besides, I know my jealousy doesn't affect you, and I'm going to make sure you're only mine." He laughed softly, pulling you closer to him.

"Satoru… That doesn't justify you threatening anyone who looks at me. I don't want to be embarrassed like the other day in the cafeteria, when you tried to hurt the cashier just because I ordered a cappuccino." You whispered as his six arms held you tighter and in different places, listening to his childish whimper as he buried his face in the back of your neck.

His behavior was becoming more aggressive and lustful, making him dangerous. He held you in such a way that you could not move. He looked at you with playful eyes, sketching a smile.

"So what if I'm jealous? If I'm honest with you, if another guy tried to get your attention, I'd be sure to eliminate any interest he showed." A smirk formed on his face. You knew that ugly smile well, a cruel and possessive one, dealing with his jealousy sometimes exhausted you … you had no choice since your soul was bound to him.

He kissed you passionately and caressed your body, his touch was too pleasurable to resist, your flushed but annoyed face said it all. He didn't mind at all acting that way in public if it meant you would still be his. "You will always be my only princess….. I love you, my precious mochi," he whispered softly before delivering another intense kiss, this time on your lips, his arms frolicking with you and bringing an even more severe blush to your face.

NSFW:

••┈┈┈••✦ This Satoru loves to make you scream, if Sukuna in his original form can grind you to exhaustion, our albino won't let you rest. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves having you in front of his cock, the worst thing is that he can create more if he wants to. Let's add that he has six arms, each one can overstimulate you, forget to mention that Gojo is 213 cm / 7'1 feet, you are a midget next to him. So his cock and fingers are the size of your arms, but he can fucking manipulate reality and adjust your pussy to his size. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves you riding his cock while he hears you moaning, sometimes you end up kissing him. He loves you sucking him while he pulls your hair. His hands usually go from your breasts to your waist [Sorry I'm not good at writing NSFW] All while you swallow his cock, his fingers have claws and putting them all the way in hurts but in the pleasure you end up giving priority to your lust, forgetting the pain. ••┈┈┈••✦ Honestly, Satoru can make your body not get tired so easily, but he is not cruel so he can set limits for you. He especially loves to bite, while you scratch him all over the place. ••┈┈┈••✦ His aftercare is incredibly gentle, he kisses and lulls you as if you were a baby, and how could he not? When he leaves you all exhausted down there and you can't feel your legs. Sometimes he gets to the point where his excitement clouds his judgement, ending up with your bones broken.

In general, having a relationship with him is like going on a roller coaster ride: You can feel a rush of various emotions and in turn want more of it even though you know it's scary to a certain extent. Just avoid making Satoru jealous and everything will be fine [What won't be fine are your mouth, your ass and pussy]

Tag list for those readers who gave heart to my previous publication:

@cyppelizabeth

@nunezs-stuff, @istanuwow, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gleski, @halalangyala, @milotoby, @candyqueen10, @unramdommas2004, @ermy1234, @erens-bbyy, @muichirolover, @potatofriesthings, @sobbing-leave-me-alone-bots, @flaming-vulpix,@cyrs,@honeygonebads-blog,@smoovehunie, @toxicbabygirl, @steppin-by-sunflowers, @serafina-nyx, @fav1mika, @bitchycherryblaze, @kals05, @rainbowpillbug0, @2kimmin4ever, @regalillegal,@zainabismelodramatic @starberrytarts,

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