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writersdrug · 2 months ago

Note

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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nanamiscocksleeve · 13 days ago

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LADS Men With a Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None! This is actually very fluffy! Maybe PG13 at most! (OMG NCS, no smut?!😲😲😲) A/N: Finally, got around to writing one of the promised headcanons! Now, allow me to be clear here. The amount of customization the game allows is incredible but MC is a little bit on the smaller side, and I would have loved to see an option for a more robust body build. The same way there are naturally thin and petite women, there are also bigger and more rounded women as well and I think there was an opportunity lost there. Anyone that tries to hate on this will be blocked immediately.

Zayne:

Zayne’s large hand envelopes yours as you walk to the cafe he’d recommended. You knew it was popular amongst the hospital staff and weren’t surprised to see familiar faces; one of the tables was completely occupied by some of Zayne’s surgical nurses.

“Why don’t you get a table?” Zayne brushes a kiss on top of your hair. “And I’ll get the food. Do you still want a hazelnut latte with your cake?”

“Yes please!” Zayne’s eyes fill with warmth as he squeezes your hand before walking towards the cashier. You wander over and pick a table near the nurses. You take out your phone and start to browse Instagram when a snide voice is heard from the table behind you.

“Gross.”

You freeze but don’t dare turn around. Maybe it wasn’t directed at you.

“That’s Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend?”

Shit it was.

“Why is he with that porker?”

“You’d think a man like that would have better taste.”

“I heard that they were childhood friends. He’s probably dating her out of pity.”

Even as your blood rages, you feel tears pricking the backs of your eyes. Were they aware you could hear them? And they had just said your worst fears out loud; that Zayne was dating you as a favor, not because he was actually into you. It was an old insecurity you hadn’t really grown out of. You startle slightly as Zayne suddenly sits down opposite you, food and beverages in hand. He sets down your coffee and cake while taking his own plate and tea off the tray.

“Why are you so upset?” He immediately observes the distress on your face and the way your eyes are glistening. You shake your head and dab at your eyes with a napkin, Zayne watching you intently. The cute slice of cake he’s gotten for you sits temptingly in line with your vision but right now it might as well be a lump of clay, all appetite for it gone.

Zayne’s eyes flick to the cake and back to you. “Did I get the wrong one?”

You’re about to shake your head no when the conversation at the table behind you picks up again. Clearly, they hadn’t noticed Zayne sitting down.

“He deserves so much more than that blob. There are so many attractive women at the hospital.”

“I agree. He could get anyone he wanted. Someone who actually takes care of their health and watches their figure.”

Shame fills you and you’re unable to look at Zayne in the eyes, knowing he had heard them, even though you know it was far from the truth. You ate all your vegetables and exercised frequently. But your body just refused to slim down no matter what you did. No matter how much you tried to lose weight, the weight just didn’t want to lose you. You’re about to get up and leave when Zayne speaks up, loud and clear, in a scathing tone.

“Right, because weight is the only indicator of a person’s health, isn’t it?” Zayne’s words drip with sarcasm.

The entire nurses’ table jumps at his voice, turning around to look at him.

“Oh, Dr. Zayne! We weren’t-”

“I don’t care what you weren’t doing. Do not talk about anyone that way, patient or not. Were you not taught compassion as part of your medical training? Or is it reserved for people who look a certain way?” His eyes are narrowed and the table looks tense. One by one the nurses start to get up, quietly murmuring apologies to him as they exit the cafe.

Zayne watches them go, anger still visible in his eyes before turning his attention back to you. His hand covers yours on top of the table. “Are you all right?”

You sniff. “I try. You know I try. I cook all my meals. I exercise. We work out together. But I can’t get the weight to go away.”

“No sweetheart. I know how much you take care of yourself.” Zayne reaches across the table to wipe your tears. “You do not have to lose any weight. You’re perfectly healthy, and as long as that’s clear, nothing else matters.”

“You’re not dating me out of pity?” You look at him uncertainly.

“Pity?” Zayne chuckles in disbelief. “Darling when you first started coming to my office I was sure you were out of my league.” His thumb strokes your hand reassuringly.

“You’re so amazing. Talented, compassionate, considerate. And all those things will always matter more to me than anything else.”

He looks at your neglected slice of cake. “Now don’t take out your sadness on the dessert. If you don’t finish it in 5 minutes, it’s mine.”

Rafayel:

You grip your wrap firmly around your shoulders, stepping with grace into the dazzling venue. You never missed Rafayel’s shows if you could help it but this time around, you had a skin in the game. Literally.

One night after a round of passionate lovemaking, you had woken to find Rafayel painting, and when you saw what he was working on, you’d blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.

There, in the brush strokes, he had painted you sleeping on his bed, your hair in disarray as it cascaded down your back, your face buried into the pillow and not quite visible. The sheets covered you modestly but the wide curve of your hips, the pudges of fat at your side, and the bra rolls under your arms were all painted with clarity and you found you couldn’t look at it. A feeling of unease had settled in your stomach. Was this the way your boyfriend viewed you?

You had brought it up to Rafayel in a small voice. “Do you think I’m fat?”

Your heart sank as Rafayel’s face, which had been so soft, a curve in his lips as he had painted, changed into a mask of dismay. “Fat?” he had asked, looking quite upset. “Where in this painting have I made you look fat?”

“Here. And here.” You point out the areas and Rafayel pulls you against him, holding you fiercely.

“Cutie, I swear to God I’m just painting you as you are. I don’t think you look fat at all. I’m just painting my beautiful girlfriend in all her glory.” Crushed against his chest, you try to talk.

“But, most women in paintings don’t look like that, they have smaller hips and thighs and mine look so…ugly.”

You thought Rafayel’s heart might have broken as he heard your word of choice. “There’s nothing about you that’s ugly. None of this is ugly. It’s a body. Your body. And baby I love every inch of it exactly as it is. I didn’t mean to make you sad while I painted all the pretty little pieces of you that make you whole.” His hands trace your sides, squeezing you reassuringly.

“There’s so much beauty in you baby. That’s all I see in this painting. You’ll always be the biggest masterpiece in my life.”

Knowing he held you in such high esteem had done wonders for your confidence, which was what you were trying to emulate as you walked into the gallery. Rafayel had hesitantly asked for your permission to showcase that painting for this show, promising he’d never use it without your consent. Nervous as you were, part of you was actually thrilled that it was going to be used. It was difficult to make out who the subject in the portrait was since your face wasn’t entirely visible.

Still, it felt like an out-of-body experience as you approached the hung canvas, observing the crowd that flocked to it. Some people nodded at it quietly before moving on, others commented under their breath that Rafayel should have chosen a more appropriate model.

“Can you imagine this woman being naked in his bed?” One of them asked and her friends snickered sycophantically. “He must have been drunk or something.”

“And why is that?” You turn in time to see Rafayel, dressed sharply in a couture outfit approach you and pull you to his side, his hand resting possessively on the jut of your hip. The woman backpedals.

“Mr. Rafayel! I mean, obviously, your work is unique but I can’t help but wonder what you might have been trying to convey when you painted someone with such a…heavy structure.”

Rafayel pretends to consider her words. “I suppose…people have different views on what beauty is. All I was trying to convey was how much I loved the person in the painting. Anyone that doesn’t see the beauty in this particular painting, well I’m afraid they have poor taste.”

Grinning at the affronted look on her face, Rafayel whisks you away, but not before you throw her a smug smirk over your shoulder.

Sylus:

Who knew underground mafia bosses loved their parties as much as their money? As strange as it was, the cliques had started becoming familiar with you hanging around. Anytime Sylus was invited to a gathering, it was expected that you were his plus one. While most of the men entertained polite conversation with you, it was no secret how coveted Sylus was by the women in the N109 zone.

They wrinkled their noses as you walked by, your head held high, knowing you shouldn’t let their words get to you but it was hard. You tell the bartender your order and put a $100 bill into the tip jar. After all, you couldn’t embarrass Sylus by handing out a miserly tip when he was supposed to be the richest man here.

You knew you looked good enough to kill; Sylus had chosen the gown you were wearing himself, even hiring a personal tailor to fit the dress to flaunt your best assets and a thick choker of diamonds glittered on your neck. The plunging V-line of the dress showed off a tempting display of creamy cleavage, the bodice of the dress pushing up your impressive bosom. The material crept over your belly and hips, your fupa visible a little more than you would have liked but Sylus had refused to hear otherwise. You remember the way his hands had caressed the bulge of fat after helping you zip up the gown, his low, contented, purr ringing in your ears.

“Kitten, you’re going to be every man’s envy tonight. How delightful that I get to flaunt you as mine.”

A group of women, all model-thin and gorgeous, approach the bar, their cold eyes fixed on you, wearing smiles that could cut glass. Your fingers drum nervously on the counter as you try to ignore them. One of the women spies the tip you had put in and jerks her chin at you, her lips twisting into what looks like a sneer.

“So Sylus has the money to let you throw around $100 bills into tip jars. I wonder…” She pauses and the group draws collectively closer like a cackle of hyenas. “Wouldn’t his finances be more wisely spent on other avenues?”

“Such as?” You ask carefully.

“A good plastic surgeon perhaps? Lord knows you could use some liposuction in more places than one.” Her entourage leers at you while covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Your back stiffens and your eyes widen in shock. You resist the urge to cover your middle. You knew you should have pushed harder to have the gown loosened. Your fupa, the soft squidge that bulged under the material of the dress…it was a mistake thinking you could attend a party with it showing up so obviously.

A million retorts form in your head but they all die weakly on your tongue. You had no defense, and you felt pathetic that you were sitting here and taking their abuse but your mind felt frozen, like you couldn’t plan your next move.

“How did you ever think that someone like you could pull off a dress like that?” The woman presses, her eyes boring into yours. Your pulse quickens as you try to find a way to escape.

“You’re right, she can’t pull off a dress like that.” A rich, deep voice answers the woman who pales as she sees Sylus drape his arm possessively around your shoulders. “It’ll wrinkle. That’s why I’ll be pulling it off for her as soon as we get home.”

His eyes flash scarlet as he signals to the bartender, who immediately starts pouring him a drink and expediting your cocktail, setting both glasses on coasters in front of you. You flush but try not to look too pleased as you take a sip, feeling the alcohol loosen you.

“Mr. Sylus.” The woman’s voice changes immediately and she steps back. “We were just talking about fashion.” she fibs hastily, trying to cover up her reason for using the word ‘dress’.

“Fashion?” Sylus looks at her patronizingly. “Do tell.”

Caught, she wets her lips before saying, “Oh we were talking about jeans and how they never fit or have pockets-”

“Hmm. I can understand these problems. After all, jeans without pockets are like women without curves…there’s nowhere to put your hands.” His broad hand shifts to your hip, his fingers subtly signaling it is time for you to go. You pick up your glass and Sylus holds onto you firmly as you walk back to the crowd.

Xavier:

You’re sweaty as you and Xavier walk back from the office gym to the locker rooms. Xavier drinks from his water bottle, swallowing zealously. “I think we’ve exercised enough for a whole week,” he says as you walk. You laugh and shake your head.

“We only did a half hour of cardio!”

“Yeah, but we lifted all those weights too! In fact, my muscles already feel stronger.” Xavier flexes his arm and a visible bicep forms, making you grin.

“Oh so strong,” you say as you reach out to squeeze. Xavier winces slightly and you quickly withdraw. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’m a little sore.” You reach the locker rooms.“I’ll wait for you outside.”

You nod and he disappears into the men's locker room. You wander into the women’s, undo the lock, and retrieve your bag, finding a stall to change your clothes. You peel off your damp leggings which stick to your plushy thighs and you drag them down, sighing in relief as the skin jiggles freely in the cool air after being stuffed in the heat of polyester for so long.

The skin on your butt and stomach are dimpled, something you’d come to terms with. You recall how nervous you’d been to let Xavier see you in a bathing suit at the pool but now you barely glance at them.

“It’s like your skin is smiling at me when I kiss it.”

That’s what Xavier had said as he kissed the soft flesh lovingly. Who could possibly feel self-conscious after that analogy? As you fold away the sweaty clothes into a garment bag, you hear several of the other changing room doors open and a group of voices fills the locker room as you change. You normally wouldn’t have paid attention but you freeze when you hear Xavier’s name.

“Why do you think Xavier works out with her of all people?”

“I know! They workout together like almost everyday and she hasn’t lost any weight!”

“She probably lacks the discipline to go on a real diet. It doesn’t matter how much she exercises, that fat isn’t going to go away if she doesn’t eat healthier.”

“Xavier really needs to find a better workout buddy. She only slows him down.”

Your heart clenches in your chest as you hear the cruel commentary. How dare these women talk about your body like it was a source of entertainment for them? Both rage and sorrow fills you as you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Suddenly all you can see are the flaws.

How cute, to call cellulite ‘dimpled skin’ like it was something to be adored. You stare at the lumpy skin, at the way your stomach and arms have stretch marks everywhere, the way your skin bulges over the band of your bra. You wait in silence as the women finish their chat and you hear them exit the locker room.

After what seemed like ages, you finally finish dressing and leave the changing room feeling humiliated. The post-workout glow had all but vanished from your system and you couldn’t shake off the feeling of being perceived like a huge, hulking, ogre; built big and lumberingly, not at all cute like the princess Xavier claimed you were. You leave the dressing room, then stare in disbelief as the same group of women crowd around Xavier as he waits for you. You lurk, not wanting to be seen, then one of the women speaks up.

“Xavier, if you’re looking for another workout buddy I’d be happy to tag along.” One of them chirps perkily.

Xavier chuckles politely and shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a workout buddy.”

“Oh cmon Xavier, don’t you think you need someone who can challenge you a little more?”

“I do actually. That’s why I work out with her.”

“Does she really challenge you?”

“I think she challenges me more than you. Didn't you finish last in the company relay race?” The woman’s face falls and your heart skips a beat.

“And you,” Xavier says as he turns to face another woman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but you struggle to push anything more than 75 pounds. My workout buddy does 150 easily. She’s very strong. Perhaps you might benefit from training with her.” The second woman looks offended even as she’s being chastised.

Feeling your confidence soar, you skip over to Xavier feeling as light as a feather. Xavier’s eyes light up as you approach. “Ladies,” you say smugly to their scandalized faces before pulling Xavier away from them, holding his arm as you walk away.

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yandere-romanticaa · 8 days ago

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I really enjoy the idea of a man like Ayato going into a tea house for some fine entertainment. The entire event is primarily disguised as a business dinner, but the Yashiro Commissioner knows better. He has been rubbing shoulders with this type crowd ever since he was a tiny lad. Besides, the eagerness which his dignitaries display is far too obvious to hide. They cover their grins behind their long sleeves, eyes gleaming with excitement and thrill at the thought of tonight's prospects.

Truthfully, Ayato was just as much of a savage beast as the men around him.

The key difference was that he was better in concealing his more perverse nature.

With a serene smile Ayato enjoyed the show, his eyes never leaving your figure, not even once. It was obvious that you were new amongst the girls, their saccharine grins far too picture perfect to be natural. You swished and swayed your body to the soft drums, making extra sure to highlight the best parts of your body as the table filled with customers in front of you cheered each of you all on, happily tossing shiny Mora in the air.

It was so hard to focus under Ayato's gaze. You knew who he was, everyone knew who he was. After the dance the ladies from the establishment cornered you, asking you questions on what the nature of your relationship was with the handsome commissioner. They advised you to stay docile and sweet in his presence, that you should never make a fuss and by doing so, not only will you never go hungry ever again, all sorts of doors could open up as well.

As expected, Ayato had ended up summoning you for a private show.

It was a very hush hush affair, with him being the only person in the room. He greeted you with tea, cakes and all sorts of tiny gifts which he had prepared before hand. By the end of the evening, you were no better than honey in his hands, hanging onto his every single word and whim, catering to his every desire he could come up with, no matter how small or silly it may be.

Ayato found himself enjoying how free you were, how open you were with your heart and desires. It was refreshing, like sweet spring air after a dark storm and he soaked it up like a sponge. The entire nature of this relationship was also beyond thrilling as it allowed him to unwind after a long and hard day of work.

However, he knew better than anyone that most things in life don't last forever. He could continue to play coy only for so long and since Ayato was not in the mood for games, he decided the best course of action to take was to just buy you out. He had the money and you would surely enjoy the comfort he would provide for you.

It was an ideal situation, truly.

He sat you down and shared his plans, eager to see a happy grin on your face as you chant Thank you, Master Ayato! over and over, as you tripped on your feet in a rush to embrace him.

Ayato typically likes surprises. They keep things fun and interesting, but the one you told him was anything but.

With confidence, you told him that you had no desire to stop working in this place, shamelessly admitting that you enjoyed making the various clientele satisfied with your services, regardless of how dirty it could be. The freedom, the pleasure, it was too much to give up.

His lips formed into a wicked little grin as his felt his heart beat through his chest. In a way, he admired your attitude. It was dazzling just how bold you had become and how you were so unafraid of him.

After that night, you figured that you would never see the man ever again.

Days went on, customers came and went and there was no sign of your dazzling commissioner. That did not stop the whispers and rumors from spreading like wildfire, particularly from the more devious or jealous women which you worked with. Venom would coat their words as they would eagerly remind you of just how you had cost them one of, if not the best customer in the entire nation.

It was difficult to tell whether or not they were celebrating this fact of it they were legitimately upset with you. However, this storm would soon come to pass, or so you had hoped. You always found it a little odd how Master Ayato had just left you to your own devices, how he hadn't bothered to pull any strings or just flat out threaten you for disobeying him. Most men in his position could afford such a luxury because the fallout would be next to none.

It would cost him nothing to just toss you onto the cold, dark street like a wet dog. He would not even need to break a single sweat to make you fall apart.

But your pride was too strong. It burned deep in your belly, the desire to spread your wings and do as you wished. Mora was the key to solve all of your problems and in due time, more than enough was going to be saved for any possible endeavor of yours. On several different occasions you had confessed to Master Ayato that you had wished to buy better make up, prettier clothes and a better house than you had already owned. Not to mention your unyielding wish to explore the world, to see step foot into each nation and see their glory with your own two eyes. You wished to sip on fine Mondstatd wine, to see the bright lanterns in Liyue, to watch the night sky in Snezhnaya.

And he had listened patiently to you, soaking in each word. He would pat you across the head or pinch your cheek and mutter how one day he was sure that all of that would come true.

People always did say that a person ought to be careful for what they wished for. Why?

Because they might just get their wishes granted.

On a chilly autumn morning, shouts rang loudly from outside of your establishment. Confusion was written on everyone's faces as they stared at the main entrance, trying to figure out who was causing the commotion.

Suddenly, the door was kicked down with such brute force that you could not even gasp, the wood simply breaking away from the hinges. Soldiers in armour filled the room, weapons in hand as they shouted about some arrests being made.

It was hard to focus with the commotion around you.

The soldiers were brutes, kicking away and smashing everything in sight. Fine paintings and scrolls were all over the floor like trash, the dashing kimonos and dresses snatched from their stations by feebleminded men, none of which cared for your safety and security.

Cries filled the air the head of the establishment was dragged by two soldiers, their arms wrapped tightly around the woman as she begged and pleaded for mercy, forgiveness and everything in-between. The pristine makeup she had so tirelessly worked on was but a fleeting memory, leaving only large traces of inky black mascara falling down her pale cheeks and messy blood red lipstick strewn across her tiny lips.

It felt like a nightmare come to life.

Like a vicious snake, a handsome man in white garbs had slithered inside the room, his steps so quiet that not even the wind could sense him coming. He clapped a few times, the pristine glove on his hands shining underneath the morning sun as the Yashiro Commissioner stared down each person in the room, his sea blue eyes laced with mock pity.

His voice filled the air to a suffocating degree, so much so that it made you choke on your own breath. There he was, Kamisato Ayato in the flesh, standing proud and strong, like an untouchable arrow seeking its target. He was so charming, so convincing that if you hadn't known better, you too would have bought into his lies.

How could someone so handsome be so adept at spewing such filth? Even as he accused your boss of various crimes, his voice was nothing less than kind and concerned.

He felt less like a man and more like a god. A twisted blend of mercy and cruelty who had been brought down from the heavens to cast judgment on mere mortals such as yourself.

In a flash, his eyes locked in on yours and it was all too clear on what he was aiming for. His gaze was deceitfully sweet but underneath that handsome gaze was an ever growing desire to seek, trap and possibly even maim.

Ayato always thought of himself as at least somewhat of a civil man but not even he was immune to the most basic of human desires. Each man who walked the earth was a beast, it just took some longer to wake up and realize that truth.

Kamisato Ayato had bared his fangs and shot you a grin, not even shying away from his true motives. He never lied when he said that he thought that your dreams were going to come true one day.

He merely left out the part that he was going to be the one who would get you there.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #yancore #genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere kamisato ayato #genshin ayato #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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user211201 · 3 months ago

Text

Listen Up: Swimmer

--- Originally posted on 2021-04-21 by newyoutf ---

Jon twisted back and forth under the showerhead, singing along to the music blasting from his phone on the counter.

The music lowered in volume for a second, making way for two loud dings. Jon reached out from the stream of water and fumbled with the screen in his wet hands. It was a message from Oliver, his best friend, “Hey bro, got something you should listen to.”

“Bro?” Jon wondered. Since when did Oliver say “bro”? Jon blinked, struggling to think for a moment. Oliver talked like that all the time, he was American after all... wasn’t he?

Attached to the message was an audio file. Jon figured it must have been a new song by one of the pair’s favorite pop divas, perhaps a new leaked track. Jon hit the play button, placed the phone back down, and returned to the hot water.

A harsh static buzz and what sounded like garbled speech boomed from the phone, taking Jon by surprise. The corrupted audio cleared up after a moment and a deep, male voice started.

“Welcome. This audio program is custom designed. Just for you. Ensure you are in a comfortable, private place. You will not want to be disturbed.”

“Oliver,” Jon rolled his eyes, thinking that surely something starting this ridiculous would be some sort of joke or meme. After all, Oliver had always been a dumb joker. “Wait,” Jon felt confused, he could have sworn Oliver was a quiet, twinky lad like himself?

Jon realized couldn’t form a solid impression of his friend in his mind. They met at their university in London and became best friends, bonding over their mutual love of pop music and ogling the campus jocks. But now it was like that reality had been shattered. Those memories gave way for ones of meeting each other at the campus gym shortly after Oliver arrived from the US. Oliver was his best, hot, American friend, right? Jon’s cock twitched at the new image of his friend as he placed his face under the stream of hot water in an attempt to clear his head.

“Relax. Take a deep breath, in and out.”

Jon unwittingly followed the instructions. The frown fell from his face and his body relaxed, taking in the warmth of the water.

“You’re Oliver's best friend. Makes sense, given you’re a total alpha too.”

“Both wha- ah! Ah!”, Jon planted his hands against the wet, tiled wall as the words sent pleasure rippling through his body. He looked down feeling a strong warmth against his leg but it wasn’t the hot water. His semi-hard cock had blasted a rope of cum against his leg. “What the fuck?” Jon mumbled.

“What a coincidence that you’re both six-foot-four. It serves him well in the gym, the same way it serves you well in the water.”

Jon howled in ecstasy, spluttering and moaning, as his five-foot-nine body stretched higher. His soft cock drooled hot cum as it rapidly began to rise. His arms pushed against the wall, lengthening for better performance in the pool. He stepped backward as his head struck the showerhead and rose even higher. Hot water poured down the front of his much longer torso and legs.

“Your shoulders are so broad. Typical of you swimming jocks.”

Unable to resist the command, Jon's shoulders crunched and throbbed, thrusting out larger and bulging with muscle. “God! W- What the fuck i- is... ugh... happening?!” he roared, terrified not just by the growth gripping his body, but the incredible pleasure it wrought on him.

“Those are some long, meaty fucking arms, Jon.”

“F- fuck!” Jon roared, spraying a massive load up the back of the shower feeling his narrow arms explode with thick mounds of muscle, rippling across his biceps and triceps. The growth spread down his arms, his forearms bloating with tight, lean muscle. His wrists cracked as they thickened.

“Hands that big must be useful for pushing through the water.”

Stifled screams rumbled from Jon’s tightly clenched mouth. His hands were pressed against the back of the shower, clicking and twitching as they began to swell across the tiles. The fingers accelerated longer and longer. His palms spread monstrously broad. He flexed his hands, in total awe of their disproportionate size; perfect for pushing through the water.

The experience was like nothing Jon ever felt. A sexual eruption taking place across every cell as the words rewrote his body. “Can’t... resist... so g- good,” Jon grunted, gasping for air.

“You clearly work out for the aesthetics as well, not just the pool. Your shredded chest is proof of that.”

Jon couldn’t even attempt to fight anymore, but nor did he want to. His chest puffed and bulged, distorting the path of the water running across it. The previously non-existent pecs pushed outward from his widening chest. His cock trembled as the changes took hold in his abdomen, causing his flat stomach to erupt with tight, thick abs. Jon gripped his ass, feeling it swell into his huge hands while he erupted cum across the tiles once more.

*“That’s the spirit, Jon. You’re a *stud.”

Jon felt those words echo in his ears and rumble down his throat. Grunts and pants became deeper and deeper as his thickened and voice morphed. His head groaned as it enlarged to fit his frame. Hair began to flourish out of his cheeks and across his upper lip while the mop of medium-length hair on his head retreated, leaving a short, handsome cut in its place. He stroked his cock with one hand and clasped his face with the other feeling his jawline refine and the angles of his face sharpen. He turned to the mirror cabinet, seeing just a sliver of his improved visage. Jon gasped at the sight and immediately ejected another load of cum.

He didn’t just look like a swole swimming jock. He felt like one too. He rejoiced in his mind being filled with thoughts of the pool, weightlifting, spotting his bros at the gym, and fucking them afterward.

“Good to see the bottom half matches the top.”

Jon’s legs trembled. He clutched the slippery tiles harder to hold himself up, the pleasure reverberating through his legs almost too much to bear. Muscles spasmed in his calves, swelling with every little twitch. Muscle wasn’t all that was gracing his legs. Dark hair grew forth from the skin, coating his powerful legs in a layer of fur. Jon swore under his breath, impressed by the hair spreading up and down his legs. He thought about how he refused to shave like other swimmers, he liked the hair, and regardless his superior form needed no extra boost. His body responded to the suggestion, triggering a fine layer of hair to sprout from his forearms, between his pecs, in a trail over his abs and across the tops of his feet.

Memories of the pool, the beach, and victories across university swimming tournaments swarmed his brain. Trophies and medals materialized in the bedroom just next to where he was showering.

“Damn, it’s no surprise you outperform everyone in the water with feet that massive. And you know what they say about that, Jon.”

Every one of the toes on Jon’s size eight feet surged with pleasure. He moaned loudly as they began to push across the floor of the shower while his soles stretched to catch up. He recalled new memories of having large feet, how they propelled him to victory in the pool, and the comments people would make: “Bigfoot”, “You know what they say...”, “Where can you even buy size sixteens?”

“Sixteen?!” he repeated in his mind. The brief shock turned to anticipation as he felt his soles continue to march forward longer and wider, his toes twitching while they reshaped long and meaty. Jon growled aloud as he expelled another load, “God, yeah... so f- fucking... big.”

The jock trembled under the stream of hot water, desperate for sexual release. He looked down as the expanding feet settled into excessively large size sixteens, curling his long toes as his six-inch cock began to quiver in its desperation to grow larger as well. It felt as though it were perpetually hardening, only to then push longer and girthier instead. Jon grasped his wet cock and thrust into his grip hard and repeatedly. He relished in the sensation of the veins bulging and the shaft thickening.

*“I guess what they say really is true, isn’t *it?”

The audio toyed with him, pushing his cock just that little bit longer and pumping it ever so slightly thicker. It pulsed and twitched, gradually and slowly with every breath. His uncut, British foreskin slid further backward, as a larger, blunter head swelled outward. Jon smirked as he groaned and growled, stroking faster and faster, enthralled by the beautiful nine-inch weapon he now possessed.

“Cum.”

“Oh yeah! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jon made three final long, hard tugs on his thick pole before roaring in delight as unspeakable ecstasy filled him. Cum rocketed upward against the water rushing from the showerhead, ejecting what remained of Jon’s old genetic material while orgasm after orgasm pounded his body.

Exhausted and dripping wet, he stepped slowly out of the tub, unsteady on his new legs and feet.

*“Remember to share this recording with your friends*.”

And with that, the playback stopped. Jon looked at himself in the mirror, still shocked, but enraptured with his new body and looks. He grabbed his phone and wiped the water from the screen, struggling to unlock it with his longer fingers. He typed out a reply to Oliver, “That shit was fucking lit mate!”

A few miles away, a sweaty Oliver was busy lifting weights, waiting for his friend to give him some indication that something had happened. He had to place the weight down slowly as his mind blurred for a moment. He saw the images and memories that he had of his friend change and shift. Gone were the images of a quiet little twink, replaced by those of a loud, masculine swimming jock. Oliver smiled cockily realizing what had just happened. Then, as if on cue, his phone vibrated with Jon’s reply. Following was a photo of a huge, semi-hard cock swinging above two gargantuan feet. Oliver felt his own cock stiffen slightly at the image.

“Hell yeah, bro! You should be selling these pics like I do,” Oliver sent in response, getting a deep chuckle out of Jon.

Both men now looked at their phones, horny and pondering who next to share the mysterious audio file with.

#male tf #male transformation #muscle grwoth #jock tf #swimmer tf #sport tf #cock growth #americanization #foot growth #listen up series

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andromedas-wrath · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw your post and what you do/don't write and was wondering if you could write anything regarding male hotd characters x Tulley/Riverlands reader? Preferably Tully, they're my favourite house. I don't mind gen neutral but I am fem, either way is okay :)

Hi!! This is my first request (which I’m so happy about, so thank you!! I hope you enjoy! (Edit- yall this took me 3 hours omg.)

family, duty, honor- J. Velaryon

Word count- 2759 words

Summary: Jacaerys travels the river-lands, reaching Riverrun to get House Tully to declare for the blacks. They seem unwilling- until Lord Tully strikes a deal.

WARNINGS: slightly uncanon events, arranged marriage, 18+, speaking of war+violence, medieval customs, romance, p in v, vulgar language, unprotected, but lovey dovey!

Jacaerys and his men had taken most of the Riverlands for the blacks- securing what seemed to be almost a victory- by blocking out the greens from the majority of the wetlands- it gave them a large upper hand in what battles were going to be.

They took refuge inside the castle of Riverrun, where the Tully’s resided. The large dining hall held many of his men. He stood before the men of house Tully, lord Grover, Oscar, and Kermit Tully all sat in their seats, advisors beside them.

Lord Grover sat on his throne, head propped against his fist, as he spoke, “What brings you to Riverrun, boy?”

Jacaerys remained diplomatic and cool, as he stood straight and replied

“My lord, I come on behalf of my mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen. If you vouch for her claim to the throne, you will earn protection, and be heavily rewarded.”

Whispers spread throughout the court, servants stopping to listen as Jacaerys never slightly turned his gaze from the lords.

Lord Tully licked his lips softly, sitting up straight on his throne.

“You mean to persuade my house, for gold dragons, for protection from whom?”, lord Tully hardened his gaze.

“With your support, my lord, you will have the protection of the men of the north, my men. Alongside that, my mother would gift your people a dragon.”

Lord Tully laughed, leaning back into his seat, a leg thrown over his relaxed one. “Hah! You mean to give me a hatchling, like you did to Lady Arryn?”

Jace’s gaze hardened, yet he remained calm. “No hatching my lord, Vermithor, a fine and aged dragon.”

The lord scoffed, “You dare try throwing a dragon- with no rider into this. You dare embarrass my house- with greybeards and unwanted dragons?”

Jacaerys smiled, slightly angered by the man’s insolence, before replying, “For now he lacks a rider yes, but I assure you, once we find a rider worthy of him, he will be a ruthless one- one who can fight for our claim.”

Lord Tully slammed his cane onto the ground, his grandsons watching him as he leaned onto it, meeting Jacaerys eyes with a dark scowl. “House Tully, will not have such idiocy thrown in our quarters.”

Jace’s jaw tensed, breathing out as he met the lord's eyes. “I mean no harm- lord Tully, I am willing to strike a deal to have your house’s power and land, to fight against the greens.”

Lord Tully’s advisor whispered into his ear, as his face somewhat brightened, as he leaned into his chair, a delighted look on his face, as he spoke, “Prince Jacaerys, it’s come to my attention that you are not betrothed.”

Jace’s gaze hardened, somewhat from surprise and oddity of the question. “I am not.”

Lord Tully turned to his grandson, Oscar. “Go fetch your sister, lad.”

Oscar looked between him and the prince, sensing a rise of tension, as he scurried off, footsteps heard against the cobblestone floors. Jace cocked his head, questioning.

“And just what do you mean- by asking me of my marital status?”

Before lord Tully could answer, Oscar walked back in, a girl trailing behind him, as the court went quiet. She was clad in her house colors, a dark navy dress, her hair done intricately into braids. She curtsied before her brothers, moving beside her grandsire as she sat in her throne next to him, as Jacaerys and her met eyes.

He took in almost every detail he could, her soft features, the way she held herself- it made him swallow hard, before he turned his gaze back to her grandfather.

Lord Tully smiled, a hand motioning to her. “This, is my granddaughter, Y/n. My third-in-line heir of House Tully. She sits here today, a maiden, unbetrothed.”

Jace’s gaze turned from confused, to almost knowing, as he looked between the lords. He held his tongue, as he kept a careful expression.

Lord Tully smiled, “We will take on your- proposition, your gold dragons, grey beards, dragon- if, you take my granddaughter's hand.”

The hall erupted into gasps- whispers- all sorts of muffled noises, as he saw her eyes widen, her gaze falling to her lap. His heart beat in his chest, as shock struck him. He spoke diplomatically, yet fueled with emotion. “Is this some type of joke, Tully? You think that marriage is what it takes- for our support? You mean to throw your granddaughter at me and expect me to agree?”

Lord tullys expression changed, his smile dropping, as his voice dripped venom. “Then Riverrun will have to turn green.”

Jacaerys' face paled as Lord Tully made his threat. His heart began to beat faster and a cold feeling crept through his veins. He didn't want to make more enemies, and the idea of House Tully siding with the Greens was terrifying. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the girl's face was expressionless, but her eyes gleamed with something he couldn't quite place. He looked back to the lord, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Lord Tully sat up, “So now my prince, I must request- take my granddaughter's hand- or leave.”

Jacaerys' mind was a storm of thoughts, his heart and mind battling each other. He couldn't take his eyes off her, his emotions in turmoil. They needed the Tully’s, for they could not win this war without their support. He hesitated, his breath hitching for a moment, before he replied

"I'll take her hand."

Her and her brother’s eyes met, as her mouth gaped slightly open, gasps and whispers spreading through the castle, before lord Tully let out an amused laugh, standing on his cane, pulling her into a side hug. “What a glorious day for Tully history!”

The room erupted into cheers, as Jacaerys gaze locked onto her form, as she squeezed out of her grandfather's grasp, running up the stairs and away from the attention. Jace felt his body move after her, as he followed her down the torch-lit halls.

He found her, standing as she looked out the window, watching the rain. He approached her side, as she turned to meet his gaze. He finally managed to break the silence.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

She nodded softly, turning back to the window. “I assume, this isn’t of your heart’s desire.”

He looked out the window, thinking of how to reply. “It’s- not what I imagined when I thought of taking Riverrun,” he paused “It’s unexpected, is all.” He met her gaze once again, as her face was lit by the torches.

Her gaze hardened slightly. “I never expected, to be auctioned off as such. I, am a lady, I have always been told “Family, duty, honor”, for it is what drives house Tully, my prince.”, she met his gaze, turning to him. “If that means that- I must marry you, then I grant myself to you.”

He met her gaze, taking her hand, his larger hand holding her hand to his lips, as he placed a whisper of a kiss over her knuckles. “If it helps, I never imagined this either.”, he fiddled with her hand. “But I am not against having your hand, my lady.”

Her face slightly softened, a soft flush covering the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. “I never imagined you to be such a gentleman.”

He slightly grinned, cocking an eyebrow, as he spoke lowly, “Do I seem so cocky, my lady? How you ail me.”, he teased.

She smiled, and he swore his heart increased double, if not triple. He took in her soft expression, and for a moment, he didn’t feel so guilty about being okay with having her all to himself. She caught his gaze, as they both were lost to eachothers intense analysis.

He felt a wave of confidence, as tucked her stray hairs away from her face, whispering, “I never knew tullys for their beauty, until you, my lady.”

She shivered beneath him, her eyes fluttering, as she whispered. “I wish you to call me by my name, as I should call you yours.”

His breath caught, as he softly smiled. “Y/n. A pretty name, fit enough for your beauty.”, he rested his hand on her face.

She met his eyes, as a soft recognition of want- desire was felt between them. He slowly moved towards her, limits of inches between them, as they could almost hear eachothers hearts beneath their own touch.

She moved her own hands to his face, pushing soft curls away from his face, as she whispered, “Is it wrong for me, to desire your lips upon mine?”

He froze for a second, looking between her eyes, taking a shaky breath as he took her all in. He finally spoke,

“No.” His thumb caressed her cheek. “It’s not wrong, for I long for you too.”

She met his gaze with a small smile. “Then, if I’ve heard right, Velaryon men are men of action.”

His gaze darkened, as he closed the further distance, pulling her close to him, as he leaned down, whispering to her lips, “You’ve heard correctly my lady, for we also have little patience.”

He pressed his lips into her plush ones, as he felt a spark between them, as if all breath was lost to her. He placed a hand behind her head, not prince-like of him no, but all he felt was a pure, pure desire for her, and he didn’t care who they were. She whimpered into him, as a hand grasped his cloak, pulling him impossibly closer.

He felt as if he was swimming in the depths of a dream, her noise urging him further, as his hands explored her soft body, clutching her dress in his hands, finding anything to pull her closer.

She pulled away for air, gasping as she met his eyes, her once bright eyes, darkened with desire. She spook, breathless.

“My room- a stride away.”, she whispered out.

His gaze darkened, his heart beating in his throat. Images of them- in her room flashed through his mind, as he nodded, speaking lowly.

“Lead me, pretty one.”

As she closed the door to her quarters, he was on her in a second, pinning her against the large wooden doors as their lips met in a heated dance. He tangled his fingers in her hair, as he angled her neck open, for his mouth to mark her. She whimpered as he sucked, leaving marks all over. He groaned out, moaning against her.

“You’re mine for the taking.”

She pulled his head away slightly, panting as she whimpered out, “the bed, please Jacaerys.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, as he carried her to her large canopy bed, laying her down on the soft covers, climbing above her and pinning her down, holding her close, as his eyes studied her.

“Gods- I have never seen such a sight as you.”

She sat up, holding his face, speaking softly, “Remove my dress.”

He felt a jolt of heat and desire run through him at her request and didn’t need to be told twice. He helped her sit up, his hands going to the laces that held her dress on her body. Slowly and gently, he untied the laces, revealing more and more of her skin to him. He took his time, his eyes roaming over the newly exposed flesh, his fingers brushing against her skin in the process. Her dress fell off the bed, as she laid amongst the sheets, her nude body shown to him.

He shuddered out a groan, as he simply stared. He was new to all of this- contrary to many thoughts of him. He was a soldier, a dragon rider, yes- but he was not familiar with a gift from Aphrodite- such as her. The mere sight of her sent blood straight to his hardening cock.

He quickly removed his garments, as he climbed on top of her, caging her, his muscular body holding her carefully, as he pressed a scorching kiss to her lips, his hands wandering over her body.

His touch was nervous- gentle, but filled with the need to memorize your curves, everything.

She spoke up, differed from her soft moans, “Gods- I need you Jacaerys- I can’t take this.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words. The urgency in her voice, the need and the desire in her eyes - it was almost too much for him to bear. His own lust and need for her were almost overwhelming, and he knew he couldn’t keep her waiting any longer.

“I’m here.”

He reached a nervous hand down to her heat, watching her reaction, as she swiped a digit through her wetness, as she whimpered. He groaned alongside her, teasing her by accident, before she grasped his hand, and lead a finger into her softly. He groaned, feeling how she took him in, held him so close. He slowly moved his finger, thriving off her noises, as he slowly humped her leg. He huskily spoke, groaning.

“Gods- you hug me so good- can’t imagine how it will really feel.”

She moaned from his talk, shivering. She uttered out a response. “If you keep speaking like that- I won’t be able to keep you away for much longer-“

His cock jumped, as he groaned. From that, he stopped his movements, turning her head towards him. “Do you want me, pretty thing? Want to feel me?”

She moaned in response, meeting his eyes with frequent nodding, and pleading. “Gods yes- just take me now-“

And with that, he pulled his hand away, earning a whimper from which he smiled, he pushed her legs apart, settling between her. He noticed her nervous expression, as he kissed her lips slowly and softly, pulling away to meet her eyes. “Do you want this?”, he spoke softly

She nodded softly, biting her lip. “Im a maiden, Jacaerys.”

He smiled softly, holding her hand. “I’ve never done this either- I want to learn with you.”

She nodded, as he looked down, positioning himself, as he slowly inched in, groaning as she took him in. They both moaned together, trembling.

“Gods you’re- amazing. Never thought it would be this good.”

she whimpered, holding his hand tight. He noticed her tense, as he stopped, meeting her eyes, “are you alright? I can stop-“

“No- no please don’t-“, she uttered out. “You feel- you’re huge, Jacaerys.”

He shuddered, moaning from her praise, as he started to move. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last long-“

They moaned in unison as his movements progressed in speed and depth, his hands trembling as he held her hips, slapping noises echoing across her chambers.

He met her eyes- and that’s where he almost came down. She looked angelic, her eyes stuck on him, her face twisted in pleasure, as her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs pinned behind his back. He pressed his lips to hers in an instant, quickening his pace. She moaned into him, speaking, whilst meeting his eyes.

“Feels so good- gods- I’ll give you an heir, anything you want-!”

And that's where he felt like he almost died. Giving her an heir- fueled him faster, making him groan, his hips snapping into hers as he sucked hard on her neck, popping off as he whispered.

“Fuck- I’ll give you as many as you want- gonna make sure it sticks-“

Their moans pitched higher, as he started to whimper, his head falling into her chest. “I can’t last much longer- you’re too tight-“

“Come down with me- please-“

His movements turned sloppy, as he quickly pressed his lips to hers, his hips stilling, as they moaned into each other's mouths, his seed filling her.

He pulled away, kissing her cheeks, as he pulled out slowly, both groaning from the loss of contact, as he slumped beside her, pulling her into his chest.

She rested her head on his chest, looking into his eyes, with a breathless smile, which he met with a bashful smile.

She smiled, fluttering her eyes shut, speaking, “Quite improper for a prince, bedding his wife before they are married.”, she teased.

He flushed softly, pulling her closer. “You’re saying you didn’t like it?”She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“I’ve never felt more loved, Jacaerys.”, she met his eyes.

They both melted into each other, naked bodies embraced under the might of the gods, old and new.

Houses intertwined for family, duty, honor, and more importantly, love.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys strong #jacaerys smut #jacaerys valaryon x reader #hotd #x reader #fanfic #game of thrones

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slowbison · 1 year ago

Text

Bottom! Leon S. Kennedy x Top! Male Reader

Summary: Leon had been caught off guard and got hurt in the process. Running out of supplies, you come across the merchant who offers a questionable solution which you take, in an effort to help Leon. Later on, he notices something rather wet staining his shirt. Coming from his nipples.

words: 2.3k

warnings: male lactation, praising, frottage, hand jobs

Heavy footsteps echoed behind you as you frantically scanned the area for any temporary shelter. Your eyes landed on a dilapidated home in the near distance that looked good enough to barricade. Determination set across your face, you adjusted your hold on the blonde man next to your waist and rushed forwards, until a familiar gravely voice rang out to you.

“Hey there stranger, got a couple of goodies in stock. C’mere and take a look” the shadowy man called, signaling over to his makeshift booth.

“Now’s not the time, I’ll come back later if I can. There’s a whole swarm behind me, I suggest that you leave.” You warned, sounds of angry grumbling and footsteps slowly approaching. The man laughed and opened up his trench coat, revealing a series of ammo, guns, bombs, and a mysterious red liquid vial.

“C’mon now, how do ya expect to protect the lad on yer shoulder if ya ain’t got the gear or the fixing’s?” The merchant asked, eyeing the unconscious blonde man whose breathing turned ragged, quiet groans slipping out. Your mind started racing as you recalled your dwindling supply of herbs and the last few shots that were left in your gun, firing so many at the villagers behind that just seemed never ending.

The merchant sensing your conflict chirped up “Since you’ve been a rather generous paying customer, I’ll give this to yer for free,” grabbing the small red vial from his pocket into the air for you to take. You eyed it suspiciously as he had never had this in stock during your sudden run-ins with each other and asked for a description.

“It’s an experimental drug of mine that I’ve been whiffing up, guaranteed to heal major wounds. It ain’t gonna kill ya if that’s whatcha worried about, heheh.” You eyed it some more before, a loud whine came from your side. As the man began jerking in pain, holding onto his side with a piece of cloth, a slight hint of blood shining. Earlier, he had made the mistake of letting his guard down at an old villager that jabbed a pitchfork at him, you axed the grandma in the head for that. Pocketing the vial, you threw out a handful of Pesetas, pointing at some ammo and few grenades since no herbs were available.

The merchant happily gave them out to you, scooping up the money before nodding at you. “Pleasure doing business stranger, wish yer all the best.” Disappearing into the woods soon after, forging for supplies to sell at the next encounter. You readjust your hold and resumed a fast pace to the for-mentioned home.

Reaching at the entrance, you swung it open and scanned around the room. It was a bit shabby, but so were all the homes in this insane village. The floors were slightly cracked along with walls, there were a few pieces of furniture that still seemed functional and a decent looking bed sat in the corner. Dropping him off at the bed, you went to the side of the door and grabbed the wardrobe, pushing it in-front of the door. You closed the window next to the bed using a piece of wood on the floor, hammering it shut with some nails. Though you were tempted to light the furnace for some heat, it would draw unwanted attention which was the last thing you wanted right now.

Soft groaning could be heard from the bed at your side as you put down the hammer on a dresser, rushing to the man’s side. Leon’s face was scrunched up in pain from the stab wound, still slowly leaking blood. You lifted his head into your arms, gently shushing him and dug your hands into your pocket for the vial. “Hey, it’s alright Leon, I’ve got you okay? Just hang on for me love.” You bit at the cork sealing the vial - spitting it in some corner and brought it to Leon’s mouth. “Open up darling, this will help the pain… I hope” You whispered, tilting it up as the liquid creeped into his mouth.

The taste wasn’t ideal, but it held a soft cherry taste with a bit of a burn which led to a heaved cough. “You did good Leon, always good for me” You praised, caressing the side of his face watching as his complexion became better thanks to the drug, noting to give a nice tip for the merchant later.

You moved to the wall facing the bed and rearranged your positions with his chest in your lap, head cradled in your arms. You stilled, hearing the sounds of multiple footsteps outside the boarded window, torch light creeping at the corners. The villagers growled and lingered around the house before taking off at the sound of a distant noise, yelling along the way.

Letting out a relaxed breath that you didn’t realize you were holding, glanced down at the man in your arms and ran your hand in his hair. “I won’t let them near you, so take a nice nap for me.” You whispered, kissing the top of his head. Leon cuddled closer to you, breathing finally stabilized and the wound seemingly disappeared. You smiled and drummed your fingers on his chest, keeping watch over the sleeping man.

Sometime later, Leon groggily woke up with a slight hint of red dusting his cheeks. “Ugh, I feel like I was stabbed by something.” He grumbled, rubbing his hand on his head. You chuckled, lifting his head up to peck his lips, “That’s cause you were, got a free drug thing from the merchant while we were coming here.”

Leon gave you an incredulous look.

“You gave me some random drug from the merchant? Much less free?”

You nervously smiled, playing with a curl in his hair, “He said it wouldn’t kill you, plus there isn’t enough herbs that could’ve helped.” Leon raised his head slightly, squinting at your face as you continued, “On the bright side it worked didn’t it?”

He sighed, falling back to your arms and closed his eyes. “Is there also a reason why my chest is wet?” he muttered, turning to face you. A confused look crossed your face as you looked down at the wet spots donning his shirt around the nipples. “Well he did say it was experimental…” You muttered, lifting a hand to squeeze the pec. A low moan escaped from Leon, slapping a hand on his mouth before batting your hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He hissed, more liquid staining his shirt.

“Examining your chest, now if you would kindly cooperate with me agent” You said, tugging at the straps for him to help remove. Leon reluctantly sits up to straddle your thighs and removes the holster, tugging up at his shirt to reveal two puffy nipples that dripped with white substance and a much rounder chest than usual. Grinning at the embarrassed look he gave you. “The assessment won’t take long now, be good until then.”

Leon quietly grumbled as you moved closer to his chest, grabbing at his pec once again — giving it a good squeeze. Leon let out a choked moan at the action and unknowingly pressed his chest closer to your palm. The sounds he made as you gently massaged the right swollen pec went straight to your dick which made you even more curious…

You latched onto his left nipple and sucked, relishing at the savory taste that flowed in your mouth, letting out a pleased groan. Sensing slight relief from his chest, he whined and locked his fingers in your hair - pulling you closer before feeling your hard dick against his own.

“You- you’re enjoying this” He said, face flushed.

You released the puffy nipple with a soft pop, flicking your tongue to catch any remaining drops. Grinning up at him.

“We’ve gotta make the best out of this situation and I’m willing to take the fall” You said, licking your lips. “Besides, you seem to be enjoying this just as much as me.” Leon, embarrassed, looks away before straightening his back and jutting out his chest. “Then hurry up… don’t just stare, do something.” He refused to admit that he found you feeding from him rather hot and boner inducing, as the grip on your hair got tighter. The thought of you fucking him while suckling milk from his teats spurring him on, whimpering at the the idea.

“With pleasure, love.” You chuckled, leaning in to resume your suckling at the nub, flavor bursting in your mouth. Leon threw his head back moaning, rolling his hips against yours, cock straining painfully in his pants. You could feel your head getting fuzzy, switching to the right nipple when you couldn’t suckle anymore milk while returning the man’s eager grinding with your own rocking.

The taste was absolutely heavenly and you could definitely get addicted to the taste, perhaps already so as you pulled more into your mouth, cock leaking in your pants. Leon whines were a mixture of relief and want, begging for more friction.

“Please, I-I need more, fuck please touch me,” He begged, humping helplessly on your crotch.

You dug your hands into his pants blindly going as you refused to leave his chest, fumbling to unbuckle his belt. Slipping a hand passed his underwear, pulling it down to free his leaking cock, doing the same for your own matching prick. Bringing them together with one hand, you set a rather fast pace — using the pre cum as lube.

Leon sobbed at the feeling, squirming as he could feel himself nearing his orgasm. Your hold on hips got stronger, thrusting faster and more slippery as you neared yourself as well. There were a few drops of milk left that you savored, swirling your tongue around the bud hoping to ease more out, releasing the sensitive areola when you couldn’t pull anymore.

You settled for kissing and marking his chest, focusing on drawing out more noises from the blonde. Who whined, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes. “More, ah- I’m close.. mhpm, please keep going.” He cried, losing himself more in the pleasure. You moved from his chest to his neck, trailing up to his jaw before attacking his lips, devouring his moans.

He could taste himself in your mouth, finding it odd, but it didn’t stop him from fucking your hand more. You felt yourself nearing eruption and wrapped your hand tighter, moving to whisper into his ear, “My good boy, waiting for me. You can cum love.”

Leon let out a broken moan, spilling into your hand and onto his torso, cock twitching as he lightly humped your hand. You followed soon after, mixing your release with his — cum trailing down your hand. Chest heaving, Leon draped himself over you, head resting at your shoulder. You kissed his nape as you wiped the cum on the sheets, tucking yourself and him back in your pants.

Running circles on his back, waiting for his breathing to stabilize before speaking. “We have to keep moving, love. They’ll be back with possibly more.”

Leon sighed, nuzzling your neck before moving to stand, fixing his shirt and putting his holster back on. “Well let’s get moving then, the sooner the better I guess,” he grumbled.

You followed after him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck as a silent apology. He turned to kiss you properly before breaking and going to push the wardrobe blocking the door.

Carefully making your way outside, you traversed through the village and onto a beaten down log path in the woods. Coming up to the entrance of a desolate church, killing a few villagers as you made your way further in. In the distance there was a fickle purple flame that grew brighter as you got closer.

“‘Ello strangers, good to see ya.” The merchant greeted, eyeing the now conscious blonde. “Glad to see you’re still kicking, last I seen ya, you were as sick as a dog. Good to see the puppy back at full health heheh.”

“Very funny, now do you want to do some business or not?” Leon rolled his eyes and scanned the items the merchant had in stock, purchasing a few before walking over to stand at the church door.

You walked up buying a few before dropping in low voice, one where Leon couldn’t hear you. “So uh, about that experimental drug of yours… got anymore in the back,” throwing some extra pesetas on the table. Though you couldn’t see it, the merchant grinned, understanding the implication and opened a hidden pocket with the same red vial from before.

“Do hope it meets your desires, stranger.” He chuckled, slipping it into your hands as you stealthily tucked it in your pocket.

“Hey what’s the hold up?” Leon yelled, raising a brow at the both of you. The merchant let out a deep laugh before waving him away. You nodded at him before walking over to Leon, patting his shoulder.

“Let’s go in, wouldn’t want to miss out on any action” You purred, leaving a puzzled Leon who trudged behind you.

“What did you buy?”

“Oh nothing really, just a little treat was all.”

“Yeah that’s totally not something to be worried about at all.”

“Haha, don’t worry about it love, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

Leon blushed and bit his lip, guessing what it may be and definitely tried not to think about it again. You grinned watching the blonde in the corner of your eye, playing with the vial in your pocket. You couldn’t wait to give it to him.

a/n: hey y'all, finally dropped the leon fic (yippie). hope y'all enjoyed this one, kinda proud of this one honestly and gyaatt damn, have y'all have been sweet to me with all the praises for my last miguel o'hara fic. got some more on that cooking, i see your requests and it got me giggling and kickin feeties n' shit. working on those after this, got a structure down on that. also i'm in the process of making a masterlist for y'all to easily go through my stuff, i never thought i would write as much as i do, but it's been real fun. i will say that after like 4 more drops (requests included), i'm gonna take a short break. anyways that's all for now.

up next: miguel wears a collar with a bell and you fuck him???. whatttt. teehee.

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cumikering · 4 months ago

Text

F1 John Price x reader 2

3.1k | fluff, suggestive Nights in London were warmer with you (part 1) (part 3)

“I’m going back home Thursday,” John said after you placed your orders at another quiet restaurant.

“That’s nice. I’m going home closer to the holidays. Need to keep the shop open.” You beamed. “Apparently a few weeks ago, a racer posted the cookies on Instagram and people started piling up.”

His heart skipped a beat. It must have been Kyle. The lad couldn’t stay away from social media, always posting something - a far cry from him who only had an account strictly for business, as part of most brand deals.

Including McLaren. John was to post at least a photo every week. Unlike his teammate, his page consisted mostly of professional photos, usually taken from races, or the skyline of the cities where his races took place in.

Did you know who he was? “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I probably should have asked. Christy - one of my girls - found out from a customer, but I’m just so, so grateful. We got so many orders for Christmas gift this year.”

“That’s wonderful, love.” He squeezed your hand. “Let me get a box to take home. My parents would love them. Can you squeeze me in?”

“Always.”

John pulled up at your apartment and brought your hand to his lips. “Hope I’m not too forward, love, but how soon can I see you again?”

You smiled. “Tomorrow? Dinner’s on me. You pick the place.”

The Japanese near your shop caught his eye (he loved his salmon teriyaki), and when he dropped you off the next night, again, he asked who was picking dinner the night after.

“My groceries aren’t going to last much longer, I’m afraid. I need to cook tomorrow.”

“Right,” he muttered.

He had pushed his luck. His cheeks heated from his presumption. He was seeing you too often at such an early stage even that it would have been his last night before leaving for three weeks.

“You’re welcome to join me.”

“I’d love that.”

John didn’t remember the last time anyone cooked for or with him like this. He didn’t realise how much he craved spending a quiet night in enjoying your company without having to worry about being conspicuous in the privacy of your own home.

He didn’t get to date much, but it was pathetic how none of the women he was seeing, not even the one he was with for a year, wanted to stay home much at all.

When he met her at a bar, he was an F1 rookie, an up and coming driver still struggling to establish his footing on the grid. Things kept going wrong, and he was constantly on edge about his contract being terminated, beating himself up over any mistake lest it costed him his career that had barely taken off.

She was a breath of fresh air. While he had been uptight, all up in his head, forgetting to be grateful of how far he’d gone, she was untroubled. He had the money, and she knew how to spend it. Overnight, his life swirled around luxury and status. She taught him how to live good, and he did.

The stunt she pulled boosted his career. Sponsors and deals poured in and he worried less. The cruelty of his mind mellowed and it allowed him to breathe. He finished 6th that season.

On your couch, John fumbled with his long-empty beer bottle. Despite not wanting the night to end yet, it had to as your bedtime inched closer.

“Thank you for dinner, love. It was grand.” He placed the bottle on the side table.

“We can do that again next time.”

He swallowed and looked up at you. “May I kiss you?”

A sweet smile bloomed on your pretty face and you scooted closer to him. He let out a shaky breath when your soft lips pressed against his. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you cupped his face. Your fingertips slid down his neck before you pulled away, much to his chagrin.

You looked away, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, this is such an odd thing to say, but you’ve got a really muscular neck.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, slightly breathless, his heart beating out of his chest.

You leaned back in. He almost whimpered at the way your kisses seared the sensitive skin of his neck, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided you over his lap.

When you pulled away again for a breath, you bit back a grin while John and his hooded eyes weren’t all there.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“No, I’m not.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck as the high coursed through his veins before chuckling to himself.

He needed a moment to recover from the heady fact that he’d just kissed you. That your hot, wet tongue swiped over his lower lip before brushing against his own as he held you flush to him with greedy hands.

You cradled his face. “Promise you’ll get home safe.”

John gave you another peck at the door. Despite the uncomfortable throb against his jeans, he left with a grin.

The next morning was freezing, but the comforting smell of coffee and cookies baking welcomed him into your warm shop as John wheeled his luggage behind him.

“Mornin’, love,” he greeted, making you look up from the register.

“Hi- Oh no, you’re early. The cookies are still cooling.” You glanced at the clock. “Have you got 15 minutes?”

“No worries. I’ve got time to kill.” He pulled out his phone. “Ring me up, love.”

“No, no. It’s on the house. My Christmas gift for the Sloanes.”

You were too beautiful smiling up at him with such bright eyes. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll make you a drink.”

Moments later, you set a paper cup in front of him.

“What’s this?” He chuckled at the doodle on the side, picking up the cup to inspect it closer. It was a man in a cap, a cookie on the side. “S’that me?”

You nodded with a small smile.

He wanted to kiss you right then, but reached for your hand instead. “That’s real sweet, love.”

When you disappeared into the kitchen, he took a picture of the cup, heart fluttering at the gesture. He knew just what to post that week.

“You have a safe trip, John. Enjoy your holiday.” You gave him a squeeze in front of his ride.

He couldn’t help pulling his mask down and leaning in for a peck, your gift with the large bow in hand. You smiled against his lips.

On the way to the train station, just minutes after he posted the photo, Gaz sent him the eyes emoji. He snickered. Kyle Garrick was chronically online.

He replied with a quick snap of the box of cookies.

Shite, should have got some for Birmingham too. Get me some when I’m back!

John’s mum gave him a bear hug at the door of the house before announcing his arrival to his dad. He placed your gift on the coffee table and his mum poured them tea – she always had some ready whenever he visited.

He sat back on the couch, looking out the window at the backyard. It was bleak, barren from winter, but it made him fuzzy all the same. He’d missed home.

The next few days, you were busier than ever at work cranking out orders with your girls. You went home and slept straight away, and rinsed and repeated the next day. John, meanwhile, spent his time visiting cousins and relatives around the city.

That Sunday when you finally had some time off, he was out the whole day while the very thing he wanted to do was to talk to you. When he got back home and cleaned up, it was past your bedtime, but you’d insisted on waiting up for his call.

“John,” you muttered sleepily. It was the first time he heard you since he left.

The voice he’d missed so much send a shiver straight down his spine. “H- hi.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got baby photos to show me?”

He chuckled. “We’ve got some in the living room, but it’s so bloody cold right now and I don’t want to leave my bed.”

“It’s freezing here too, but it must be even colder up there.”

Cuddling with you sounds perfect right now. “I might have other photos on my phone if you want to see?”

“Of course,” you said, but it sounded more like purring in his ears.

He bit his lip, going through his gallery before sending you a photo of him grinning ear to ear in a go-kart next to his parents in front of their house.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “You were so adorable.”

He smiled. “They got me my own kart for my 8th birthday. It was so early, I was still in my pyjamas.”

John Price didn’t come from money, nor did he have any speck of racing in his lineage, but when a friend of his celebrated his 7th birthday at a karting track, his life was forever changed. A lap in, and the adrenaline bug sank its fangs deep into his skin and never let go.

“Been into cars since a kid, huh?“

“Huge fan.”

For the next 5 years, his dad juggled multiple jobs, sometimes even 4 at a time, while his mum worked odd ones to get by between taking care of the house. Despite the efforts, they still needed to let go of the family house to support him.

Having to constantly move around from relative to relative, they had to drop most of their belongings, but never John’s hard-earned trophies even when it meant less living space.

“This was my first time in London.” He sent you another photo of his family, Big Ben in the background. “It was the best day ever.”

He didn’t understand why his parents sacrificed so much for him, put so much on the line. He didn’t know what they saw in him. But at 13, on that fateful day that altered the trajectory of his life, he was signed into the McLaren driver development programme. Sent to a boarding school, he called London home ever since.

“You had such chubby cheeks! I love it.”

“And this… I’m not there, but this is another one of my favourites.” It was his parents in front of their current home.

“The house got renovated?”

When John secured his F1 seat at 20, the first thing he did was buy the house back. Over the years, the previous owner had made many changes that left his childhood home barely recognisable, but his parents loved it all the same. It was where it all started after all.

“Yeah. The heater always works now.” He laughed. “Except tonight. Something is bloody wrong with the cold tonight. I’ve cranked the heat up but it’s still freezing.”

“When I was young, we had a dog called Rosie. She was my personal heater.”

“What was she like?”

“She was huge, an impossibly fluffy black Newfoundland. Loved to cuddle.”

He smiled. “That sounds wonderful. We never had a pet.”

“Would you want one?”

“A dog, yes, in the future.” His mind drifted to the family pets of his childhood friends. “I like knowing that as long as I love him, he’ll love me back. That I’ll always be enough.”

“That’s true. One of my favourite memories is coming home from school and having her accidentally smack me with her tail because she was so happy to see me.” You paused. “When she passed, I cried for days. My parents said she was from Canada, so I always said I wanted to go there and adopt one of her siblings.” You laughed. “Well, that never happened.”

“I’m sorry.” He could only imagine what it felt to lose your best friend and his heart ached for you. He wanted to wrap you in his arms.

“Have you been to Canada?”

“I have, for work. It’s beautiful there, gorgeous lakes. You’d love it.”

“Yeah? Maybe one day I’d get to see for myself.”

I’ll take you there, he almost promised out loud. He chewed on his lip. He’d love to take you to the next Canadian Grand Prix. In fact, he’d love it if you could come to each race, but it was something too distant in the future for him to even have the guts to picture.

You yawned. “I should sleep.”

No, no. He still missed you. “Can I stay a bit longer? I’ll hang up later.”

“Yeah, alright.”

There was rustling on your end, he imagined you tucked yourself under the covers and rolled over.

You let out a long, content sigh. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, love,” he muttered.

How was he going to survive the rest of his trip? His chest was going to explode.

It didn’t take long for your breathing to slow and eventually deepened. He swallowed, ashamed of the images your sleepy voice had roused that resulted in the situation in his sweats.

John never hung up because he fell asleep listening to you.

In the next three weeks, distance didn’t deter John from getting to know you. While you were busy at work during the day, you found the time to call every night, no matter how short. When you’ve gone back home, in turn, you showed him photos of your hometown and your family. But your selfies were his favourite. He loved looking at them throughout the day.

He counted down the days he’d be back in London. When initial connections were prone to fizzing out with space, it made each chance to see you even more precious to him. It was all he wanted to do.

That Saturday, once more, he headed straight to yours from the airport, always in a black mask and a cap.

“John!” You swung the door open in a cosy oversized shirt and pulled him for a hug.

He wrapped his arms tight around you, grinning into your hair. He didn’t realise he missed you this much, your warmth, your smell.

He followed you in, wheeling his luggage behind him. “I got you this,” he said, holding out a bag.

“What’s this?” You peeked into it.

“It’s my favourite blueberry loaf from the bakery we always went to, ever since I was a kid. Thought you’d like it too.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed his forearm.

With your eyes bright and smile sweet, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He yanked his mask down and pulled you in by the waist. Against his lips, you giggled, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Didn’t realise you’ve got a beard now.” You pulled away, giving it a once over. “It tickles, but I like it.”

During the season, he never grew out more than a stubble because of how uncomfortable it was under the balaclava and helmet, so he always liked to grow it out each chance he had. Especially now that he didn’t want to be recognised in public with you.

“I’m making you dinner.” You helped him take his coat off and hung it behind the door.

He blinked. “What?”

“You haven’t eaten, have you?”

Constantly out to expensive spots wearing designer brands, jetting all over the world with champagne in hand, John’s previous relationship was beautiful. On the outside at least.

As exhilarating as it all was, to him, it grew old and tiring too fast. While she thrived in the buzz of the media, always picture-perfect as the pretty girlfriend of a rising star, he was barely alive from his work commitments and catering to her whims.

She had been more interested in picking trending outfits to wear to the swanky restaurants regardless how tired he was at the end of the day. Countless arguments inevitably stemmed from him not bothering to wear anything more than a plain t-shirt for a weekday dinner. Still, he plastered a smile on as he was dragged to these places, too bright and loud. It was the woman he loved.

It was a fleeting thought at first, but he started missing the quiet life he had, when he didn’t have to be hounded by what people thought of him. About why he wasn’t at the grand opening of some bar with the foreign name, why he was still rocking a 4 year-old phone, if John Price wore the same hoodie two days in a row.

She was too eager to smile at the cameras, basking in the limelight. She wasn’t unkind or ill-meaning, but the affection that once drew him to her was long gone leaving him feeling alone and unwanted in his own relationship. It took him too long to accept she was there for John Price the F1 driver, not the bloke from Liverpool anymore, if she even ever was.

When he finally ended it, it barely took a month before she was on some footballer’s arm. Betrayal scorched his stomach. It hurt more than words, but perhaps it was the price to pay for being where he was. He never knew who to trust.

“It’s salmon with broccoli and rice. I don’t cook a lot of fish, but I tried this marinate I thought you’d like,” you rambled. “I hope it tastes alright even if I mess it up the temperature.”

“No, it would be perfect. Thank you so much.”

You cooking for him, his favourite food at that, meant so much more than you could imagine. You brought warmth to his chest.

After dinner, you snuggled with him on the couch. The chatter of the TV melted away. He let his longing for you dissipate as he inhaled the comforting scent of your hair as you traced his long fingers.

You turned to him, holding his gaze for a moment before you mumbled, “Would you like to stay the night?”

Was it not evident in the way he couldn’t let you out of his sight that he didn’t want to part?

John climbed in your bed and pressed his chest against your back, curling up around you, an arm around your waist. He let out a long, content sigh as he basked in the sensation of your soft body on him.

“You said Liverpool was bloody cold, but you run so warm.” You laughed. “That means I won’t even survive.”

He smiled into your hair. “You won’t have to worry about that when I’m around.”

He had two months before the next season started. If he was lucky – and he really wished he was, it meant more nights like this with you, many nights, he hoped. Just like this.

Masterlist Ex bf John Price

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @kyletogaz @kechiwrites @mikichko

@secretsynthetic @foo1ishs3renity @juicyjujuuu @ladydevilofhell @rowanyaboats

@hungrycrazy @readreblogfics @nocturnalreader106 @panda-b0s @stickerguts

@strong-bronze-or-regal-black @sadcowboyhours

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Something Borrowed

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~1.5k Summary: An addition to Best Intentions. Read as a standalone, if you'd like.

Author's note: A birthday gift for @hoosbandewan - husband Tom on your birthday. Happy birthday, Erin! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“God’s got bigger things to worry about than me makin’ an honest woman outta ya,” Tom had told her with a wink. “Besides, the money we save we can put towards a bigger do. Would rather everyone have a few beers and sarnies to celebrate, than sit in a stuffy church with their arses going to sleep.”

That had settled it. Her and Tom were to have a registry office wedding, with a reception at The Ducie Arms afterwards.

Even without money being as tight as it is she knows that this is what they would always have chosen. It’s just irrevocably them. Theirs is not a love born of grand gestures and material possessions. They share a soul connection, a lifetime of scraped knees, shared sweets, building their lives around each other, growing together. They are already two halves of the same whole, this is simply the string that ties it all together.

Despite keeping the ceremony itself modest, she feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror, her mum behind her fastening the last few buttons on the back of her wedding dress, as she places the last of the pins in her hair.

They’d gotten a deal at the haberdashery on some end cuts of lace and satin, and her mum had worked her magic with her sewing machine. The dress looks shop bought.

She smiles as she smooths her hands over the skirt, taking in the high neckline and draped sleeves, grateful that she’d woken early enough to clasp herself into the lingerie and slip that lies beneath - a wedding night treat for Tom - before her mum had arrived to help her get ready.

It had been a struggle to get out of bed that morning. Her mum, Lois and Connie had all popped round to the flat the previous evening to make sandwiches for the reception. She’d been half way through spreading margarine on a slice of bread when Connie had produced a bottle of gin from her bag.

“Well, if Tom and the rest of the lads are all at the pub, why shouldn’t we?” Connie had asked with a smile as Lois had rushed to get glasses down from the kitchen cupboard.

The pounding in her head the next day tells her exactly why she shouldn’t have. She wonders if Tom is in as much of a sorry state as she is. Thankfully, her make-up does a good job of hiding it.

Tom has called in a favour with a customer at the garage, so she can travel to the registry office in style. She has to stifle a laugh behind her hand as the sleek black motorcar pulls up outside the shop to pick her up. It’s the exact same one that her and Tom had vigorously made up in the back of.

As she slides onto the seat, gathering her skirt so that it doesn’t catch in the door, the memory of Tom laying between her thighs replays in her mind, causing her skin to heat up.

“Everything alright?” Her mum asks, climbing in next to her. “You look a bit flustered.”

She blinks, swallowing and nodding, startled out of her reverie. “Yeah, Mum, bit nervous is all.”

Tom stops fidgeting with his tie knot the moment he sees her, a grin spreading across his face as she walks towards him and the registrar. He lets out a low whistle as she stops beside him, turning to face him. She bows her head, giggling. She feels like a school girl all over again.

Time seems to stand still for her as she gazes into Tom’s blue eyes, not really registering the words being spoken, or the vows she utters in response, fixated only on Tom’s beaming smile. Once more he is that little boy, face full of sunshine and the sweetest little rabbit teeth she’s ever seen.

Except now he is hers. Her husband. She is a wife.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Tom mutters, surging forward once they are told they can kiss.

He grasps the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers in a motion that steals the air from her lungs. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, smiling into it, her heart fluttering just as it had the first time they’d ever kissed. In a way, this is a first too, the first of many things they’ll share as a married couple.

“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers against her lips when they finally part for breath.

The words have heat pooling between her legs almost instantly. She is certain she’ll never tire of hearing them.

As everyone heads in the direction of The Ducie Arms, she is confused when Tom pulls her back in the direction of the shop.

“What you doing?” She asks, brow furrowing as she resists his gentle tug on her arm.

“Left something in the flat, need to go back for it,” he tells her, nodding his head in the direction he wants to go.

“Can’t you just quickly go back for it on your own, and meet me at the pub?”

He shakes his head, tugging at her hand again. “Need you to help me, come on.”

She sighs, relenting and allowing him to pull her along. “We’re gonna be late to our own wedding reception.”

Tom smirks, glancing sideways at her. “They’ll wait, they have to.”

As soon as they’re home, he’s upon her, backing her up towards the bedroom as his hands grasp her waist and his lips find hers.

She giggles between hurried kisses, their breaths intermingling. “Is this what you forgot then?”

Tom pushes her back against the mattress, placing hot, opened mouthed kisses against her throat. “You look so good in that dress, darlin’, couldn’t wait any longer.”

She gasps as her hands slide up her skirt, bunching it at her hips. He leans back, arching a brow appreciatively at the white lingerie he finds beneath. His fingers hook beneath the strap that attaches her stocking to her garter belt and pull back slightly before letting go. It snaps against the flesh of her thigh, making her squeal.

“Tommy, we can’t!” She protests. “I’m wearing things that I won’t be able to put back on if you take them off.”

“Why ever would I take ‘em off?” He asks mockingly, cocking his head. “It’d be a waste.”

She whines as, forcefully, he pushes the gusset of her knickers to one side, swiping through her slick folders, grinning at the wetness he finds. “Gonna make us late to our own wedding reception with this. Naughty, naughty.”

Writhing against the bed, she no longer cares for her fancy lingerie, or if she rumples her dress, not when she hears the metallic clink of Tom’s belt buckle opening. The noise travels straight to her core, causing her to clench around nothing, until finally he’s lining himself up against her entrance and pressing inside. No matter how many times her and Tom make love she’ll never get used to the exquisite torture of that first initial stretch. It robs her of all coherent thought every time, only able to focus on the feeling of him pushing her walls apart.

She expects him to be quick and brutal with her, but he stills once he’s fully inside, resting his forehead against hers. It’s comforting to have him this close, just to feel the weight of him.

As she runs her hands down his back, met with the wiry yet solid expanse of muscle, she’s taken back to a time when he first returned from France and was so thin she could feel every vertebrae in his spine. This is testament to how far he’s come, how far they’ve come; not just the weight he’s put back on, but that he’s healed enough to be in a place where can be someone’s husband, and he has chosen to be hers.

Feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes, she blinks them back, feeling embarrassed when one strays its way down her cheek, until she looks back up into Tom’s eyes to see his are similarly wet.

He holds her close, he takes his time with her. It’s gentle, unhurried, and full of love.

“I love you, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers to her.

They are late to their reception, but met with rapturous applause as they enter through the pub doors nonetheless. They drink lager, and eat spam sandwiches, and Tom treads on her feet when they attempt to slow dance to ‘Sentimental Journey’ by Doris Day. She can’t imagine a more perfect evening, that is until Tom guides her outside.

They walk back towards the wall, their wall and Tom helps her up onto it, before sitting beside her. Her legs don’t dangle as high from the floor as they used to, and it’s odd to look down and see her legs draped in white lace, instead of littered with scrapes and bruises.

She grins when she turns to Tom, watching as he produces a paper bag of sherbet straws from his inside jacket pocket. “Just wanted to say thanks for helping me with my maths homework fifteen years ago,” he says with a cheeky smile, “Mates, yeah?”

Warmth spreads throughout her chest as she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Always.”

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett x you #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett #tom bennett world on fire #world on fire tom bennett #tom bennett fan fiction #ewan mitchell #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fan fic #world on fire #world on fire fan fiction #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire fan fic

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

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how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something.

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam.

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him.

Apparently, that didn’t matter.

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once.

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look.

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge.

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around.

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle.

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?”

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all.

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues.

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included.

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani.

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening.

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump.

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain.

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown.

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head.

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively.

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem.

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain.

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman.

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back.

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver.

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce.

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring.

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm.

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair.

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.)

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life.

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him.

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel.

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired.

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking.

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments.

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you.

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night.

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved.

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green.

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips.

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter.

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning.

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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writersdrug · 3 months ago

Note

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a customer, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the prick will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bitter glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

#ghost #bartender ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riely #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #cod #call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader

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hazelfoureyes · 6 months ago

Note

Could you write a short story about a trans FTM Y/N coming out to alastor?

If not I don't mind!

I'm just starting to come out to some people and want to feel validated by alastor lolll

Mon Cher

You had to start somewhere. But the issue with these kinds of conversations is there’s never a natural point in talking to bring it up…. And sitting people down can be so stressful for everyone.

But you had an opportunity.

Alastor was known for his pet names, often throwing out a dear or sweetheart.

So when he leaned against your side and asked, “Pass me that, will you ma chère?” You froze. Finally. The frustratingly gendered nature of languages was coming to your aid.

“Alastor, I’m not comfortable with being called ma chère. Can you call me mon cher?”

His face stilled, a moment of confusion. “That’s the word for males, dear.”

“Yeah. I know.” A nervous shift in your seat, “Actually, with all things. I prefer he or him and other male coded words. Those are the right words for me.”

Humans have been changing the way they were identified since humans invented ways to identify each other. Not a moment in time has there existed a point where every human language fully represented its people. Nor that every body was reflective of the soul it inherited.

So Alastor didn’t need long to adjust. He knew quite a few dapper lads in his day who had made the same request.

“Of course mon cher. May I have that pen now?”

After you handed it over he let the tip hover over his paper for a second, without looking up, “Did you want to talk anymore about things?”

After thinking for a moment, “Do you think I’ll struggle with telling the others?”

He replied as he began his work, slowly, mostly for show, “Do you want to tell them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you won’t have an ounce of trouble. I guarantee it.” He looked up now, typically disheartening smile looking soft and gentle, “I’ll make sure of it, mon chéri*.”

Before the silence went on too long and he knew the topic would be changed he added, “Did you know Rosie makes custom suits? Quite the skilled seamstress. Perhaps we could stop by sometime. If you’d like.”

Not only had he truly meant the offer, you found telling him had brought a different kind of help. Sometimes you didn’t have to tell people at all once someone was there to set the new standard.

A day soon after came when Alastor addressed you appropriately in public, “Well that’s too bad Charlie, I need his help with some studio work.”

And the crew looked at you, and you smiled, and they smiled and the conversation would carry on as normal. The only change being a few words replaced a few others and you got a small pat on the back as Husk left the group to tend bar.

Sometimes the first steps are the hardest but get us the furthest.

Happy pride babies! made this very first steps for many people and I hope it was something you enjoyed. Apologies for the delay, i actually didn’t see this until about four days ago.

*“Mon cher” means “my dear”, said to a male person. “Ma chère” means the same, said to a female. “Mon chéri”, resp. “ma chérie”, means “my darling” or “my dearest”.

🏳️‍🌈Hazbin Masterlist🏳️‍🌈

#Alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 11 months ago

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hi it's the good omens mascot here's some shit about me that might be relevant

I appear to have accidentally caused chaos so I figured you might as well know about me since I'm responsible for it. And also so that you know who you broke, thanks ineffable fandom.

I have been called the prophet by some of you all. This is not entirely untrue, but I would like to add as I did in one post, that Apollo also gave me the curses of art, (very emotional) music, (sometimes good mostly dreadful) poetry, (same parentheses apply, except that the dreadful is on purpose) writing and (used to be good now dreadful) medical knowledge, and so yes, you did accidently adopt a messenger of an ancient Greek god.

Yes, this entire entry into your cult happened from start to now happened in 48 hours.

This will seem less bizarre when I give you context about me and fandoms. I changed career paths (after three years of intense study that cost me my sanity) from science to the arts because I was inspired by drarry fanfiction of them leaving their ministry jobs and following their dreams. Yes I tossed three years and my loss of sanity away in one week of decisions. I'm now a designer. Thanks Draco.

I read so much drarry fanfiction that my mum had to take me to the hospital for injured wrists. I wore wrist and elbow supports and was in constant pain for a few months. I was only later introduced to autoscroll. Yes, I am a fool. Yes, I am unaware of how to human.

I'm broke and cheap enough that I feel guilty buying bottled water, but for Christmas I spent the equivalent of around 150 bottles of water getting a Bakewell tart custom made (they don't sell them where I live). Why? Because in one single fanfiction, it is Draco's favourite food. I would never spend that kind of money on a dessert for any real human being.

That is to say, you all are not ready for when I REALLY fall for Crowley. I don't saunter vaguely downwards for people. I bypass earth and crash into hell, leaving a smoking pit in its infernal ground.

I swear I'm not as dumb as I seem, I just have ZERO general knowledge, and am terrible with faces. I can tell you what the graffiti on the walls of Pompeii from before 70 AD said but I don't know who my previous president was, and personally I think that's very classy of me.

Some of you seem concerned about my sleep schedule. Worry not, I sleep in four installments, night, morning nap, afternoon nap, evening nap. I sleep more than you all, that I can promise. I sleep more than my doggy sister.

About the streams and the timezones, I have no idea how to make it so people can watch, because I frequently mix up east and west and last morning I mixed up the Pacific and Atlantic ocean. I don't know at what point the Eastern hemisphere becomes the Western or how any of it works. I also thought Wakanda was a real place.

But hey fun fact, in 2020 diclofenac sales were dropping in Iceland. I know this because I wanted to make sure to use the correct painkiller in one sentence of a story I was writing. It was completely irrelevant. But hey any of you writers here probably feel my pain. I don't write fanfiction, but I am an author and I write original stories. And honestly what is more useful, Icelandic diclofenac sales from three years ago or timezones?

A career test once told me to be a standup comedian.

Yes that's me Asmi, just your regular dumbass lad who is slightly unhinged, serving himbo twink energy, hello hi nice to meet you all. PS: the poll results are out and Doctor Who won, so tremble, DW fandom.

#good omens fandom #good omens mascot #asmi #weirdly-specific-but-ok #this is me y'all #good omens brainrot #thanks for breaking me i figured you should know about me #crowley #just crowley i'm going to shatter soon #drarry #draco malfoy #fandom culture #fandom things #doctor who #dw fandom #more inaccurate summaries coming up #good omens #fanfiction #and how it ruined and saved me

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random-thot-generator · 2 months ago

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Reverse Trope Prompt: (see end notes after reading. No peeking!)

Full list here

Ghost x reader

sfw -bit of angst, profanity, a frisky drunk bird but nothing explicit

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

"Looks like LT's pulled 'imself another winner."

Gaz glances over his shoulder, sniffs, then turns back with a cynical curl to his lip. Lifting his pint glass, he slants a knowing look at his fellow sergeant. "He's lost the bloody plot, if ya ask me. Hooks up with every bird he gets his hands on, now." He shakes his head. "'S bloody mental, mate. What the hell is he thinkin'?"

Soap grunts, mouth twisting in disgust as he focuses on his lieutenant and the cackling drunk bird splayed across his lap. "Canna say. Dinnae ken wha's gotten into 'im. Feckin' mad, lettin' a bonnie, good lass go t'chase after sloppy-drunk tarts like tha' one."

"You lads ready for another round?"

Both men flinch at the sound of your voice and glance up at you with guilty expressions. They know you had to have heard what they were saying. Gaz drops his gaze as he nods and pushes his glass across the bar, while Soap tilts his head to study you. You meet his searching blue eyes while you refill Gaz's pint, knowing what's coming. You breathe out a tired sigh.

"What's the matter, Johnny?"

His brows pinch together in a perturbed frown. "Does it no' bother yeh, 'im flauntin' those mingin' slags right in yer face?"

"Jesus, Soap!" Gaz hisses, elbowing him. "Shut ya bloody gob." He then turns his attention back to you, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry, luv. He's got no filter when he drinks too much."

"Oi! I dinnae need yeh t'make excuses fer meh," Soap fusses, still scowling when he looks back to you. "'M sorry, hen. Dinnae mean t'upset yeh. Jus' think it's no' right, 'im scrapin' yeh off the way 'e did, then comin' in 'ere where yeh work, messin' about with other birds, like 'e does. 'S disrespectful."

Your eyes drift to Ghost, grimacing at the way the woman in his lap is pawing at him, before dropping your eyes to glare at the bar top. "It doesn't matter," you mutter, wiping down the bar with more force than is necessary. "We're over, so he can do what he wants with whoever he wants. I think him breaking things off between us was probably for the best, don't you?"

The two sergeants exchange a look.

Soap huffs and slumps on his bar stool, mumbling into his pint, "Yeh're too good fer 'im, anyway." He knocks the last of his stout back with an angry sneer.

Gaz nods in agreement, his eyes sympathetic when he adds, "Ya can do better, luv. Deserve someone who'll treat ya right."

You try to smile, but it's fake, brittle. "Seriously, it's alright. I'm over it. Really."

You can tell that neither of them believes you.

Your call for last orders goes out a few minutes later, and the few customers left in the pub begin to drift towards the door. Gaz and Soap are settling up their tabs when Ghost steps up behind them, the giggling drunk bird tucked under his arm. His dark eyes slide over you, like you're not even there.

"'M headin' out, lads. I'll see the two'uh ya back at base. Gonna take 'er 'ome," he tells the sergeants, nodding down at the bleary-eyed bird glued to his side.

Gaz give a curt nod, avoiding eye contact. Soap makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Aye. Jus' keep rubbin' 'er nose in it," he mutters, then sniffs, shaking his head. "Steamin' Jaysus."

Ghost tenses, eyes narrowing over his face mask. "Ya gotta problem, sergeant?"

Just as Soap's mouth opens to reply, you clear your throat, breaking the tense moment. "How 'bout a bag of crisps to soak up all that alcohol, Johnny? My treat."

His head swivels around to look at you, the scowl slowly melting off his face when he sees your worried expression. He blows out a breath. "Aye. Thanks, bon." He side-eyes Ghost, then looks away. "See ya later, LT," he mumbles.

The drunk bird makes a whining noise, tugging at Ghost's jacket. "C'mon, luv. Leh's gooo. 'M ready t'get home." She then gives him a drunken, lewd grin, pressing up against him. "Ya can help me get these tights off, yeah?" she whispers to him, waggling her eyebrows.

Ghost grunts a laugh, seemingly amused. "Cheeky muppet. Olright. Let's get outta here."

You busy yourself with wiping down the bar as Ghost leads the tottering woman out the door, then toss your towel down once he's gone. Snagging two bags of crisps for the sergeants, you hand one to each of them.

"Here ya go," you murmur. "Need me to call a taxi for ya?"

"No thanks, luv," Gaz replies softly, sliding off his stool. "I already ordered us an Uber. Let's go, Soap."

Soap stands, his crisps clutched in his hand. He's scowling, shaking his head. "'E's a bloody eejit," he mutters.

You finally wave goodbye to the two sergeants, locking up behind them once you usher them out the door. Blowing out a tired breath, you lean back against it and stare down at your trainers.

"God, I'm glad this night is over," you mumble to yourself, then heave another sigh before heading back to the bar, ready to close up for the night and get out of there.

The drive home is short, just a couple blocks away, but it still gives you too much time to think. This is by far the worst break-up you've ever been through. None of your work mates or friends can seem to go a day without mentioning it. Even worse, Simon's mates won't let it go, either.

You appreciate their support, but seriously wish that Soap and Gaz would stop bringing Simon up, altogether. It's hard enough watching the big lug flirting with birds right under your nose. You don't need Soap pointing it out to you, or Gaz giving you those sad, pitying looks all night.

You try to shake off your negative thoughts as you park and walk to your flat. It's sweet that the lads are trying to be there for you, but you hope that they'll just let it go soon. Maybe you should just tell them you're seeing someone else. It might help put their minds at ease, get them to back off a little bit.

Once inside your flat, you toe off your trainers and turn on the lights, then pad into the kitchen. Putting some leftovers in the microwave, you shuffle off to take a quick shower while it's heating, hoping the hot water will soothe away some of your stress.

As you're toweling off, you hear your front door open and then close. Hurrying to get dressed, you open the bathroom door, the smell of yesterday's shepherd's pie hitting your nose. You hear the clatter of plates and utensils coming from the kitchen as you pace down the short hallway and peek around the corner. You stop when you reach the doorway, leaning your shoulder against the jamb and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Took you awhile to get here. Thought you might've decided to stay the night with that bird, after all."

Simon sets the leftover shepherd's pie he just took out of the microwave on the table, smirking. Tossing down the potholders, he comes to you, his big arms wrapping around your body to pull you close before his head dips to give you a kiss.

"Took forever t'get 'er outta the bloody truck an' into 'er flat. 'Ad t'fight 'er off'uh me the whole way there, too, the handsy git." He rumbles out a low chuckle. "She was right pissed when I left without helpin' 'er outta those tights."

You huff, cutting him a snarky look. "Yeah, I bet." You frown, sliding your hands down his chest. "I wish we didn't have to do this, Si. I don't like seeing other women all over my man, and I hate lying to everyone, especially Johnny and Kyle."

He sighs, lifting a hand to cradle your face. "I know, sweet'art, but it won't be f'much longer. Cap says Nik's almost got all of our documents an' passports in order. When it's time, we'll loop Gaz an' Johnny in. My next mission out, Ghost will be reported KIA, an' once he's laid t'rest, it'll finally be over. No more sneakin' around, no more lyin'. We'll 'ave new identities, a new life." He hugs you tighter. "An' I can finally provide my missus wiff a proper 'ome."

"Si..."

His eyes go lazy and warm as he slides his hand down to cover your belly. "Gotta 'ave a proper 'ome, love. 'S why we're doin' this. Wanna be free an' clear a'fore the li'l nipper gets 'ere. Yeah?"

You gaze up into your husband's eyes, a hopeful smile spreading across your face. You plant a kiss on his smirking lips and nod.

"Yeah."

End notes - *shrugs* I didn't want to spoil the ending. 😉

reverse trope: Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #reverse trope writing prompts #writing prompts #@out-of-jams prompt list

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guppybibi · 16 days ago

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Part 1!

Johnny was practically convinced that the clock was broken by this point, because it had no reason to be that slow!

He was ready to clock out and head to the pub around 2 hours ago, so now he's just impatiently tapping the wooden table and waiting to get out.

"John!" His coworker calls out, right. The bet, he had to pay up. A deal was a deal and Johnny is a man of his word. "Right, just a second. Let me get my wallet, lad." He answered, quickly reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet.

"No no, you have got to tell me what happened between the two of you." Johnny raises a brow in confusion, muttering about how giving out context clues should be mandatory under his breath.

"The two of wh—"

"You and the pretty gal! Y/N was it? I checked the record books." They cut him off, continuing their rambling. "You looked like you were about to jump out of your skin when you were talking to her, c'mon open up, man! What were you two talking about?"

Johnny groans at the thought of the moment again, remembering the pure awkwardness and the tension that lingered in the air when Simon's name fell out of your lips.

"It's nothing, none of your business." Johnny replies in a dismissive tone, he noticed their mouth opening and instantly shut them up. "Will you leave me alone if I pay ye?"

Rude, maybe–but it's not nice to force information out of people who aren't willing to. What's this? A fucking interrogation? But..hey! He paid up and they left him alone, a win-win situation.

Johnny knew fully well that your business wasn't his business, and he completely respects that. But Simon's business was his business as well. And you were apart of Simon's business for who knows how long, so he should deserves to get filled in on what happened.

And as if the gods have answered his prayers, it was time to get his ass out of here! Johnny wasted no time and dashed out right after clocking out, he needs to pay his best friend a visit.

Simon was going on about his day, calmly wiping down some bottles while making small talk with the customers when necessary, not really bothering to look up at them. He was so focused on his work that he didn't notice Johnny bolting in and grabbing the closest seat to Simon.

"Simon!" Johnny calls out, slightly startling Simon. An unimpressed scowl was on the blonde man's face..or maybe it was always there. Johnny couldn't really tell with the bright flashing lights here. Whatever, not important.

"Here for a drink, Johnny?" Simon asks, still fixated on getting this one dirty spot of a glass. The Scot nodded, leaning closer to Simon. "Yea, here to talk about somethin' too. Get me some tequila though, just put it in my tab. I think I might have a lot to drink tonight."

The Brit chuckles quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thought you said it tasted like dog piss." Welp whatever the customer says, no? Simon starts preparing the tequila while Johnny spoke.

"It does, but it won't hurt if I try it again. Who knows? I might like it." Alright, he did make sense this time..Simon wasn't going to fight it, he hands over the glass of tequila.

The moment the alcohol got in his mouth, it was practically going straight back out. Johnny had only managed to swallow the liquid out of pure willpower.. "Never mind..it would hurt if I tried it again." He mumbled, wiping his lips and setting the glass aside for now.

"So..have ye been seein' anyone?" Simon, who was mixing up some cocktails now, raised a brow. "No..ain't got the time for it." Simon was wondering where this conversation would end up..

"Really, eh? How about in these past few years?" Simon wasn't sure what Johnny was planning, probably isn't any good. It rarely is.

"Why'd you want to know, mate?" Simon fires a question back, Johnny's shoulders visibly tense up. "Just curious.."

That sounded very typical for someone like Johnny, but there's no doubt that there was something more to it. "Just tell me, mate. It can't be the end of the world."

Johnny sighed, downing the glass of tequila despite the horrific taste. He was going to need a lot more than that.."Fine..I've had this client come in, asking for a cover up tattoo to cover her ex-boyfriend's name. She's a lovely looking lass too.."

Simon listened intently, wondering what this has got to do with him, he let Johnny continue. "I noticed that she had another covered up tattoo close to her more recent one so I asked her what was written on it.."

Again, what has this got to do with Sim—"She said 'Simon Riley' was written on it." Oh. Alright that made sense, not that it made it any better.

Simon tries to recall past memories of his relationships, big and small. It wasn't too hard to remember since memories were stored into his brain like an insanely accurate library. He remembers you, even if he wished he didn't.

"Y/N..?" Simon muttered, eyes wide as if he witnessed a ghost walking through.

...Not exactly the ideal situation Johnny wanted to be in, despite causing it.

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