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loveindefinitely · 10 months

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01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

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lovemomhatepolice · 4 months

Text

inCHident - charles leclerc

navigation taglist requests

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: drunk! reader and Kelly, English is my second language!

type: fluff (funny? i hope so)

word count: 1k

summary: there is nothing funnier than you and your good friend Kelly Piquet, with whom you imitate your partners after alcohol and their famous action of 11 years ago...

more content: formula 1 masterlist, charles leclerc masterlist, max verstappen masterlist

“You know what?” You laughed, uncertainly walking down the stairs hand in hand with your boyfriend Charles.

“I'm listening to you, baby,” the man replied, holding you carefully by the elbow and waist.

Your head was spinning. The amount of alcohol on that day probably overcame you too much, or at least at that moment. Partying with Formula One drivers after races was something you loved. That atmosphere, that closeness of everyone together, the successful partying… well, and your beloved girls who proudly stood by their boyfriends as you did.

“You're a good boy,” you grinned, squeezing his hand. “Really, I've never had a better one in my life.”

Charles giggled under his breath, well aware of your condition. Ay, it wasn't the first time he'd seen you in it, and it probably wouldn't be the last either.

“Well, in that case I'm glad,” he replied, helping you up the last flight of stairs at Max and Kelly's temporary lodging for this trip.

That's where the two of you held your after-party after a good partying at the club. You didn't often do this, as mostly everyone was already tired after the fun at the first place, but today quite a few of you still had a lot of energy in you and you definitely couldn't let it go.

“But really Charles.” you said, stopping in front of the stairs.

You were then standing in a place somewhat isolated from the room where all the rest who had come with you were sitting. They were not all drivers, on the contrary, you ended up with about ten people. The rest simply let go of further fun and either returned by plane to their homes or to their hotel rooms.

That's why hardly anyone could catch the fact that you managed the “bathroom” task, which earlier caused a lot of laughter. Leclerc just didn't want to let you go up the stairs alone, and heck knows - you could still fall down them in those heels.

“Really what?” he laughed, grabbing you by the waist the moment you threw your arms around his neck.

“You really are a good boyfriend. If it wasn't for you, I probably would have peed there, it was a must,” you whispered in his ear as if it were a secret, which brought a smile to his face.

“Mhm” he muttered, stroking your hips through the thin material of your dress.

You moved closer to him and kissed him lightly, grinning into his mouth at the same time. However, you were soon interrupted by a shout from Kelly, who, unbeknownst to you, suddenly jumped out from around the corner.

“[Y.N] I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN A LONG TIME!!!”.

You quickly turned around, abandoning your boyfriend's embrace, and threw yourself into the arms of the brunette, who stood behind you with her arms spread out. The hallway was filled with your squeals.

“Kelly, how I love you! You are so beautiful today, what am I saying? You are beautiful every day,” you replied, giggling.

You and the girl moved towards the living room and sat close to each other on the couch. Charles moved behind you, however, sat on the armchair next to you. He was well aware that he didn't even have a lift at that moment, when you continued to be giggling and in each other's embrace.

Everyone in the room was listening to some story by Lando, who was telling it with great passion, but you were in your own world. You whispered something in each other's ear, burst out laughing afterwards, paid each other compliments, and much more. It did not even cross your mind that Max was not in the room. You only found out when he entered the living room in a down jacket and looked at you and Kelly with a surprised look.

“Max, what happened?” asked Oscar, giggling under his breath at the sight of Verstappen.

Max shrugged off his jacket, depositing it on the couch behind you, making the brunette hiss from the touch of cold on her warm skin.

“I thought she went out...” the man began, but was not given the chance to finish, as he was interrupted by his girlfriend.

“NO, HE'S JUST UNFAIR,” she began to say loudly, grabbing your hand, which you quickly picked up on. You loved to laugh at your boyfriends. "I'm leading, he want to pass, he push me, I push him back and after he push me off the track. JUST NOT FAIR"

"Thank you, thank you Max" you replied, pretending to hold the microphone.

A volley of laughter went throughout the living room, and you could feel Lando's phone pulled out on you, which was most likely recording you, but you didn't pay much remark to it. So did Charles, who measured you with his eyes as intensely as Max did.

Kelly rose on the couch, catching in her hand the remote control that lay on the coffee table, and pressed it to her lips, sitting cross-legged. The girl tilted her head toward you and raised her eyebrows slightly, lending authenticity to the “interview.”

“Charles. What's happend with emm Max?" She asked and put the remote control to your lips, encouraging you to use it, like a real microphone.

You looked at Max, who was standing behind his girlfriend with a disbelieving face, and burst out laughing, but quickly stepped into your role again and put on a serious face. Just like fifteen-year-old Charles, giving an interview at the time.

"Nothing, just an inCHident... on the race" You replied, shaking your head in a familiar way.

“I think I just cried,” replied Lando, choking back his own laughter and wiping away the tears that really did trickle from his eyes.

Everyone in the living room laughed, including you and Kelly. Well, okay, maybe not everyone. Max and Charles looked at each other in disbelief, time and again shifting their gaze to you.

“I can't believe it's been twelve years and people continue to remind us of this,” muttered Charles, trying to break through the loud laughter and applause in the room.

All he got in response was a pat on the shoulder from Max, who took the seat next to him, and they both looked at the rest of their friends, wondering where in their lives they had gone wrong that they had chosen such people...

A/N: please do not copy or translate my work! if you have any issues regarding this please contact me in the messages :)

I hope it brought at least a slight smile to your face. AND what more can I say? happy (but belated) inCHIdent anniversary!

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as-is-above-so-below · 2 years

Text

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood Next >>

John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.

“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”

“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”

“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”

A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.

The fact that she did not look the part.

She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame.

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.

“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”

“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.

Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own.

“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”

“Aye. Good things I hope?"

“Mostly.”

A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”

Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

“So, Freyja… like the–?”

A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”

Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”

“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.

”D’ya think I could take him?”

”Probably not.”

Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”

Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”

“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”

Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”

“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.

“What was that about?”

Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”

They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.

Nothing.

Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.

But no, he just had to snoop.

He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.

“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”

“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”

Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”

So he knows her husband. Interesting.

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”

Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago.

He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”

“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”

Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”

She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth.

She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.

Real polite.

~*~

“Alpha-One, in position.”

“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”

“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”

“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”

Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed.

Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”

“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”

“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.

“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”

“Ghost?” Price this time.

Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.

Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”

“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”

“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”

“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.

She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”

The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.

“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.

“Roger. Breaching.”

On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.

Reinforcements.

“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”

“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”

“Alpha-Two, how copy?”

The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”

Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”

Silence.

“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”

Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.

“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.

“All due respect, Price, get bent.”

Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…

The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…

Right?

Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”

Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.

“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.

~*~

The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.

What the fuck?

At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”

“Simon, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”

“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”

Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”

“Bloody hell…”

He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!”

“She was told not to leave her post–”

“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”

Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?

“Simon.”

Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.

He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.

Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed.

Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.

She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”

“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”

She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.

“I’d like an apology.”

“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”

“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”

Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.

Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”

Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."

The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.

“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”

“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”

“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.

“English, MacTavish.”

“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”

“Much better.”

He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.

“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.

Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”

“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”

“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”

Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.

A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”

“Not another word, Sergeant.”

A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.

“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”

Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, Ghost?"

“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."

"Noted, sir."

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sweet-as-an-angel · 7 months

Text

MW Reaction to You Leading Them On

Warnings: 18+, Implied Smut, Dark! Modern Warfare, Horny! Modern Warfare, Possessive Behaviour, Territorial Behaviour, Entitled Behaviour, Threatening Behaviour, Incel-Coded! Modern Warfare, Dub-Con Themes, Implied Age Gap (Price), Physical Restraining, Kidnapping, Breaking and Entering, Reader Being Held Hostage, Abuse of Physical Power, Slut Shaming, Pet Names, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

You’d only just noticed that Ghost stood at the front door of his apartment as if he were guarding it. Perhaps from your attempts at leaving.

You’d tried apologising to him for ‘stringing him along’ as long as you had, but you genuinely believed the two of you were just being friendly, bantering. Nothing more to it.

Obviously, Simon hadn’t seen it that way. You know that now as you watch his hand slip down the front of his sweatpants, palming his erection through them.

“Why don’cha come and show me how sorry you are with that pretty little mouth of yours.” He’s so monotone when he says it that you think he’s joking. His face tells you otherwise.

Of course, you’re speechless. But Simon cares little for your bewilderment. He looks down at you, his eyes narrowing. When you don’t come to him, he steps towards you.

“You know,” he says, coming closer. You step back. “Y’hear about pretty little things like you wandering into a man’s trap. Gettin’ ravaged.”

He’s before you, now, all but chest-to-chest. His eyes are black. Gone is the man you’ve been playfully flirting with these last few months; who you’d tried to push over the edge with your accidental grazes, your unintentional whines, the batting of your eyelashes.

None of that will save you now. His voice carries the weight of a dark star.

“How do you know this isn’t exactly where I want you.”

König

König was eerily silent upon your rejection.

You both stood in his kitchen where, after watching you cook, his heart swelling beyond reason and fathom, König had blurted out that he liked you. A lot.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t return those feelings, only viewing König as a good friend at most.

And now, he stands sentinel over a reaction you can’t possibly predict. Especially as his eyes, usually crinkled with a smile and laughter, seem lighter than usual, as if drained of all their warmth.

“I see,” is all König says. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He leans back against the kitchen counter, one hand gripping its rounded edge while the other remains free.

“I suppose I only have one option, then.”

König stands to his full height, approaching you, invading your personal space. He’s almost chest-to-chest with you, the bulk of his frame, the size of his biceps becoming glaringly obvious to you now as his shirt struggles to contain him, pulled taut over his musculature.

“I’ll just have to destroy you for any other man you try to whore around with.”

The way in which he says it suggests indifference; as if this is something he’s done or thought about a million times before. He presses you into the counter, hands coming to rest either side of you. He bears down on you, jaw clenched and teeth gritted behind straight lips.

“Then you’ll have no choice but to come limping back to me.”

Soap

“Oh aye, Bonnie? You’re gonna drop me, just like that?”

The look Johnny gives you is one of incredulous disbelief. Yet, in some way, you feel that he already knew you weren’t dedicated to the idea of a relationship with him. Even after all the time you’d spent together, the many nights you’d enjoyed sleeping over at his apartment, the many treats you’d baked for him; these were all things one could easily mistake for friendship.

You’d considered that perhaps tonight hadn’t been the best time to let him down, regardless of how gently you did it, considering it was your weekly movie night and it was his turn to host.

You wish you’d listened to your inner self. Especially now as Johnny watches you, his eyes silver and sharp like a wolf’s. Without warning, he pounces on you, taking your wrists and planting them into the sofa cushions.

He lies atop you, heavy. Unmoving. Struggling only makes him grunt, a spark flashing in his eye.

“Tell you what,” he proposes. “If y’can still remember yer name by the time I’m through with you,” he presses his hips against yours. You gasp at the feeling of something heavy and pointed catching you.

“We’ll see how willing y’are to try’n lead me astray.”

Valeria

“I see how it is,” she sighs, arms crossed over her front. She has you tied to a chair in her office, mouth gagged as you try to plead with her through your tears, your eyes. “You thought you could have your cake and eat it too. Thought you could have me while trying to fuck every other bitch that crosses your path.”

You’d dared to try and break things off with Valeria – ‘things’ referring to the one-sided pursual of your love by a certain cartel mommy. But alas, your efforts to repel her had only strengthened her resolve – her need – to have you.

“I’ve dealt with your type before,” she says, bringing her face down to your level. You swear her eyes are black, devoid of the slivers of humanity she still possesses – somewhere. The wrinkle in her nose forecasts disgust, an emotion you know first-hand does not bode well with Valeria.

“I thought you were different. Thought you’d know to shut up and take what’s handed to you – especially when you’ve worked yourself so hard to get it.” Valeria’s hand comes down between your legs, her fingers wrapping around the meat of your thigh. Gripping. Tight.

“Maybe the you I’m looking for is buried in there somewhere.” You can taste the venom in her voice as her scrutinising gaze roves over your bound form. She brings her mouth to your ear, intentional and without haste.

“And all I need to do is fuck it out of you.”

Price

You considered for a moment that John hadn’t actually heard you. What, with his lax demeanour and total lack of acknowledgement of your rejection.

Of course, you were glad he wasn't reacting poorly, but to see him not reacting at all worried you.

“I could have you hidden away somewhere–” Price starts, lighting his cigar and not even looking at you, “–where you’d be for my eyes only.”

The fact that he says it so casually almost has you believing that you’ve misheard him. You blink, wait for him to prove you wrong

Much to your shock, he does nothing to quell your growing anxiety.

“Bet you’d like that – having the attention of an older man. ‘Specially since you’ve worked so hard to get it.”

Now, he looks at you, with eyes hard and sharp as diamond, half-lidded, a glare that could cut glass.

“Sitting on my lap, wearing those tight little shorts around me. Bet you wanted this to happen, didn’t’ya.”

When you don’t respond, too shocked to even conjure a response that could cover even a fraction of what John had said, he spoke for you.

“Well, Love, got anything to say for yourself?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He took his legs off his desk and stood, staring at you.

“Better say it now since y’won’t be able to say much by the time I’m done with you.”

Horangi

“I just can’t believe you thought this would end well for you.” Hong-Jin paces before you as you sit on the edge of your bed, a hostage in your own home. Clearly, your rejection of his proposal to become his partner hadn’t ended well, hence the lock on your front door now lay broken, your security system disarmed.

“Especially after all I’ve spent on you, after all I’ve done to you – for you.”

His eyes never left you, staring you down. You tried not to shake, tried not to make a run for the door that, while open and tantalising in its beckoning for your escape, a steel model of a man patrolled it, patrolled you. Had you prisoner.

He stops before you, stands just inches from where your knees are jittering. His hands come down to grip them, giving them a squeeze. If it’s meant to be comforting, his intentions are lost in translation.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with you,” he says. Offers you an out. “Maybe I’ve given you too much freedom.”

At that, he sinks to his knees before you and, without warning, parts your legs. You yelp, trying to pull away, but he keeps you tethered to the spot. His hands shoot to the top of your thighs and you can feel his fingers hooking over the sides of your bed shorts.

You try to reason with him, try to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants, so long as he doesn’t hurt you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Only want to show you–” he pulls the sides of your shorts down– “what you’re missing.”

Alejandro

The instigator of such a cold reception from Alejandro had been your refusal of a date with him. One which, unbeknownst to you, he’d been planning and psyching himself up for for the past week.

“I see.” Alejandro’s face was stern, thunder clouds rolling over him, making his features dark and pointed. The onset of a storm.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, as Alejandro stood by your front door, dressed as if he was prepared to take you out right now.

You could see his jaw clench, his eye twitch.

“Is there someone else?” he asks.

You know that getting rejected solely because someone favours another over you is bad, but being rejected without competition is worse. You swallow, unsure of which option will infuriate Alejandro more. When you fail to answer, he sighs.

“You know, I always thought you were smarter than this, (Y/N).” His voice is low and intentional, like a plane flying too close to the ground. You look up, only to find him staring down at you, taking up all the space of your doorway with his hand perched on top of it like it’s nothing.

“But maybe I just have to teach you.”

You try to speak up for yourself, try to ask Alejandro what he’s playing at, but he shushes you. Steps into your home.

“I’ll have you crawling back to me by the night’s end, Cariño.” His words carry a weight that roots you in place. “I promise you that.”

Rodolfo

“Oh, I know,” he says with all the certainty in the world. You’re in his apartment, coming to break the news to him that you can’t accept his boyfriend proposal; the one he’d sent you in a five-page-long love letter.

You blink, befuddled. “You…you know?” Your brow raises. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

Rudy gives a hum, a smiling one. He puts his hands in his pockets, leans against the wall behind him.

“That’s because I know you don’t mean it.” He gives you little time to contemplate his statement before he’s descending upon you like a solar eclipse. “I just needed an excuse to get you somewhere we wouldn’t be…” He searches for the right word. “Disturbed.”

Strange, considering how he was disturbing you right now. He went on.

“I mean, how else was I going to get you here? If I’d just text you, you could shoot me down without coming anywhere near me. But now,” he’s close enough that his hands rest on your arms when he reaches for you, pulling him closer to him. You stumble on uncertain legs.

His grip is soft but you feel trapped, even if Rudy is one of the few people you’d feel comfortable being trapped with.

“Now,” he says, voice low. He pulls you into his chest, hard with years of training.

“I can show you how well I can please you.”

Graves

Graves is far more used to being the player, not the played. So when he discovered that you were, in fact, engaging in what could be construed as promiscuous behaviour with him without the intention of falling for his charms, he went silent. His stare hardened.

He’d never admit it, but he’d actually grown to like you in the time you’d been together. A lot.

“So that’s it?” he says. His voice, usually rounded with his southern charm and honeyed words, strikes you like an arrow, ice and sharp. “We have a good thing goin’ and you’re just gonna throw it all away?”

You’d tried to explain to him that no, that wasn’t what you meant when you’d suggested some time apart. You just wanted to explore other options, is all.

He gives a whiplash, humourless laugh.

“Can tell you’re lyin’ from a mile away. I know you want me, need me.”

When you roll your eyes, ready to back out of the conversation altogether, he’s on you, closing the gap between you and gripping you by your shoulders. He presses you against the wall.

“Fight it all you want, but we both know you’re just gonna come crawlin’ back, so why don’t I make this easy for ya.” His breath is hot against your cheeks, a bull on the prowl. His fingers dig into your shoulders and he gives you an impish smile. One that seems to substitute something much more insidious.

“I’ll have you begging me to fuck you by the end of the night,” he promises. “One way or another, whether you like it or not, m’gonna make you all mine.”

Gaz

Gaz has played the nice guy for far too long. This, he realises as he watches someone try to chat you up from across the bar, only to make the fatal mistake he himself had made: leaving you unattended.

Gaz wasted no time. He slithered through the crowded bar to you, taking your wrist in his hand on his way. He dragged you to a small room, dark and out of the way. He locked the door behind him.

“What was all that about, then.”

He faces away from you, but even through the dim light of the one, flickering light bulb above you, you could see his shoulders heaving, his hands clenched into fists as he awaits your response.

A friend, just some guy – it doesn’t matter. Gaz turns and bears down on you, backing you against the wall. Your hands fly up to his chest to try and quell him, to put some distance between the two of you. His heart pounds and so does yours, albeit for different reasons.

“You’re mine,” he says. He pens you in, his form broad and sculpted by horrors unknown. A hand comes to take your chin between its fingers, jerking your gaze to meet his. “Have I not worked hard enough to be able to have you yet.”

His voice cracks, though he shows no signs of crying. No, Instead he presses his front to yours. Something catches your thigh and you gasp.

“Maybe you just need reminding,” he tells you, “of how much I’ve done for you.” He rolls his hips against you, his hands coming to bolt themselves on the wall behind you, caging you.

“How much I can do.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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redeyerhaenyra · 5 months

Text

Divine Hammer

Summary: You bring up something new to Simon. He's more enthusiastic than you expected.

Warnings: What else but smut, HEAVY UK slang usage (me and si come from the same area of England our slang is v similar) Simon slaps reader once, fem reader, oral(f), fingering in BOTH holes, pussy juice as lube, anal duh, simons fat cock, sprinkling of a size kink, mean Simon, kitchen sex mmm, no beta we die like soap (sorry), lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: Listen the taboo of anal just gets me going alright , also this has been in my drafts since JAN 9TH help

Wc: 2.5k

Simon's stare was unnerving. Well, it was always unnerving, to a degree. But he found ways to utilise it. Deadpan humour, emphasising points of conversation, scaring away would-be hookups from you in the pub. But here, it was unnerving in a whole other way.

It felt… intrusive.

Simon stared at you like he could see through your clothes, your body, into your mind to expose your deepest darkest fantasies. You squirmed under his penetrating gaze, tugging at the hem of your jumper.

After a little while of silence, you shook your head, scoffing at yourself;

“-No, nevermind um.. I'm.. s-sorry that was weird-” “Didn’ say tha’ ”

You gulped, gaze nervously fixed to the floor. Simon was still. Staring. At you. Never before had you felt so exposed, too embarrassed and, if you were honest, a little scared to look at your boyfriend face-on.

“Was just wonderin’ since when my bird was such a slag.”

His baritone words rolled down your spine, sending sparks of a deep, taboo satisfaction through you. You whimpered, and hid your face in your hands.

“Don’ act like a prude love, we both heard what you wanted just now.” “I shouldn't have said anythinnnggg-”

Conceptually, anal had… a certain taboo charm to it. From your perspective at least. Sure, it wasn't technically the “right” hole… it wouldn't feel the same, but the idea had always fascinated you.. intruded your shadowed thoughts at night with your fingers rubbing your clit and edging nervously to an opening further on than your cunt.

So, gently, you'd broached the topic one time you were both in the kitchen together- thinking, in hindsight foolishly, that it'd be something he'd instantly dismiss, or at least… talk about later. In the bedroom. Not in the middle of the kitchen… but now here you stood, in the hole you'd dug for yourself;

“On the contrary, I'm relieved you've finally admitted it to yourself.” His footsteps were heavy against the floorboards as he approached you. Confused, you peeked out of the gaps between your fingers to look at him;

“W-what?” “Don't be fuckin’ coy w'me love.” Simon towered over you, cadging you next to the kitchen side.

“Always suspected there was some depraved shit up here, yeah?” He poked your temple with his index finger, “Turns out my intuitions were correct then?”

“T-thats not-” “Oh yes it is sweet’art.” Simon's eyes grew more intense by the second, even more than before- you struggled to even picture them in your mind for fear of his retribution.

“Ay- fuckin’ look at me when I'm talking to ya.”

He could have been a lot harsher with the small smack he delivered to your cheek, but that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain, and your eyes watered a little at the sensation. He grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them till you pouted and shaking your head lightly, as if to keep hold of your attention.

As if you could look anywhere else…

Forced to return his ferocious gaze, you crumbled, knees bucking like a fawn under you- Simon grabbed you and roughly hauled you back up, manhandling you to bend over the kitchen counter. You allowed him to, biting your lip in an attempt to muffle your unintentional sounds of appreciation.

It earned you a harsh smack to your rear, and Simon's big paw of a hand tugging your hair. He leaned over you, “ ‘M not ‘avin any of tha’ yeah? You're not gonna be hidin’ how much of a slut you are from me anymore sweet'art.”

The juxtaposition of his words and the way he sweetly kissed your temple after he said them was almost comical. The grip on your hair disappeared, replaced with firm and consistent pulling at your clothes until you shuffled out of them- Simon wasted no time running his warm hands up and down your body, rumbling out various admirations of your physical form.

He slunk down your body, nipping and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your back, and then to each of your cheeks, all the way down to your pussy. Earlier on, when you'd ridden yourself of your panties, Simon had laughed at how wet they were. “Already?” He'd asked, “Y'that turned on already? Whore. Like a bitch in heat f'me, ey?”

He had no further comments to mock you with, not now at least. He was busy approving of the view of your wet cunt in front of him- out of the corner of your eye you spied him nodding to himself as if he were appraising fine art.

You huffed, a little impatient, petulant you wiggled your bum at him- only all you got from him was another spank.

“Be patient.” He said curtly.

You whined, but otherwise did as you were told, meekly resigned to your fate as Simon's personal eye candy.

“Why ya’ into it then?” You made a noise of confusion, Simon huffed.

“This.”

One of hands had moved to idly grope and squish your bottom while he'd been down there, and now his thumb creeped ever so slowly over to press on your rim. You keened- suddenly understanding what he meant.

“Well?” His thumb pressed in deeper, you gasped- “I-i don't know!” “Hmmm…”

You could tell from his tone he didn't quite believe you. He kissed your cheek again.

“I'm sure I'll find out.”

With that said, his thumb remained almost gently rubbing at your hole, his free hand moving to pull his balaclava up over his nose- wasting no time in burying himself in your cunt. He sighed contentedly at the taste, smell, feel of you, lazily lapping at your cunny with his broad tongue. His thumb still rubbing you in slow circles, almost.. in a comforting manner.

There was no one more intimidating than Simon- at least out of all the people you've ever met, and yet here he was, eating your pussy like it was a home cooked, three-course meal. You looked over your shoulder, and bit your lip; The visual of big bad Simon Riley on his knees for you, make you shiver and clench.

Simon seemed to be secretly a telepath however, as the way he suddenly roughly pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb- tugging on it cruelly, came off as a punishment. You whined loudly, panting into the counter, drooling a little. Vaguely, you could hear Simon humming thoughtfully to himself. He released his hold on your poor clit, though quickly replaced it by rubbing small, soothing circles on it instead.

It quite quickly becomes a lot more intense, Simon grunting in approval as he plunges his thick tongue into your cunt. Your breathing is staggered, coming out in short, little huffs- you reach behind you to tug at Simon's head, shoving him closer. Again, he groans in appreciation, eagerly nuzzling between your thighs closer, the rhythm of his tongue and fingers rubbing at your clit increased a hundredfold;

Like lighting, your orgasm crashed through you, the noises that left your pussy- wet, squelching, the drip of your juices against the floor, should surely have had you feeling at least some shame, but no. You were too twitchy, too fucked stupid on Simon's tongue to care.

With much reluctantance, Simon hauled himself off of your puffy pussy. He'd gladly stay nestled between your kegs for the rest of him life, at least from further away, he could admire his work.

At this point, you thought perhaps he'd finally get to the meat of what you'd suggested.. Simon wasn't finished yet though- two of his deliciously thick fingers were swiftly shoved into your sopping pussy.

You cried out at the sudden penetration, shivering and trembling.

“What? ..silly cow.” Simon told you gruffly, somewhat annoyed that you'd dare disturb his probing at your cunt with your exclamation of surprise. You whined at his degradation, but were still coherent enough to recognise the underlying affection in his tone. Huffing, you leaned forward to lay your torso fully on the cold, sideboard. The cool temperature of the marble was sharp and sudden, but soon soft and gentle to your hot body, palliative to your hard, puffed up nipples.

He lazily pumped his fingers inside you for a few moments, before curling his fingers forward, dragging against that spongey spot deep within you, and eased his fingers out of you.

You were left huffing and panting like an animal into the counter- Simon had cupped his two fingers- the ones that was just inside of you- just under your clit.. then abruptly he slid them upwards, slowly, pressing down hard.

You squeaked, struggling not to quiver too hard. Simon's fingers kept creeping up and up and up, gliding firmly over your cunny, finally halting at your rim. The hot, wet sensation of Simon rubbing your own slick into your hole as lube had you trembling.

“How's tha?” You heard Simon mumble from behind you, his accent had gotten a little thicker. It always got thicker when he was “in the zone”.

“Oh.. uh..” Seemingly irked by your lack of response, your boyfriend slapped your clit harshly with the back of his hand.

“G-good!! It's good! Good!!” You choked, and whined again when you heard Simon chuckle lowly at you. He tapped his fingers twice on your hole- you nodded shyly at him;

Simon hummed, cautiously easing one of his broad fingers covered in your slick into your ass. The noise of utter debauched pleasure you let escape your throat was nothing compared to Simon's groan-

“Oh fuck that's tight..”

God it was, you felt how hard your greedy hole swallowed up his thick finger. You huffed and puffed- vainly attempting to breath consitently, but your body was too sensitive, muscles pulled too rigid inside you to keep your thoughts on one thing alone.

Simon was your rock, somewhere in the thousands of feelings inside you, was a certainty that he was holding back. Taking it slow, just for you.

You felt the hazey cloud of sex overwhelm you, rendering you more or less unable to speak, only babble incoherently into the counter, your pretty eyes filled with tears as Simon took his sweet, sweet time opening you up.

By comparison to how rough the pads of his digits were, they were remarkably soft with you, even as Simon squeezed one more of his fingers in you. You coughed and hiccups at the fullness of it.

“Tha's it.. good girl.. cmon.. open up luv.. there we go..”

You head him whisper, and you moaned impatiently. You wanted to politely express your readiness for his dick, but all the you were able to whine out was “C-cock-!”

Simon laughed, which was always a nice, comforting rumble. “I know sweet'art, gotta get you a little looser f'me first yeah?”

Even as you keened and begged, Simon would not budge. Occasionally, if he was feeling particularly mean in that moment, he'd flick your poor clit harshly, you'd squeal and twitch. This continued for a while, and by the time he deemed you “ready” you might have passed out, the electric fizzles of pleasure that sizzled between your legs kept you awake.

Simon could tell you were tired, he was gentle with the way he slipped his hand under you tummy to push your bum in the air, and tender with how he cradled your hip. Your clit was kindly soothed with slow, small circles rubbed in by his middle finger.

You sobbed into the side- “cock…” you babbled, sniffing and feeling sorry for yourself. You felt a kiss to the base of your neck;

“Mmmm.. I know baby, I know, m' so mean aren't I?”

Vaguely, you heard yourself murmuring in agreement. The metallic sound of Simon's belt loosening and then his zipper coming down had warm excitement flutter over your body.

You felt the heat of his dick before it even touched you, whimpering when it finally did. Simon rubbed his thick cock up and down the apex of your thighs, right up to hole and then back down to your clit. When you would whine at him, he'd hum right back.

God, he was so much bigger than you. He leant over you and covered your entire body with his bulk. You felt him throb at your rim. A kiss was levied at your neck- “Y’ready?” He asked, voice low, and you babbled back something that sounded like impatience. Simon chuckled and kissed your neck again, bracing one strong arm against the counter next to you.

All of a sudden he was inside you, not all the way but he was inside you and that's all you could think about. You gasped, inadvertently holding your breath and then once more remembering to breathe. Simon had stayed silent throughout this.. you reached backwards for him with one hand;

“Si?” “Y-yeah, yeah m’here, g’ve us a minute love-”

His voice came out ragged and shaky, and from the sounds of it he was doing the same forgetting-to-breath thing you were.

You both needed occasionally little breaks from him sliding his cock inside you this time, either of you would cum too quickly. But soon, all of him was pressed snugly inside you. You drooled on the counter and Simon's head had dropped to rest on your back, taking slow, steady breaths, grounding himself.

The both of you stayed like this for a while. It was almost peaceful. Soft. Till Simon decided he was fine to move and dragged his dick alllllllll the way back out and then in again in one thrust. It left you choked for breath, Simon too, he was more vocal this time than any other time you'd fucked.

Neither of you lasted long, specially not after your boyfriend had clasped his big paw of a hand under your leg, and lifted it up onto the counter next to you, an entirely new and more intimate angle. You were cumming before you even realised Simon had crept his hand down to pinch your clit. He was so mean about it too- that same hand then came up to shove to of his fingers into your mouth, creating a spit-slicked mess. And when he came it was an event:

He threw his head back and moaned more desperately than you'd ever heard from him before. The rhythmic squelch that narrated your encounter kept going even after he'd cum, if anything it was louder now. His and your cum dripping down out of you and puddling on the floor beneath you. Still, meekly, Simon kept thrusting into you, as if the orgasm was too good to end. Though finally it did, Simon's weight all but collapsing ontop of you.

You stayed like that for a while, still connected. Basking in your respective afterglows. Simon kissed your neck again and you croaked out a satisfied noise;

“Fun..” The man behind you laughed, “Yeah fun was it? Just fun eh? Just fun~?” Cruelly he reached under you to tickle your sides- you squealed; “More than f-fun!!” and that seemed to sate him, releasing you.

“Yeah, s’what I thought…..” He drummed his fingers on the counter..

“Bath?” “bath….”

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #ghost cod #codmw2 smut #cod mw2

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months

Text

Tide

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything... except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at. Warnings: Smut thoughts, Frankie's POV and internal monologue, premature ejaculation, so much cum talk, addiction recovery, laundry detergent, this is so ridiculous but I also tried to make it super sweet. Words: 1,200

A/N: I'd probably classify this as a crack fic... but with heart. This is SOOOOO indulgent and ridiculous. I don't know what @luxurychristmaspudding unlocked in me but this is what's released. I know this is my *4th* story in a week, but I couldn't help myself. Also, shout out to the JM Discord and all of the tenants who join in the luxuriousness of this level of depravity.

Masterlist

🚁👖🤍Frankie🤍👖🚁

It keeps happening to Frankie over and over and over again. Recovery has been a challenge, abstaining from all of his previous vices means he’s no longer numbing his mind… and body.

Nobody should ever cum during a prescription commercial and yet… he does. The swimsuit hugged the woman’s curves a little too close, plus she had the same color hair as you. His mind couldn’t help floating to thinking about you in a swimsuit.

Aye dios mio, get a hold of yourself man.

He’s too embarrassed to bring it up to his doctor. The notion of ever mentioning it to the Delta Force boys terrifies him, although he knows deep down they’d lend a sympathetic ear. They’ve killed, fought wars, and climbed out of the lowest points of their lives together… but the thought of letting his secret out? Awful. He shudders at the thought of telling his fellow Narcotics Anonymous attendees: “Hi, my name is Frankie, I’m an addict and I can’t stop cumming in my pants.”

He tries to think of the worst things, mental images that should scar even the scariest of humans, thoughts about death, rotting produce, weird looking insects, and yet, it still happens.

___

“Hi, how’d you find everything today?”

He blinks towards your tag though he’s already memorized your name, it repeats through his mind whenever he climaxes… he wonders to himself how your sweet voice would sound repeating his name.

Uh oh, quick, think of a bee sting, everyone’s going to die, burnt pizza.

He shakes his head, the thoughts of you wrapped around him flying out of his head with each subtle knock.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Fuuuuuuck, you really had to call me sir, didn’t you?

“Y-yeah, sorry, long day. My name’s Frankie by the way.”

Focus, don’t look at how her hand wraps around the shampoo bottle, soldier.

“Hi Frankie, nice to finally have a name to the face.”

Of course you say his name in the sweetest way. He presses his fingers into the flesh of his palm as hard as he can withstand, he prays you don’t see the way his nostrils flare.

Be strong.

He’s been captivated ever since he first saw you working in the mom and pop market across the street from his apartment. You’re always friendly and smiling, he swears he feels your eyes on him every time he leaves yet he’s too scared to look back and confirm for himself. He wishes he knew how to small talk and somehow step over the threshold of this case of shyness he has with you.

Why bother? I’ll just end up disappointing you, never leaving you fulfilled.

He’s so ashamed.

“That’s a big bottle of detergent, you must do a lot of laundry. You have kids?”

“I do… a four year old, but she lives with her mom,” he answers, lifting the giant jug into his cart, his cock twitches when he feels your eyes on his biceps.

Stay cool, you can do this, you’ve literally overcome worse… and cummed over less.

He wonders if you notice just how much laundry soap he buys… he’s confident that you have no clue you're the only reason why his washing machine is constantly working overtime.

“Oh, I love that age,” you mindlessly muse scanning a cereal box. “Is she as cute as her dad?”

His spine turns to jelly… he feels the phantom getting closer.

Trash compactors, mom and dad’s divorce, elephant seals.

“Everyone says she has my eyes.”

“Then she must be,” you wink.

Not a wink, not a wink, not a goddamn wiiiiink.

He quickly pulls his head down, sticking his card in the chip reader, resisting the urge to think of his now aching cock pushing into you.

STOP. STOP. STOP THINKING FRANKIE.

Focusing on the pin pad breaks his spiral. Relief spreads through his tense body knowing this run in will be over soon, he can go home in peace, his pants surviving this moment.

Your fingers brush against his hand when you hand him the receipt, his favorite part of buying groceries. He’ll stand in your checkout lane no matter the size of the line for the split second of skin to skin contact. It’s all he can afford to let himself have, any more would surely stain his jeans.

___

“Hey Frankie!”

He turns at your voice, his breath hitching when you walk over to him while removing your name tag.

“Want to go next door and grab a drink?”

“I’d love to… but I, uh,” he lifts his hat nervously tussling his hair, “I’m in recovery.”

“Oh,” your voice and face falter, “I’m sorry, um–”

Don’t let this moment pass, you can do it.

“I know a really good ice cream place, a few blocks down, I can meet you there?”

Ice cream means licking. Frankie, you're an idiot.

“Oh, um, that sounds amazing but I don’t drive.”

“I can take you… if you’d like.”

“Yeah?” your smile grows wider. “That sounds amazing.”

“I just need to drop these off, and then I’ll meet you outside in twenty?”

“Awesome!” You squeeze his hand wrapped around the cart handle. “I’ll see you soon.”

Your touch scorches his skin, he blinks watching your ass sway while walking through the doors to the backroom.

1-2-3, a gush of hot liquid releases against his jeans, his knuckles turn white as they clutch the cart handle.

Jesus Christ.

Frankie picks up his bags, holding them close to his crotch and leaves the grocery store. He better hurry. Thank god he just bought more detergent.

___

In hindsight, he’s thankful for his little grocery store indiscretion. He’s carefree and relaxed as he falls even harder for you over chocolate sundaes. You ask for extra rainbow sprinkles and laugh at all of his jokes.

This must be what it’s like to live normally.

___

“That’s me,” you point to a small bungalow unbuckling your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ice cream Frankie."

“This was really fun,” he turns towards you, shocked at how close you’re leaning towards him.

Kiss her. No, wait, don’t kiss her. Yeah, definitely don’t kiss her.

“It was,” you lick your lips and lean even closer.

He can smell you now, you smell divine. Like ice cream and floral perfume.

You place a soft kiss against his lips and pull away.

Frankie’s body tenses, a pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, he spurts against the cotton of his briefs. Doe eyes rounded with embarrassment stare at you.

“Sorry,” whispers out of his downturned lips.

“Oh,” your face fails at hiding a smile, “Frankie, it’s okay. Really.”

His head knocks against the headrest, face frozen in a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Frankie,” your hand clasps his chin forcing him to look at you. “Honestly, it’s okay. It’s actually… kinda hot.”

Right then and there he knows he’ll never shop at another grocery store again.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #crack fic #francisco morales #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales

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entitled-fangirl · 2 months

Text

Luck. (P3)

Cregan Stark x reader; Robb Stark x reader

Summary: the reader finds herself enjoying the past with Cregan more and more.

There is light smut in this one. You have been warned.

Part 1, 2

Masterlist

.............................................

Only two days later did it happen again.

She and Robb were in the crypt visiting Robb's ancestors for the first time since their marriage.

The torch lit up the dark cavern and only the sound of their footsteps and water dripping could be heard.

Her head moved on a swivel, going to each statue that was placed in the crypt.

"And that's my grandsire, Rickard," Robb said as he pointed to the statue. "Oh, and this one," he said as his eyes moved to another one, "my father's sister, Lyanna."

She stared at the statue of Lyanna. She remembered her father, King Robert, who had spoken about Lyanna.

His only love.

"She's beautiful," she said quietly.

"Aye," Robb smiled. "The statue hardly does it justice to be honest with you."

She nodded, letting her feet begin to walk further into the crypt. Her eyes landed on a statue of a man, burly and broad. "Who is this, Robb?"

"Brandon. My uncle," Robb said with a downturned lip.

Her brows furrowed as she studied the face of him under the torch light, "He seems like he's never known a smile."

Robb couldn't help the light laugh that left him, "I don't think he did to be honest, my love." He let out a light sigh, "my mother was suppose to marry him."

Her eyebrows shot up and she turned to him, "What?"

"He died at the hands of the Mad King, along with my grandsire. They were trying to protect Lyanna."

Her eyes softened, "I am sorry. That cannot be easy to live with."

He shrugged lightly, "It is the past. So be it."

"That does not make it lighter of a burden."

"No," he said as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

He held out his arm to her, and the two continued their walk.

As Robb pointed out various people, the were walking closer and closer to the eldest of the Starks.

"Rodwell. Barthogen. That one is Jonnel. All brothers and Lords of Winterfell." His eyes roamed the statues he'd seen a million times before. "Raya. Mariah."

It was a lot to take in for her. At least 300 years of history sat in these caves.

"Benjin, Brandon, Cregan, Eric…"

Cregan.

Her head seemed to perk up at that. "I'm sorry. Which ones?"

Robb grinned, pointing them out again. "Benjin, Brandon, Cregan, and that one is Eric."

Even from far away and by mere torchlight, she'd know the form of that statue from anywhere.

"My lord!" A voice called down the dark crypt.

Robb sighed, "Forgive me, love. I'll deal with this. Here." He handed the torch to her, "I'll return quickly. Do enjoy your time here."

She took the torch, feeling his lips brush a gentle kiss to her forehead before he walked away.

Her eyes were glued to Cregan's statue.

She forced her feet to take careful steps to the stone carving.

It was a decent resemblance, she knew that. It seemed that his statue guaranteed him a longer life than she had seen, noting the changes in the face of it that could've only been made through time.

He lived to be much older.

He was no boy when she had seen him, no. But this in front of her? Was a man who had seen it all.

She looked back down the direction Robb had left before a soft sigh left her.

She reached up, gently brushing the cheek of the statue, ignoring the dust that collected on her fingers.

"You're not as handsome in stone," she mused in a whisper.

When it seemed Robb wouldn't be back for a while longer, she lowered herself to the feet of Cregan's memorial to sit.

She turned herself away from it, moving to lean back on the feet of his statue. She closed her eyes as tried to relax as she leaned back.

She let out a grunt as her back met the cold stone floor.

Her eyes shot open.

The crypt was a lot darker.

She pushed herself up, looking around in confusion.

Cregan's statue wasn't there.

Most of the statues weren't there.

Every newer statue Robb had shown her only minutes ago was nowhere in sight.

She stood with the torch, cursing lightly.

Of course, it had to happen again.

…

After a while of losing her way in the dark, she managed her way back out of the crypts.

In the middle of a heavy snow. Winterfell wasn't far if she hurried.

The snow was thick and she was hardly near wearing the right boots for it.

In her time, it hadn't snowed in almost two weeks. But here? It seemed to be the first snow of the winter.

She pulled her thin cloak around her and placed the hood over her head.

It was going to be a long trek.

…

Nearing the doors of Winterfell, one of the guard's eyes widened, "My lady!"

He ran to her, "Are you hurt, my lady?"

She was shivering. She moved to speak, but her jaw chattered too harshly, so she shook her head.

He nodded, "C'mon. I'll get you to Lord Stark myself."

The man shrugged off his cloak, throwing the heavy furs over the girl.

They made it into the castle walls in no time, and a message was sent to Cregan.

The guard forced her to the nearest fireplace, barking at servants to arrange for hot cloths.

She stood shivering by the fire when Cregan entered.

He stormed in, throwing the door open loudly. When his eyes met hers, they held a concern look to them. He quickly moved to her and took her face in his hands with a firm grip, "What were you thinking?"

"I was… I…" She tried to speak.

"Gods, you're freezing! C'mere."

He held her to his chest, the warmth radiating off of him as it always did.

"Why were you out there?"

"I… I'm sorry…"

He sighed, "You're here now. I suppose that's all that matters."

…

"Where are you?" She asked with a giggle.

Her feet moved quickly, nearing the wardrobe she was sure younger Brandon was hiding in.

She pretended to look around for him, and she smiled when she heard his giggle come from the wardrobe.

She ripped open the doors, laughing when she heard his playful scream.

He made a run for it, moving down the hall at a fast rate.

She ran behind him, determined to catch the boy and win the game.

She rounded a corner, seeing him gone.

She looked around as a small crease came to her brow.

Perhaps he was too good.

Or maybe she had returned.

Brandon came from behind her, tackling her down. She grunted from the force, catching herself with her hands with a laugh.

She twisted her body around to grab him in her arms and pin him down.

"I win!" She panted.

"Hardly." He teased.

She scoffed and let him go, now sitting up. "I had you pinned."

"Yeah, but you were losing before."

She chuckled, "I don't believe that's how the game works."

He grinned, pushing her down again and trying to tickle her now.

She let out a shriek as he did so, but it was quickly gone when someone picked the boy up off the ground.

"Attacking my lady of Winterfell?" Cregan teased. "That's treason, boy."

Brandon wriggled in his brother's arms, "She started it!"

"Does not matter. I side with the lady." Cregan smirk grew, "Perhaps I should teach you a lesson."

"No! NO, Cregan! No, don't!" He giggled.

Cregan turned to Y/n, "What do you think, my love? Shall the boy be punished?"

She sat up on the cold floor, "Do be merciful today, my lord. He's just a boy."

He grinned, "My lady has spoken." He set Brandon down and ruffled his hair, "But I'd best not see you attacking her again."

Brandon grinned with mischief, "Yes, my lord."

Cregan playfully pushed his head away, "Go on, Brandon."

The two watched him run off before Cregan's hand moved to help her up. "You two have much more energy than you should."

She smiled and brushed off her dress, "You say it as if it's bad."

He pulled her to him, "Only when I hear your shriek across the castle and I fear for you."

She scoffed, "It was not that loud."

He chuckled, "I assure you it was."

She flushed, "Apologies, Cregan."

He shook his head, "None of the sort. It's quite nice to hear your laughter throughout the halls."

She looked up into his eyes, studying them, "I'm glad."

He grabbed her chin, holding her in place, "You know, I've been missing you, as of late."

"Have you?"

"Aye. Quite fiercely."

Her eyes turned playful, "Well, I'm right here."

His darkened, "That you are."

He picked her up bridle-style with ease. She shrieked at the sudden movement and held onto his shoulders.

"Scared I'll drop you, pretty?"

Her wide eyes met his.

He grinned, "I've not dropped you before. I'd be a fool to now."

He began to walk down the halls of Winterfell, nearing their chambers. He threw open the door and playfully threw her onto the bed.

He shut the door and locked it before moving next to her on the bed. "How long before they'll require our attention?"

"Who, my love?"

"The North."

She grinned, "A few minutes, I'm sure."

He gained a predatory look, "I can use a few minutes wisely."

She turned her head towards him, "You haven't yet."

He grinned, pulling himself over her and kissing her deeply.

She let out a groan at his suddenness and kissed back fervently.

He pulled off his clothing piece by piece without breaking their connection.

She thanked herself for choosing a dress with ties at the front today, for now Cregan was eagerly yanking at them, pulling them out from the corset.

He began to kiss down her neck, grinning when he hit a spot that made her moan.

"Can I have you, my love?" He asked against her skin.

She sighed and closed her eyes, "Please."

He growled, capturing her lips again as he pulled her small clothes off, moving from her only to get it over her head then continuing as before.

His fingers moved under them, tracing her thighs teasingly.

"C'mon, Cregan."

He smiled against her lips, "Yes, my lady."

He moved two fingers into her, watching the groan leave her lips.

She could hardly think of Robb at this point.

She let out shaky breaths as his fingers pumped in and out of her.

"Ugh… Cregan…"

He grinned, "I know. I know."

He kissed her again, curling his fingers into her, catching her groan with his mouth.

A knock sounded at the door, "My lord?"

Cregan's jaw clenched as he pulled himself up, not withdrawing his fingers, "What?"

"You're needed at the petition, my lord."

He grinned, curling his fingers again, watching her try to hold in a moan.

"I'll be there momentarily."

He pulled his fingers out as he pulls himself away from her with a dissatisfied groan.

He grabs his tunic, pulling it over his head as he looks over to her.

She's staring up at the ceiling in thought.

He smiles, kissing her cheek. "Join me?"

That's strange.

Robb never asked her to join for petitions. He always said there was "No reason to worry a lady with trivial things."

"You don't have to, of course."

She shook her head, "No, I… I would like that."

He nodded, his teasing smile returning, "Get dressed then, pretty. We've got the North waiting on us."

She sat up and kissed him, "Can't keep them waiting then."

Hopefully, the North was not waiting for her return to Robb.

Who knows when that will happen again?

.......................................................

Taglist: @rlblackbarbie, @rebeccawinters, @happinessinthebeing, @abaker74, @helo1281917, @idonotknowenglish, @zizouu23, @aelora-a, @twinkletwinklenotastar

#cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark smut #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut

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adrienneleclerc · 4 months

Text

That’s That Me Espresso

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Charles and Y/N have been dating for a few weeks, they met after the Suzuka Grand Prix. Even though their relationship has been short lived, there’s something about her that has Charles down bad. They are living proof of how the boyfriend should always like the girlfriend more.

Warning: Grammatical and spelling errors

A/N: For those who voted for idea 2, about Charles being auctioned off for charity? Yeah, I'm not vibing with that idea anymore. But i am working on the fanfic where Charles thinks Y/N likes Lando.

Charles was never one to chase girls. Sure, in every relationship he was in, he was the best boyfriend he could be, he would be so devoted to them. But in his current relationship, he has never felt this way before. He was away for the Imola Grand prix and he couldn't sleep so he decided to call Y/N. After a few rings, she answered.

"Bueno?" Y/N asked sleepily.

"Hello, mon ange, did I wake you?" Charles asked.

"Sort of, is something wrong, Charlie?" Y/N asked.

"Oh nothing, I'm just having trouble sleeping without you here, you know?" Charles said.

"I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to this Grand Prix, cariño, i just have a lot of in-person meetings. Plus, you've been to countless races before, you would think you'd be used to sleeping alone." Y/N said.

"Yes, but that was before i met you. Now when i'm in bed alone, it feels like I'm missing something.” Charles confessed.

“You’re so sweet. But seriously, muñeco, you have media day in the morning, and I can’t have you be sleepy during the interviews, Fred would kill you.” Y/N said.

“No he wouldn’t, I’m il predestinato, the prince of Ferrari.” Charles said.

“Muñeco.” Y/N warned.

“Alright Mon ange, I’ll go to sleep, but please FaceTime me before you go to work.” Charles said.

“Of course, Charlie. Te quiero mucho, Goodnight.” Y/N said.

“Yo también te quiero, Goodnight.” Charles tried his best to say in Spanish and he hung up.

The next morning, Y/N woke up, showered, did her after shower routine, got dressed and she was about to make breakfast when Charles decided to FaceTime her. She answered.

“Muñeco, how are you? Did you get some sleep?” Y/N asked.

“I did actually, it took a while though.” Charles said.

“Well when you’re back in Monaco, I’ll be sleeping by your side.” Y/N said, she set her phone against something in the kitchen so she can make pancakes.

“Sounds perfect, I’ll be counting down the days.” Charles said.

“You think you’ll make podium?” Y/N asked.

“I’ll dedicate my podium to you, Mon ange.” Charles said. They kept talking while Y/N made her breakfast, Charles also took his phone with him to eat when his room service came so they had breakfast together,

“Charlie, baby, i need to go to work, okay, I’ll talk to you soon, te quiero.” Y/N said.

“Yo más.” Charles replied and hung up the call. There was a knock on his hotel room door and he opened it to see Carlos. “Good morning, Carlos.”

“Morning. Were you talking with Y/N?” Carlos asked

“Yes i was.” Charles replied smiling.

“Ay, I should have known, she has you completely smitten.” Carlos says.

“I know, mate, there’s just something about her.” Charles said, sighing like a person in love.

“You are whipped, it’s entertaining to see you like that. We need to head to paddock now for the interviews.” Carlos said before him and Charles left the hotel room.

Meanwhile, Y/N was finishing up her third meeting of the day when she got w FaceTime call from Y/N so she excused herself.

“Charlie querido, what is it? I’m technically still in a meeting.” Y/N said.

“Sorry Mon ange, I just wanted to see how you are, I am on break right now and then I have more interviews before the race,” Charles said.

“I’m fine, just a little tired, I call you later tonight okay? Then you can tell me all about your day. Te quiero.” Y/N said, blowing him a kiss.

“Yo más” Charles said, doing the same thing before hanging up. Y/N was about to enter the conference room again but she was stopped by her assistant.

“You got that man wrapped around your finger.” Monica commented,

“Well i wouldn’t necessarily say that I have him wrapped around my finger. Pero es si, lo tengo mal (But Yeah, i got him down bad).” Y/N said.

“How? Like what’s your secret?” Monica asked.

“There’s no secret, it’s just that me espresso.” Y/N said.

“Ha ha, no go, you have a meeting to run.” Monica said. Y/N entered the conference room to continue the meeting.

Her workday was done and she got a text from Charles and it was a link to one of his interviews. She clicked on it and she was watching it but there was a question that Charles answered that surprised her.

“Charles Leclerc, what is your favorite saying?” The interviewer asked.

“I Don’t know if it’s a popular saying or an actual saying in general, but my girlfriend says ‘that’s that me espresso’. When she was younger, her mom would say she was like a shot so espresso because of how hyper and energetic she was as a child, basically bouncing off the walls. So now when I ask her a question about anything she does, she’ll say that’s that me espresso or it’s just that me espresso, meaning that’s just how she is. How do I get crying babies to stop? That’s that me espresso, I have no idea but I guess I just have a calming presence.” Charles said laughing. Y/N stopped the video and FaceTimed Charles,

“Hey Muñeco.” Y/N said.

“Hello, ma Belle, did you see that interview?” Charles asked.

“I did, you used my phrase.” Y/N said.

“Of course I did, it’s my favorite saying in the world, it perfectly describes you. You are a shot of espresso, a moment with you has me smiling for hours, I can’t get enough of you.” Charles said,

“Eres tan cursi (you are so cheesy) but i love that about you.” Y/N said.

They continued talking until it was time for bed.

Race Weekend was done and Y/N can continue working from her home office, she didn’t didn’t have any meetings to attend to in person, she was free. She was finishing up some files when the doorbell rang. Y/N got up and answered the door and she saw a huge bouquet of her favorite flowers (mine are peonies because of Blair Waldorf).

“Whats this?” Y/N asked and the bouquet of flowers were lowered to reveal a smiling Charles Leclerc. “Muñeco!”

“Mon ange!” Charles exclaimed, they entered her apartment and they hugged as soon as charles put the bouquet on the kitchen counter, he spun her around and out her back on the ground to leave her kisses all over her face. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow, did you come here straight from the airport?” Y/N asked, taking in Charles’s hoodie and baggy jeans,

“Yes I did. I stopped by the florist first, obviously.” Charles said, gesturing to the bouquet,

“They’re beautiful.” Y/N said. “What brings you here?”

“Because I wanted to tell you up something important. I know we haven’t been dating for a long time but I have never felt this strongly about someone, I love you, te amo, estoy enamorado de ti (i am in love with you).” Charles said. Y/N starts tearing up,

“Ay muñeco, yo también te amo.” Y/N said, hugging him. “Je suis amoureux de toi.” Now it was Charles’s turn to tear up, she just told him she was in love with him too. They kissed.

“I fall in love with you more and more each day, I can’t get enough of you, how do you do that?” Charles asked, brushing Y/N’s hair back. Y/N just shrugged.

“That’s that me espresso.” Y/N said and both of them laughed, Charles pulled Y/N onto the couch and started talking about where to go out today,

The End

I had no idea where I was going with this short imagine but I hope y’all like it!

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #thats that me espresso

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bumblesimagines · 2 months

Text

The Beasts of The North

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Jace travels to the North to meet with the Lord of Winterfell, he expects to meet the well-known Wolf the North. What he didn't expect was a bear residing in Winterfell as well.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, unknown age gap since (Y/N) is early to mid twenties and Cregan is mid twenties, technically not HOTD Cregan personality or appearance wise rip (inspired by Cordeliacordate on Ao3's interpretation of Cregan),

So sorry to Tom Taylor but he is not what I envision when I think of Cregan 😭 I always saw Cregan looking more like Roman Reigns or Alexander Dreymon as Uhtred

~~~

By the time the sun began to rise, Winterfell had already come alive with the hustle and bustle of servants, residents, and villagers coming and going as they began their routines. The mixture of chatter, laughter, occasional yipping of a dog, and the sound of birds singing and squawking floated through the cracked open window, reaching the ears of the two men lying beneath bundles of furs and blankets to keep them warm from the cold.

"Cregan," (Y/N) sighed, sleep oozing out of him ever so slowly. The bed just felt oh so comfortable and heavenly, enticing him to sleep for a few more hours. There was much to be done, though, and he couldn't allow himself nor Cregan to forget lest they risked an earful from Sara. "The princeling will likely arrive today."

"Aye," Came the gruff, sleepy response from the lord, his strong arms still coiled tightly around (Y/N) and showing no signs of releasing him so they could both begin their day. Instead of climbing out of bed and preparing himself for the day ahead, Cregan pulled (Y/N) closer to his chest and nuzzled his face against the back of his neck, the fuzz of his beard scratching and tickling him.

(Y/N) pushed his cheek into the soft silk of the pillow beneath his head, savoring the feeling for a moment before he forced himself to sit up and detach from Cregan. One of the furs slipped downward from his chest, exposing his skin to the coldness of the room, though (Y/N) had grown acclimated to the harsh temperature of the North. Cregan made a low rumbling noise of discontentment, his hands blindly searching for his lover but (Y/N) slipped out of bed before Cregan could wrangle him back into his embrace.

"We wouldn't wish to leave a bad impression on the princeling, would we, Cregan?" (Y/N) spoke teasingly, echoing back the words Sara had told them when they received word of Prince Jacaerys intent to fly out to Winterfell on his dragon. Neither of them were fools, however, and they'd rapidly pieced together the reason why when they received word of the boy prince's uncle, Aegon Targaryen, being crowned in King's Landing over Rhaenyra Targaryen. War was brewing, and both sides needed an army before it could spill over.

"Mm," Cregan responded, grunting softly as he pushed himself up against the headboard, the wood creaking beneath the weight of his sturdy back. His black hair had loosened free from the bun he'd wrapped it in before bed, resting and brushing over his shoulders in a mess of bedhair he'd have to brush before they broke their fast. His gray eyes watched him, lingering on (Y/N)'s nether regions with a curl of his lips until they were covered up by pants. "Starks never forget their oaths. We hardly need to be reminded of 'em."

"I detest the idea of a royal guest as much as you do, Cregan, especially one raised to believe in the Seven." (Y/N) reminded him, the warmth of the stone floor digging into the bottom of his feet as he crossed the room to close the window, finding himself thankful for whichever Stark had the idea of building the Great Keep over natural hot springs. Through the window frost, he could see those walking around below, preparing for the feast that'd be held in honor of their guest. "But supporting the boy and his mother would be better than supporting the Hightower lot."

"The boy," Cregan echoed and chuckled breathily, his fingers scratching at his chin before he tugged the furs and blankets off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He rose with a heavy, still exhausted sigh and approached him, an arm wrapping around his shoulder and lips pressing against his temple. "You're hardly much older than him, I hear. Besides, you were once new to Winterfell. Perhaps you can help him get accustomed to how things are around here."

"What if he's a spoiled brat and I cannot stand to be around him?" (Y/N) groaned softly at the thought and rolled his head back to rest it on Cregan's shoulder. Cregan smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek next, his palm lightly squeezing his shoulder before his thumb rubbed into the exposed skin soothingly. (Y/N)'s eyes flickered away from the roof to study the side of his lover's face. "Or what if I like him enough to entice him into bed, hm? What will you do then?"

Cregan laughed heartily and spun him around to press their chests together, his hands dropping to grasp at (Y/N)'s hips and hold him still. He dipped his head and kissed him properly on the lips, swallowing the mischievous giggle that left (Y/N). He grew back with crinkled eyes and pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s. "I doubt some little princeling will catch your eye, my darling. He'd likely be the one trying to entice you, even with that attitude of yours."

"That attitude had you tripping over your own feet to sweep me off mine." (Y/N) lightly jabbed his finger into Cregan's chest, feeling the lord's body shake with another laugh. Cregan didn't bother to deny his words and instead pecked the bridge of his nose, rubbing his hands into (Y/N) hips before pulling away to finally get dressed.

Following suit, (Y/N) collected the rest of his clothes off the floor and slipped out of Cregan's bedchambers into his own across the hall, discarding the old clothes on the bed and greeting the maids that fluttered in to help him get dressed. The wool fabric pressed and dragged against his skin, the layers of clothing warming his chilly skin in a matter of minutes. By the time he finished, Cregan had dressed too, and together they headed down the hall and down a set of stairs.

"Good morrow, you two." Sara greeted them from her spot by the table and casted them a glance over her shoulder, little Rickon fastened to her hip with two fingers in his mouth. His big brown eyes turned toward them and brightened, a wide smile breaking out on his chubby face at the mere sight of his father. He looked so much like his mother, Lady Arra Norrey, in certain lights, especially in his gleeful moments.

"Hello, my little pup." Cregan greeted softly when he scooped his young son into his arms, nuzzling his nose into the boy's belly just to hear him crack up with laughter. He freely slumped against Cregan's chest and (Y/N) pressed a fleeting kiss to his small temple, a smile tugging at his lips when Rickon giggled in response.

"Prince Jacaerys should be arriving soon." Sara reminded them like a mother would her children, turning away once she finished her conversation with two servants to face them. Despite her status as a bastard, Sara took care of things around Winterfell just as much as Cregan and (Y/N) did, perhaps more than them. Her pale blue eyes, nearly the same shade of gray as Cregan's, flickered between the two lovers. "His room will be beside (Y/N)'s. I do hope you'll behave yourselves."

Their smirks only made her roll her eyes and heave a sigh, her hands smoothing out the bottom of her dress as she sat beside them at the table. (Y/N) dug into his breakfast with eagerness, the subtle ache in his stomach disappearing with each gulp of food and juice until his plate was clean. He dapped at his lips with his handkerchief before brushing the crumbs from Rickon's chin, his eyes softening and a gentle smile spreading across his face. Cregan swooped in to kiss the top of his head, an act those around them hardly batted an eye at.

"My Lord, My Lady, Ser" Maester Orwen called out when he entered the room, dipping his head in respect and greeting. He shuffled closer to them, his hand brushing over Rickon's head affectionately. "There have been reports of a dragon not far from here, My Lord. It appears our guest will soon be arriving."

"Thank you, Maester Orwen." Cregan sighed and stood from the table, handing Rickon off to his sister with a kiss to the boy's temple before he motioned with a nod for (Y/N) to come along to greet their new royal guest. (Y/N) grimly realized he never bothered asking for how long the prince would be staying with them and gave a heavy sigh.

Maester Orwen followed the two men out into the chilly morning air, the snow crunching beneath their boots and their heads angled toward the gates. (Y/N) knew very little of Prince Jacaerys apart from the rumors circulating his parentage and the fact he was to be his mother's heir as the eldest son, despite the possibility of being a bastard.

An unfamiliar shriek echoed through the air above them and he tilted his head upward to watch the shadow of a dragon pass overhead in awe. It dipped downward toward the ground beyond the walls around Winterfell, the alarmed shouts of villagers quieting with reassuring calls from the guards around.

The gates soon parted, a lonesome figure stepping through and making his way toward them. (Y/N) had an image in his head of what the Prince would look like; silver-haired, purple eyes, boyish features, and a snobby attitude known to royals and most nobles. That image promptly shattered when Prince Jacaerys stopped before them. His hair, (Y/N) noted, was a chestnut brown color as were his eyes, two notable Targaryen and Velaryon traits he lacked. He was lanky and still appeared boyish due to his age but his features were hardened and eyes determined. No amount of determination, however, would cover up the trembling of his body. His clothes lacked a layer or two to keep him fully warm from the cold.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Maester Orwen greeted and bowed, offering him a friendly and welcoming smile despite the glances and disinterest of those around him. A small smile appeared on Prince Jacaerys face, giving a slight dip of his head in greeting before looking back at Cregan and then at (Y/N). He paled a little at the sight of them, despite his reddened face from the cold insistently nipping at it. "May I introduce the Wolf of the North, Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, and our trusted master-at-arms, Ser (Y/N) Mormont of Bear Island. I am Maester Orwen, here for whatever you may require."

"Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Jacaerys," Cregan spoke, voice devoid of most emotions and face largely stoic. (Y/N)'s lips curled at the way Prince Jacaerys adams apple bobbed nervously. His lover was an imposing man, he knew that well. Naturally tall and burly with a piercing stare that sent shivers down even the most hardened of knights. What had most men cowering only made (Y/N) swoon.

"T-Thank you, Lord Cregan." Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat. "It is a pleasure to meet the both of you. I am here, as you must know, on my mother's behalf-"

"Speaking of politics already?" (Y/N)'s head lolled to the side and Prince Jacaerys eyes flickered back to him, his cracked lips parting and closing. Cregan's features morphed, his lips tugging into a grin and eyes crinkling with amusement as he turned to eye (Y/N). "Straight to the point type of lad, aren't you?"

"What Ser (Y/N) means to ask-" Maester Orwen sent him a swift scolding glare. "-is if you require anything, My Prince. We could have a meal or hot bath readied for you, if you'd like to rest after a long... flight."

Prince Jacaerys lips pressed together, uncertainty written on his face but he looked away when (Y/N) arched a brow at him. "A hot bath sounds lovely, thank you. I, uhm-" He swiped his tongue over his lips and shuffled his feet, his composure rapidly disappearing the moment Maester Orwen stepped away to instruct some servants. "As I was saying, I am here as my mother's envoy to garner support for her cause and claim. Many years ago-"

"My father, Lord Rickon Stark bent the knee and accepted Rhaenyra Targaryen as the heir to the Iron Throne." Cregan finished for him and spared a glance over his shoulder before he turned to (Y/N), his eyes shimmering with amusement. His hand came to rest along (Y/N)'s midback and (Y/N)'s eyes narrowed. "My love," (Y/N) swore he heard the prince choke quietly on his spit. "Since Prince Jacaerys will be residing in the room next to yours, you should show him the way."

"There are servants for that, Cregan." (Y/N) squinted at him, the mischief on his face clear as day. "I have squires and wards to train, not to mention-"

"All that can wait for the Prince, can it not?" Bastard.

A brief cheeky grin graced Cregan's handsome features and he leaned in to kiss the area between (Y/N)'s eyebrows, giving his back a pat and nodding to the startled prince before he turned and marched further across the yard to tend to his own duties. (Y/N) watched him go with pursed lips, making a note to himself to get back at him for it later.

"I-"

"Come." (Y/N) ordered sharply, momentarily forgetting the young man before him was royalty and not another clumsy boy he had to shape up. Prince Jacaerys hardly seemed to notice, nearly slipping on the icy stone as his legs quickly moved to follow him into the castle.

(Y/N) led him through the hallways until they returned to the Great Hall, coming to a stop beside Sara and Rickon once more. "Your brother's the worst." He muttered quietly in her ear, earning a soft snort before he turned to the prince. "Prince Jacaerys, this is Sara Snow, Cregan's Stark half-sister. This little lad is Rickon Stark, Cregan's son."

"Ah," Prince Jacaerys dipped his head in greeting and Sara curtsied as best she could with her nephew in her arms. A wide smile spread across his lips as he took in Rickon, lifting his finger toward the boy and chuckling softly when Rickon wrapped his little fingers around it. "Pleasure to meet you both," Rickon answered in an incoherent babble.

"I suppose I should show you around since Cregan is..." (Y/N) almost sighed. "Busy."

With Prince Jacaerys proving to be rather obedient and quiet, (Y/N) had little trouble leading him around the castle and showing him the different rooms, halls, and towers connected to it. The prince only piped up to ask questions, mostly regarding the history of Winterfell or about a member of the Stark family until they reached the hall leading to the bedchambers and pushed the door open to Prince Jacaerys temporary room.

"The bath has already been drawn, Prince, and the belongings you sent ahead have been put away. If you require something and cannot locate anyone else, my bedchambers are to your left and Cregan's bedchambers are across." (Y/N) told him, eyeing the tempting steaming bath before turning to look at the prince. He studied his surroundings curiously. "Is there anything you need as of right now? I have fools to train."

"Are-" Prince Jacaerys cleared his throat once more. "Forgive me if I am overstepping but... are you and Lord Cregan..." He trailed off, the light red color returning to his skin and eyes jumping away from him.

"The Old Gods care not if you lie with someone of the same sex or love them, Prince. I'm sure as a child of the Seven you've been taught differently, but we followers of the Old Gods do not hold the same values." (Y/N) explained simply, watching the prince slowly nod. "Cregan and I are lovers, and if that bothers you, I suggest you deal with it for the duration of your stay."

"It- It doesn't bother me," Prince Jacaerys assured quickly.

"Good." (Y/N)'s lips dragged into a small smirk. "Welcome to Winterfell, then."

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sollucets · 1 year

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Akkayan or sandray?

this is a mean question and you're bullying me. akkayan

#rowan asks #nonny #look. listen. im Obsessed with sandray #their dynamic is unhinged and it is everything to me. i love their mess and their yearning and the walls between them #their smiles & their little handholds and their pushing and shoving #but you gotta understand akkaye like changed my brain chemistry.#i love sandray but i have related to few characters in my life like i relate to akk pipitphattana #he is nestled deep in my heart and aye is in there deeper for loving him despite it #i adore akkaye they're everything to me #and more i started really participating in this kind of fandom on tumblr and to a lesser extent in my fics because of them #so they've brought me a lot of joy in life this last year #sandray has too! ive made lots of great mutuals and friends during of lead-up and airing #but akkaye are special to me #<3

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love-bitesx · 1 year

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: ̗̀➛ PROTECTOR. hobie brown x reader

summary: spider-man makes a point of walking y/n home every night, but after befriending them as hobie brown as well, his feelings get complicated. words: 3.5k REQUESTS OPEN ! warnings: non-explicit sexual harassment (a man is very creepy to reader), reader isn't gendered! but be aware, author is female, so possible afab bias, i tried my hardest i swear. all characters are adults :) author is british so this is my interpretation of his silly little slang from what ive experienced hehe also divider credit: cafekitsune a/n: may feel a little ooc, but in my headcanon, when he's pining the way he is for reader, he's so soft. also, spider-man and hobie r completely different personalities u cant tell me otherwise. first time writing hobie so pls give me opinions ty. enjoy!!!!!

“is it home-time already, darlin’?”

there he was. the familiarity of routine washing over you, turning your head to see him propped up against the brick, spikes on display and guitar pick flipping in between his clothed fingers.

“spider-man, my hero,” you sighed and clutched your non-existent pearls, a smirk on your lips.

“you know i hate that,” kicking off from the wall of the pub you just clocked out of, he stuffed his hands into his patched up jacket, his bouncy stride meeting yours on the pavement.

“i know,” you smiled, allowing your bag to fall from your shoulders and into his outstretched hand, as always.

it had become a routine, over the course of a few months, that the one-and-only spider-man would escort you home from work in the late hours. at first, it didn’t seem real. why would he decide to spend valuable time most days walking you home, when he could be out fighting whatever darkness lurks in the shadows? you’ve asked him, almost every time, but he always gives the same, vague answer;

“who else is gonna keep you safe, love?”

his legs were longer than yours, by a mile. so he had to slow his usual pace for you. naturally bouncy, his booted feet tapped against the pavement like a kick drum, and you wondered whether that was the radioactive blood in his veins, or his natural energy.

laughter flittered through the dark streets as you caught up, it had only been a day since you last saw him, but being a crime-fighting, fascist-killing superhero, there was quite a lot to pack into a 24 hour day.

he bounced off the walls of passing buildings, recreating his fights with the air that hung between you both, throwing in some exaggerated punches here and there, to elicit an extra giggle or two from you. you almost got lost following his animated recreations, but he kept an eye out for the roads ahead. he’d memorised all the paths leading to your apartment.

it had all started a few months prior, after a particularly long shift at work. constantly over the span of a few hours, this guy would not leave you alone. no matter how many times you refused his advances, a smile on your face, masking the unsettling pit in your stomach at the sight of his grin. drink, after drink, after drink, he ordered just to stare at you the whole night, crude gestures and words thrown your way.

you’d gotten used to it, working at a pub in the depths of london, it wasn’t ever unusual to get unwanted advances. but something about this guy, you couldn’t shake it. ~

“what time do you finish, ay?” his accent was thick, you placed him somewhere up north.

“i’m not sure,” you muttered back, forcing a smile.

“oi, come on! ‘course you know what time you finish,” his words were slurred, and his eyes hadn’t left yours once, “was thinking we could ‘ave some drinks together, tha’s’all.”

“sorry, i can’t tonight, i have to be up early tomorrow,” you giggled, and if he wasn’t so drunk, he’d definitely have picked up on the nerves lacing your words.

“come on,” vowels drawn out, he made an attempt to stand up to meet your height, the proximity of him sending a shock of fear to your heart, until a strong hand clapped against his chest, the force almost sending him backwards.

“pack it in, dickhead, they said ‘no’,” a deep, almost calming voice spoke, contrasted completely with the stern, threatening tone of his words.

you looked to meet your protectors gaze, and it almost stunned you. he was tall, taller than you, for sure. dark, smooth skin with an aura of pure mayhem, silver piercings protruding from his face. adorned with a ripped, skin-tight plain top and denim vest, littered with badges, patches and just about any accessory known to man.

his eyes were what really held you. a heavy look, dark brown with the most unique feeling of strength and power that you’d ever seen. you could’ve easily gotten lost.

deciding you’d stared at him long enough, though, you broke the eye contact, diverting it back to the man who looked a humorous combination of terrified and offended at the same time.

“‘s alright mate, we were just talking, back off, yeah?” his liquid courage built up, ignorant of the taller man’s hand still pushing against his chest, ring-clad hands seeming to leave an imprint.

“think it’s time for you to leave, mate,” he spat back, mimicking his slang.

a moment of silence followed. you’d fully expected the drunken creep to swing a punch, or at least bite back, but under the weight of the taller man’s stare, he seemed to lose all fight he had in him. with a final murmer of something you couldn’t quite hear, and unsure you really wanted to, he stumbled backwards, slipping into the crowd.

“thank you,” you broke the silence, to which the man shrugged.

“he was a pig,” he brushed it off like nothing, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attitude. raising his newly free hand, he stretched it towards you, tight in a fist.

“hobie, hobie brown,” he greeted, and his accent completely erased the ‘h’ from his name.

“y/n l/n,” you smiled, accepting his offer and spudding him, the cold metal of his rings against your knuckles. you couldn’t help but grin at the oddity of his presence.

hobie kept you company for the rest of the night, ranting about his thoughts and opinions of various important subjects, ranging widely from drinks of choice to the existence of capitalist propaganda in modern media, all of which you hung onto every word of.

it wasn’t long until he’d managed to book him and his band into a few slots on the pub’s makeshift stage that stood empty on the other side of the room, smiling to himself at how authentically excited you seemed to hear his music.

when he left, his vacancy was immediately obvious. the booming pub feeling oddly silent without him.

after closing up for the night, you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, switching the lights off with one hand and fiddling with the keys in the other, shaking the door to double check you locked it well enough. body aching from being on your feet all day, you yawned, stepping autopilot into the darkness. the night air was chilling, causing you to wrap your jacket tight around your body. cursing at yourself for not bringing another layer, or pre-ordering a taxi home.

“oi,” you heard from your right, turning quickly to the familiar call.

stumbling on the pavement, the drunken creep from earlier pointed towards you.

shit.

you hadn’t expected him to actually wait for you. it’d been hours since he left, he was insane. what was he thinking?

grabbing the keys from your pocket, you gripped them in your freezing hands in defense.

“where’s your little friend, huh?” he spat, clearly enraged by hobie’s interruption earlier. he stepped closer, and you stepped back, trembling as you tripped slightly on the pavement.

“ay, is this twat bothering you?” a voice called from above.

wait, above?

craning your neck up, you made eye contact with possibly the last person you expected.

“spider-man?”

and from that night, he’d met you every time. waiting outside the pub doors, no exception, to walk you home.

“hey!” spider-man’s upbeat calling snapped you instantly back to him, jumping slightly as you finally noticed he was directly in front of your face, white eyes narrowed on your demeanor, “where’d you go, huh?”

“sorry,” paying him an apologetic smile, “just thinking.”

“wanna clue me in, darlin’?” his tone was playful, but the soften of his masks expression felt genuine.

“just thinking about the day i’ve had,” you lied, unsure whether his spidey senses could tell. not that it was rare for you to think about how you met, but you didn’t want to bring it up again. if he could tell, he didn’t let on.

“whataboutit?” he sped up, slipping back to your pace and slinging his lanky arm over your shoulders, basically hanging onto you as you walked. he liked walking with you like this. it made him feel powerful, like he was keeping you extra safe.

“hobie’s band played again!” you exclaimed, and if he’d been paying attention, he would’ve seen the way your face lit up at the memory. unfortunately for him, his eyes were trained on webbing a chocolate bar from a passing vendor. god knows why it was still open, but he was glad it was.

“hobie, again, huh?” taunted spider-man, punching your arm playfully with the fist that gripped the newly stolen snickers bar, “starting to think you’re replacing me, love.”

“never,” you teased back, elbowing his side, hearing the jingle of his badged vest, “hobie’s just…”

ears pricking, he clung onto the words you were speaking, anticipating possibly hearing something he didn’t want to.

“he’s just so cool,” you breathed with a smile, and he almost verbally sighed in relief, stopping himself in order not to rouse suspicion. he smirked under his mask, “just got this feel about him, so easy to talk to, and he’s so talented! you know, i’ve almost learnt all the lyrics to his songs.”

his heart just about exploded. in fact, he thinks he could pinpoint the exact moment it did.

he played off his burning cheeks, clearing his throat and incredibly glad his mask hid his flustered expression.

“you should come see him, you know,” you looked up at him, and though you knew his answer was ‘no’, it was worth a try, “i can hide you in the back if you don’t wanna be seen.”

“come off it, love,” he dismissed, avoiding your gaze, but his back was tingling like pins and needles under the warmth of it, “i’m not keen to meet the man stealing you from me.”

“fuck sake,” you laughed and pushed his arm off you, brushing off his playful flirting.

his confidence was excelling. the friendship you had formed over the prior months had stemmed from his childish charm, and it hadn’t faltered once.

“well, here i am,” you brought your pace to a halt, hovering in front of the door to your apartment building.

“i’ll miss you tonight,” he fell against the wall, eyes stuck on you. you couldn’t see it, but you could feel his smirk.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, i finish at 11,” you stepped towards him.

“i’ll be waiting,” he kicked off from the bricks, raising his hand to ruffle your hair, much to your protest, before practically disappearing in front of your eyes.

you were left grinning to yourself, much like every night.

“what’s up, bruv?” hobie’s friend elbowed him harshly in the ribs, causing him to rip his eyes from you.

“nothing,” he huffed, but by the lack of sustenance and playfulness in his reply, his friend was less than satisfied. hobie was a carefree, reckless guy with a constant spurt of irony, and seeing him with a sullen expression and no bite back, was worrying.

“come off it, hobie,” another one piped up, sitting across from him with an empty pint in one hand and cigarette in the other, pointing the latter in his face. he huffed, “you’ve been slumping for like 3 months now, and you’ve only been writing sappy love songs.”

the table snickered, and even hobie’s lips curled into a smirk. his friend was right, he wasn’t even nearly like his usual self. he blames you for that.

“who is it then, huh?” his friend pushed, cigarette still hanging in front of hobie’s face, ash crumbling off the end, “has our ol’ hobie brown got himself a partner?”

“oi, you know i hate labels,” he smirked again, knowing he was lying. not that he didn’t usually hate them, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that every time you made your way to the front of his mind, he was urged to call you his. his partner. his person. his love. just his.

he always did hate consistency, anyway.

“another round, guys?” your voice ripped him from his thoughts, your scent somehow drifting above the sticky smell of beer and cigarettes, he pinned that down to his spider abilities, but he’d be a fool to ignore that he had simply just memorised the aroma.

“please, darlin’,” hobie’s friends chirped up, grinning at you thankfully. he cursed the burning feeling in his chest.

“i could do you guys a deal,” you smirked playfully, and he looked up to meet your eyes. you looked beautiful tonight, like usual. he was fucked.

“if you lot give us a song, it’ll be on the house,” you smiled hopefully, taking note of their usual orders just incase they agree.

“sounds like a plan,” hobie reached his hand out to you, open for a handshake, to which you took. soft hands falling into his calloused ones, he couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt.

turning away, you left to get their usual set up sorted, feeling him still watching you, to which you threw him a smile over your shoulder.

it wasn’t unusual at all. his eyes would always find you. at the table with his mates, his gaze would swim through the crowd to yours. even on stage, lost in the moment with himself and his guitar, it was you he always found his eyes trailing back to. it wasn’t like the other men in the bar, it wasn’t predatory desire or lust, but it was warm. it was safe.

he had three options, really; confess himself to you as hobie brown, coming clean about the way he felt about you, the warmth in his heart that spread across his spine whenever you smiled at him, eventually having to come clean about his alter-ego. he could confess as spider-man, to which he’d have to come clean about his actual identity. or option three. stay silent and suffer in his own pity. bite his lip and pretend his heart wasn’t yearning for you.

but, he prided himself in being able to speak his mind without hesitation. confident in his word, suffocated in his silence. he would always say: if he ever bit his tongue, to kill him there and then. well, here he is; begging for mercy at the barrel, his tongue bleeding from keeping his heart locked in his chest.

he was fucked. well and truly.

“anything special happen today?” spider-man nudged you, taking a worried note of your unusual quietness recently. it was the same night, he’d picked you up like normal, and hopped along beside you.

“the band played again,” a swelling smile bloomed on your lips, “other than that, not really.”

your voice was hollow tonight. easily mistakable with your naturally soft tone, but to his trained ears, it didn’t feel right.

stopping immediately in his path, his bouncy steps ceasing, you quickly copied him. confusion slipping behind your eyes.

“what’s up?” you questioned.

“you know you wanna tell me,” he stepped around you, arms falling over your shoulders from behind, heavy with his full weight. something about the mask, it gave him a confidence with you that he’d quenched as hobie.

you sighed and rested your head back against his chest, taking him by surprise. there was something intimate about the way your eyes were closed, body resting against him. your brain was hectic, he didn’t need his spidey senses to see that.

“there’s just…” you spoke, eyelids feeling heavy as you opened them, looking up to see him. head split in two, you were unsure if you even wanted to say it out loud, “there’s this guy.”

it was almost cruel how fast his heart dropped, plummeting like a boulder into the pit of his stomach. body stiffening, his head was spinning so fast he didn’t even have the conscience to mask it.

“i just can’t get him out of my head, it’s so stupid,” if your wistful look wasn’t answer enough, the outpour of dissonance he could feel from your body told him it was serious.

“not another fella tryna steal you from me,” he chuckled, but his voice was weak, vulnerable. you hadn’t heard it like that before.

untangling yourself from his weighted grip, you leant against the wall of the building you were stood in front of, staring up into the night sky. there was something so embarrassing about admitting a silly little crush.

“not another one, technically,” you spoke softly, a hint of a smile tickling your lips at the thought of him, he stepped closer, “i’ve already told you about him.”

and he stopped dead in his tracks. mind racing a million miles an hour, picking apart every word you said. was he stupid? was he reaching? seeing something that wasn’t there? he was the only one you’d spoken about, but surely not, right?

shifting closer again, his body begun to feel the heat radiating off you, barely an inch between you both. he towered you, as always, the spikes on his jacket and mask hitting the streetlights perfectly, giving him an orange glow. you bought yourself to look at him, and though you couldn’t see the eyes beneath, you felt his gaze.

insufferably close, closer than you’ve ever been, you could feel your heart in your chest. a tension that you hadn’t quite felt before, bubbling in the air between you.

“say his name, love,” his voice was low, lower than normal, and a twinge of familiarity hit your chest hearing the deeper tone, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. chills dripped down your spine at the new found feeling.

gulping, you could feel his name in your throat, struggling it’s way out.

“hobie.” your voice was barely above a whisper, but considering he almost had you pressed against the brick, he heard every syllable. and god, did it sound good.

“again?” he croaked, just wanting to confirm, needing to hear it again, needing to hear you say it, relish in every beat.

“hobie,” you repeated, louder this time, more conviction in your chest, “i like him, like a lot.”

he went silent. dead silent, barely moving. heat radiated from him, and you could’ve sworn in the vacancy of sound that you could hear his heart pounding against his chest. reaching up, your hand trembling slightly, you placed it there. on his chest, feeling the material of his suit, the humanity of his heartbeat. he melted into it.

“are you o—“

“i need to tell you something.” he interrupted you.

it was your turn to be silent, eyes heavy with intrigue, begging him to continue.

without a word, his ring-clad hand ghosted your skin, drifting past the air between you and to the base of his mask, sliding along his neckline for the seam, and dragging it up over his face, revealing the man within.

your heart stopped, a thousand things flashing through your head, through your heart, surging in your bloodstream. you didn’t even know what to say, what to think, how to comprehend it.

“hobie?” your voice was small again, shrunk beneath the look in his eyes, the desire.

embarrassment waved through you for a moment, a sudden panic of the earlier confession, your chest pounding at the possible rejection.

he didn’t even leave the thoughts enough time to fester, however, because his hand that was holding his mask was suddenly flush against your jaw, the material falling softly onto your neck. thumb trailing the comfort of your cheek, revelling in the feel of your skin, warm against his hands, he leaned forward.

his lips were on yours, without a word. gentle, but rough. the tension escaping through the feeling of him pressed into you, desire leaping out of every shared breath. his other hand fell to your waist, and yours stayed firm on his chest, bunching the fabric in your hand to bring him closer. he obliged, of course, and the kiss deepened. his head spun.

pulling away for breath, you kept your eyes on his lips, disbelief swimming around your brain, colliding with the need to kiss him again.

“y/n,” his hand brought your eyeline to his, “i like you, too.”

you couldn’t help but smile, relief washing your body out.

“like, a lot.”

he kissed you again. and again.

a/n: hope u enjoyed!! pls let me kno if ur did, this is my first time writing for him <3 thanku!!!

#hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #hobie #atsv hobie #hobie my beloved #hobie x reader #spiderman atsv #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk #spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader

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lovemomhatepolice · 5 months

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jude bellingham nswf alphabet (part 1) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Oh, Jude is very adhesive after sex. He likes to cuddle with you until you both fall asleep. He places gentle kisses on your head, shoulders and arms, in fact wherever he can. He always talks to you for a long time, whether everything was okay, how you feel, if you need anything…. Well, Jude is a great guy

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Jude is well aware that he is damn handsome. And not since he started being famous, oh no, Jude was already aware of that before. However, what he likes most about himself is his face, I think. He really likes the fact that he is similar with his family, which is so important to him, and he likes his looks. He is very fond of his dark brown eyes and his lips, which, according to him, have the perfect shape (to kiss you!!). As far as you are concerned, I think Jude is definitely an ass man. Of course, he loves your breasts, but your ass is definitely something Jude always looks past when he sees you. He loves to squeeze it, kiss it, everything, really. He always has his hands on her when you're somewhere together, and he's not ashamed to show it. Unfortunately, on the contrary, sometimes you have to correct him so he doesn't get caught up. And besides, he loves your whole face. He thinks everything matches perfectly - your nose size, eye color and lip shape, ay, this boy is drowning.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Jude Bellingham looks like a total creampie fan. I think he repeatedly stopped his seed at your entrance to watch it mix with your juices and slowly leave your body. But I also think he's too delicate to let his cum linger on your face, which is why he's not a fan of it. Even if you asked, there's no chance he'll let himself cum in your face

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) I think he likes it when you take the initiative. He often does a lot on his own, but the sight of you having fun with him in a way that no one else has ever done before, god. Jude is already on his knees and begging for more

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Nah, Jude is not very experienced. Well, after all, he's only 21 years old and hasn't scored any major ones on his relationship record. Therefore, everything you experience together is quite new to him. It was with you that he lost his virginity and began to discover what he likes and what he doesn't quite like But nevertheless he is a fast learner, he has become so skilled that if you met him for the first time, you would not be able to say that he is a fresher in these matters

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Jude likes to have you on top. Really, that's why the cowgirl position is just right for him. He likes you to take the initiative, however, alone from below he can also do a lot, especially since compared to him, you are in his hands like a feather. Another option is standing up - as I mentioned before, Jude is a fan of sex in the shower, so the standing option had to be practiced to perfection to make both of you comfortable and perfect

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) It depends on the moment. Jude is hardly a person who is against any jokes in bed or giggles, on the contrary, it even happens to him often. However, when your sex is heavily geared towards romance and the heat rising around your bodies, he rather tries to be serious and committed to the situation

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I think Jude is not completely shaved, but it is trimmed so that it is neat and not too much. He has dark curly hair, so I'm betting he has that all over his body too, so it might be hard to eliminate it. As for you, I think similarly. Either completely shaved or trimmed so that everything is neat and not too much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Bellingham can be truly romantic. He may not look like it, but he loves to plan your entire evening. First take you out for an expensive dinner with wine, then prepare you a joint bath with petals of your favorite flowers, followed by the intense sex you've both been waiting for all day. And then long conversations in bed and gentle touches...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) This often happens to him - mainly due to the fact that you often don't see each other through his constant trips to matches and life in other countries. He's not averse to pornographic movies, but since you've been together, he tends not to watch them. You prefer to connect together on the webcam and experience it from a distance, or he copes by simply thinking about the fact that you could be you next to him…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Honestly, I can't find any sensible kink to match Jude. He does not seem to be a person who is drawn in any particular direction. Maybe a creampie? Hm, I think he could watch with fascination as your shared juices of fulfillment come out of you…. Oh, and combined it with breeding kink? Well, what? He's young, but he can definitely see you with a pregnant belly in your future home together in Madrid

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Shower. Jude Bellingham shouts shower. Or possibly a bathtub, but definitely something on the toilet. I honestly don't know why, but it's what I associate with so damn much. Sex after the game? In the toilet. Sex with romantic candles and rose petals? In the bathtub. Sex without any occasion? In the shower. Well, don't say no. Jude definitely looks like a man who loves to take a bath together with you, and the opportunity to get close is even better

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) After the match. I don't know why. It's just that after a match, Jude is always, and I mean always, somehow more horny, and that's when you turn him on the most. Whether it's won or lost, Jude just needs to have his girlfriend in his arms after it Or the other option that turns him on is you in mini dresses. Well begging, the boy is already on his knees in front of you (or rather, behind you too)

A/N: next part will be here soon! i will be very pleased if you leave something behind - orders are open!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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saberlight1 · 9 months

Text

lovefool — billy the kid

pairing: billy bonney x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, fluff, Y/N usage, reader is a cowgirl and gunslinger, hints towards murder, one bed trope, standard billy the kid warnings.

authors note: hii!!! i’m so happy to be writing about billy, thank you anon for sending in this request that this is based off of. i loved the show and slowly am getting more obsessed with tom blyth everyday i swearrr. i hope you enjoy!

masterlist

You and the boys damn near fell through the doors of some random boarding house you came across— the lot of you attempting to run away from a rival gang that caught you stealing cattle.

Jesse threw 10 dollars down on the counter, more than enough to get rooms for you all. You had been running around all day— but the smell of gunpowder and crimson blood still clogged your nose hairs and adrenaline still pumped through your veins. You simply wanted a bath and to go the hell to bed.

But, who would you be to turn down Jesse’s smiling face, holding out a shot of whiskey for you.

You sighed, your hat tipping down with your head as you shook it, your hands rested neatly on your gun-belt, cowboy boot tapping softly on the floor as you pretended to weigh your options.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N.” He held it out for you. “Drink with us!”

You chuckled. “Why not,” You went to sit down at the bar next to them.

“Hell yeah!” Jesse and the rest of the boys who were scattered around the bar cheered— you normally weren’t one for their after hour shenanigans.

“Only for a little bit, though. I’m tired as hell.” You said, downing the whiskey shot.

“Sure,” Jesse waved you off with a knowing look, ordering a couple more rounds for you all. You laughed, going along with his antics as always. You had known Jesse since you were young— he was the one who had vouched for you in this group, who had helped you gain the respect that you had today.

You let out a hiss at the burning feeling of that whiskey going down your throat, slamming the shot glass back onto the table.

“I’ll have what they’re havin’.” You heard that familiar husky voice from next to you. Billy Bonney stood with a small smirk toying on his lips as he sat down on the stool next to you. He nodded at the bartender when he slid him said shot, the outlaw throwing it back without hesitation.

“Where you been, cowboy?” You asked, slightly tipsy.

“Been at the Saloon playin’ Poker.” He responded.

“You win?”

His smirk only grew. “Sure did. It was a big pot too,”

“Good for you, Billy.” You smiled, turning back to grab you and him another shot. “To your winnings.” You cheered, the pair of you clinking your glasses together before downing them.

“Aye, y’all get that cattle?” He asked, leaning closer to you with a quieter voice. “Y’all stink of gunpowder.”

“Nah,” You shook your head. “Their boys came out— the shots scared the cattle away, and we ain’t have enough ammo to fight ‘em off so we had to cut and run. Shot a couple of them, though.”

He hummed. “We’ll get ‘em next time, Y/N, don’t worry.”

“I hope so. Jesse here is runnin’ up his tab right now and we barely got enough cash to buy food.” You shook your head with a bitter smile. “Aye, at least we got liquor.”

“We’ll figure it out— we always do.” Billy reminded with a comforting smile.

“Yeah.” You sighed, trying to push the worries away. You downed one last shot before pushing yourself off the bar stool. “Alright, boys, that bath is callin’ my name. See y’all tomorrow.” You turned, heading to the stairs as you heard a string of good nights.

After washing up, you put on a comfortable nightgown, heading to the room that matched the key Jesse had given you.

You carelessly threw the door open, the towel in your hands still wringing out your wet hair. But said towel almost fell from your grip once you saw a shirtless Billy standing in the middle of your room.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” You apologized as soon as his confused gaze landed on yours, backing out of the room. “Thought this was my room,”

He sighed, throwing on the shirt he was changing into before you walked in. “You’re good. Jesse told me downstairs that he ain’t have enough cash to get me a room— Hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather bunk with you than the one of the boys.”

“Oh, yeah, no, you can sleep in here. I don’t mind,” You nodded, walking in and shutting the door, placing your gun-belt down on the nightstand. Your eyes drifted to the small twin bed before you, your gaze going back up to Billy’s nervously.

“I can sleep on the floor, it’s alright.” He immediately tried to come up with a solution, already knowing what you were thinking of.

“Billy, I’m sure your back hurts just as bad as mine— if not more.” You waved him off. “I don’t want you to wake up even more sore tomorrow. It’s fine.. I ain’t scared of sleepin’ in the same bed as you. Unless you’re scared of sharin’ with me,” You lightly teased, laying down onto the bed, opening the covers for him.

A soft smile crept onto his lips. “Now, why would I be afraid of such a pretty lil’ thing like you?” He poked back, his words sending a blush to your cheeks as he got into bed, taking you up on your offer. The bed was quite small, and to ensure Billy wouldn’t fall off you were kinda hanging off the side.

A giggle left your lips. “There’s no way I’m not gon’ roll off this bed in my sleep and face plant onto the floor.”

He laid on his back, one arm thrown behind his head so he could look down at you. His gaze lingered onto yours for a moment— and you could see the gears turning in his brain. “Here,” He flipped onto his side, his hands slowly tugging you into him so your back was to his chest, his arm loosely hung around your waist. “I won’t let you fall,” He whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” You leaned up to blow out the candle lit next to you before snuggling back into his arms, smiling. “G’night, Billy.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could hear a faint chuckle from behind you, the man placing a soft kiss to your head. “G’night, darlin’.”

#anon asks #tbosas #coriolanus snow #billy bonney #billy the kid #billy the kid gifs #billy bonney x reader #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth #billy antrim #billy antrim x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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