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loveindefinitely · 1 year ago

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༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader

CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!

series masterlist. read on ao3.

Life was hard. That was a fact.

Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.

Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.

And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.

No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;

Getting Murdered

Getting Attacked

Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?

…Yeah. Something like that.

The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.

You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.

This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.

With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.

The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?

Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.

The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.

You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.

There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.

The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.

It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.

You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.

Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.

…Jesus christ.

“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.

You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.

The woman snaps her gum.

You stand there.

She blows it again.

You continue to stand there.

Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”

Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?

“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”

You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.

Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.

Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder.

“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”

You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”

She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.

A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening.

Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.

Charlie: get milk otw home used it all

No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.

When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.

“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.

It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.

“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.

“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”

You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.

“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”

That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.

As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in.

It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.

It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.

“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”

You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.

“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”

You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.

“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”

You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”

She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”

Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.

Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.

Fucking christ.

Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.

“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet.

She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.

You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”

With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.

It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side.

…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.

Ambers. High-risk.

With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.

Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.

Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read.

Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely.

Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.

The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.

If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.

You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.

There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.

He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.

“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.

He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.

Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”

The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.

…Huh. Alright.

You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.

His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline.

“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.

He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”

Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.

“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”

His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”

You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”

He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.

Small victories.

“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”

You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.

“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.

Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”

You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.

“He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”

There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”

Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.

“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.

“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”

Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”

That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process.

“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.

His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”

Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure.

You swallow around a dry mouth.

“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.

His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.

It remains as he answers.

“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”

a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]

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red-archivist · 5 months ago

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TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

Also on AO3

#the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 23 #tmagp #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #is a ship a ship if its posthumous? im saying yes #tmagp fanfic #red-archivist scribbles

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delirious-donna · 10 months ago

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Awake At The Witching Hour [Part Four]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: You can't sleep and it seems your handsome host can't either. What is there to do in the middle of the night?

pairings: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: NSFW, mutual masturbation (but separate, you’ll get the gist), Nanami being pent up, imaginations running wild (both Nanami and reader), cumshot, reader described as being generous and soft in body

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

The witching hour. When it is said that the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and the power of the nefarious is at its strongest.

You weren’t entirely sure what had roused you. No sense of fear gripped your heart so you doubted it was due to some bad dream, though it had taken a moment to remember where you were.

Black velvet darkness impaired your vision at first, drowsiness adding to your inability to pick out the details of the room you were lying in. The air was pleasantly cool against your warm sleep-soaked skin. You pushed back the duvet to feel the faint breeze play across the soft squidge of your abdomen—the oversized t-shirt you wore pushed up to your chest in the disarray of a tumultuous sleep.

The events of the day unfurled in your mind’s eye like a low budget movie. It still didn’t feel real, though you well remembered the blind panic and sense of anger then irritation at being walked in on whilst bathing. No, not walked in, leapt in on. Now that you knew Nanami Kento a little better it was hard to fight the smile that rose to your lips in memory.

He seemed so different at that moment, the booming “booo” not something you would ever expect from the rigid man he had been since then. You wondered if he was a little more relaxed with his friends and loved ones. Did he even have friends?

A suspicion told you that he was the type to keep to himself, or maybe one or two close friends at most. That was relatable, and made him all the more human in your eyes. What might he be like as a boyfriend, you wondered? Attentive and loving or distant and cold? Either was possible, as well as a multitude of other attributes and combinations.

Sighing deeply, you turned onto your side and pulled the covers up to your chin now that your body had cooled from the stream of air that crept in from the ajar window. A glance at your phone told you it was late—an hour you should be asleep at—but you were annoyingly awake.

It seemed the only thing on your mind was that of the man asleep in the room next to yours. A man that didn’t want anything to do with you, a perfect stranger. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder… couldn’t help but fantantise that he could be interested. If he were to knock on your door right now, his hazel eyes, dark pools speared with lightning, and desire evident on his cheeks you would welcome him.

Did he sleep naked? The thought of all that glorious skin bare beneath covers that matched the ones you were snuggled under sent a throb directly between your legs. You were developing a second heartbeat at an alarming rate and it was all his fault. It was ridiculous how good looking he was, and what made it worse was he didn’t seem to know it. You imagined your fingers running through his neatly parted hair and knew he would look even sexier with it all mussed. The just fucked look.

He was well built and definitely strong. Biceps didn’t bulge against shirt sleeves in the way his did if you weren’t bench pressing a decent amount regularly. That and the small home gym were more than enough to know with certainty that if he meant business, you’d be in a heap of trouble. In the best way. Your mind whispered, and you felt fiery warmth fill your cheeks.

You weren’t honestly sure when your hand had begun to stray.

The peaks of your nipples rubbed against your shirt, thumb and finger tweaking the sensitive buds and rolling them deftly until your thighs pressed together at the crave for friction. It was wrong to be thinking such lewd thoughts of your generous host—unwilling as he might have started out—but you couldn’t stop. Kento’s broad frame filled your mind, the looming shadow dwarving you enough to make you feel diminutive by comparison, and equally as thrilled.

The laboured breathing of his barreled chest hard to resist, the rise and fall evidence of a man close to the limit of his restraint and you badly wanted to reach out and touch him. Wild desire radiating from his every pore like a heady musk that you inhaled greedily, longing to become entirely intoxicated by him. Who would break first in the game of lust and longing? Regardless of the answer, there would be no loser.

This was so wrong. So stupendously wrong, not to mention, futile. A veil of madness shrouded the bed and you couldn’t stop nor did you actually wish to. In the darkest part of the night your deepest desires unfolded in perfect clarity. He ticked so many boxes and left question marks in many more. An enigma that you longed to solve. A riddle that you wanted to crow over the answer when it finally revealed itself.

Nanami Kento…

Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, eyes widened at the searing heat you encountered. The skin of your pubic mound was warm to the touch, but as you raked through the neatly trimmed hairs and moved closer to the heart of your sex, it increased tenfold. You might have hissed if you weren’t concerned with making any noise that could alert the object of your arousal. Wetness glided over the pads of your fingertips, sticky and abundant. It spread along your plump folds engorged with blood until your tented knees butterflied outwards and you could feel the twitching urge to toy with your clit.

What would he think of this madness? A young woman intent on masturbating to the thought of him. Would he deepen that permanently etched scowl and reprimand you? And why did even the idea of that outcome spark the ends of your nerves with raw electricity?

Speaking of the man in question, he was awake. Blinking into the darkness as if the ceiling held the answer to his current dilemma. That dilemma being the tent in his tight navy boxer briefs.

Without looking, he palmed himself and manoeuvred his cock to lie flush against his thigh. There. Now it didn’t appear like he was pitching a tent that could sleep a family of four. Instead, the heat of his erection seeped into him and roused his mind all the more.

His dreams had been a jumbled black and white mess, an indicator for the state of his mind. Sleep had found him easily, but the wrinkled and twisted covers showed that it had not been a sound slumber.

Kento puffed, grumpy and aching. He couldn’t recall the last time he wrapped his palm around himself to let off some steam. It had always seemed like a poor use of his time. Opting for cold showers to numb his swollen member, focusing on getting in a rigorous albeit begrudged workout in before the commute to work.

He baulked at the realisation he hadn’t cum in nearly six months. The last time he entertained the idea of dating even further back than that. So what was different?

You. You were something different. Smiling before he could school his features into neutrality, he surmised that your presence was fucking with more than just his routine. It was you that he thought of when he adjusted himself, trying and failing not to think of your smaller fingers around his shaft.

“What is wrong with me?”

He recalled the smile you gifted him when you parted ways for the night, how your small hand had once again reached out to lightly touch his bicep in thanks for carrying your small suitcase into the room. His cock twitched in response. Groaning, he smacked the pillow next to him over his face. If he were a dog his tail would be wagging. Not just a dog, more like a mongrel.

Kento swore your scent lingered in his room. The wafts of your perfume were stronger in the bathroom and he tried to ignore the subtle sweetness even as it infused inside his nose. Right now, it seemed to have settled into his sheets and he longed to bury his nose in the high count cotton and inhale deeply. Nothing was dissuading him from lowering the band of his briefs until he stood proudly erect.

Maybe if he satisfied the urge now, the fog that clouded his judgement would clear and all would be right again. That was what he told himself while pulling back the covers to free himself. Precum dribbled from the angry slit of his cockhead, turning the near purple tip glossy and sticky.

His thumb swiped through the mess and his hips rose instinctively. Behind his shuttered eyelids he saw you approach the bed, generous hips swaying clad in the softest satin. In truth, he couldn’t give a fuck for expensive lingerie, but it was aesthetically pleasing and this was his fantasy so why not indulge? He’d be just as happy to greet you in sweats or better yet… his shirt.

Oh fuck.

The tendons in his neck strained, head thrown back whilst he pumped himself lazily at first. Would you be shy in bed? Assertive? Would you drop your jaw to let your tongue run over the seam of his balls whilst using that quick witted mouth of yours on him?

The unknown was almost more tantalising to him than the act itself. It had been so long since the experience of working someone out appealed to him. To learn their nuances and what made them tick. More specifically, your nuances and what made you tick.

With months of denying himself under his belt, it didn’t take long for Kento to feel that familiar tingle begin at the small of his back. His balls drew tight and full, and he flushed a darker red at how easily he was ready to cum. His free hand clenched into a fist, the cotton of the sheets held tightly whilst his toes curled. A guttural groan escaped his throat before he could smother it, quickly biting his lip as spurts of hot cum lashed his quivering stomach. Warm honeyed pleasure dripped in inversion from the bottom of his spine to the base of his skull until his eyes rolled over.

Kento slowed the stroke of his hand, wringing his cock of every last drop until he was close to whimpering from the sensitivity. Panting from the far too quick ejaculation, his eyebrows pinched at the mess he had made. Streaks of milky release pooled near his navel, his hand and softening cock sticky and webbed from the moment of madness. As soon as he was certain his legs would work, he trudged into the bathroom to clean up with guilt weighing heavy in his gut.

A similar sensation burned in the pit of your stomach. Your chest heaved from the release you’d found, but it came at a price and now you were paying it.

You didn’t regret your actions but there was still a guilt associated with them. You were two unattached adults, and you couldn’t deny or sweep aside your attraction to Kento any longer, but he was Karin’s brother. He should be forbidden. You wouldn’t give oxygen to the mean voice in your head that said she deserved it for not telling you about him sooner.

The little pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm were fading, fingers sticky from how you had done your best to fuck yourself before switching to manipulating your sensitive pearl until white sparked in your vision. All the while you thought of how it would look to have his head between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and your fingers tangled in his hair. Would he eat you sloppily or bite at the tender inside of your thighs? Would he welcome you rutting yourself against his mouth or would he hold your hips steady?

You sat up, legs wobbly when your feet fell to the floor. The bathroom wasn’t far and you needed to clean up and change your underwear. The reflection in the mirror over the sink looked hesitant despite the soft glow your skin exuded. A healthy dose of dopamine and the pump of blood circulating your body brightened you up even though it was the middle of the night, and you looked away with a troubled sigh.

The apartment was silent, your footsteps the only sound as you tiptoed barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back to bed. Leaning your forehead against the cabinet, you listened to the rushing water for a moment or two longer than necessary before filling a glass and taking a sip. The sound masked the footsteps that approached, pausing then continuing on.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

A strangled scream caught fast in your throat, muffled by the water now rushing down the wrong way and making you cough and splutter. You whirled on the spot and came face to chest with the man you had spent the last half hour pleasuring yourself to the thought of.

Kento was bare chested—a fact your bulging eyes couldn’t believe—with a faint smattering of ash-coloured hairs decorating between his meaty pectorals and leading down towards his stomach. You didn’t dare follow it any further for fear of knowing whether it went right down to his happy trail, a fact that most definitely would see you moaning aloud.

A pair of pale blue pyjama trousers hid the rest of him and you were grateful for that. He stalled next to the kitchen island, an unreadable expression on his face, and were his ears red? It would be comical if you weren’t burning with mortification. Your heartbeat raced so thunderously that it was amazing he couldn’t hear it from across the room.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” you finally offered once you could breathe again without coughing.

His eyes seemed to search your features, whether for signs of lying or something else, you weren’t completely sure. At last, he nodded and walked closer to grab his own glass and fill it with water.

The silence was oppressive, thick and charged with an energy that bristled down Kento’s spine. “Do you need anything?”

Your head snapped around so fast he was surprised you didn’t give yourself whiplash. If he didn’t know any better he would say that warmth seemed to fill your face. The question was innocent but perhaps… no. He was trying to see things that weren’t there.

“An extra pillow. A thicker duvet.” He elaborated when you didn’t answer.

Having this casual conversation was excruciating enough given what he had just done to the image of you in his mind. It was made worse with the realisation that the reality of you was so much more appealing than his imagination could ever conjure.

The almost comically oversized t-shirt you wore dragged nearly to your knees, with the sleeves reaching well past your elbows. It kept your modesty intact and the mystery of it all made his mouth water. Discovering the curves of your body, which parts dipped and the soft rolls of your body would be hours of fun if he were given the chance, not that he would be. He idly wondered if you would look this good in one of his shirts before dismissing the thought, or trying to.

His cock twitched in his clean briefs and he cleared his throat and turned away, terrified of pitching another tent when one was not wanted nor needed. Kento didn’t need to think about how close you were, how all he had to do was reach out a hand and discover whether you would step away or approach. He couldn’t decide which outcome would be the better one.

“No, I don’t need a pillow or anything like that,” you said finally, though you left the sentence hanging because you did want something, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m just adjusting to sleeping in a new place, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but don’t hesitate if there is something I can do to help.”

You could stop looking like a damn five course meal.

The thought was in your mind so suddenly you nearly gasped, instead, masking it by taking a long gulp of water and walking towards the hallway. You needed to put some distance between you, to retreat to the relative safety of your room and chastise yourself for being no better than a lustful bunny.

With a faux smile and an appreciative nod, you turned one last time to glance at him. “Thank you, Kento.”

Kento watched you slip out of sight, back along the darkened hallway and listened to the soft snick of your bedroom closing shut. He was throbbing, a hand drifted to his crotch to hide what was growing. That was the first time you had called him by his given name, and he liked it.

What a mess, he thought whilst returning to bed. His eyes never wavered from your door until he was safely behind his own. His guts still twisted in memory of his unsavoury actions, but something more pressing was on his mind as he screwed his eyes shut and prayed for sleep.

I want to hear my name from your lips again…

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff

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noirvouzzz · 8 months ago

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Sunday Morning

Pairing: Campbell Bain x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: After spending the weekend outside St. Jude's, you return to the asylum, excited to see Campbell and give him a small present you got him at a record store. However, when you walk into his room, you find him in the middle of masturbating.

Warnings: Caught male masturbation, implied non-virgin!reader, virgin!campbell, making out, (slight) hair pulling, dry humping, boob sucking, handjob, blowjob, mention of rough oral, kind of public? (they're in an asylum so idk), aftercare, fluff.

Word count: 3.7 k

Author's note: Hi there, it's admin Kyra! I wanted to start by letting you know that English is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes. And I haven't written a fic in forever, so bear with me. I tried to make Campbells dialogues sound like his accent, but keep in mind that I'm not Scottish so I don't know if it's right :'). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!! :D

You waltzed into the asylum door, holding your backpack tightly as you looked around the place. It seemed surreal, but you were kind of happy to be back. After getting a weekend pass, you thought they'd have to drag you back to this place, but living there for the past few months made the asylum feel like home. You skipped through the corridors, excited to find Campbell and tell him about the little record shop that you visited on your free weekend. You had picked up a small gift for him — a simple vinyl record keychain. While it wasn't extravagant, your budget had limited your options, and you couldn't wait to give it to him anyway. Something that you hadn't expected was missing him so much. Seeing him every day made the absence of his presence over the last two days feel oddly unfamiliar. And, walking to the common room, you couldn't help but wonder whether he missed you too. You tried to anticipate his reaction to your early return since you were supposed to come back after dinner, yet ended up deciding to do it a few hours before schedule. But, where could he be? He wasn't at the radio station because you could hear Francine's voice announcing the next song, and he definitely wasn't in the common room where you were standing. Maybe he was in his shared room, but that would be out of character for him. He wasn't the type to isolate himself in his bedroom, especially not in the middle of the afternoon. You thought that he could be playing the guitar, or he could have got a day pass and not be in the asylum at all. However, you decided to stop overthinking and just check his room; if he wasn't there, you'd just wait for him to return. Approaching the door, a fluttering sensation started filling your stomach while you held the wrapped keychain in your hand. You caught the sound of distant breathy groans and tried to peek through the small window, but the blinds were pulled down. Perhaps he was sleeping, but you still wanted to surprise him, so you pushed the door open and walked inside.

Your eyes widened, seeing the scene that was unfolding before you. The room was quite dark, only being illuminated by a little ray of sunlight that peeked through the closed curtains. Campbell was sitting on his bed, his cheeks pink and his mouth slightly open as he let out heavy, sharp breaths. His back was leaning against the headboard, which would make little squeaky sounds whenever he moved. Your eyes travelled down to his hands. His left one resting on his lower stomach, twitching slightly, and his right one moving up and down under his boxers, palming his cock before stroking it in slow and long motions. Then, Campbell's gaze met yours. He jumped and quickly removed his hand from his underwear, before pulling up his trousers and draping the blanket over his body.

“Lass!” He exclaimed and took an anxious breath. “ye're early.” Campbell mumbled with a mortified look on his face. His shaky arms tightly held the blanket to his chest.

“Oh! So-Sorry I'll leave.” You let out, not knowing what else to do in this situation. Your cheeks were also pink now, and, as much as you wanted to turn around and disappear, your body wasn't responding.

“Fergus sneaked oot… for the day, and I didn't think ye'd be comin' until dinner, so…” His eyes moved to your hand, and he tilted his head. “What's that?”. You looked at the present and cleared your throat. With all this situation, you almost forgot about it. “What?… Oh… I got you something.” He leaned forward slightly and smiled.

“Aw, really? Yer so lovely.”

This was weird; should you just give it to him? The most normal thing to do would be to come back later, but you had been dying to see his reaction ever since you bought it. You awkwardly approached the bed and sat on the edge, handing him the gift without touching his hands. He eagerly took it and began breaking the wrapping paper with his still shaky fingers. Once the broken pieces of paper were scattered around the bed, he held the little keychain and looked at it with a huge smile on his face. “F-For the radio station keys” you quietly explained, looking at him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s brilliant; I love it! I'd hug ye right noo, but I haven't washed ma hands.” He responded, looking at you with a big happy smile. He loved it, and his excitement made you want to hug him too.

“I don't care, c’mere.” You opened your arms, and he quickly leaned forward and embraced you, holding you tightly while softly shaking you around.

“Ye're too sweet!” He told you as he nuzzled the crook of your neck. His fingers started tracing circles on your back, which filled your stomach with butterflies. Campbell had always been clingy and touchy, it wasn't unusual for him to hug you or caress you. But you had just caught him jerking off, and you couldn't deny you liked the sight.

“Ye didnae have to get me anything.” He moved his face in front of yours and placed his left hand on your cheek. “I know, but I wanted to.” His thumb started brushing your cheek, and your breath got caught in your throat. Even though he was usually a bundle of nerves and energy, he was trying to be gentle and caring, as if he didn't want to scare you away.

“Sorry for interrupting you." You joked in an attempt to make the whole situation less weird, but it didn’t help at all, as regret filled your whole body when that sentence came out of your mouth. You should've shut up and avoided acknowledging what you saw, acting as if it never happened and never mentioned it again — or at least that's what you wished you would've done. But it was hard to avoid talking about the only thing that was on your mind when he hugged you, when he rubbed his hands on your back, and when you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Oh, dinnae remind me,” he chuckled. "Sorry ye had to see that.” “It's fine; it was just kind of... unexpected.” He looked away and smiled.

“It was embarrassin’, ah'm still embarrassed.” “Don't be; you looked kind of hot.” You let out without thinking and felt your cheeks burning. You didn't know why you said that; maybe you just wanted him to feel better. He obviously did look hot, that was true, but you would've never said it to his face. You usually tried to be more subtle, with some innocent flirting here and there, never like this. He smiled, lifting his eyebrows. “Ye're sae mean.” His gaze shifted to your lips. “Teasin' me when Ah'm... like this.” He laughed quietly and briefly looked away. Your lips parted after you licked them, and your heart started thundering in your chest. “I mean, it was a good sight.” He lightly pressed his thumb against your lower lip, softly playing with it. “Ye didnae even let me finish before breakin' into ma room.” His hand held your chin and brought you closer. “I didn't break into-” You tried to finish your sentence, but the feeling of Campbell's mouth on yours interrupted you. He placed a quick kiss on your lips and moved away instantly. “Shit— Ah'm sorry.” He said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, “I wasn't thinkin'.” Campbell looked down awkwardly, he seemed more embarrassed about the sudden kiss than about you catching him in the middle of pleasuring himself. You let out a chuckle and took his arm, pulling him closer again. “Shut up.” He looked at you with a puzzled expression, and you kissed his lips again, wrapping his arm around your waist and making him press you onto his body. He moved his free hand to the back of your head, his fingers scratching your hair as you intertwined your arms around his neck.

You kept kissing for longer, lightly brushing your tongue against his lips, feeling his breath getting huskier and his grip squeezing you tighter. His kisses were a bit sloppy, you could tell that he was nervous and that he hadn’t done much kissing before, well, you knew that. He had shamelessly told you plenty of times how he couldn’t wait to get discharged to go to some party and lose his virginity. He wanted to get drunk with his friends, meet a pretty girl to get her a drink, and take her home. And he was sweet about it, making endless unrealistic plans of spoiling that girl, taking her on holidays to the beach, and making her the happiest woman in the world. You had always fantasized about being that girl, wishing that he would see you the way you did, and getting a bit sad every time he talked about having to find her when you were right there, waiting. But now you were kissing him, and he was kissing you back. Leaning onto the bed, resting his back on the headboard, and pulling you against him.

Campbell hesitantly bit your lower lip, delicately sucking it into his mouth and trying not to hurt you, while you placed your hand on his chest.

“Y'okay?” He whispered after separating for a moment. He was still playing with your hair as he looked at you with his big brown eyes, eyebrows furrowing in worry. “Mhm.” You licked your lips and gave him a small smile. “Are you?” “Aye.” He smiled back and leaned in to kiss you again. Campbell began to feel more confident, moving his hand up and down your waist and giving little caresses with his long fingers. His tongue was exploring your mouth, and his hand started sliding down your side and lingering on your lower half. You knew he craved to touch you, but he was too nervous to make a move. So you took his hand and moved it to your ass, which he instantly squeezed whilst he held your hair tighter.

You moved closer, sitting on his lap and sliding your hands under his striped T-shirt, sensing his skin quivering beneath your fingertips. Campbell pulled your head back by your hair and moved his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking, sending shivers down your spine. A little moan escaped your lips when he started nibbling your skin, which caused him to make his hold tighter. His eager lips released a soft groan as he pushed his hips up unconsciously, his body aching for some kind of friction to relieve the pain between his legs. Your hand began sliding down his abdomen, resting on his lower stomach while tracing your fingers along his waistband. The more you moved with him and pressed your thighs against his legs, the wetter your soaked panties became. You couldn't shake the mental image of him touching himself. You wanted to feel him, to get your hand under his pants, and make him squirm to your touch. But this was his first time, and you were still in an asylum after all; going further was way too risky, but it was also so really tempting. As you kissed passionately, your bodies kept moving in sync, hips pressing firmly and rubbing against each other, making you both struggle to suppress the escalating urge to moan. “…can I?” you murmured quietly, your fingers playing with the elastic of his pants while he moved to look at you with an amused expression. “Really?” His breath got caught in his throat, and he quickly nodded enthusiastically, “Aye, o' course.” While your gaze remained fixed on his face, your hand made its way to his groin, pausing there for a moment. “You sure?” You asked again. Campbell tucked your hair behind your ear. “Aye, please,” he responded eagerly, “but ye dinnae have to do anythin' if ye dinnae want to.” From his nose down to his neck, you planted soft kisses that turned into gentle sucking, causing small moans to escape his kiss-swollen lips. You then moved your hand to his crotch, pressing and palming it in a slow, rhythmic motion. With a long sigh, he squeezed your ass, his fingers sliding under your shirt to caress your skin. Heavy breaths escaped him as his digits toyed with the hem of your bra. “Can I touch ye? Please?” he requested breathlessly. You nodded towards his neck, feeling his hand slip beneath your bra, cupping your boob, and tracing circles with his thumb around your hard nipple. While you continued kissing his neck, you unbuttoned his jeans, and, with a lift of his hips, he helped you slide them down to his knees. Campbell held the bottom of your shirt and glanced at you, silently seeking your consent to take it off. Once more, you nodded, raising your arms for him to swiftly remove the shirt and admire your body. “Yer so beautiful.” He whispered softly and began gently caressing your sides, his fingertips gliding over your skin as they returned to your bra. You gently stroked him through his boxers, moving slowly, sensing the tension in his muscles building. Gasping in your ear, he fumbled with his hands, the movement becoming sloppier as his fingers trembled slightly. He brushed them under the hook of your bra, locking eyes with you while you nodded once more. Your bra loosened, and he slid it down your arms, pausing to meet your gaze briefly before returning to fondle your breasts whilst planting kisses from your neck down to the curve of your collarbones. Moving to your cleavage, Campbell's tongue brushed its way to your nipple. He grasped your breast with his big hand and sucked you into his mouth, flicking his tongue and letting out sharp breaths.

“Is that okay?” he asked gently, looking up at you with a caring expression. "Yeah,” you whimpered, and he smiled before going back to sucking on your nipples. He was getting harder under your hand, wet spots forming on his boxers as you slowly palmed him. You were being painfully subtle, moving slowly and teasing him, enjoying the sound of his eager sighs and groans. So, with a tender touch, you slipped your fingers beneath his underwear, gently tracing along his lower abdomen without moving any further. “God, lass, ye're killin' me,” he whined, breathing heavily against your chest, “please, jist touch me already.” Amused by his needy attitude, you decided to cease the teasing, planting a sweet kiss on the top of his head and removing his boxers. Looking at his arousal, you nervously bit your lip, your gaze switching between his hard cock and his hungry eyes. You took a deep breath and spat on your palm, and a sharp gasp from Campbell echoed at the sight. Your hand inched towards his erection, fingers brushing the underside of its length, provoking a responsive twitch to your touch. You softly held him, circling around the head, rubbing some spit and precum on it, and gliding your fingers along his sensitive slit.

Campbell quickly turned into a whimpering mess, attempting to stifle his moans while you barely even touched him. As your grip tightened slightly, moving up and down his shaft, his rhythmic breathing hitched, his body melting under your touch when you started going faster. “Mmm… Jesus,” he whimpered, his hand trembling as it reached for your neck, caressing it lazily.

“Is that good?” you asked with a cheeky smile. His glazy eyes fell on yours, his lips parting slightly. “Mhm,” he whined, “it feels so good.” He jerked his hips in a slow rhythm, gently thrusting into your hand and panting with each motion. “Really?” you responded in a playful tone, spitting on his cock again to keep your movements smooth. “Want it to feel better?” Campbell’s eyes lit up, and he nodded almost desperately. His words caught in his throat; all he managed to respond was a faint “Please,” uttered almost silently. You scooted down from his lap, now kneeling between his shaky legs while you set your hair behind your ears. His mouth dried when he felt you placing a kiss on his tip. Moving quickly, he brushed your hair away from your face — putting it in a makeshift ponytail — and a low groan escaped him when he felt your breath on his skin, his cock twitching against your tongue as you brushed it up his side. Then, you made contact with his tip, swirling your tongue around the head and dipping it into his slit. You placed your hand on his hip, balancing yourself and finally letting him into your mouth.

You began slowly, sucking gently and moving your head up and down while glancing up at him. He was admiring you, his slightly open mouth letting out grunts and sharp breaths when he ran his fingers through your hair. After a few minutes, you started bobbing your head in deeper motions, taking most of his length into your mouth and feeling it hitting the back of your throat. The room's silence was broken by Campbell's breathy moans and the wet sounds of your choking and slurping.

At that moment, everything about you appeared beautiful to him — your cheeks softly hollowing around his cock, the saliva running down your chin from your swollen lips, and your pretty watery eyes. With his free hand, he was using his thumb to gently dry your tears while using the other to guide your head, urging it to move faster. He was holding back, resisting the urge to hold your head and start fucking your throat, but he wanted to be gentle with you and let you take the lead, knowing that you had more experience than him and you definitely knew what you were doing. He wasn’t going to last much longer anyway; the feeling of your mouth and tongue all over his cock was too intense for him.

“Ahh… Ah'm gonna…” he whimpered, his eyes shut and his hand starting to grip your hair when his whole body tensed up. You pulled him out of your mouth, still jerking him off. “Are you gonna come?” You teased him and kept stocking him quickly as he moaned, “Mmm… Aye, please… ahh” “Come for me, darling.” You groaned, letting him pound your hand until thick strands of come splattered over your palm and his shirt. Your hand kept moving up and down through his orgasm, slowing down until he collapsed onto the headboard with a little smile on his face, taking a moment to catch his breath and recover. “Ah… thank you” Campbell purred and opened his eyes. He glanced at his clothes, letting out a chuckle. “What a mess.” He murmured under his breath, removing his T-shirt and using it to wipe your chin, hand, and himself before planting a soft kiss on your lips. “You’re so gross,” you laughed, “could've washed my hands.” “No, ye're no goin' anywhere." He threw his T-shirt on the floor and pulled you into a hug, holding you and eagerly placing a bunch of soft kisses over your face. “Yer so perfect.” "Relax, Campbell,” you grinned, and he continued squeezing you into his arms. “I cannae,” he cheered and kissed you again. “Cannae believe this just happened." “Okay, let’s calm down." When he loosened his grip, you drew him onto your body, cradling him while he rested his head against your bare chest. His pounding heart began to gradually slow down, and his embrace was no longer crashing you, so you covered yourselves with the blanket and kissed his forehead. “How are you feeling?” you asked, and he looked at you. “Brilliant, Ah'm gonna remember this day forever,” he grinned and started caressing your arm. “Ah'm gonna remember the keychain, Ah'm gonna remember you coming through the door, Ah'm gonna remember yer pretty face…”

With a smile, you held onto him, watching as he continued ranting and rubbing your skin with his long fingers. And then, you heard the sound of the radio echoing through the corridor's speakers.

Up until that point, a stream of uninterrupted music had been playing. However, when Francine announced the final song, Campbell let out a sigh and buried his face against your shoulder. Despite not wanting to acknowledge it, you knew that as soon as the show ended, the corridors would become crowded with patients and nurses. Dinner was about to start, and Isabel wouldn’t hesitate to walk in the room and drag you both if you weren’t there. “We should get dressed,” you said, and he whined, squeezing tightly, “Come on, we’ll miss dinner." “Ah'm really cosy,” he protested, nuzzling your neck. "Dinnae wanna move." “Wanna get in trouble? You’ll miss your cocoa,” you responded, giggling and nudging his arm. He shook his head without looking up. “Get up then.” Rising from the bed, Campbell began to get dressed, throwing on his colour-block hoodie and jeans. You, too, put your top back on and retrieved his dirty T-shirt from the floor. “You’re never getting the stains out,” you teased before tossing it into the laundry basket. “I dinnae care,” he responded and walked to you, placing his hand on your cheek, “it was so worth it." You smiled, he pecked your lips one last time. He took the keychain, adding it to his key, and placed them in his pocket. Then, he took your hand while opening the door. “Ready?” he asked, as he placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Yeah, let’s go.” Campbell gave your hand a squeeze and cheerfully walked you out of the room. “Ach, I nearly forgot! How'd yer weekend go, then?” He asked, lovingly gazing at you while waiting to hear all of your adventures outside the asylum. When you decided to return to the asylum before you initially intended to, you could've never expected for any of this to happen. However, as Campbell led you through the corridors with the happiest smile on his face, you realized that you had made the right choice, and you would not change it for anything.

This is the first fic i've written in ages so I hope you liked it. If you have any prompts for Campbell fics x reader fics let me know and ill take a look :). Like, rb, and follow if you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!

#takin over the asylum #takin over the asylum fanfic #campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #campbell bain x fem!reader #campbell bain fic #campbell bain fluff #campbell bain smut #im in love with campbell #david tennant #david tennant characters #young david tennant

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 10 months ago

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Sixty Bucks?

A/n: Not sure how I feel about this one, started writing it but lost motivation so hope it's not too bad lol

Warnings: Not proof read, smut and fluff, fingering, squirting, let me know if there's any more you think I should add :3

Guns had been on tour for about a month now and this was their first day off. You were touring with the band as Slash’s guitar tech, he was nice enough but fairly quiet.

The hotel you were staying in was pretty cheap, nothing fancy with the managers wanting to try and cut costs after Axl’s oblivious spending. One thing that’s started to change since the new budget was instated was that you and Slash now had to share a room. There were two beds, so you never worried in that regard, as long as you stayed out of his way and kept to yourself things went smoothly.

This particular place was right on the beach and a more tropical scene. You woke up and the warm golden glow of the sun was flooding in through the window that was open just a crack to get some cool air flowing. You woke up fully refreshed and wide awake, Slash was still crashed from last night's partying. He was sprawled out on his bed, in nothing but his jeans since that’s what he toppled into bed in. A pillow was held over his head with a small window so he could still breathe, his head facing you so he wouldn’t be blinded by the light.

You got out of bed, stretching and cracking your joints. Out the window you saw some flamingos around, beautiful pink birds poking around the small beach outside your room. You quickly went to Slash, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake. “Slash!” You called, trying to get him up. “Slash, come on! There’s flamingos outside!”

“Fuck. Off.” He grumbled, shifting away from you.

“Slash, come one! You’ll regret not looking at them now and you know it!” You kept shaking him and he threw the pillow covering his head at you. “Oh, pfft.” You groaned as it hit you in the face.

“Let me sleep, it’s my day off.” You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness.

“Come on! They’re so pretty!”

“You know what else is pretty? Sleep!” Slash stated, lifting himself off the bed just enough to glare at you. You chewed your cheek, crossing your arms and turning away from him to look back at the flamingos out the window. “Flamingos aren’t even interesting.” Slash mumbled, grabbing the pillow he threw back and getting comfortable again. “Fat fucking chicken wings.”

“You’re just mad you’re not as pretty.” You retorted, not even bothering to look at him.

“What was that?” He demanded.

“You heard me.” Slash didn’t say anything after that but you could feel him glaring daggers at you. You kept watching the flamingos, enjoying viewing their daily life. So calm and peaceful, they don’t have to deal with Slash when he’s just woken up.

“Hey,” Slash started, pulling you from your thoughts, “you know, if you’re already up why don’t you help me out real quick?” You raised a brow and turned to look at him. He’d rolled onto his back, the blanket pushed away from him as he lay stretched out before you.

“Help you with what?” You asked. He didn’t respond, just shrugged and rolled his body to be comfortable. Slash let out a soft groan and that’s when you noticed the not so hidden bulge in his jeans. His fly was down and basically framing it. “I-I don’t get paid for that kind of service.” You stumbled out, eyes glued to his clothed member.

“I could pay you.” He said as if this was an everyday thing. Though, for him you suppose it kind of was. “Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.” You can’t say you didn’t like the idea. Since you were hired to be Slash’s tech you thought he looked good, you were sleeping in the same room with him and can’t count how many times you’d thought about crawling into bed with him. You’d seen him with every other girl around and you were waiting for your turn.

“How much?” You asked, taking a step closer to the bed and sitting on the end. The mattress dips under you. Slash reaches a hand out to you, lightly tracing shapes on your thigh.

“How much do you think you’re worth?” He asked, looking up at you and waiting for a genuine answer.

You thought about it, glancing to the ceiling as you pondered. “Sixty?” You finally said.

“Sixty?” He asked. “Sixty what?”

“Sixty bucks?” You replied.

He stared at you for a moment before sitting up. “You think you’re only worth 60 bucks?” You thought about it and shrugged. “Jesus, I’ll give you a hundred right now if you tell me you're kidding.”

You thought about it some more. “Well, how much do you usually pay?”

“Nothing, girls throw themselves at us.”

“So, what’s different between me and those girls?” He paused, taking some time to think about it himself.

Slash shrugged and shook his head. “Come here.” He patted the bed beside him. You didn’t move and just stared at the open space. “Come.” He repeated in a more stern tone. You listened and sat beside him, leaning back against the headboard. Slash’s hand immediately found your thigh, rubbing it and teasing the sensitive inside. He tugged on your fuzzy pyjama pants. “Take these off.” His voice dropped to a whisper, raspy and deep. His breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and you wanted to taste it so bad.

You listened to his demand and pushed your pants off, leaving just your panties. They were a nice pair, red and lacey because they make you feel special, like a present no one gets to unwrap. Until now, when Slash slides a finger over you, pushing down at certain points just to watch you squirm. Slash pressed his lips to your cheek, trailing a few more soft kisses to your ear. “You need to know your worth, darling.” He whispered, sticking his tongue out a little and licking around the shell of your ear.

Slash moved your panties to the side and slid a finger through your wet folds. You let out a soft gasp at the feeling, hips already starting to buck into his hand. “Slash.” You whined.

“Yeah? What is it?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he pushed a finger into you, drawing a moan out of you. “Is that what you wanted?” He asked with a chuckle, you nodded. His finger worked in and out of you, starting slow and curling into your gummy walls. He pushed another in, stretching you out. “So tight, just for me?” He teased, speeding up his movements.

“Hah- fuck, Slash, I-I can’t-” You tried to keep your head up but it kept falling back at the feeling of his thick, calloused fingers inside of you. He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer so you could rest your head on him.

“Can’t what?” He asked in a teasing tone, kissing your cheek, then jaw and down to your neck. “Gotta use your words, love.”

You let out a loud whine at the name. “Can’t-can’t take it anymore!” Your legs started shaking and your back was arching. The knot in your gut was building in a way you hadn’t felt before.

Slash chuckled. “Cum on my fingers, then, I’ll lick it off.” And with that the knot snapped. Your head rolled back and so did your eyes, moans slipping past your lips without a thought going through your fucked out mind. Your legs shook uncontrollably as you squirted all over Slash’s hand and the pristine white sheets. Slash didn’t stop his hand, instead helping you ride out your high on his fingers. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene. “Fuck, didn’t know you’d do that for me.” He praised when you started coming down from the high.

You looked down at the mess you made, wide-eyed, Slash chuckles at your expression. Your breathing was fast and heavy. Slash’s fingers were still buried deep inside you, he kissed your temple and whispered in your ear. “Felt that good, huh?” He curled his fingers, pressing into you.

“Fuck! Slash, no more, no more.” You whined, weakly pushing his hand away.

“No more?” He asked. “We haven’t even gotten to me, yet.”

#slash gnr #slash fanfiction #saul hudson #slash smut #slash x reader #Slash fic #slash #slash x you #gnr smut #gnr x reader #gnr fic

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