#you have no superiority here!!!!! be fucking nice!!
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Do you believe in soulmates? (2/2)
oho. oh HO ho. there is no joke this time you do not know what essays you’ve gotten yourself into with this one
#so. to begin with i kind of fucking hate this whole concept#okay maybe hate is a strong word i can understand the whole whimsy for the “we were meant to meet and love each other in every life” part#it’s cute yeah yeah you can have a little bit as a treat. i’m not the sourpuss shitting on valentine’s day as purely corporate scheming#and it can be nice if it’s platonic as well#but holy fuck the whole “The One” aspect of this oh my GOD it drives me insane#even disregarding how it basically encourages holding romance to a pedestal and the mindset of Your Partner Will Solve All Your Problems#how it puts so much unrealistic pressure on this one person to Be everything you’ve ever wanted and the whole weird relationship as therapy#slash replacement for human connection or a single relationship being otherwise inexplicably superior thing#have you seen the amount of motherfuckers with the “i can fix him” i mean it’s funny as a MEME but god if y’all really thinking like this#i don’t know what to tell you#it feels so fucked up to designate finding this isolated perfect love as your destined purpose#like god knows we’re already way too conditioned to want a romantic relationship by society as is. now you’re saying you gotta??#i’m not saying all sentiment is trite by this or anything i too am a silly little man in love and yeah#sometimes you get to pondering the metaphysical orb of why we’re here. it isn’t wrong to do that#but it feels like the massive amount of expectations we have around love bc of this culture has turned it into more of a Whole Thing#and sometimes what it makes us think of the Whole Thing is FUCKING WRONG#i’m sure someone out there’s phrased this way more eloquently than me i’m just one skeptical arospec bitch. but you start to notice things#this has been your daily drug induced rambling signing off at 10 o clock
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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.
ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader
✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶
NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)
↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!
⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅
Steve was a nice guy. Really.
He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?
He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.
Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!
Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom
Stevie 🌞: rent free
Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.
Until you surprised him.
You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬
Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here
Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee
Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.
————
“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.
“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.
“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.
“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”
Right. Just share the room.
You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.
“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”
“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”
Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”
“Whatever, man.”
“Eddie, wait!”
Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.
His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.
“Hi! I’m–”
Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.
He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”
————
Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.
You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.
And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.
You wore earplugs to bed after that.
Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.
But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..
Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.
————
When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.
He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.
You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.
This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.
Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.
They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.
But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.
“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.
He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”
“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”
“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.
“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”
He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.
You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”
Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.
You wanted to strangle him.
–And another time–
“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.
Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”
You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.
–And the week after that–
You: come help me bring up these groceries
You: elevators broken
You: we can race up the stairs
You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash
😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch
You: whatever
😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair
Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.
You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass
It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–
😒dumb: 🙄
–And the week after that–
“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.
He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”
Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.
That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.
————
After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..
————
The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.
But perhaps you were blessed.
You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.
It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.
The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.
Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.
You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.
Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..
You made a gagging sound.
Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.
Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..
~~~
Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.
His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.
Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.
The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.
Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”
The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.
One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.
After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.
Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.
Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.
He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.
Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.
The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.
Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.
Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.
You were home.
You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.
Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.
Irritation.
Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.
He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.
And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.
The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.
With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.
You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.
Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.
He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.
“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.
“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”
White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.
“Make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.
“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”
You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.
The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.
After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.
“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”
“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.
Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.
It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.
“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.
Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.
Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.
He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.
“Not enough for you?”
You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.
But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.
Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.
This was a deal like any other.
“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.
You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.
Eddie was taken off guard.
The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.
Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.
“Satisfied?” you inquired.
No, he ached.
The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.
When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.
To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.
He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.
Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..
Red.
Delicate, feminine.
Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.
Eddie swallowed.
“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”
The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”
“Pictures don’t count.”
“Whatever, bitch.”
Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.
He wouldn’t.
He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.
It wasn’t working.
He was mad.
Furious.
Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.
The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.
Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.
From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.
He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.
office worker
co-worker
secretary
office worker tight skirt
office worker pov skirt grinding
His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.
The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.
He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.
The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.
Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.
Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.
He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.
It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.
He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.
Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.
In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.
There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.
Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–
It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.
You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.
The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.
Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.
Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.
“What?”
Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.
He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”
None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..
Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.
What a fucking irritating person.
The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.
There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.
Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.
He immersed himself in the fantasy.
The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.
If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.
He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.
Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.
But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.
My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.
Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.
He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.
Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.
He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.
You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.
It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.
Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.
They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.
Yeah? Does it feel good?
You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.
He pinched harder.
Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.
True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.
His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.
The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.
He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.
Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.
Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.
You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?
The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.
He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.
Fuck, Eddie.
You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?
He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.
But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.
Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?
You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.
He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.
Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.
You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.
All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.
You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.
He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”
You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.
Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.
I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–
His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”
Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–
–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.
The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.
His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.
His entire body was heated beyond belief.
Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.
But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.
A release, that’s what this was.
Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.
Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.
They were ruined.
So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.
There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.
Fuck.
Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.
Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.
Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.
“Fuck my life.”
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x y/n#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#linecook!eddie#roommate!eddie#ex-con!eddie
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Can I request a top! Jane Banner x fem!reader, with angst,smut and fluff at the end, where, reader is a new police and Jane is her superior & she take a like in reader months later but try to hide it, making reader feel bad then you can do the rest as you want
HATE ME? OR LOVE ME?
PAIRINGS: Jane Banner x reader
WORD COUNT: 3,220
WARNINGS: smut, love hate relationship, kinda enemies to lovers, angst, Jane hiding her feelings, cunnilingus, pet names, r getting stood up, making out, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, top!Jane, fluff, think that’s all :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
“That’s the problem, Y/N, you can never do anything right!” The words rang through your mind on repeat. Your superior was the one who spit them, letting her built-up anger rise to the point of overfilling, and you were the one to suffer. You knew she despised you, and if it was up to her, you wouldn’t have been hired in the first place. You didn’t mind, you were used to being disliked throughout your life and came to an acceptance of the fact. And it wasn’t because she was your boss that it affected you so much, it’s because you liked her in ways you shouldn’t like your higher supervisor.
She would watch your every move, each step haunting her mind. You expected it was so she could find an excuse to report you and see you go, but it was really because she just wanted to admire you any chance she had. You wouldn’t understand, which is why she kept quiet. It pained her to see you frown, but she couldn’t let herself get as close as she wanted to. So, instead of remaining neutral, she decided to take her frustration and fill your heart with the hurtful words she’d mutter.
People suggested you report her, but you didn’t want to. You’d rather take the glares than see her separated from you, or even worse, be forced to leave for good. You instead took to ridding yourself of the sleep you needed and thriving on the suffering you enforced, all while she painted your mind. You couldn’t even focus on the comments, only focusing on the beauty that expressed them. That’s what you hated most, that you couldn’t hate her.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but if your other person doesn’t arrive in the next five minutes, we’ll be forced to remove you. Unless you’d like to place your order, that is.” The waiter smiled apologetically, and you guessed he had dealt with this before, a guest being stood up and holding hopes they’d arrive. You were ready to give up and leave with a small apology for wasting their time, that was until you noticed a woman stepping forward.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jane looked in your direction, her eyes widening at your low-cut dress. You looked so beautiful, just like you always did.
“Y/N, nice to see you here.” You rolled your eyes with a groan, handing the menu to the waiter before standing. She furrowed her brows slightly, nodding the man off as you tried to walk past her, only for her arm to grasp your shoulder in an attempt for you to stay.
“Woah, relax now,” She started. “Where do you think you’re going?” You took a deep breath before turning, eyeing the woman with a clenched jaw.
“Home. Why, you going to follow me there too?” She chuckled, releasing her grip when she realized she didn’t have to force you to stay.
“I just might.” There was a short beat of silence before you blew a breath, getting ready to leave before she repeated her actions.
“Alright, what do you want? I’m off work hours, you can’t keep me.”
“Gosh, don’t be such a fucking bore. You got stood up, so I was trying to do the right thing and ask you if you’d like to join me instead.” You didn’t believe her, there was no chance she had good intentions when it came to you. She hated you, why would she ever want to change that?
“What, so you can make up a lie that you need to pee so I’ll end up being stuck paying the bill?” She remained relaxed, refusing to feed into your annoyance and letting you get a reaction. She got hers already, now you were just dying to get some sort of revenge.
“Look, I know we don’t get along all the time-“
“We never do. Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking dick, I’d actually be willing to strike up a conversation with you.” You stated calmly, and she tightened her grip at your interruption. No one interrupts her, especially when you’re beneath her. But, she let it go past her, maintaining a tense smile as she pointed to her seat. There were only two chairs, either she was on a date or was eating alone. And with her lack of empathy, you guessed it was the latter.
“Well, maybe this is me trying to redeem myself. C’mon, you know we both have nothing better to do. I’m waiting for my mother to arrive, and you’re going home alone.”
“How do you know I’m going home alone? Maybe I’m going home to my wife and kids, maybe I’m going home to my family, maybe I’m going home to my cat-“
“Alright, I get it. If you really have places to go then you wouldn’t have been waiting for your date to show up for half an hour. But, if you really don’t want to, then you can leave.” You debated between your options, dinner with a woman who hated you, or going home to imagine being with the same woman. She’d hold you tight on the couch, kiss your forehead while your legs laid across hers. Her soft giggles showing her whitened pearls. Then she’d kiss you goodnight as she tucked you into bed, joining you soon after and returning her arms to their righteous spot around you.
You blinked twice, trying to register that you were in fact forced to live in the present time when all you wanted was to experience the daydreams you escaped through.
“Fine, I’ll stay. But don’t think I wanted this.” She smirked, letting you sit before pushing your chair in. You saw your previous table being occupied by a happy couple and smiled sadly, wishing you were taking their current places. You didn’t care for the view the seat had, but the one they each held was better than anything.
“Can we get the Le Medoc De Cos wine for the table, please?” You failed to understand how she didn’t miss a single beat, she must be a regular.
“Of course, ma’am, is there anything else I can start the two of you with?” He turned his gaze to you respectfully, and you grinned warmly.
“Uh, I’ll just have a glass of water, please.” He nodded and returned to the back where you assumed he was preparing the carefulness of the wine.
“You don’t order water at a restaurant like this, dumbass.” She scowled while her eyes remained on the menu, occasionally letting her eyebrows lift in a small excitement as she read the ingredients.
“Well, I think we both know I don’t have the funds for the wine you got.” It was true, you were only just starting a few months ago and were still considered young by most, it was nearly impossible for you to make the same as her.
“You’re not paying the bill, don’t worry about prices.” Your eyes widened as you looked at her dumbfounded. She lowered the paper and returned your gaze, making you evert your own slightly.
“We’re cutting this in half, I’m not letting you pay the bill and then use it against me for the rest of my life.”
“Oh my fucking God, will you relax with the assumptions? I’m not that big of a bitch, no matter how much you think I am.”
“I would calm yourself on the language, young lady.” Jane turned to see where the voice came from, only to sigh as her Mother came into view. She gave a tight-lipped smile and stood, giving the older woman a small hug and resting her hands on her arms.
“It’s great to see you, Mom.” She brushed her off, pulling out her chair as your boss was left stranded. She gulped, glancing towards you as you gave a small greeting to the guest. She took your hand with a small shake, something Jane rarely saw.
“Sorry for the intrusion, I’m your daughter's coworker and we happened to be dining in at the same place tonight.” She looked to her child for more description, and you feared you spoke wrong.
“Y/N here got stood up tonight and I thought I’d do the right thing and invite her to eat with us, I hope you don’t mind.” The reminder brought a roll to your eyes before you disguised it with a clearing of your throat, catching the attention of both.
“Oh, not at all! It’s lovely to meet you, dear.” The entire dinner went on with minimal chatting, you started to assume you were intruding on their special night. You grabbed your phone, excusing yourself to the bathroom with shaky hands. You refused to lift your gaze for the entire walk until you reached the door. When inside, you placed your hands on the marble countertop and sighed, letting the tension from the week release. Suddenly, you heard the door open with a small squeak and turned, only to see Jane looking back at you.
“Please don’t leave.” Confusion wrote itself across your face before you chuckled softly, shaking your head in disbelief.
“And why is that?” She licked her lips and bit them softly, knotting her arms together as they laid across her chest.
“I can’t stand that woman and I definitely don’t want to deal with her alone.” She admitted, but you didn’t understand her hatred for her mother. You picked up on the small comments throughout the dinner, but you guessed it was playful nature when she’d give a small laugh in response, only now did you realize they were most likely fake.
“And…I guess I enjoy having you there to, you know, ease the awkwardness.” You were planning on cutting the meal short for yourself, but you understood her request. Even if she was technically using you, you didn’t want her to suffer through something like this, you still cared for her.
“Fine, I’ll stay.” She seemed relieved by your response and rushed forward to greet you in a grateful hug, only to come to her senses moments later.
“Oh, right, uhm- sorry.” She gave you one last smile of appreciation before exiting, returning to her awaiting mother.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, I was just checking in on them.” She took a bite of the food, instantly regretting the action as the heat filled her senses.
“You know, you two make a really cute couple.” Not only was it hot, but now Jane was nearly choking on the steak. She pressed her fist against her chest a few times before clearing her throat.
“Uh, we’re- we’re not dating, Mom.”
“Look, I know you don’t believe in love, and trust me, after your father, I thought I never would either. But, love comes random, you can’t choose who you fall for. Besides, I may be old but that doesn’t mean I can’t spot the sexual tension between you two.” The sudden outburst sent heat waves to your boss's cheeks.
“Mom! There is no sexual tension between us! They hate me, if anything, I’m a complete dickbag to them.”
“Because you don’t want to accept that your dream of being alone forever is fading into something new. So, please, do me a favor and stop being a baby.” She saw you stalking back out of the corner of her eye and grinned as she stood. Jane was still stuck in thought, her forehead creased together as she, once again, started to bite her lip.
“Well, I believe I should be leaving now. It was so lovely to meet you, dear, I know me and my daughter loved your company.”
“Awh, you’re leaving already?” You brought her in for a short hug while she nodded, turning to her daughter to say a short goodbye. You wondered why she didn’t do the same with her as she did with you, but you brushed it off.
“Alright, I’ll ask the waiter for a box, are you saving your food?” Her Mother was now out of the building and you could get rid of your facade. She shook her head as she came back to her senses, your voice filling her ears as they dinged in excitement.
“Why not get a dessert? I mean, we’re already here, no point in leaving yet.” You eyed her with suspicion and she only pestered on.
“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you? Why are you being nice all of a sudden?” Her mother's words rang in her head once again as she got a true, genuine look at you. She always thought you were a heaven-sent piece of artwork, but now you looked ever more angelic. She didn’t know how you did, but you did.
“I just want to get dessert, is that so bad?” You huffed out a breath and examined the menu, your mouth watering at the descriptions. When the waiter came over, he kindly took your requests along with the papers. There was a silence that roamed over the both of you, Jane found it comforting. She knew you probably didn’t feel the same, but being able to have a moment with her thoughts that filled of you was always her peace.
“Dove chocolate cheesecake for you, ma’am,” She smiled in appreciation and took the dish before he turned to you. “And the chef’s special Tiramisu for you, Miss.” You repeated Jane’s movements, leading him to stand over the table with his hands together in front of him.
“Would you or your wife like anything else before I hand over the bill?” You blanked for a moment, chuckling awkwardly to yourself as you glanced up at him.
“Oh, we’re not-”
“Yes, actually. Would we be able to have a refill of their water, please?” You turned to look at her now, tilting your head to the side as she acted oblivious. He nodded and returned shortly with your new glass and the bill. You examined the total with widened eyes.
“The lady with you paid for half already.” He stated before leaving the two of you.
“Why didn’t you correct him?”
“For what?”
“Don’t play dumb, for saying you’re my wife.” She shrugged with a mouthful of her food, leading you to eventually give up and bask in the flavors the dish greeted you with.
The two of you were walking out of the restaurant, Jane holding the door open for you and leading you to your car. She hoped you parked as far as possible, just so she could get an extra few minutes with you. Her hand longed to interlace with yours, but she held back in fear.
“I hope you enjoyed tonight.” She spoke when you stopped in front of the vehicle she recognized as yours. You nodded with a thin line on your mouth before she said her goodbyes. She turned around with a sigh before stopping herself when she heard your voice.
“Yeah?” She saw you stalking forward, your head down until your body was mere inches from hers.
“I actually did enjoy tonight, thank you for inviting me.” She smiled gently when you lifted your head to glance at her, her impulses failing her as she placed her hands on your hips and drew you in. Her lips touched yours in a soft, searing manner as you sunk into it.
“W-what?” She gulped fearfully, pulling away as your hooded eyes searched hers.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-” Her words were cut short as you pulled her back in, groaning as her body molded against yours. She placed her hands on your bottom, smiling gracefully as her tongue was granted entrance. She pushed you against the hood of the car, feeling your arms wrap around her neck while your thighs parted enough for her to place her knee between them. You instinctively grinded against the soft skin that greeted you, resulting in a muffled moan to escape.
“Wait-” She furrowed her eyebrows as she rested her forehead against yours, instantly following your request.
“I don’t want to do this here. Will you come home with me?”
Her slender fingers drew in and out of you in a hurry, her hot breath fanning across your face as you mumbled out pleas. She found her gaze falling to the connection between you two, shuddering as your tight hole accepted a third digit. Your legs wrapped around her form, your chest heaving with every inhale. Your nipples hardened from the gush of wind before a gasp left you, Jane’s wet mouth finding it as her free hand led yours to the neglected breast. You toyed with the hard bud, fluttering your eyes shut as you bit your lip.
“No, let me hear you, baby.” She dreamed of hearing everything you released, she wasn’t going to let that be stripped away from her.
“Jane-” Her name wasn’t her favorite word, but hearing your soft whine made it a blessing to her eardrums. Her clit throbbed in delight, begging to meet yours.
“Yeah?” Her jaw was now resting on your shoulder, her lips right next to your ear as she left pecks down your neck. She hoped they’d leave a mark, just so everyone would know you belonged to her now. But, in reality, you always have.
“Need to cum- fuck! I need it so bad.” Your fingertips came to scratch at her scalp softly, your legs starting to shake the closer you got. Your coil tightened the more you held back, yet it begged to let go.
“I need you, Jane.” The stumbled sentence brought a stall to her movements. She only continued her thrusts when a whine bounced off the walls, the creator being the person beneath her.
“I know, I need you just as bad, darlin’.” She felt liquid spray against her crotch as you cried out, clawing at any part of skin you could grapple onto.
“Oh, God, ‘feels ‘o good!” Your babbles brought a dark chuckle to the woman. She thrived on the fact that she was the reason you were like this. You were no longer crying from her harsh words, you were crying from how good she made you feel.
“No, no, we’re not done just yet,” She informed when noticing you tried squeezing your legs shut.
“Don’t be embarrassed, love, I find it so fucking hot that you squirted for me, makes me so, so wet.” Your cheeks reddened, your eyes unable to meet hers when her finger came in contact with your chin. You hadn’t noticed her pulling out of you, the bliss of the moment being too heavy for your mind to keep track of your surroundings.
“Don’t you taste fucking heavenly?” She forced you to suck the sweet nectar coating her digits, chuckling as you gagged when they hit the back of your throat. You moaned around them, suckling every last drop.
“Spread ‘em, angel,” You whimpered, shaking your head in disagreement. “I said, spread ‘em, you can take another, you will.” You obeyed slowly, feeling her fingers instantly spreading your folds as her tongue came in contact with your sensitive bud.
“More, baby, I want you to struggle.” Her lips instantly wrapped around your clit, the sounds of your juices being evident as she sucked harshly.
“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
#jane banner#jane banner x you#jane banner smut#jane banner x y/n#jane banner fanfiction#jane banner x reader#wanda maximoff fic#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff imagines#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff comfort#wind river#wind river fanfiction
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saving simon ghost riley’s life
masterlist | angst, injury mentions, he's being a bitch
they say some instincts are good, some are bad. yours have landed you in hell though.
being part of task force 141 had its own perks which included borderline deadly missions, a whole lot of adrenaline and a shit ton of risk taking. so that's exactly what you did when you saw a gun aimed at your lieutenant, more specifically, simon ghost riley.
you jumped in front of the gun without any hesitation, disobeying his orders to stay put. he was your senior, someone you definitely respected and looked up to. you were absolutely okay with letting yourself get injured for him. something about loyalty, right?
“a word, sergeant,” he interrupted your train of thought, his presence overwhelming the nurses present in the med bay as they stitched your wound.
“yes sir?” you thought he was gonna thank you for saving his life. apparently, he had other plans.
“who gave you the fucking right to disobey my orders?” he growls, his eyes piercing through your very soul. you imagine what it would be like if he didn't have his mask on, the very mask that is acting as a shelter from his rage.
you blink in confusion. “i beg your pardon, sir?”
“i said, who gave you the right to disobey my orders?” he repeated, his tone stern.
“i–sorry lieutenant,” you reply curtly, confused at his rude behavior. but then again, simon isn't known for his niceness.
“sorry isn't going to cut you the slack,” he retorts, voice laced with venom. “you are going to be reprimanded for failing to comply with your superior’s orders to stay put.”
and while you desperately want to argue, give him an explanation or maybe yell at him that you did save his life, you ignore and nod.
“i don’t hear a reply sergeant,” his voice booms.
“affirmative sir.”
with that he walks out.
the next couple of days are hell. rather than being treated like someone of your rank, the lieutenant decides to treat you like a rookie, making you run almost triple the amount of drills, ignoring the fact that you’ve had an injury.
when captain price decides to finally intervene on your behalf, he promptly replies about how insubordination must be set straight and that he's doing this his own way. soap and kyle both also try to intervene, but they can't seem to change the lieutenant’s mind.
you don't seem to fight it either, just silently accepting whatever task he's given. you know that there's really no room for disagreement given your current circumstances.
today he had pushed you too much though. drained, as you went back to your room, collapsing on whatever shit excuse of a bed you had. you couldn't even get up. the three firm and calculated knocks you heard on your door made you groan. who the hell was it at this ungodly hour?
“come in,” you yell out.
and in walks the man you've been dreading to see the most. the lieutenant himself.
you immediately stand up and salute him, ignoring the pain your body is in.
“at ease,” he mutters, as you sit down on your bed. the air is awkward between you to say the least, but boy does it get worse, when the lieutenant kneels and lowers himself right at your feet.
“what the hell–lieutenant?” you question.
“quiet,” he orders, his tone stern. you have no choice but to comply and watch, as he takes out a bandage from his side pocket. “your feet are bruised,” he mutters. why was he acting like he didn't know the reason? that he had been making you run triple the amounts you normally do.
“permission to say something grossly insubordinate sir?” you ask, trying to control your seething anger. what the fuck is his problem?
he nods.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell and it catches him off guard, his warm green eyes meeting yours. “first you punish me for saving your life, make mine a literal hell and then you come in here and act like you care?” your voice raises without you even realizing.
he sighs. he doesn't have a response. you're right. he has been in the wrong but he didn't intend to punish you that far. it just sort of happened. he was so angry, not with your disobedience of course, but because of the fact that he had missed a corner and let you get hurt. he was at war with himself on this one.
so simon does what he does best, ignore your anger filled speech and continues bandaging your feet.
“s–stop it,” you try and push him away. he doesn't budge and you feel yourself reduced to tears. when he does look up and see your eyes coated with them, he stops and says words he hasn't said to anyone in years.
“m’ sorry,” he admits, softly. tears begin to slide down your face, no matter how much you try and hold them back.
and out of instinct, simon reaches out. for the first time, simon riley scoops up someone into his arms, rubbing your back, muttering a thousand apologies for his behavior. god, it would be better if you had let him get shot that day, than seeing you cry like this.
he had made you cry.
“m’ really sorry,” he whispers in your ear. “i was just so upset that you got hurt because of my stupidity, sweetheart,” he tries to explain but his persona is crumbling. he's been so unmerciful to you. “i was wrong, so wrong for doing this,” he repeats again. how could he be so rude to someone he loves so dearly?
he keeps you in his arms. his hand, running through your hair, with his gloves long discard at the side.
you mutter something about how bad it is for you to be crying in the arms of your lieutenant and he tuts, saying that firstly, you should call him simon, and secondly, you can cry as much as you want.
you’re the only one he wants in his arms anyway.
#cod x reader#cod x y/n#cod x you#call of duty imagine#call of duty imagines#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#task force 141#cod mw ghost#modern warfare imagine#task force 141 x reader#task force 141 x y/n
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No wait I have more thoughts about dominant! Hacker Girl
Imagine Price, all big and manly and strong after a mission where adrenaline and testosterone is still running high in his blood and sometimes because of it he can get extra mean and/or rough. Will bully you, try and corner you, grope you and demand a,, reward for doing so good on a mission. While usually you wouldn't mind getting manhandled by the big brute who would undoubtely ram inside your poor pussy the moment you both get to a remotely safe place and pound you until your cervix is sore, todsy is just...not the day. While for John everything was great, for you it really wasn't; the data you hacked turned out to be useless and you got yelled at by your superiors and now you need to do it all over again, your favorite pair of panties got lost and to top it all off you spilled coffee all over your new dress, so to say that you were in not the best of mood would be a HUGE fucking understatement so getting rough treatment by your horny Captain pushed you over the edge.
Now you have him laid out on his back back in his room, all naked and strong and hairy, his musky scent all over the place as you jerk him off with a fleshlight :(( His thick and hard cock bulges out of the cheap see through silicone so you can see how he twitches and spurts out potent seed :((
At first John was so so angry :( Because how dare you even suggest to him to fuck some silicone pussy when he has the real thing right then and there, a perfect tight nice cunt to breed but you with your puppy eyes (which turned out to be the eyes of a siren) managed to convince him that it will feel so so good and you will let him fill you up right after :((
Well, it turned out to be a big fat lie >:( Now you have him laying on his back, panting and tired like a great beast after a hunt except that you're still jerking him off with that fucking plastic pussy and not letting him anywhere near your actual one and every time he tries to growl at you and buck his hips too much you tighten your grip on the fleshlight and stop jerking him off and just threaten to leave him here high and dry with a stony tone
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#cod mw x reader#cod x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#price x reader
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Hormones Pt.2 🧡
Masterlist - Part 1
Simon's POV
Simon was excited you joined, really. Even if you were not officially part of the team, whenever the Captain would tell him you were joining for a mission he already liked the mission better.
He loved to see the way you were around the Sergeants, the three of you being the same rank made it easier to get along; and after a couple of missions together the three of you were already close friends, almost sibling-like.
With the Captain was different of course, but it was still great. You wouldn't make call the captain a muppet like you liked to call Gaz, but would still make fun of him calling him “old man”.
Laswell liked you the best, the usually stoic woman entered now the room beaming with a smile when you were tagging along, obviously pleased with the presence of another woman.
And Simon, him… well, he tried. He really did!
Simon is aware that he is a big guy, tall, muscular and even if he has any trail of sympathy on his face it doesn't matter because it is always covered. But he wanted to make a good impression! You seemed like a nice girl, everyone on the team liked you and finally, when it was his turn to introduce himself he saw you looking up to him.
And you looked so beautiful, so genuine, so out of place on such a cruel thing the military was, he felt his heart speed up and his dick twitch a little bit.
He needed to make a great impression, so he practised in his mind “Hi, I'm Lieutenant Riley, but everyone calls me Ghost, welcome aboard, Sergeant.” It was perfect! The perfect introduction, perfectly cordial, perfectly measured, perfect everything. And yet, when the moment come, the only thing he said was: “The fuck you looking at? Want a pat on the back for making it here without shitting yourself in the process? Get the fuck out of my face, go bother somebody else.”
Simon wanted to shoot himself on his dick.
He realized he had obviously intimidated you, he was still your superior and on top of that he was an asshole to you.
But every time he tried to fix it, he would just make it worse. And at some point, you started to avoid him, and he hated it. You no longer reported to him, you went straight to Price, right over him and for a while he was both annoyed and impressed he couldn’t catch you doing it so he could afront you and ask you to report to him. To talk to him, basically.
And then he did, he was just getting out of Price's office when you were about to knock, and he quickly realized what was going on. And he was going to ask you why and to please go back to him, but the only thing he managed to say was:
“Now you are too great to speak to your immediate superior? Need to go cry to the Captain like a brat? Make sure not to wet your nappies, soldier.”
And honestly, what's his fucking problem?
He decided he was going to get over you, it wouldn't work anyway. C’mon, he was an adult, he couldn't keep getting out of his senses like this. So he decided he would just ignore you back, and eventually, he would forget about you and everything would be easier.
Until Soap caught up, and now he couldn't backtrack.
It was during sparring training, you were against Gaz and the taller man had jet to land a hit on you. It was impressive to see, how you used every single fact to your advantage. Gaz has gotten hit before on the right side of his face, hurting his eye; and you weren't even there when it happened but you quickly realized it and we're constantly moving to the right side of Gaz; annoying him and making him lose his focus.
You moved so fast out of Gaz's reach, that he would have thought you were a glitch in a video game. And once you realized Gaz was getting tired enough, you grabbed his arm on one of his punch tries and by the time Gaz realized you had grabbed him; he was already face-pressed against the floor, arms behind his back and you sitting on his hips.
Any normal person would have been impressed, maybe even a little afraid; but Simon? Simon was aching with a growing boner; something about the way you were sitting over the bigger man, you back to Simon which gave him a perfect view of your ass, the way you were breathing hard after the exercise, yeah, no wonder Soap caught on.
“Ye getting exited, LT.” He suddenly said beside him, almost making him jump. “Ye getting a thing for the wee lass? A bet ye wish ye were Gaz right now.”
“Shut the fuck up, Johnny”
He didn't, of course.
But he promised to help him.
And a couple of weeks later, there is another meeting. Supposedly, Soap has a plan; he won't tell him what is it, but he has it. And when Simon enters the room and it is boiling hot, he starts to guess what it is.
You are sitting opposite to Johnny, who smiles at Simon with a thumbs-up. Not that he looks at him for long, not when you are sitting right on the other side of the table. Wearing a tank top, tight on your body as you use your hand to fan yourself; looking up to him through your lashes, the look travelling straight to his dick. He sighs and sits down, waiting for his turn.
Simon cannot really understand how being boiled alive will help him with you, but is not like he can ask Johnny now. In the end, he's glad he let the sergeant do his thing; because the moment he stands to give his presentation he can feel your eyes on him.
He is trying really hard to stay focused, he knows by memory what he has to say, but the moment he lifts his eyes from the paper, his mind is blank and he stutters on his words. But how can he not?
Your skin is glistening with sweat and Simon can feel his mouth water because of it, little droplets drip down your neck and over the mount of your chest, light reflecting like on a mirror as your chest raises with each breath. He looks up your arm, finding your thumb between your teeth as you bite your nail; your soft lips pressing your finger, your pink tongue visible through the small space between your teeth and it sends Simon's mind in a turmoil as to what he would like to do with your mouth.
He shouldn't, he is at work and he is giving a damn presentation! He doesn't dare to look at Price, he is sure he is talking no sense at this point, but he can’t peel his eyes away from you when he can feel you look at him.
It is then that he looks at your eyes, and he swears he has never seen you look like that. You have a hunger in your eyes that causes a shiver up his back, you have a determination mixed with a desperation that has Simon weak on his knees and you are not even looking at his face. You are looking at his body, he unconsciously flexes the muscles you look at and when he sees you focus your eyes on your crotch he has the need to sigh, emptying his lungs to suppress a moan.
He looks back at the paper, trying to remain focused as he figures out where the last line he read is. He doesn't find it, because suddenly Johnny is laughing at the top of his lungs after you show him something on your phone. He cannot see it from where he is standing, and he fights with all his might not to bend down to be able to see it.
He'll ask Johnny later, once he is done with the presentation and doesn't have to fight a boner back.
He does ask him later that same day, when he is in the sergeant’s barracks lying on his bed.
“I told ye it would work, Lt.” Soap says smiling from his desk. “She's into ye, mate. Ye just need to stop being weird.”
“I'm not weird.” Simon defends himself, being interrupted by a knock on the door. Gaz pokes his head in, entering once he sees they are both inside; he wonders for a second what he is doing here until he sees you walk in just behind him.
Gaz has a brick of beers in his hand, he winks at Simon and he quickly realises he is into whatever plan Soap has orchestrated. He whips his head to look at the mastermind and finds him sitting on the other bed in the room, Gaz quickly sitting beside him; leaving only half of the bed Simon is sitting at left for you to sit.
Soap and Gaz look at him with a shit-eating grin on their faces when he looks at them, the two little shits are physically making you sit next to him, almost skin-on-skin with how much space Simon takes.
You POV
Fucking Soap.
Last fucking time you trust him with your secrets! When you left the meeting this morning, he tackled you to ask you about why you were ogling like that at the LT.
“Is not me, Soap. Is it my hormones.” You whine, trying to convince him to let it go.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. But you were drooling for HIM.” He says, accentuating it. “It hurts my pride, bonnie. We were all in the room, but ye only had eyes for him.”
“Soap, for god's sake. I looked at him for two seconds.” You argue.
“Two seconds for each ball, lass. I saw you, looking up and down his bod. Ye got a crush for the Lt, bonnie?” He asks, moving his eyebrows up and down. You look at him offended before rolling your eyes. “I'm not fifteen, Soap.”
“I know, lass. The way you were looking at him was not of a fifteen years old, you were thirsting for him. You were staring at his willy, lass.” He says cocking his head and smirking.
“No, I wasn't!” You lie, feeling embarrassed to admit something like that.
“Shoot your shot, lass. I'm pretty sure he has a thing for you too.” He says, putting his hand over your shoulder.
“Yeah, murderous thoughts.” You snort, not believing the scotsman.
He laughs at you and claps your back stepping aside. “Trust me, give it a try. Ye may not end up married, but I'm sure ye'll get your kitty pet.” He says before taking a step back and mimicking having sex doggy style making you cringe which causes him to laugh. “Come to my room later, we getting drunk.”
Simon shimmies his way a little to a side, and even though for a second you wonder about sitting at the desk, you decide it is not worth it.
This man has been just a little asshole to you since you met, and now suddenly your fucking hormones have you wanting to peel his pants off and choke on his dick. It's not fair!
So you sit down next to him, your leg touching his. He keeps his hand on his lap, only raising his hand to catch the beers can Gaz throw at him. He catches them, opens one of them and hands them to you. You grab it and mutter a thank you, looking at him and noticing him looking at the other men in the room.
Gaz and Soap quickly start to talk, filling the room with a comfortable sound and Ghost and you remain as mere spectators.
The beers get drunk fast, a warm feeling flooding everyone's bodies and everyone kind of melting onto the beds. At some point, you notice Simon move and the next thing you feel is the heavy weight of his arm over your shoulder.
You tense for a second, looking up at him, finally making eye contact with him and he says: “Sorry, luv. My arm was getting numb, you don't mind, do you?”
You shake your head, unable to speak. Simon's eyes on you, feel like a truck lying on your chest, but still, you can't peel your eyes away.
He looks down at your lips and you unconsciously lick your lips, an almost unnoticed groan leaving his throat. He caresses your arm making you jump and you get goosebumps all over your body.
“You two should make out.” Soap suddenly says, making you both look at him like he just grew a second head. Ghost is not the only one that has gotten comfy; Gaz and Soap are currently cuddling, legs tangled and Soap's head resting on Gaz's chest. “Yeah, Ghost's about to bust a nut just for looking at you, bonnie.”
You whip your head back to look at his crotch, and for the milliseconds before he covers himself you can feel the protruding bulge of his boner trying to break free from his pants.
The little horny monster on your brain is rattling at the bar of your enclosure, urging you to just throw at him. It's been too long since you got laid and Ghost it's obviously reciprocating your feelings.
Gaz starts to chuckle with Soap, your irrational mind tells you that if anything they are laughing at Ghost, but your brain only tells you that they are laughing at you. Because maybe Ghost has a boner, but you are looking up at him, opening and closing your mouth like a fish and overall looking like an idiot.
Ashamed of yourself you start to stand up from the bed. “I'm going to sleep.” You vaguely feel Ghost's hand on your wrist, not fast enough to keep you in. And you leave the room keeping their complaints about not wanting you to leave inside.
You practically run to your room, throwing yourself on your bed, tears pricking your eyes from humiliation. And you would have cried if a knock on your door didn't interrupted you.
“What?!”
“It's me, can I come in, love?”
Hii 🧡
I tried to mix both of the options, so I did a little recap of the situations but from Simon's POV and used it to introduce the continuation to it.
Don't worry, I'm writing another part soon I wouldn't leave it like this 🧡
I uploaded a post a couple of hours ago, I'll love if you could vote on the poll this poll
P-Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @dumb12bvtch1212 @risingofjupiter @dukeofjjune @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @dilara-del @multifandomheathenannie @glocuseguardian3rd
If you want to be added to the permanent masterlist, you can do it here
And to everyone who asked on the first part: @loveableidioticweirdo @restrictionsapply @cursedforlife @shadowtfpcod @pagesfalling @aelnpruz @imjustheretofightforlove @becky2021 @enfppuff @fivechapters @mandalover2023 @unorganized-disaster-blog @nightriver99
#call of duty#ghostsoap#cod x reader#cod#cod smut#task force 141#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost cod#simon riley#ghost smut#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#call of duty smut#simon imagine#ghost call of duty#ghost x female reader#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#ghost headcanons
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AHHHH omg pls tell me u see the vision with corrupt cop mingyu and neighbor nice girl who’s super sweet !! she’s innocent but not stupid and mingyu likes that but she just pays him no mind
CW: NONCON, DRUGGING AND SOMNOPHILIA.
first, this 98% background story and 2% smut, literally, more of mingyu just being fucking sick in the head than anything but i really liked writing this so, and second, kinda fuck the police i guess-
the hot, older, seemingly normal cop next door that gets interested in you since the day he knocked on your door to introduce himself and offer you his number because “you’re so young… and alone too, it can be dangerous around here” clearly flirting and you simply nodded, gave him the biggest smile, a “thank you” and closed the door on his face.
you’re so sweet and nice and clearly such a good girl, so pretty too, he does everything to try and get your attention and yet nothing but smiles and few conversations from you. but he knows you’re not stupid and thinks you’re playing hard to get, convinces himself you looked at him differently once, and that just drive drives him further into his obsession with you and that’s where his not so normal side comes out.
listen, i don’t think he will ever admit out loud that he’s stalking you but that definitely what he does. he is a cop and that comes with certain benefits, he’s just using those to get closer to you. totally the type to find out where you work and ask his superiors to have his route reallocated to the area so he can spend all his day looking out for you. discovers your favorite cafe close by and starts casually ordering there too, acting all surprised when he hears your voice calling him, starts offering to take you to places and is quickly to brush it off when you say you can’t disturb his job, claiming it’s a “slow day, nothing really happening”.
you get what i’m saying here? he’s the type to use his job as a way to slowly insert himself into your life, your personal space, and it totally escalates to more extreme things. i can see him starting to find ways to scary you, to make you need him and his help, sending you creepy texts from random numbers through the day, pictures of yourself, even finding ways to break into your house in the middle of the night, making noises to wake you up or leaving things for you to find. his chest gets filled with such a sick satisfaction when you finally call him one night in tears and whispering, asking for help because there’s someone in your house and of course he is there in a minute, gun in hand and everything. so nice he is, taking your shaking body in his arms and reassuring you you’re safe, he won’t let anything happen to you. and of course, of course he asks you if you want to sleep in his house that night, or how many nights you want obviously, if that would make you feel safe, kissing your forehead so gently when you look up with teary eyes and nods.
he wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea, insists you take his bed, he won’t mind sleeping in the couch. listens carefully to everything you have to say about the things that are happening and wipes your tears when you cry, reads the texts you received as if he wasn’t the one who wrote every single one, looks at the pictures… promising he will make everything on his reach to find out whoever this person is, you can trust him.
and honestly i don’t care that this is too cliche or whatever, he would put something on your tea. like, i think that at this point he would be so desperate to have you, he doesn’t care anymore, just the sound of you crying and saying you needed his help, feeling your shaky form against his body, all of that was enough to make him hard, to think he wouldn’t try to touch you would be nonsense. so yes, he does puts something on your tea, enough to not have you opening your pretty eyes for hours, and stands for a few moments at the bedroom door watching you sleep, loving smile on his lips seeing you so relaxed in his bed, cuddling one of his pillows.
walks closer, as if you could wake at any giving moment, and sits by your side, brushing hair out of your face, leaning down to kiss your cheek and corner of your lips, breathing into your smell… he’s such a creep, for christ’s sake. runs a hand up and down your arm while the other palms his cock through his sweatpants, quick to pull your top up to get a good view of your tits, not holding back on grabbing one, yes, he should be careful, not leave marks, but he waited for so long for this, jerked off under the shower so many times thinking about you… speaking of jerking off, starts pumping himself by instinct, too lost on feeling your body. would try to resist but end up parting your legs and licking his fingers to toy with your pussy, groaning a bit too loud upon feeling your little clit and how tight you are, not properly wet, barely taking the tip of his index finger— but it’s okay, he will have time to make you wet for him in the future and fuck you nicely. spills all over his hand between groans and whispering things such as “you’re going to be mine, uhm? you’re meant to be” and “going to make you my pretty little wife, come home every day to you waiting for me here”
sigh… totally normal man who just wants a little wife.
#asks#seventeen smut#mingyu smut#mingyu x reader#seventeen x reader#kim mingyu smut#cw: noncon#cw: drugging#cw: somnophilia
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so like are we done with the idea that james is a victim of the internet harassment mob or whatever you guys like to call it when in reality no one like forced him to be part of the public eye again. he had multiple times to disengage but he threw himself head first into the spotlight with some half assed apology where he used his dead mom, illiterate dad, and like 293 mental illnesses that he was in the right to do a widdle plagiarism but it’s not his fault! it’s everyone else’s fault for not being nice to him about it!!! how dare these people bring these issues to the public not thinking how james would feel about it! like ppl are forgetting there was notable period of time james went off air entirely. and every time he’s jumped back it’s always attempts to paint himself as the victim.
like be real for a second if anyone was weaponizing the internet harassment machine it was james somerton. he knew what he was doing when he posted that note. he knew the shit his victims would get for having the crime of (checks notes) voicing out their issues with him. he knew there’s people out there who are foaming at their mouths to use anything they can get their hands on as a “gotcha!” at hbomberguy (right wing people yes, but don’t act like it’s just them i’ve seen plenty of lefties trying to prove they’re superior to harry). they don’t give a shit about james, not really. he’s the dude who hbomb did a “hit piece” (yes that’s a term i’ve seen people use) and that’s what matters.
not to mention the writing that’s also very clearly targeting nick who’s basically cut ties with him at this point. james pushed all the burden on nick by saying it’s their fault, actually. he’s one of the co-writers and everything going to shit was nick’s fault when they had the audacity to move. james is faultless! with james still trying to monetize stolen content on the blatant lie that he’s doing this for nick’s sake as a portfolio. acting as if nick isn’t an sentient human being who could upload their own content, as if nick would even want to be associated with james at this point. this isn’t a teenager being harassed for an honest mistake, this is a 35-year old con artist who’s stolen hundreds of thousands and peddled the most vile shit as actual history but realized he was in deep shit and weaponizes very serious mental health issues as a “i’m just a poor little gay baby!! my alter ego did it!!!”
for the record if you’re among the people who tried to wash down james’ crimes as “he just did plagiarism!! it wasn’t that bad of a crime!” fuck you, man. i’m not kidding.
the fact i’ve witnessed people whitewash his acts of racism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, antisemitism and misogyny (in fact i’m probably still missing a few things here), and say he’s being harassed by the internet just because he stole articles makes it so clear they have no fucking idea what they’re talking about. his shit isn’t fucking erased just bc he realized that he has to handle the consequences. he’s grasping at anything he can at this point to make sure that even if he’s not coming back, he’s sure as hell trying to take anyone he fucking can down with him.
he doesn’t get a second chance to be a content creator at this point. he doesn’t get to show himself to do better. he needs to fucking leave. and if he tries to publicly make himself the victim then he better know that he’s going to get public backlash.
if anything situation proves to me that he can never be trusted with a public platform ever again because he will immediately guilt people into feeling sorry for him.
#i’m going to be bitchy about this for the record#james somerton#hbomberguy#the funniest option is if james fakes his death like a fourth time and someone takes a pic of him in like a burger king or something.#updated i’m not 100% sure on nicks pronouns but i’m using they them just in case#update 2: the way i was proven fucking right immediately after posting this. you people are not real.
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Corruption Ch16
(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)
Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15
Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, so much goddamn smut like I need help, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation
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"Fangs that secrete enough venom to paralyze whomever I bite, could be useful but also disgusting to get close to others. Hm, no change to body from producing said venom. Fascinating."
It had been two days since the incident. Miguel had reassured you that he was fine, but then proceeded to lock himself in his own lab to run tests on himself.
"Talons on both hands and feet, allowing me to climb walls. Not the exact same way as (Y/N), this is far more violent since my talons could be used as weapons."
Miguel slashed against his desk.
"Wood nor metal can stop me. Not to mention, physical body mass has increased. Height increased, muscles strengthen and-"
Miguel stopped as he looked down. Withholding a chuckle, he returned to typing down his findings. Miguel stood in front of a mirror, taking in his now stronger appearance. He could lift over ten tons his weight, much like you.
"Side effect, eyes have become a red color and are sensitive to light. Senses have also increased, allowing me to hear, feel and even sense what others are thinking. Needs to be trained and nourished more to use in field."
"Miguel? Can I come in, please?" You asked, knocking against his door. Miguel threw on his lab coat, hiding his information,
"Yes,"
Planting himself on his seat, Miguel watched as you entered his lab. That bright smile on your face as you saw him. Miguel covered his mouth, smirking towards your blush towards his chest. Hopefully you won't tempt him too much.
"Are you sure you're alright? You've been cooped up in here for two days. I brought you some food," You said, holding up your cute little lunch bag, "I can put it aside if your not-"
"I'll eat it. I skipped breakfast," Miguel motioned you over.
He watched as you skipped over, opening your bag. He hid his smirk as you stared at his broken desk before continuing to get the lunch out. As you did, Miguel tensed as a new and strange scent caught his nose.
"(Y/N), are you wearing a new perfume?" Miguel asked. You tilted your head,
"No? Do I smell?"
"No, no," Miguel furrowed his brows finding the scent sweet, "Why don't you feed me? I'm starved."
Miguel resisted a groan as you took your place on his lap. The scent was getting stronger as you fed him. Miguel couldn't even focus on the food. Staring into your eyes, Miguel felt something almost primal in him act up.
"(Y/N), come to my place tonight."
"Okay," You agreed so easily.
It was difficult, but Miguel held back and behaved himself. He couldn't help but feel around your waist, needing to touch you. This had to be his Spider instincts kicking in. It had to be, what other reason would Miguel have the strong urge to fuck you?
"Miguel, you sure you're okay? I worry,"
"I'm fine. Just come to my place tonight and wear something that will excite me."
Leaving you with a peck, Miguel returned to his studies of himself. Now that he was a superior human like you, he could begin his plans for domination. To begin his plans to expand his rule of superior humans.
"Now, to test my stamina."
----------
You were on cloud nine. Was tonight finally going to be the night? Miguel just told you to wear something that would excite him! The amount of sexy new panties you had were going to finally be put to use!
Nearly squealing in joy, you hurried to your office to finalize some work before heading home. As you made your way to your office, you stopped in front of Aaron's shrine that some of the workers put together.
It was a shame. Aaron seemed like such a nice guy. To think that he was the one who caused the explosion and almost hurt Miguel. Miguel had told you everything about the incident so that you wouldn't worry.
At least Miguel was safe and sound.
Shaking the thought away, you hurried to finish you work. All that mattered was that Miguel was okay. Although, you were worried since he locked himself inside his lab. You wondered what he found that had him cooped up in there.
Recalling his strange behavior recently, you tried to think if anything in the explosion could have affected him. It sucked since you weren't as smart as half of the people in this building.
"I wonder...if I should wear perfume?"
---------
Miguel sat on his couch, waiting for you to arrive. He had done all the testing he needed in order to know that it was time. Miguel was going to make sure you didn't leave his apartment until you were pregnant. He didn't care how many hours it would take.
You belonged to him.
Catching that familiar scent in the air, Miguel stood and hurriedly opened his door. There you were, standing there with a shy look on your face; your scent oh so sweet. The dress you had on was tight, exposing your breasts ever so slightly.
"I'm not taking you to dinner," Miguel told you as he pulled you inside, "But good job on listening to me."
"O-Of course," You nearly stuttered as you fell against his chest, "Um, Miguel...have you been working out?"
Ah, so you finally noticed. Miguel just smiled as he grabbed your hand, gently biting your fingers. You scent getting stronger, causing Miguel to act more rashly. Thoughts of breeding you began to cloud his judgement.
"(Y/N), you'll do anything for me...right?"
"Yes,"
"Good girl,"
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You weren't sure what was coming over Miguel. He was acting a little strange, but it wasn't like you were going to question him. Miguel's hands were all over you as he brought you to his couch. You couldn't help but grow excited as you thought of what was to come.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as Miguel kissed you. His hands were firmly on your waist. Each kiss grew more and more aggressive and hungry. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring everywhere as he pinned you to the couch.
"Irresistibly sweet." Miguel groaned, his hands stroking up your thighs, "Unable...to think straight."
"Mhm, Miguel?" You muttered between kisses.
You gasped as Miguel picked you up and carried you to his room. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, feeling your panties get damp. This was escalating to an exciting point. Once in the room, you yelped as Miguel threw you on the bed.
"I don't care if you cry, I'm not stopping."
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. If your pussy could talk, it would be swoon right now. You took off your dress as Miguel removed his shirt. Sitting before Miguel in your underwear and bra, you were waiting for his orders.
"I've had you wait long enough. Lay down and spread."
You bit your lower lip and did what Miguel said. You were a little embarrassed since you knew your panties were soaked. You gasped as Miguel hovered over you, kissing you again as he took off your remaining clothes.
You arched your back, moaning into the kiss as Miguel started to rub your clit. His pace grew faster the wetter you got. Your body was getting hot and needy. Miguel's mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving as many marks as he could.
"Hah~ Ah, M-Miguel~" You cried out, trembling in pleasure.
"Who do you belong too?"
"Ah~ Ah~ Y-You, You, Miguel!" You whimpered.
Miguel's fingers had dipped into your cunt, pumping inside of you at a fast pace. Tears had started to form, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst. Right when you felt yourself about to cum, Miguel removed his fingers.
"M-Miggy! P-Please!" You begged.
You whimpered as you watched Miguel lick his fingers for the first time. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust. This was a first and new look. Miguel grunted as he took his pants off, revealing his dick, which seemed bigger than before.
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
Miguel grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulder as he positioned himself. His breathing was irregular along with yours. Miguel's dick poking right at your entrance, begging to be let in. Begging to fuck you.
"Fuck, say it again." Miguel demanded, pinching your clit. You arched your back, squirming slightly,
"Miggy~"
With a sharp cry, Miguel slapped his hips into yours. Your body shivered as you cam from insertion. His dick slamming right inside you, stretching your gummy walls out. His tip smashed against your cervix.
Miguel grunted as he gave you no time to rest from your climax. His hips were rough as he slapped himself into you. His dick bullying your cunt with no remorse. You flung your head back, crying out in pleasure as Miguel's dick rammed into you.
"Miggy~ M-Miggy~"
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Miguel felt sweat roll down his forehead as he held your hips. Why did he have to wait so long for this? You were made for him. Your pussy was sucking his dick so well. The sloshing sounds it made as you cried his name. Everything was perfect.
Groaning lowly as you cam again, Miguel felt you squeeze around him so much. Webbing your hands to the bed post, Miguel kept focus on what he was doing to you. The rim of his dick around forming a white ring from your orgasms.
"Made just for me. My perfect match." Miguel grunted, fastening his pace as he felt his high coming, "Sucking my dick so well. You just want my child, don't you?"
"Yesh~ Y-Yes~" You cried.
Miguel felt his eye twitch as he slammed his hips into you, finally releasing his first load. After months of waiting, Miguel was finally breeding you. Slowly removing his dick just to admire his first work, Miguel cussed lowly.
"Perfect, but so wasteful. Do you want to disappoint me?" Miguel hissed, watching his cum drip out of you.
"N-No,"
"Then drink every last drop."
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You cried and whimpered as Miguel pinned you into mating position, fucking you relentlessly. His dick hitting your cervix, causing you to gasp and twitch with every thrust. Your cunt unable to stop wanting Miguel as he made his dick at home inside of you.
Your vision was starting to blur as your mind grew fuzzy. This was only something you could only dream of. Miguel's dick bullying your cunt. It felt so good. So right.
"Drink up."
"Mhm~"
Shivering, you moaned as you felt Miguel cum inside you once more. It was so hot. Taking a moment to catch your breathe, you slowly regained your vision as you looked up at Miguel. He had a wicked smirk as he looked down at you.
"M...Miggy~" You whispered tiredly. Miguel just chuckled,
"Awe, tired already? We've only just begun."
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Your face was pressed into the bedsheet as Miguel fucked you from behind. You could barely feel your body anymore since it was so sensitive. Each thrust made your body shiver and your pussy clench. You were so fucked out that you couldn't even think.
"My stamina outranks yours by a mile. It's only been an hour and you're tapping out already? Hm, I suppose I did go overboard for your first time," Miguel muttered.
"Mhpm~ Ah~" You moaned, cumming hard as Miguel slapped his dick into you a bit harsher.
"My mating instincts have finally passed as well. Just don't expect any rest any time soon. You will be caring my child. The future of humanity."
You just babbled nothing but nonsense as Miguel gave you one last load. Unable to keep yourself awake, you felt yourself knock out.
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Miguel sighed as you fell asleep. He turned you around, watching the mess of a work he did. He definatly went overboard, but you had to get pregnant. Fixing you on the bed, Miguel lifted your hips and legs up against the bed frame, wanting to make sure his cum stayed inside of you.
"Lyla, keep track on (Y/N)'s health. I want any updates of bodily changes."
"Yes sir, also your suit is ready."
"Hm, I suppose tonight is a great night to start my reign of terror. While I'm out, I want you to start transferring all of (Y/N)'s information and paperwork to this address."
"You haven't told her that she will be living here,"
"(Y/N) will agree...and if she doesn't, I'll just fuck the idea into her."
"Understood."
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Next Chapter
@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd @daddyfroglegs @shoukanjo @cicithemess @babyprofessorsharkpalace
#miguel o'hara x reader#spiderman 2099#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara smut#atsv miguel#across the spiderverse#miguel x you#miguel o'hara#miguel x y/n#miguel ohara smut#miguel ohara
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Hey, Sailor
Summary: It’s Fleet Week and Rooster would rather be anywhere else than on the flight deck of the USS Portland. That is, until a pretty thing in a sundress catches his eye and then suddenly his day is looking up.
Pairing: Bradley”Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5.8K
Warnings: Flirty Banter, Smut, and Bradley Bradshaw in Summer Whites (Minors DNI)
Note: When @roosterforme asks you to write her a Fleet Week fic, you write the Fleet Week fic! Here you go, Em! 💛
Normally, Rooster loved Fleet Week.
He loved the lively atmosphere and the parades. He loved the free drinks that were handed to him as soon as he entered a bar. And he especially loved all the attention he got from women when he wore his Summer Whites.
He usually came back to the ship looking less than pristine with lipstick on the collar of his uniform and hidden on other places on his body.
The USS Portland was teaming with excited families and camera-happy civilians taking in the sights from deck of the transport ship as they settled in for the five-hour journey to the San Diego. It was a Fleet Week tradition to welcome people aboard for an immersive experience, picking them up from a port further up North and then cruising along the coast before making their final docking for the week.
There were grills set up on the deck and the smell of flame kissed hamburgers and hotdogs mixed with the sea salt air. The sun was shining and the mood was light.
But this year, Rooster simply could not be bothered to give a fuck.
Especially not when he could have been home already instead of being stuck giving tours on a ship that he’d never even stepped foot on prior to three days ago when he and Hangman had been given orders to join in the procession on the vessel into the city after completing a short training deployment.
His superiors had okay-ed the terrible suggestion from some random Public Relations Specialist who clearly didn’t realize that he had better things to do with his time.
Early that morning, Bradley had stood on the dock with his arms crossed and wearing an impassive scowl as they had lifted his Super Hornet onto the flight deck like it was some kind of decorative hood ornament.
Sure, it was fun to watch the kids’ eyes get wide with excitement as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the features as he pointed them out, but he was getting hot and uncomfortable in his uniform in the mid-afternoon sun on the black tarmac.
He’d rather be in his service khakis like Seresin. Or better yet, naked at home in his own bed.
How Hangman had weaseled himself onto barbecue duty with a beer in his hand, Rooster would never know. The bastard probably played his Texan sir, I came out of the womb grilling shtick.
And every time he passed by the son of a bitch would give him a cocky salute with his tongs.
Jake was irritating on the best day, but today he was downright insufferable.
And he knew it had everything to do with the fact that Hangman’s girlfriend was laughing and lingering at his side, having surprised him by flying in with tickets for the coastal cruise.
At least someone was having a nice time, because it sure as shit wasn’t him.
Rooster was in the process of wrapping up his fourth tour of the day and handing out a couple of Dixie Cup hats to kids on the landing deck on the stern when he was stopped dead in his tracks and had to do a double take because he eyes were definitely playing tricks on him.
You were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
And he swore for a minute time slowed down as you flashed the most gorgeous smile at some Junior Officer as you laughed along with whatever undoubtedly stupid joke he’d told you. All while the wind played with the ends of your hair.
You looked like such nice girl, such a good girl in your pretty light blue sundress.
The sun was bouncing off your shoulders and the little ruffle at the hem was taunting him with the way it danced around your thighs. It coasted over your curves like water, and fit you just snug enough that there wouldn’t be any Marilyn Monroe moments on deck, much to his disappointment. But the blow was cushioned by the stunning display of your smooth, shapely legs.
From the way your breasts bounced as you walked, he knew there was no way in hell you had a bra on under that little dress.
He’s never been able to resist a bad girl wrapped up like the girl-next-door.
From the second he saw you, he knew you were just his type.
And for the first time that day Bradley is grateful to be wearing the crisp, pressed Summer Whites.
He knew how good his biceps looked in the short sleeves of his uniform. And the way his pants clung to his legs and ass. He’d been spending a lot of his free time in the gym lately and it showed.
He never did mind playing An Officer and a Gentleman when the occasion presented itself, he was always happy to help fuel some fantasies.
The last time he had worn this uniform out during Fleet Week he ended up going home with an absolute smokeshow, so hopefully whatever appeal his uniform had for him back then can still work for him now.
Fleet Week was finally looking up for him.
However, what he didn’t like was the fact that the butterbar was still dominating your attention.
He wanted that smile turned on him. Wanted to see if the look in your bright eyes would be just as playful with your gaze pinned on him instead. He wanted to be the one making you laugh.
It’s not like he’s going to go over there and lick your face like a kid might try and claim dibs on a cupcake.
No, he was going to act in accordance to his rank and station as an Officer in the United States Navy.
Securing the white cap on his head from where it’s been tucked under his arm at every opportunity he’s had that day, he straightens up to his full height and purposefully struts over to you.
Bradley’s never been one to shy away from making an entrance.
He forcefully taps the younger officer’s shoulder, and glances down when the guy turns around to get a look at his name tag.
“Ensign Hubbard, you’re up for civilian tour duties. The next one is due to start at 1400,” he looks down at his watch for dramatic effect, “Which is in about 10 minutes on the starboard bow, so you best get going if you don’t want to be late, junior.”
He might feel a little guilty for springing this on the kid if it wasn’t entirely within his right to assign him the nonexistent task 684 feet in the opposite direction- a fact he learned in preparation for giving tours all day- and away from you.
Especially when he sees how flustered the guy gets as he rushes through his salute and the stammered apologies he gives you before he takes off in a brisk jog heading towards the other side of the ship.
He stands up a bit taller and makes himself a bit broader as your eyes sweep over him.
“Apologies for interrupting, ma’am. But I’d be happy to pick up where the Ensign has left off.”
There’s no missing the appraising interest in them as you take him in.
“The tours are starting at the front of the ship now, are they?” you muse out loud with a little tilt of your head. “What are all those folks over there are lining up for then, I wonder?”
You point deliberately to the group of people who are currently being greeted by the Lieutenant who was scheduled to relieve Rooster of tour duties for the next hour.
“Mm, that sure is a mystery. But Hubbard seems like a smart kid, I wouldn’t worry too much about him.” He shrugs with an unapologetic smirk on his face.
You lift a pointed eyebrow at him.
“So, you sent him away…” the almost-but-not-quite question trailing in the breeze.
“I sent him away,” he readily agrees with a nod. His eyes catch on a golden heart-shaped locket that you’re wearing around that dainty neck as it glints in the sunlight.
A smug smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you notice where his eyes have dropped too, “You’re not even going to deny it, Sailor?”
“Nope,” he says with a grin. “And actually, it’s Lieutenant Commander.”
“Ok, Lieutenant.”
“Commander.”
You hmm contemplatively like his rank was somehow up for debate, toying with that damn little heart-shaped locket in a way that was tempting his eyes to drift further down.
Rooster didn’t think it could be possible, but you’re even prettier up close. He knew you’d be stunning, but he couldn’t have prepared himself for the way your mischievous eyes sparkled magnetically. Or for the warmth spreading in his chest with the way you are broadly smiling at him now.
The top buttons of your dress are undone one more than would be strictly considered family friendly. But Bradley wasn’t bothered by that in the least.
Clearing his throat, he notes, “It’s a nice day for a sail.”
“Ensign Hubbard and I already covered that rather riveting subject earlier,” you tease while looking at him like well, what else have you got.
“Let me try again then.” If you wanted him to put in the work, he was more than up for the challenge. “What brings you for a casual five-hour cruise down the coast on one of the Pacific Fleet’s finest?”
“Now that’s not something we got to before he was telling me about what his ribbons meant in great detail,” you say with a laugh. “Would you believe me if I said I had a deep appreciation for $1.6 billion-dollar ships purchased with Uncle Sam’s defense budget?”
He gives you a half smile as he pretends to contemplate it for a moment, “You know, for some reason, I can’t say that I would.”
“Well, shucks,” you say with an over exaggerated shrug. “What about if I said I was roped into waking up at an ungodly hour to catch a flight up here because my best friend’s boyfriend is a Naval aviator and she wanted me to keep her company for the ‘casual five-hour cruise’, as you called it.”
“Now that I believe,” he drawled. “So, what’s his name?”
“Well, she calls him Jacob. He has one of those silly callsigns too, but I always forget it,” you scrunch your nose adorably as you search for it, “Something-man.”
“You mean Bagman?”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
He smirks to himself.
“I take it you know him then?” You wait for his nod before looking up at him from under your lashes and asking him, “Does that mean you have a callsign too?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s Rooster.”
He doesn’t miss the way you glance down, and he definitely doesn’t hold back his pointed smirk waiting for your eyes to meet his again.
And when he gives you a cocky raise of his eyebrow, all you do is shrug.
You didn’t just look like his type, you are exactly his type.
“Rooster Bradshaw, huh?” you ask, reaching out to tap a finger on rectangular name tag on his chest. “I take it you have a first name, Lieutenant Commander?”
“Sure do,” he drawls, “But it only seems fair that I get yours in return.”
You grin knowingly at him. His cheek ticks up as you stick your hand out towards him and give him your name. It’s pretty and suits you perfectly.
Bradley says it out loud savoring the syllables in his mouth as he shakes your outstretched hand. And he gives you his in exchange.
He likes how much smaller your hand looks in his.
“Since it seems like your friend has ditched you, what do you say about getting a tour? Not to brag, but I’ve been doing it all day and I’ve got it down to a science now.”
“A private tour? Lucky me,” you purr. “Lead the way Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw.”
You knew what you were doing, he’d give you that. And he was eating it up with a spoon ready to ask for second, third, and fourth helpings.
It’s less busy on the flight deck, as people are collecting around the grills waiting for their turn in the buffet lines for the late lunch.
He starts off by showing you his aircraft, giving you a brief rundown of its features.
You run a hand over the body of his fighter jet as he wraps up his now well-practiced spiel, “Do I even want to know how much taxpayer money contributed to this?”
“It depends. Does your appreciation for Uncle Sam’s defense collection extend to F/A-18s too? Or is that strictly reserved for amphibious transport vessels?”
“I’ll keep you posted after I get the full tour,” you say coyly.
“Well then, I shouldn’t keep a lady waiting then. Should I?”
“No, you certainly should not,” you agree.
He guides you past the table that’s set up with squadron memorabilia for people to buy and to the door with a hand on your low back. He’s close enough to smell your perfume now, he wants to bury his nose in your neck to inhale the scent directly from the source.
Rooster navigates the two of you like a pro through the narrow passageways as he takes you to the mess hall where coffee and pre-sliced cakes awaited tour guests. From there he takes you to the galley, the wheelhouse, the engine control room, the 24-bed hospital ward, and the massive hull used to transport heavy machinery.
You as him thoughtful questions every now and then. And he does his best to answer them. The two of you drift closer and closer, it doesn’t escape his notice the way you brush against him when you pass by to get a closer look at some of the things he shows you.
It’s easily his favorite tour of the day.
He loves the sound of your laugh as he tells you about some of the mischief that he and members of his squadron managed to avoid getting caught doing.
Along with some of the things that they did get caught doing.
Your teasing grin and witty banter and little sundress have done a number on him. And he isn’t ready to wrap this up by delivering you back on deck until the absolute last minute he has to resume his official tour duties again.
So when he circles back to the airwing, instead of turning left when he should, he leads you to the ladder that would take you down a level.
And he knows he shouldn’t, that he could get in some big trouble for showing you areas that weren’t explicitly on the official list of tour stops. But he’s always been more of the apologize later type.
Plus, he hasn’t been on this ship for very long, it’s not his fault if he manages to get conveniently turned around.
Bradley waits at the bottom of the steep ladder, actively looking anywhere else but up as you make your descent. When you’re at level with him, he helps you down the rest of the way with a steadying hand at your waist.
And when you turn around he doesn’t step back.
You reach up and run a playful finger along the brim of his cap, “So what’s a girl got to do to get a turn wearing the hat?”
His mind flashes with images of the last time he’d let a woman wear it.
“I’ll have you know this is technically Naval property, they don’t let just anyone have one. You usually have to earn it. But for you?” he pauses and gives you a heated once over, “I’ll let you try it on for free.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want any special treatment,” you say demurely. “But I think in this case, Uncle Sam would understand. I’m a model citizen after all.”
He takes the cap off of his head and gingerly sets it on yours, “You’re something else, that’s for sure.”
It slides forward down your head, “Oh, it’s heavier than it looks.” And Rooster wishes he had his phone on him to get a picture for himself. He likes the way you look wearing his things.
“Looks good on you,” he hums, letting his finger brush against that little locket around your neck.
You run a bold hand down his chest, “Where to next, Lieutenant?”
This time he doesn’t bother to correct you, he knows the game you’re playing now.
Instead he grips your hips and pushes you against the ladder and brings his mouth to yours.You make a noise of surprise before your arms are wrapping around his neck to pull him in closer.
The kiss starts out light and teasing. Your lips are so soft beneath his. He gently grazes his teeth against your lower lip, before gliding his tongue along the seam of your mouth seeking entrance. The sweep of your tongue against his is everything. The soft moans escaping you are making his pulse thrum in his veins.
It would be so easy for him to get lost in the feeling of your perfect body against his and of the way your fingers were playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck. But he’s already pushing the limits bringing you down here, he can’t get distracted by kissing you out in the open where anyone could stumble upon the two of you.
The small whimper that you make when he pulls away makes him grin. As does the sight of his cap sitting crookedly on your head.
He thumbs at the lipstick that’s smudged at the side of your mouth, “C’mon, I’ve got one more place I want to show you.”
This time he takes your hand as he guides you down the gray passageway and through the door on the left.
The ready room on the USS Portland is much smaller than the one’s he is familiar with from the aircraft carriers he is usually on, but the set-up is mostly the same. There are a couple of projection screens adhered on the bulkheads and there are a few rows of leather seats with a swivel tray tables attached to the arm rests.
“Tell me what happens in here.” You ask him so genuinely, so sweetly and he already knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against you with the way you flutter those eyelashes at him.
So he tells you.
He likes that you want to know these details about his job, he likes that he gets to share this with you. Even if the clock is ticking down before he has to get back on deck.
Rooster watches the tantalizing way your sundress dances around your thighs as you walk around the space. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the front row and pull the desk top over you before turning to him with a beaming smile with his cap still perched on your head.
And he is hit with a wave of affection for you so intense that it makes it hard for him to breathe for a moment.
He’s grateful when you see something else that catches your eye, giving him a moment to get himself back under control. You’ve got him feeling like he should be on his knees for you.
In the spot where he is used to seeing a lectern, on this ship there is a glossy wooden table inlaid with the ship’s coat of arm that you standing over.
“Does every ship have their own unique crest? Do you know what the symbols are for?”
He really needs to figure out who put him on tour duty and send them an Edible Arrangement or something. And maybe one for whoever put together the ten-page packet of “fun facts” that he had rolled his eyes at when he had first seen it.
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He comes up to stand behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as his arms cage you in against the table. “Yes, all ships come with their own. It’s something that the prospective commanding officers are responsible for designing when new ships are about to be launched.”
You lean forward a bit, gazing your ass against him, “Dark blue and gold are traditional Navy colors, right?” He hums confirmation into your neck, as he runs his mustache along your soft skin. He feels more than hears your sharp inhale. “What does the gear on the anchor mean?”
He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “The cog is a symbol of manufacturing, a nod to the ship’s namesake and the city’s history for building ships in World War II.”
You grab his wrist and bring his arm across your body, he takes the hint and presses in closer into you. “And the trident?”
God, you feel so perfect in his arms. Your body is fitting against his like a dream.
“The black symbolizes determination,” he murmurs into the space where you neck and shoulder meet. “And the choice of the three prongs is because it’s the third ship to be given the name.”
You lean your head to the side, and he takes the opportunity to trail open-mouth kisses up your neck. Your nails bite into his forearm in response, as you rock back against his rapidly hardening cock. “And the rose?”
“Portland is the City of Roses.”
“Does it have any other meaning?” you ask soft and breathy.
“It represents strong ties, baby. It’s a symbol for the supportive partners and wives of those serving onboard,” he whispers low and sweet into your ear.
“Bradley,” you sigh as you turn your head towards him for a kiss. It’s desperate and wet. And he can almost taste the neediness of your moan on his tongue.
He’s never done anything like this while on duty on a ship before, and the thrill of it has his veins thrumming with adrenaline.
“You’ve had me hook, line and sinker since the damn second I saw you.” He grinds himself against your ass and you whimper at the contact. “What do you want from me? I’ll be so good to you, so good for you.”
“Want you to touch me,” you pant into his mouth, “Want you to fuck me, Rooster. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about.”
“Fuck me.” He can feel his pulse thundering in his throat.
“I’m trying to,” you whine.
He barks a strained laugh before he spins you around, crowds you into the table. He doesn’t waste any time getting his lips back on yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You meet him stroke for stroke, just like you’ve been doing since the moment he laid eyes on you.
“This fucking dress,” he groans when he cups your breast through your fabric, as you fill his palm in just the right way. You arch your chest into his hand, and he was feeling entirely too self-satisfied in the confirmation that you weren’t wearing a bra. “Knew you weren’t a good girl.”
“So why are you treating me like one?” you taunt, breathlessly. Your greedy hands go straight to his cock, squeezing him through his pants.
Your hand feels so good on him.
“God, you’re so much fucking trouble,” he rasps, throwing his head back.You lean forward and your hot mouth works against the hollow of his throat.
He’s trying to undo some of the tiny buttons that line the front of your dress, but the teasing way your tongue is dipping out to trace the line of his tendon is making it hard for him to think.
“Are you gonna show me how you got that silly, little callsign of yours or not?” You give him one more squeeze, before bringing your hands up to the button of his white pants.
He knocks your hands out of the way before roughly grabbing your ass and hauls you firmly against him, “That feel little to you?”
Your gasp makes his fingertips dig further into your ass. The pretty color of your eyes has been completely eclipsed by your heavy, dark pupils. He can feel the way your thighs clench together.
“You want my attention? You’ve got it, baby,” he roughly rasps, “Go on then, show me how bad you can be.”
He dips his head down for a filthy, hungry kiss.
You push him back with a hand to his chest and a gleam in your eyes. You hold his heated gaze as you slowly undo his zipper and reach into his boxer briefs to pull him out. He moans when your thumb sweeps over the top of his cock.
Rooster thinks for a second that you’re going to drop to your knees for him, the mental image of you looking up at him with those doe-eyes is enough to make his jaw clench with desire. Especially with the way your sundress is gaping open at the top, giving him a clear view of the swells of your breasts.
Instead, you surprise him by bending over that glossy table and shimmying the skirt of your dress up over your luscious hips.
“Holy shit.”
You’re wearing the smallest, laciest little thong he’s ever fucking seen.
The band is a series of crisscrossed straps attached to some intricate and dainty floral lace. The juxtaposition of it against your skin is enough to make his ears ring. He’ll be dreaming of the way you’re enticingly arching your ass towards him for months.
And he’ll sure as shit never be able to be in a Ready Room again without getting a hard-on. The memory of you bent over the table before him will forever be ingrained in his brain.
“Is this bad enough for you, Lieutenant Commander?” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder as you wiggle your hips invitingly.
That sultry smile is swiped from your face the moment his large hand connects with your perfect ass. The sound echoes throughout the small room. He palms you once more before he yanks down your barely-there thong.
“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Giving himself a few rough pumps, he lines himself up and slides into you with one steady thrust.
You both release an unrestrained groan of the sensation of him filling your warm, wet cunt. He barely gives you a moment to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving.
“’s big,” you sigh shakily.
“Tell me how much you like this cock.”
He slaps your pert ass again when you release a breathy whimper instead of answering him.
“Feels good, Rooster.” Your hands are struggling to find a way to support yourself as he fucks into you. “You feel so good.”
He pushes your dress higher up your body, his eyes are greedy for more of your skin. What he wouldn’t give to have you entirely naked and spread out before him. He wants to see all of you, he wants to hear you loud and needy for him.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he watches himself smoothly gliding in and out of you.
The little noises you are making are driving him crazy. He knows you’re trying to muffle your sweet moans and sighs and whines. The sound of your bodies coming together fills the room.
How his cap is still perched on your head he doesn’t know, it jostles every time your bodies come together.
“I need more,” you beg, “Need you to touch me.”
“Ask me nicely.” He punctuates the demand with a sharp snap of his hips.
“Please, Bradley. Please.”
He slides his hand around to the front of you, his fingers drawn to your clit like a magnet. You keen at the contact and tilt your hips into his hand. The sound is music to his ears, “That’s more like it.”
He doesn’t think there’s anything else better on the planet than being buried in your perfect pussy. You’re so wet for him. He already knows he’s going to need more of this, more of you.
“You’re taking me so well,” Bradley grunts as he speeds up his thrusts, “Looks like all you needed was a nice, thick cock. Just a sweet thing now, aren’t you?”
“Oh my god,” you gasp as you writhe against him. “F-fuck.”
He is so turned on by the way his hands span across you as he grips your waist and pulls you against him with every roll of his hips. His heart is racing in his chest.
The feeling of your body tensing around him is paradise. There is nothing he wants more than to be able to draw this out, but he is all too aware of how quickly time is slipping away from him.
He sets a rough and unrelenting pace. Redoubling his efforts on your clit, his indulgent strokes turn into tight, purposeful circles. And you cry out at the change of sensation on that sensitive part of you.
Your thighs start to tremble as his cock drags against that spot deep inside of you. The heat is pooling in his lower back as he fucks into you over and over again.
“Rooster, I’m gonna-”
“I know, baby. Let me feel it,” he murmurs hotly against your ear, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your clit. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The goosebumps erupt across your body like fireworks a moment before he feels you shiver and tremble beneath him as you come with a choked sob. The way you spasm and clench around him is dizzying.
Bradley is teetering on the edge, your cunt felt like heaven. Warm and wet and gripping him just right. He almost doesn’t want to give himself up to it as the pressure at the base of his spine intensified. He doesn’t want to stop fucking you.
You’re so perfect for him.
He loses himself to the feeling of your pussy milking him as you continue to pulse and writhe in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He grips your hips harder as he pounds into you before emptying himself inside of you with a shattered groan.
And for a moment all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears as he works to catch his breath. Rooster feels like his knees might buckle as the soft whimper you make when he pulls out of you.
He gently pulls that lacy little thong back up and helps to pull your dress back down over your hips and thighs before turning you around and lifting you onto the custom table.
He doesn’t know how he is going to make it through the rest of the journey knowing his come is collecting in your panties.
You’re flushed and looking thoroughly well-fucked as you smile up at him brightly.
Bradley threads his finger under the chain of your little gold heart-shaped locket that was etched with a rose in full bloom, and lightly tugs you in closer for a lingering kiss.
“I see you found your gift early, baby.”
Bradley would never forget the first time he saw you that night at the bar downtown last year during Fleet Week.
He had noticed you right away, it had been impossible not to. You and your girlfriends had been all done up in hot pink outfits for the Bachelorette party you were out celebrating.
Your friend had flounced right up to Jake taking the shot of whiskey out of his hand before swallowing it down then cheekily offering to buy him a replacement. Hangman had been wrapped around her finger ever since.
While your friends had all but shoved you in his direction while he had looked on entirely entertained as you had shot a scathing glare back at them. A sparkling tiara that read Bridesmaid sat crookedly on your head.
And then you had greeted him with a “Hey, Sailor” so weak that the couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. There was a split second where he thought that he might have fucked it up before it could even start, but then you smiled back at him.
It was a charmingly self-deprecating smile and he was yours from the moment he saw it.
“Hiding it in your nightstand next to the batteries wasn’t the most original of spots, Rooster,” you affectionately tease him. “I didn’t mean to peek, but the remote stopped working. I hope you’re not mad. I love it.”
He could never be mad at you, especially not with his necklace around your neck. You were his, and he was so gone for you.
“It looks so pretty on you,” he tells you softly as his fingers brush over your collarbones.
“Oh my god, Rooster, I can’t we defiled Naval property.” You giggle as you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer to circle your arms around his neck.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been defiling Naval property ever since you brought me home with you the night we met.”
You take that cap off of your head and set it back on his, and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, “Glad I’m getting a good return on my taxes then.”
He snorts a laugh, “God, I’ve missed you, baby. What are doing here? I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week.”
“And miss the visual and culinary offerings of the USS Portland? I wouldn’t dream of it.” You joke as you run your hands along his arms where they’re pressed on the table on either side of you. “This uniform drives me just as crazy as it did last year.”
“Just the uniform?” he asks as he nudges his nose against yours.
“Maybe it has a little something to do with the man in the uniform,” you make a little hum as you check him out. “You’re so tan, Bradley, have you been using the sunscreen I sent with you-”
He crushes his mouth to yours, you were undoubtedly best thing that’s ever happened to him during Fleet Week.
“I’m glad I still do it for you,” he murmurs against your mouth before giving you another deep kiss.
The two of you work quickly to get yourselves looking presentable again. He’s only got a little time left before he is due to return to his tour duties back on deck.
He helps you back up the ladder and takes that left turn when he’s supposed to this time. All while your hand is tucked securely in his.
When you’re both back on the open flight deck he walks you over to the railing along the edge of the ship and wraps you up in his arms to watch the coastline crawl by with his last few moments of freedom.
“I really love Fleet Week,” you say with a contented sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.
The golden rays from the sun are hitting you in a way that makes his chest warm.
“I do too, baby. It’s the best.”
Yeah, Rooster fucking loves Fleet Week.
Who doesn’t love a man in Summer Whites?! Consider this my formal petition for more Dress Whites in TG3!
Thank you for reading!
Hey, Sailor Moodboard
A peek inside the USS Portland One | Two
If you’re curious, here is some info on the crest I found! One | Two | Three
You can check out my other stories and series here!
Taglist:
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#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x female reader#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x female reader
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🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ( a collection of unhinged and relatable things said on discord. feel free to change wording as needed! do not add to the list. )
❛ you know bullying is my love language and you’re still here so… ❜
❛ i mean... who am i to say no to that. ❜
❛ hey, some might be into that. i won’t judge. much. ❜
❛ we can both be dumb but pretty. ❜
❛ because you wanna know why? fictional men can't disappoint me like real life men can. ❜
❛ i need someone that’d end the world for me. ❜
❛ can’t be sad with dick / pussy. or nice tits. ❜
❛ thinking of how they're all old in this movie like wow i love dilfs and milfs. ❜
❛ he fucking is like a ROACH, CAN'T EVER GET RID OF HIM. ❜
❛ [name] do not encourage their antics, I BEG OF YOU. ❜
❛ don't bully me, i'll cry. ❜
❛ [name]..... why are you such a people pleaser. ❜
❛ i am an indecisive bitch okay. ❜
❛ don't squish his TUMMY! ❜
❛ fair enough but what did you do dumb bitch? ❜
❛ i have a flyswatter, i will smack him. ❜
❛ oh god yeah, add that motherfucker as well... the hate list grows. ❜
❛ he gets no peace in any universe. ❜
❛ if they get hurt, they get hurt. ❜
❛ no love… there is no love in this house. ❜
❛ truly, the braincells are not in my head. ❜
❛ i wanna grab his waist. ❜
❛ they just… need to fuck the anger out. ❜
❛ could be worse but i'm judging. ❜
❛ yes, oil me up baby. ❜
❛ don't you shush me. ❜
❛ how dare you make me NOT distracted. ❜
❛ i'm sure you've seen each other naked before, this is nothing new. ❜
❛ suffer. ❜
❛ i ... fucking THIEF. ❜
❛ old men are just superior. ❜
❛ sometimes people just deserve to be stabbed. ❜
❛ bisexuals don't sit normally. ❜
❛ i never said i was smart. ❜
❛ what am i to say about this? want me to kiss your booboos better? ❜
❛ JOKES ON YOU, I ACTUALLY DO, AHAHAHAHA. ❜
❛ we both know you have a mask kink. ❜
❛ kick him six feet under. ❜
❛ to be fair i only killed those at the gate. ❜
❛ well sooooorry, can't all be goody-two-shoes like [name]. ❜
❛ i'm gonna murder you. ❜
❛ it's because you're OLD. ❜
❛ we're just ... too nice for our own good. ❜
❛ and then you got sweaty [name] out here going batshit crazy and killing a whole building of people. ❜
❛ we are in fact too dumb and yet here we are. ❜
❛ actually i'm a liar, i'd let a lot of men get it. ❜
❛ oOP NOT ME SEEING ANOTHER VIDEO/PICTURE AND I THINK HE'S FINGERING HER. ❜
❛ he's adorable when he isn't being a gremlin and trying to randomly bite me. ❜
❛ it’s in my contract of existing to bully everyone. ❜
❛ well clearly you enjoy it since you’re still here. ❜
❛ feeling a little called out? ❜
❛ anything can be a dildo if you're brave enough. ❜
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∞ SNSTV : first year, first mission
this is the first chapter of my series "sensitive" (SNSTV = sensitive). since it's a series, this first chapter is going to be pretty "boring" in terms of romance, but it still full of satosugu interactions with reader...but probably not favorable ones as you'll see soon lol. anyway ! stay tuned for the next chapters because i will have a lot of fun fleshing this out hehehe
first year satosugu x male reader
-> prev
( if u squint )
“since shoko is a very valuable sorcerer, she must refrain from participating in highly dangerous missions,” the only girl in the room smiled at the information, sneakily flipping off her male classmates. satoru was annoyed, suguru was indifferent, and [name] seemed to be the only one with half a mind to care for the woman’s safety.
“her abilities are quite special,” he compliments, making yaga hum in agreement and shoko wink at him in appreciation.
satoru pretends to barf in his mouth.
“that leaves the three of you, [last name], gojo, and geto — this mission is going to be your first one without supervision. it should show to be easy enough. you are to simply monitor and oversea a specific section of the closed down mall and exorcise any curses that are roaming. it has been closed down far too long and kids are starting to wander in there without any idea of what they’re walking into. for the safety of the people and the community, you must exterminate every curse that dwells there. you are all permitted in using any cursed tool, if you wish, but we highly encourage you learn to harness your abilities as soon as possible.”
satoru pretended to barf in his mouth again. doing things for “normal” civilians was never his most ideal way of spending his time. but unless he wanted to hear a nagging from yaga, he had to suck it up. formal missions were hard to dodge, anyway. meanwhile, suguru hummed in understanding, seeing why this would need an urgent team.
and [name] was just excited to finally get his hands on his cursed tool again.
the three were escorted to the abandoned mall via their driver, who told them to call him if anything were to happen and they needed immediate assistance.
“i don’t get why crybaby over here had to come,” satoru huffs, looking at the mall with disinterest. it’s unclear whether or not he’s talking to himself or his other classmate. either way, it got a reaction from [name] who was within earshot.
“why don’t you just go fuck off gojo,” [name] snarled, holding onto the scythe in his hands with a tight grip. he expertly twirled it around, using the weight of it and basic understanding of gravity, to make it so that the sharp blade was pointed right at gojo’s neck.
hiding his surprise at the sudden action, gojo just smirked and glared at [name].
“you’re just scared because you know i’m right. the moment things go to shit, you’re gonna go running with your tail in between your legs like a poor puppy. and i’ll be there to laugh,” gojo said with a taunting cackle, the ugly sound rising from his throat making both suguru and [name] cringe.
“i’ll slice your throat open, i mean it.”
“love to see you try, piece of shit!”
“alright! enough fighting, the both of you! seriously? are we on a mission to exorcise some curses or is it my personal responsibility to babysit the two of you?” suguru sighed, rubbing his forehead in stress, “can we all just do this and go home? i think it’s obvious neither of you want to be here any longer,”
satoru rolled his eyes at suguru’s “nice guy” perona, internally calling bullshit on his entire personality. god, satoru hated those type of guys the most. the ones who think they’re superior just because they’re more mature. it pissed him off that suguru had an ability so strong too...talk about waste of potential!
well, too bad for both [name] and suguru because the one who was most superior was obviously him! he was gojo satoru, after all.
“whatever, weaklings. why don’t you sit back and just let me take care of this? there’s no need for your abilities when i could exterminate every curse in the vacinity,” satoru was confident when speaking his words, but if you were to tell him to actually do that…he might not have been able to.
hey! he was a first year and just recently allowed to go completely “ham” on using his powerful abilities. he didn’t have the bestest grasp on control or output, but he did know that his technique easily overpowered the other twos’.
“hm, to make it interesting, why don’t we have a competition?”
the competitive side of [name] and satoru shone bright after suguru said that. taking their perked up heads and attentive ears as a sign to continue on, he proposed, “whoever exorcises the most curses won’t have to do chores around the dorm for a whole week and all that responsibility will fall onto the losers.”
“a whole month,” [name] bargained, earning a shrug of approval from suguru. and satoru laughed that obnoxious laugh of his again, shouting a “bring it on” before putting on his sunglasses.
“you two are going down!”
“what does cockiness get you besides hateful stares, gojo?”
“geto-san’s right, you gojo bitch! bite your tongue and choke on your own blood, fool!!”
on the count of 3, the three students were setting off into separate directions of the mall and finding as many curses as possible to exterminate. for how vast the entire property was, this could take as long as a couple of hours…if the three students were normal jujutsu sorcerers.
but when you put a narcissist, someone with a superiority complex, and a hot-headed individual in a high stakes competition, you get the mall that was full of curses being free of said curses in under two hours (an hour and ten minutes, to be exact. to cover a 800,000 square feet land full of extremely lower grade curses).
at the beginning of the competition, [name] would lure out the curses by simply baiting them with his “naivety” of them being there. they’d pounce to attack, happy to find an unsuspecting prey, before [name] would slash them across their forms and kill them with his cursed tool. he imagines by the end of the hour, he had already taken care of over a couple dozen very low grade curses.
just as he was about to maneuver around and slice another one up, something had already took care of the problem.
“gonna need to try harder than that, crybaby,” satoru taunts, smirking from a floor above as he easily blew up the curse that was about to attack [name]. the man grits his teeth in annoyance while the white haired individual just shrugs in pride, “you can’t even look out for yourself, need me to save you, huh?”
“fuck off!” [name] sent a strong gust of wind satoru’s way via swinging his scythe towards satoru, creating almost a slash of air. his tormentor only laughed at the attempt in attacking him, flipping out of the way and then walking past [name] with a smug grin.
as he disappeared from [name]’s sight, he felt himself get more and more annoyed and angry at his predicament. of course, he had to be stuck in an abandoned place with his bully and not be able to leave until the ending of their mission. [name] huffed, feeling an unfair amount of tears reach his eyes.
at least satoru wouldn’t be around to see him cry like a pathetic loser, he thought to himself. he shook his head a couple of times, forcing the tears down with a clearing of his throat and rough wipe of his face. it was a pain to live such an emotionally unstable life — as if he had any control over things like that.
“so you really are a crybaby?” suguru’s voice broke his silent sobs, making him whip his head up and glare at the man approaching him. seeing his obvious apprehension to him being there, suguru put his hands up in surrender to show he meant no harm, “there’s no reason for you to be crying, why are you crying?”
“obviously i know i have no reason to cry, idiot, how annoying do you think it is for me to have to do it when i have no reason to?!”
suguru blinked, confusion panted on his face, “you have to cry?” putting emphasis on ‘have’ it was obvious suguru didn’t see a point in such a thing, especially right now.
“you wouldn’t get it, so just leave me alone,” [name] said, waving his hand and turning around to look for more curses. suguru had an odd look on his face as he watched [name] walk away, an unreasonable amount of cursed energy surrounding the previously crying man.
the ravenette truly wondered what his life story was, he was just so intriguing. a sorcerer coming from one of the strongest clans in the jujutsu world was walking away from him with his head held down, shoulders shaking, and tears dripping onto the floor.
“what’s his deal,” suguru hums to himself, flicking his wrist in the direction of a miniature curse that was coming towards him and easily eliminating it from the picture.
[name] continued expertly swinging his scythe around whenever he saw a curse coming towards him, not flinching as it died in front of him each time. it was obvious he was most comfortable with such a weapon, despite it being a couple times larger than his smaller frame. with how easily he handled it, though, it was somewhat obvious that he had been training with the weapon for a long time.
“oiii!!! i finished up on my part of the mall,” satoru shouted, his whiny voice echoing in the empty walls.
“same here!!”
[name] looked down at the pathetic curse that was shyly standing far away from him. it had an odd figure, a spherical body that was being held up by skinny blue legs that were wobbling from the abnormal amount of weight that they had to hold up. it was muttering some stuff about the fitting room and how the clothes weren’t fitting, making [name] believe it probably formed from the stuff people would feel about themselves in the fitting rooms.
he sighed, walking ahead and crouching in front of the curse. the scythe remained unmoving as it was leaning against his shoulder, weakly swinging in the air at the heavy weight of the blade hanging behind his head. he kept it secure with his arm over the handle portion, making sure that it didn’t fall over.
the curse reached its arm out to touch him, but with a simple shifting of his head into the opposite direction, [name] stopped the possible contact. instead, he just put his finger to the pudgy flesh of the curse’s body, grimacing at the feeling. and with a simple “shot” coming from his fingers, the curse began to flail in pain and agony. until it turned into nothing but ash and dust, being blown away by a passing breeze.
“hey, what was your total count?” satoru’s voice taunted from behind him, not really reading the energy in the room. [name] stood up, a completely dead look in his eyes. it almost shocked satoru enough to shut him up, but it would take more than a miserable face to ever make him close his loud mouth.
“i came up to about 60,” suguru said, “a bunch of small insignificant ones, really,”
“and i got to the eighties,” satoru grinned, roughly shoving his shoulder into suguru’s. the black haired man only rolled his eyes, “what about you? i doubt above thirty, am i right?”
in reality, [name] had killed more curses than the two combined. but he susposes that he had an advantage, wielding a cursed tool rather than using his actual technique. well, except to kill that last one. plus his high sensitivity in reading where the curses were gave him an advantage in finding the prey faster than the other two.
but instead of telling the truth and gloating, like he should have done, he just shrugged, “i didn’t keep track — i guess you win, gojo,”
that made the strong sorcerer pump his fist into the air, chanting about how [name] and suguru were going to be stuck doing his laundry for a month. he was too caught up in his celebration to notice how sunken in [name]’s face really looked.
it wasn’t just his eyes that appeared dead, but it was as if the color drained from his face, his eyes turned bloodshot, and he was weakly walking towards them.
suguru noticed, though. and it intrigued him as he peered behind [name]’s subtly limping figure, catching a pile of ashes that was blowing in the wind. he couldn’t connect the dots completely, but he did know that the two things he noticed were connected in some way.
“feeling alright? losing sucks,” suguru asked, trying to talk about more light hearted things in the face of his incredibly sullen classmate.
“yeah, it’s whatever, i guess,”
there was definitely a difference. less colorful choices of vocabulary were being used and suguru thought that was the most noticeable change in [name]’s demeanor. he wasn’t cursing satoru out for being an egotistical piece of shit with the biggest ego in the world. he was just blankly walking past the bragging man with not a care in the world.
suguru bit his lip, stopping himself from asking more questions and instead reaching into his pocket to contact their original driver to tell them that the job was done. and while suguru was theorizing all of these things to himself, it was obvious satoru didn’t even spend a second thinking about it. if anything he welcomed the new, depressed [name]. it made for perfect bullying material for him!
that sadist, suguru grimly thought in his mind as he listened to the phone ring. he informed the driver to come pick them up before turning back around to watch satoru and [name] interact with one another. with how off he was acting, it was a surprise to see satoru still adamant on tormenting [name]. wasn’t it obvious already he was not himself? couldn’t gojo just give him a break? but then again, why wasn’t [name] sticking up for himself? he wasn’t a little kid that needed suguru’s saving, but at this point, he might as well.
“c’mon, gojo, quit it already,” suguru spoke up, lightly slapping the man’s shoulder. satoru didn’t like that, though, obnoxiously stomping over to stand toe-to-toe with suguru.
“hah? c’mon, geto, you’ve got to see that this is a real pathetic scene, isn’t it? he can’t do anything in his life but constantly lose. it makes you wonder how it’s even possible for us to exist in the same world as him; the strongests and the weakest standing to be in the same jujutsu class? what a joke,”
suguru grimaced, pushing satoru backwards to create some space in between them, “that’s not even funny, what’s your issue, gojo? can’t you just shut up for a couple of seconds? would it really kill you?”
satoru pretended to barf, glaring at suguru, “oh, c’mon, don’t tell me you’re one of those righteous folks that sticks up for the weaker people?”
“i don’t have to explain shit to you — i don’t even know you,” suguru mumbles, not wanting to entertain him further. creating an argument would only make their moods worsen and become more bitter towards each other. in the midst of his annoyance, suguru glances towards [name] and scoffed to himself.
it was a bit pathetic of [name] to not even speak up for himself, he’ll admit that. but he wasn’t going to bully him just for that. he just wished that he had spoken up for himself in this moment, it would’ve at least been a sign to satoru that he wasn’t to be messed with. that he was strong, to some extent. but instead the man just stood there and took all the insults.
it made suguru both annoyed and angered.
why couldn’t [name] stand up for himself now? he was doing so before so easily and naturally. but now, it was as if all the energy was sucked out of him…
the ride to the jujutsu high was silent. and [name] seperated from the two the moment they stepped foot onto the school grounds. suguru remained stoic as he watched [name] walk away while satoru next to him only hummed in disinterest.
”i’m telling you, suguru, to not waste your time defending him. he’s got no place in the jujutsu world, weak sorceres like him that prove to be useless have no place standing next to us — or even shoko for that matter. she may not have fighting prowess, but her natural ability is remarkable. with [name]…there’s nothing remarkable about him. it’s as if he’s a normal human, he’s ordinary and dull. don’t waste your breath with him.”
that was all satoru said to suguru before walking off, his hands behind his head as he walked in such a lax position. suguru stood silent for a couple of moments before snapping himself out of his stupor and going to his room.
he looked at the room a couple of doors down from him, [name]’s room, and his lips were drawn into a thin, straight line. he entered his comfortable room without wasting another second.
he didn’t know that behind [name]’s door, the man had his knees brought up to his chest as he sobbed his heart out on the floor. the screen of his small tv was blaring back at him in the dark room, the screen being the only source of light. he was watching his favorite show, one that made him laugh and happy. but tears streamed down his face as he had to choke back on his sobs.
he tried forcing a smile on his face, making an unsettling expression a couple of times before he gave up.
he always hated this part.
but he had to persevere. he moved to his small music player at his bedside, grabbing the headphones that worked alongside them and falling onto his bed. he put the flimsy over-ear devices on, sighing as he looked up at the blank ceiling. soon, a compilation of his favorites songs filled his ears and he tried to be content with the feeling.
‘immerse yourself. and you’ll be okay in the morning.’
it was a mantra he repeated to himself until he felt himself fall into sleep.
he really hated his innate cursed technique.
-
sorry if u hate emotional mcs...this guy is gonna be one. but for explainable reason, trust! he's still going to be strong, too, though, so look forward to that! i can't wait to make him go #insane <3 but other than that, really fun to write since it shows the dynamic i imagined satosugu to have in their first years of jujutsu high !!! since the whole incident happens in their second year i rlly wanna focus on building the relationships in the first year and stuff, so things might be a lil slow to start, but when it starts ... it'll start, trust. tysm for being os patient w this even if it is short affa. i look forward to writing longer, more deeeeeep chapters in the future. much love <3
#≡;- ꒰ ° sensitive series ꒱#jujutsu kaisen x male reader#jujutsu kaisen male reader#suguru geto x male reader#suguru geto male reader#suguru male reader#geto male reader#satoru male reader#satoru gojo x male reader#satoru gojo male reader#gojo male reader#gojo x male reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#jjk male reader
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You belong to me..
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Shadow!femreader
Summery: she may have been a shadow and worked for graves but when your commanders friendliness becomes a bit to touchy it’s a problem, you don’t touch pretty things that belong to Simon Riley.
Warnings: possessiveness, unprotected sex, jealousy, praising, mentions of blood, not proofread
.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.
Simon hated watching those shadows touch you, even if it was ‘friendly’. You smiled at every praise that left Graves lips of how you did such a good job, the pat to your back to low for Simon’s liking and the way he let his hand drag as he walked away. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how Graves was towards you when nobody was around, even if he was your commander your superior he wasn’t allowed to touch you like that. Simon clenched his fist as you stood there soon turning towards him, your gaze different a look a smile that was only meant for him displayed on your pretty face.
A sweet face that he’d have buried in a pillow tears go pleasure running down you face. You saw the way his eyes watched you his dark eyes hooded dangerously staring you down. Price catching Simon’s attention was the only thing that made him look away from you, one last glance towards you before following Price.
Even with that gold ring on your finger signafying that you where his, the last name on your Files no longer yours but his. It wouldn’t be enough he wanted you to himself he had begged price multiple times to call a transfer of you to 141 but Graves always declined because you worked for the United States, the Shadows you belonged to Graves.
But jealousy gets the best of everyone right?
Simons hands grabbing the side of Phillips vest slamming him against the wall, “what crawled up your ass and died Lieutenant.” Graves groaned.
“Why is it you always find your hands on my wife.” Simon spoke his face close to Phillips, his voice dark.
An ugly smirk appeared on Phillips face the cocky twat only shrugged his shoulders a short reply “She’s nice, a good asset to me. She is a good asset.”
That right there if he could without geting put away for life would have taken his knife and silt Phillips throat, carving the commander inside out and feed it to his Shadows and Shepherd himself. Instead Ghost fist connected to his face, more than once, enough to leave blood on his hands and the shirt he wore. He let go of Graves letting him slide down the wall, “if you’re smart, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and mouth shut.” Simon spike lowly leaning down to make eye contact with him.
“I don’t see what she sees in you…” Phillip coughed wiping the blood from his nose.
Simon stayed silent, he didn’t need to answer that because you saw him for him he didn’t have to explain what you saw in him to someone who’s been wanting you to themselves. “I’ll give her the world a safe home and face to look at… your really think she’ll stick around you forever, please. I see her more day out of the year you do why do you think I decline those transfers from your captain. Just to spite you and help her forget you.” Phillip said blood dripping from his toothy smile.
Simon was fuming, his knuckles splitting even more from clenching them. Who did graves think he was? You stuck around someone like that, even bleeding and in pain graves still chose to test his limits.
One punch after another Simon was on top of him graves of course fighting back but a man’s rage was different few more punches and he stopped. Phillip was still alive he was gonna leave him there to rot nobody would believe him he was a traitor staying in UK soil this was bound to happen. And even then Simon had proof that it was just self defense.
Grabbing Philips hair making him look up at Him “Ya listen here, stay the fuck off my wife she can work for your or you’ll be smart and start a transfer. But may god help you if you lay a finger on her again.” Simon spoke harshly finishing by pushing Graves against the wall.
The click of your door opening startled you awake, but the figure that stood in the hall light that poured into your room made you less tense. “Simon..you can be in here..” your voice groggy, your eyes scanning over him at yuh turn your light on. He was covered in blood his mask held in his left hand as he looked at you.
You quickly got you closing your door pushing him to the bed sitting him down “who did this to you.. Simon.” You spoke lifting the bloody shirt off his head his blond hair sticking up.
“It’s not mine.”
It’s not his? Who’s was it then, who pushed him over the edge just enough. Was he gonna get in trouble for this, arrested. “Love stop the worrying..” he spoke breaking you out of your thoughts his large hands pulling you towards him.
He pulled you in close sitting you in his lap your thighs falling around his waist, the feeling of his hands grabbing your face made you wince a bit the feeling of dried blood on his hands made you cringe.
“You belong to me..” he spoke his dark eyes penetrating yours. “You belong to me.” His words stern and harsh.
“Say it.”
“I belong to you Simon.” You spoke his hands falling down your face his hands finding the bottom of your shirt lifting it over your head. You could feel the tension radiating of his skin, he was gonna take his stress and the rest of his anger out on you.
“Good girl, say it again, tell me I’m allowed to have you as I please.” He spoke his lips kissing your neck.
You obeyed “ I belong you you Simon, take me. Have me I’m yours.”
His lips met your kissing you so hungrily he was here to remind you who you belonged to. His hand grabbed the band if your panties pulling his hand back harshly snapping them at the pulling them if you your bare cunt exposed to his trousers. He lifted you up dropping your body on the the mattress as he undid his pants, quickly finding himself on top of you.
“Are you sure.”
“Take me Simon, I’m yours.”
That’s all he needed to hear, his fat head spreading your wet folds apart as he pushing into you. It’s been a minute since he’s been in you but your walls always seemed to mold around him so nicely, those gorgeous sounds you made slipping from your lips as he started moving.
The sound of skin slapping as he fucked into your poor cunt, you drooled for him. He knew how to make a mess out of you, your nails digging into his back as he bullied your pretty pussy. Even with every hard thrust he loved you so well, kissing you so tenderly as your cried out to him. You soft whimpers pleading for him drive him crazy this is how he knew you where his, his to destroy, his to love.
Your finger tangled his his blonde curls tugging on them as he made love to you cradling your head your knees pressed to your chest, he felt every inch of you. “Please don’t stop Si, god please don’t stop.” You cried out.
He didn’t the tightness of your walls staring to clamp around him was enough to bring him to his edge the moans that escaped your lips was enough to make him cum knowing that he made you this way. Your body folded into a mating press as you came on his fat cock. Your pleds for him to cum in you, that you wanted him to fill you marking you as his once again make you need him for days after. His thick seed filling up your puffy cunt, his white nut spilling out the sides as he fucked it into you.
“Common take it, yeah atta girl fucking take it.” He growled pumping in and out of you your nails digging into his biceps the feeling of his thick nut filling you making your eyes roll back.
His cock still in you as he sat up letting your legs fall down your chest falling up and down heavily, your body glistening from sweat. You were gonna be walking funny the next morning that’s for sure, “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asks his calluses hands gliding up and down your torso.
You shook your head no, “good..” he said leaning down kissing your lips tenderly.
“Let’s get you cleaned up yeah..”
.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.
Simon smut!! I have a Johnny one coming sooner or later!!
#ghost cod#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x black reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley cod#ghost x black reader#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#x black reader#black fem reader#phillip graves
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COD + Tropes (pt. 2)
which trope do they fall into when it comes to you.
SIMON GHOST RILEY + BLIND DATE
"i should be home right now" was the first thought simon had when he stepped foot into that fancy restaurant. the most dangerous man of the country, scared of a date.
in retrospect, he had it coming. he knew he shouldn't have let soap set him up with someone whose face he doesn't even know. and he is already sweating, feeling absolutely exposed without his mask and-
he saw you. and his mind went quiet. his only worry right now is how to be a worthy date for you. and yes, you must think he is an idiot for the way he keeps staring, but he can't help it. for once in his life he begs to whoever is listening: let this go right for me.
and someone must have heard him, because it was the best date of his life since you told him you would have preferred a more casual place. his heart skipped a beat when you mentioned you would cook for him on a second date.
now, he loves thinking about that first date, and how the second one turned into the best first kiss, and how the third one turned into you never leaving his bed again.
KYLE GAZ GARRICK + NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR
kyle was never a clumsy guy, so why does he keep tripping on his porch every time he sees his new neighbor? in his mind, you had to be flawed. something! you couldn't possibly be this perfect right? oh except he knows you are. he really tried to push his feelings, but you won his heart in a very simple way. his cat, peanut.
you should have seen his face the day he saw out the window and spotted his cat, comfortably sitting at your home. he came back later that night, but gaz kept it in his mind. and he started noticing it, the way you leave water for peanut in hot summer days and a window open to enter your room on rainy nights. and he just couldn't help it. after HOURS (yes, hours) of self pep talk, kyle knocked your door, offering a nice dinner and the chance to see peanut's own home.
peanut is delighted, specially because how years later, you brought to your shared place his new orange 'sibilings': bear and willow.
JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + LOVE CONFESSION
loud, funny, sarcastic, cheeky. that's soap. but johnny's face couldn't possibly get any more pink while looking at his best friend's sister. he has known you for years, spent dozens of holidays with you, shared hundreds of nights at clubs.
i mean, yeah, he felt like ripping his heart out when you brought your first boyfriend for thanksgiving. and he lied once or twice saying he was close to your house to give you a ride. and now... now maybe it's his age, everything he went through pushing him to chase after the only one who ever crosses his mind, and fuck- are your eyes brighter? he didn't think it was possible.
he thought about how to tell you in a million possible ways. and it came flying out of his mouth the second you told him you broke up with your man. you blushed and gave him a peck that stayed on his mind the rest of the night month.
"oh, me and him broke up last june actually-"
"go out with me"
KÖNIG + SECRET DATING
it was a very difficult mission: lots of planning, lots of packing, tracking, unloadings and-
this shouldn't be a problem. it has never been until now, but all he can think about are your lips while seeing you across the room. considering that you are a part of the 141, he barely ever sees you here, your relationship is exclusively civilian. so you both made a silent pact: no personal interact at work.
and it went well!... for like a day. and you really thought you could keep it a secret, but the way he looked at you and how bad you missed each other... you pushed it a little when you decided to let him sleep in your room.
now, it might be your dizzy head after making out all morning, but you forgot a very basic rule in the army; basically, no privacy. the fact that a superior could walk into your room at any giving moment is annoying, but at this point you were convinced the universe just hated you.
your lieutenant, the very overprotective man who took you under his wing, opened the door that very morning. ghost and könig looked at each other intensely for a long 10 seconds.
an hour, a black eye and a terrible lecture from price to simon later, könig still smiled. at least he didn't have to hide you anymore.
JOHN PRICE + LOVE/HATE RELATIONSHIP
you drive him crazy. he swears everything that comes out of your mouth makes his eyes roll. every petty comment, everytime you put him in his place, how you look at him during reports because you know you make him nervous. he hates when the rest sees the way he can't stand you, and why the fuck do they keep saying is sexual tension? because he gets closer to you when talking? that's purely for intimidation. in his defense, you hate him too! except he has no idea you blush the second he turns around, or how you defend him if another soldier questions his decisions.
feelings hit you both like a train a random night of spring. he heard crying in the hall, so soft he thought he was imagining it. he saw you and instinctively ran to you. in that situation, you just couldn't pretend anymore, you needed a minute to break about everyone and everything that has been pushing you to this moment. he wrapped his big arms around you, giving you the hug and body heat you both have been craving from each other. he internally promised himself to make it right, so his heart would never have to break again at the sight of your tears.
#cod mw2#cod hcs#cod mwii#cod#task force 141#cod x reader#cod headcanons#ghost x reader#john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#könig x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#könig#konig#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#john price#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#soap mactavish x reader
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I know I've said this before, but it's relevant now and I can't find the original post, so here it is again: as a poc if you're in the tags talking about how OFMD "glorifies slaveowners," I do not fucking trust you.
If you were someone who said "I dunno if I wanna watch a show that makes those real, awful people into the heroes," that's fair, have a nice day. I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about people who use the historical figures OFMD's characters are based on as a "gotcha" to feel morally superior to people who like the show.
Yes, there's a conversation to be had about how to treat historical figures in historical fiction. But personally? OFMD is a romcom, and the amount of slavery I want to see in my romcom is none. Including discussion of slavery, and doing so in a way that was respectful, would move the show firmly out of the romcom territory.
Plus? I know we've talked about this a lot, but (again) as a man of color I love the way the men of color on OFMD are written. The characters of color in this show are treated with so much respect. Characters of color are consistently shown as smart, well-groomed, respected, capable, and desirable. It is genuinely a gamechanger for me to have a romcom full of characters who look like me who are treated so well by the narrative! Not once is a poc introduced just for the purpose of trauma porn.
And, on top of that, on OFMD when characters act racist, we always get the last laugh. It's the "pirates killing bigots and indulging in queer joy" show!
Like I said, yeah, there's a conversation to be had here! But if you want to get mad at a show for glorifying racists, this one ain't it, and pretending like this show's genuinely very good and thoughtful anti-racist writing just doesn't exist makes it clear some people just want an excuse to hate a show that's popular.
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Hi! I was wondering if you could write about a mean!ghost x reader? Either angst or with a breeding kink🫶
it is a bit unholy how much this ask excited me. i should not be attracted to mean fictional men, but here we are at this point in history
thanks for this ask! I hope y'all enjoy
fem!reader x mean!ghost
MDNI
Warnings: ghost is really mean to reader in the beginning, canon-typical violence, CMNF, humiliation, slight breeding kink, angst, crying, brief mention of female masturbation, fingering, hair-pulling, predator/prey dynamics, pussy slapping, hate sex, orgasm denial, harddom!ghost, dub-con, slight making up at end
Reader is a sniper and your callsign is Reaper
not proofread
you did your best as team 141's new sniper. Gaz, Soap, and Price all warmed up to you rather quickly. you were deadly on the field and friendly when everything was said and done. really, there was no one who didn't like you. you were just too nice, your smile too pure, for anyone to have any problem with you.
Ghost was the only exception. the prickly lieutenant wasn't too fond of having another sniper on the team to compete with, especially since you were, on the books, a better sniper than him. his orders to you were always barked with much more bite than the orders he gave to others. his gaze towards you was always draped with a slight scowl. when you'd get the perfect shot, or save the mission from failing, you never got any praise. all he would respond with was a silent stare that ripped your heart into shreds, or a grunt that sounded more like disapproval.
and you had enough of it.
you asked Ghost if you could speak with him one night while you all were on base, waiting for your next assignment. he couldn't mask the slight surprise in his eyes, before he nodded curtly.
when the time came for you to speak with him, you couldn't help how your heart almost escaped your chest. not only was he your superior, he was Ghost, the one soldier whom everyone feared, like a cryptid in some military folklore. and here you were, about to walk right into his lair, right into his sharp teeth. asking the wolf why he preyed on the lamb.
but there was another problem. Ghost, for all of his horror and renown on the field, was so fucking hot. how he stood tall with his arm crossed in all his masculine glory. how deep and raspy he sounded when he grunted, or how gravelly his voice was in the coms in your ear when he clipped orders at you. how his ass looked in those tactical pants, how you've spent many nights thinking about him as you stuffed your cunt with your fingers. you hated how his voice, his oh so mean voice reserved only for you, soaked your panties almost every time.
you knocked on the door to his office, trying to ignore your pumping heart and throbbing core as you stood and waited.
"come in," his deep voice sounded through the door. you slowly opened it and entered without looking at him as you shut the door. you took a deep breath and faced him, but you kept your back against the door.
"sir," you said dutifully. a formality that you cursed. "i wanted to speak to you about something." your voice shook slightly. despite all the things you've seen, all the people you've killed, this one man has the power to make you weak in the knees and in the head.
"yeah, figured that much," he said shortly. "spit it out."
you gulped, and you stepped forward a little. you would face him confidently, not cowering against the door like a student called into the principle's office. you summoned yourself here willingly, and there was no backing out.
"sir, i've been on the team for a while, and i would like to think that i've been a great asset. but i'm wonderiong if i've done anything to offend you?" you stated.
silence. you could've heard a pin drop in his office as he stared at you with his arm crossed, leaning back against his desk. his cold stare could've frozen your heart.
he wanted you to crack under his gaze. to spit out something stupid that would give him an excuse to dismiss you from the team. but you knew better. you met his deadly gaze head-on. if you were to die here, like this, at least you would do so standing up for yourself.
he slowly blinked, and you felt your heart drop when he finally spoke. "offended me?" he scoffed. "don't flatter yourself."
you slightly furrowed your brows.
"and what makes you think you've offended me?" he asked mockingly. your blood was boiling. you gulped. fuck it. if he was going to be so direct and curt, so were you.
"sir, you treat me differently than the others."
ghost stood up a bit straighter as he squared his shoulders, his arms still crossed on his chest.
"oh yeah?" he goaded. "how so?"
he knew the answer already. he wanted to make you crack, to hear you say it.
"sir, you're a lot... harder on me," you said slowly as you chose your words carefully. "it's the tone in your voice, and the way you look at me."
he inspected you for a moment. "the way i look at you, huh?" he said quietly.
"yes, sir," you said as confidently at you could.
ghost began to walk towards you, slowly, as if he were a beast stalking prey from the shadows. he made a beeline towards you.
"and how is it you think i look at you differently?" he was now within arm's reach as he looked down at you.
you almost lost your train of thought as you looked up at him. this close, he smelled like cigarettes and a tinge of whiskey, and gunpowder. you hated how hot, how attractive, it was. how his eyes stared into your own.
"sir, you..." you thought for a moment. the tension could've been cut with a knife. "you look at me very...disapprovingly."
ghost blinked. "oh, so you want my approval, is that it?" he quipped.
your eyes went wide for a moment before you shook your head. "no, sir. i just want to be treated like an equal member of this team."
your answer must've surprised him, because he leaned back ever so slightly as his eyes widened. but he quickly caught himself and resumed his dangerously indifferent stance.
"and what would it take to make you feel like an equal part of this team?" he asked.
you hadn't expected that. you cleared your throat before you spoke. "i'd just like you to talk to me the way you do to the other members, sir."
"you want me to talk to you like you're a man?" he knew that wasn't the answer.
"not exactly, sir. i just want to be treated like i'm an equal. i can't help but feel like you don't like me."
now he really hadn't expected you to say that. you could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"you come into my office and accuse me of not liking you?" he said coldly.
you looked him in the eyes. "sir, i didn't accuse you. i'm stating my observations and asking you to confirm or deny them."
he observed you for another moment before he started to slowly walk around you, until he was at your back. the hairs stood on the back of your neck as he leaned down to your ear.
"what about the way you look at me?" he whispered.
you instantly blushed, and your heart raced.
"i've seen the way you stare at me, how your eyes wander," he rasped. "how you stare at my arms and my cock."
"sir! i -" you squeaked. but you were cut off when one of his gloved hands came to rest over your mouth, and the other around your stomach, holding you against him. his hardening bulge was pressed against your ass.
"shh, don't want anyone else to hear this, do you?" he cooed in your ear. you breathed hard as you looked up at him, his gloved hand still covering your mouth.
"don't hide it, Reaper, i know you want me," he whispered in your ear. your eyes fluttered shut as you slightly relaxed against him. he smirked.
"that's what i thought." he let you go, and you quickly turned around to face him.
"you don't even know mean," he challenged as he looked at you with bedroom eyes through his skull mask. "i'll show you just how mean I can be."
you gulped again as you looked up at him.
"strip. before i rip those clothes off of you," he commanded.
you looked at him with wide eyes. you stopped breathing.
"that was an order, soldier," he said shorter this time. "don't test my patience."
you slightly nodded at him before you took off your shirt slowly. once it was off, you held it in front of you, over your stomach. but the warning in his eyes told you all you needed to know. you let your shirt drop to the floor with a quiet thud before you went to untie your shoes to remove them and your pants. most of your clothes were now in a heap on the floor next to you, your bra and panties still on.
"all of it. off." he snapped.
you blushed as you removed your undergarments, and wrapped your arms around your stomach as you stood bare before him. he breathed in deeply as he raked every inch of your body with his hungry eyes.
he jerked his head towards his desk. "bend over on the desk. now."
you slowly turned your back to him, walking towards his desk. it felt as if you were turning your back on a predator as you did so. you bent over on his desk until your elbows hit the smooth metal. your nipples perked up from the cold, and you looked behind you as you saw ghost approaching your naked body. the thud of his steps sounded like an earthquake to you as you waited with baited breath.
"look forward," he commanded once he made eye contact with you. you obeyed instantly. his presence could be felt right behind you now, and you gasped as a gloved finger slid over your wet pussy. ghost groaned.
"you can't hate me that much, to be this fucking wet for me," he growled as he all too gently rubbed your folds. "this pussy's just been achin' for me, hasn't it?"
"s...sir..." you said through labored breaths, your eyes screwed shut. but they flew open when he slapped your wet pussy. he huffed out his version of a laugh.
"that's what i thought." he pushed his index finger right against your clit, and you lifted yourself up on your tiptoes as he gently stroked it. "such a brave girl, coming into my office like this. you just wanted my cock so bad."
you shook your head. "no, no that's not why I came. oh!" he pressed harder against your clit, and your body shivered.
"pretendin' to be mad at me. it's got me worked up, i'll give ya that," he said as he splayed one hand over your back, pressing you down.
"i am mad - fuck!" you gasped as he inserted two gloved fingers into your pussy and began to stroke. you couldn't help the moans that flew from your mouth as he hit that spot that made you see stars.
"nothin' but a moanin' bitch for me now that i've got my fingers in you."
you grit your teeth and bit your tongue so that you wouldn't moan. he withdrew his fingers from your pussy but still held your back down. you looked back at him angrily.
"oh, that upset her," he teased. he leaned forward, and his voice took a much deeper and serious tone. "you're going to have to beg for it."
"fuck you," you said on instinct. but your eyes went wide as you realized what you had just said to your superior.
and ghost laughed. "i could dismiss you just for that, you know?" he said as he began to tease your entrance again. your eyes fluttered shut. "but i'm willing to forgive you if you beg for my fingers."
you grit your teeth. the feeling of his gloved fingers against your wet slit was perfect, but not enough. his fingers had filled you up so well, so much better than your own.
"please," you whispered.
"hm? didn't hear you," ghost said as he gently teased your entrance with his fingertips. you gasped.
"p...please," you said a bit louder.
"please what?" his fingertips slid in and out of your pussy.
you whimpered. "please, please i need your fingers."
"atta girl," he cooed as he pressed two fingers inside of you again. you gasped louder this time as he stroked them perfectly on your g-spot. "you sure you want to be treated equally?" he egged you on. "i don't treat any other task force members like this."
you moaned as he continued to stroke you, but suddenly the hand that was on your back came up to your hair and pulled your head back towards him. his fingers began to fuck you at a brutal pace and you screwed your eyes shut.
"i asked you a question, Reaper," ghost spat.
you tried to remember his question as his fingers fucked you. he shook his head. "already forgot? dumb bitch. i asked if you wanted to still be treated like an equal."
you moaned as his fingers curved at the end with each thrust. "n...no!!"
ghost released your hair and held you down again as his fingers continued to fuck you brutally. the sounds of your wet pussy filled his office.
"that's what i thought."
your body began to shake as your climax neared. ghost was just way too good at this, with the way his fingers curled precisely where they needed him to and the pressure of his hand against your back.
"ghost....i'm!"
right as you were about to climax, the second you were about to come, ghost withdrew his fingers from you. you looked back at him wildly, your face red. "what...what the fuck..." you nearly sobbed.
ghost slapped your pussy, and you jumped. "you really think i'd let you come that easily?"
you heard the metal of his belt clinking and the soft sound of a zipper being opened. you tried to turn to see his cock, but one of his hands flew to the back of your head and held your head down on the table.
"you stay still," he growled. you had no other choice but to comply, and you did so willingly. he eased the tip of his cock inside your weeping slit, and you gasped. you thought the process was going to be slow, given how slowly he put his tip inside you, but he suddenly thrusted his entire length into you. his gloved hand closed over your mouth before you could scream.
"stay quiet," he rasped in your ear. you could feel his cock twitching in your warm walls. he groaned when you clenched around him. "gonna use this pussy now."
ghost set a brutal pace immediately, his balls hanging down and slapping your wet clit with each thrust. he stayed leaned over you, holding one hand behind your back by your wrist, with his other hand around your mouth. he grunted quietly with each thrust.
"I know you've been wantin' this."
you clenched around him, and he laughed.
"you like it when I'm mean to you," he stated. but you were too far gone to respond. "you like it when I yell at you, when I put you in your place."
you moaned loudly under his hand as your eyes screwed shut.
"can't let a pretty little face like yours make me go soft," he mumbled against the back of your head.
his words faded, and the tip of his cock reached all the way to your cervix as you moaned against his hand. your toes began to lift from the floor as he fucked up into you harder. you gripped the metal desk as hard as you could before you suddenly came hard on his cock. ghost couldn't hold back the strangled moan that escaped him.
"you like comin' around this cock?" he whispered. you nodded vigorously. "gonna cum in this tight pussy."
he thrusted hard into you, the slaps of skin so lewd, a few more times before he came inside you with a groan. he stood above you, panting, as you both came to your senses. he pulled out and immediately pressed two gloved fingers against your slit to prevent his cum from leaking out. you looked back at him, your hair frizzy and face red.
"still think I'm mean to you?"
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