#so i totally might be in denial
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ik almost everyone is mad about what we currently have of 271 (assuming that’s not all of it, because it doesn’t seem like a complete chapter), but like… i think people are forgetting things.
1. this is gege akutami’s FIRST manga. ofc its gonna be a little jank. people criticize wayyy too harshly when shonens are famous for being difficult to end in a satisfying manor.
2. from what i know, jump magazine has a horrendous scheduling system. i think gege having to take a month off over the summer due to illness may have affected the amount of chapters we were able to get before jjk was scheduled to end (mostly alleged and theory on my part, if im being honest. but something to consider)
3. to add on to the last point, im 99% positive the anime will deliver a better ending. we got more junpei characterization, added and changed scenes in both seasons, and it’s really not out of the question for gege to want to make changes later in a few years.
some of this might be copium!! ill be the first to admit that. there’s still a chance for it to be better, and i still want to do my own analysis on it.
anyways, i’m just saying that it would be better to consider handling this with a little more grace :) i know there are people who hate gege for taking the story down the route it did, but at the end of the day, it’s gege’s story and i’m glad they focused on how they wanted to write it instead of the people’s. of course it could be better. i expect it should be better, or will be when it’s animated.
again, maybe copium.
but i love this story too much to hate it now.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#i have a jjk tattoo on sunday#so i totally might be in denial#jjk 271#271#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gege akutami#gege when i catch you gege#i’m happy to have a discussion about it too!
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i don’t think anything frustrates me more than pining wolfstar. can you guys just stfu and kiss? like it pushes all of my buttons man
especially when it’s dragged out for so long. AND ESPECIALLY when they’re a background ship!! like this ain’t even your story??
and i thought it was just me not liking the whole pining trope thing but NO! it only annoys me when it’s wolfstar!!!
#wolfstar#harry potter#marauders#sirius black#remus lupin#padfoot#moony#idk man they just really grind my gears sometimes#i just don’t understand how the denial stage for them goes on for sooo long#like how???#and like usually they’re both insecure abt smth that makes it hard for them to get together#but then once they’re past that they still don’t get together like wtf??#like idek if they’re endgame anymore cuz it been so long!#this may or may not be about only the brave#it’s one of those fics that got you questioning the intelligence of some of the characters#this also may be abt atyd#i’m not a huge lover of slowburns in general so that might be totally it#but i’m also not a huge lover of people that lack common sense so#could go either way idk
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kind of frustrating that people took "fat does not equal unhealthy" to mean "fat is not unhealthy." sometimes being obese IS unhealthy & excess fat can cause a lot of problems. ignoring health issues isn't progressive. real "oranges kill people with depression" moment
#i have a lot to say but i think it all boils down to this:#the only reason people think this way is because they experienced body shaming & bullying for their fatness#& instead of gaining a healthy relationship with their body & its needs they went full denial mode#people that aren't fat that think this way are just going with things uncritically which is also bad btw#because when you have decades of proof that being severely overweight can be detrimental to your health#(& no i don't mean fucking. supersize me. i mean medical proof that too much fat causes diseases & early death)#but you're ignoring that because a tiktok influencer that has no medical experience said so#that is a huge lack of critical thinking skills on display & people are gonna listen to that misinformation & some might die#this isn't some light shit that can be waved off as non-harmful because it IS harmful! it is actively hurting people!!#again being unhealthy isn't a moral failing & no one deserves shit for that!! but that's the whole damn point isn't it!!!#militant fat activists are so afraid of their fatness being associated with anything negative they turn right around into ableism#they don't WANT to be considered disabled! because being disabled IS a moral failing to them. disability is abnormal#& of course being morbidly obese is totally normal. because if it wasn't then they'd need to do work & handle an ED#& that's too much to grapple with mentally so. no. they're normal. super normal. don't look at the lifespan of someone over 300lb#btw i am 100% aware that a lot of this is combined with other issues like racism sexism homo/transphobia genuine fatphobia#but also sometimes they really can't operate on someone that can't recover afterwards#like i wouldn't call the vet bigoted & cat-hating for being unable to operate on my 20yo cat#Minnie would simply not survive that. because she is so damn old#unfortunately for Minnie she can't get younger but people CAN lose weight in multiple different ways#& it may seem like the world is attacking you but you really have to train yourself out of automatic bad faith reactions#''you couldn't possibly understand!!'' yeah okay i'm sooo abled & privileged you got me there (<-sarcasm. if you couldn't tell)#just because someone hasn't experienced your EXACT thing doesn't mean they can't relate & haven't gone through similar#it's so difficult to train your brain out of that shit i get that but you really really really have to. or you will die#or at least be miserable#DISCLAIMER: i'm not talking about every person who has even a little fat on their body. fat is NEEDED#but like all things too much of a good thing can cause problems & fat is not exempt#this is about morbid obesity. not someone who's like 160lb that shit is normal#& people need to stop thinking anything over 110lb is fat#because it isn't & i think most people are getting into unhealthy territory at that low of a weight#basically i view being too fat the same as being too thin. they both cause health problems & should be taken seriously
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#cw// ed#might be back in my denial/delusional era#bc im like. well i dont need food bc I feel fine.#and my weight may be Low for adult me but its been lower (nevermind that i was 15)#i could definitely get to a new lw and i can totally eat less to break my plateau and this wont end in any problems at all#who cares that if piss like once in 10 hours i havent passed out from dehydration so im fine#i can see it!! and i also continue to think this is okay and fine
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To the people saying "I do it because they're/it's hot, but I'm also trans!", "I do it because they just have traits (they're 'feminine') that make me think that, but I'm also trans!", etc., you do realize you can still fetishize and push prejudice/negative stereotypes within the community? Do you know how many people have headcanoned men as trans because they're just a wee bit feminine and they too were trans men? I'm going to be honest, in my experience, it's been a vast majority. And that bothers me. It's become so normalized, people don't even care, even in their own community. Men can be feminine, trans or not. It's gross to pin the label of trans on a man solely because they don't fit the convention, as all you're doing is fueling the fire of this problem. I know we want more representation in media, but instead of half assing it, or really just creating sick caricatures of us based on what the cis-gender people have decided are the norm, maybe we should actually put effort into our headcanons, or even... Make our own representation instead of seeing someone like, I don't know, Armin from Attack on Titan, and because he has longer hair, a softer voice, a smaller frame, and isn't the stereotypical male, claiming "Oh, he's trans!". There are times it works; me personally, I headcanon Dipper Pines as transgender, not because he's feminine, but because I can understand his struggles with masculinity and what makes him who he is; of not fitting the agenda while still being a man; of being dysphoric and insecure, but also learning to accept who you are. Not to mention just reality, identical twins have to be born the same gender, and while it's possible they might not be identical, the creator of the series himself has actively supported the headcanon. That's an exception. That's different. To explore the character via a headcanon, that is one thing. To just stick it on them is another. If you want representation, either make your own characters for it, find/support media that have it, or actually attempt to reflect the transmasc experiences in a headcanon as accurately as possible (tied to making your own, accurate representation). Stop just placing labels on a male with long hair and a more androgenous voice and going: "Aw, he's trans! 🥺" Without anything more.
hey. hey you.
look at that character you’re headcanoning as a trans man.
are you headcanoning him that way because you think it’s interesting, or because he’s a twink and acts kind of feminine?
if you write about him, do you treat him the same way you do your other characters, or is he distinctly separated?
can he handle himself, or is he always the damsel in distress? do you have someone bigger and stronger than him always save him?
do you make him act more childish or confused? is he super innocent and needs someone wiser to guide him?
are you willing to explore what his transness means, or do you just think it makes him hotter?
did you make him trans because you wanted to write him as the bottom? is he trans because you wanted him pregnant without "technically" writing mpreg?
are you willing to headcanon big strong men as trans men? old men? not stereotypically attractive men? men of color? fat men? disabled men?
is his transness a part of him or do you just treat it is a prop?
on the other hand, is he more than just his transness, or is that all there is to him?
do you include other queer and trans people in your work? how do you treat them in your writing?
how do you treat actual trans men? trans men who dont pass? trans men who do? who dont feel comfortable being perceived as feminine? who present in a more feminine way? who identify as more than just a man? who arent just white twinkish silly feminine men? who are kids, meaning you can’t just sexualize them? who are more than just props to be used within a story to push the plot along?
are you willing to listen to trans men who speak out on their issues, or does that seperate them too far from the fantasy you’ve concocted about them?
how do you treat trans men?
#trans#transgender#transmasc#transmasculine#transman#transmen#trans men#actually trans#Transgender headcanons#HCs#headcanons#Also no shade to the person I RB'd this from /gen#I just needed to put my input because I see this mentality EVERYWHERE#I genuinely don't think that's what their tags were insinuating /gen#(Wanted to rant about how much I fucking love the Re-Animator fandom for the trans Herbert HC because WOW /pos)#(They get so in depth with it and it makes me so happy as a trans dude who super relates to and loves Herbert West)#(It's such a flip from the usual. Sure; Herb might not be the MOST masculine guy. But neither is Dan. The HC isn't there because of him#“being feminine”; since he's not that either. There's depth to him and I fucking adore when fandoms give that dedication.)#(Where as one I dislike is Victor Frankenstein; even though I adore and relate to him just as much as West. For his character; it doesn't#work. He may not be super feminine though within the story it just wouldn't make sense to incorporate. Though this is me personally. There#are times it genuinely works; though the majority just slap the label on him without reason beyond the fact they just like him and want rep.#The main issue with it being the period. They attempt to write Victor the way he is with his parents referring to him as he is; but in that#era that would be totally UNACCEPTABLE. If you want trans Victor you need to include transphobia; internalized and external. There has to#be dysphoria; religious guilt; life on the line; etc.#YOU NEED TO ACTUALLY UNDERSTAND THAT THIS HC IN UNIVERSE WOULD BE DANGEROUS AND HOLD A LOT OF DEPTH. That's why I hate it; it's execution.)#(For similar reasons; while I personally HC Victor as Gay I hate when people forget the history and context. I will always ALWAYS include#the fact he's closeted and internally homophobic/in denial when writing genuine pieces of work about this HC. We need to continue doing that#Like. That is another thing. Not just transmasc#but ANY LGBTQIA+ HC. UNDERSTAND THE CHARACTERS; CONTEXT; AND PURPOSE FOR THE HC.)#I'm at max tags so I'm done yapping. Thanks for listening.
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in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.
wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.
ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!
ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!
PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)
the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar.
alhaitham.
the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%.
you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal.
(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)
disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win?
anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.
though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings.
ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU.
alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him.
that was what he always believed, but then he saw you.
the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.
as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.
(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)
when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)
likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with.
he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.
by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.
but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.
(they are.)
ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.
your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.
unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.
you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.
his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.
with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away.
“what was that about?”
alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway.
you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”
“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.”
his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”
“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”
“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó… nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”
because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.
you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.
“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”
so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.
his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.
“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”
but… none of them can compare to me, right?
your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you.
his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.
feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.
his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”
your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.
"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."
he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.
"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”
your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.
alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”
“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”
because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.
why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!
you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.
ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.
you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.
there’s still time till your next class.
maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…
did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.
he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.
without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake.
for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.
instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow.
you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?
“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.
you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.
you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window.
alhaitham.
he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why?
you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”
“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.
he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”
you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”
his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”
a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”
he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”
you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.
“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.
“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”
if anything, i think highly of you.
your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”
“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.
the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.
“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”
despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.
“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”
good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.
you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.
cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.
the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.
ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.
the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears.
when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.
there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.
alhaitham.
you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.
you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.
you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot.
glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.
it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from.
at this moment,
"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.
he feels like
there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”
he's in heaven.
it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?
"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."
your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.
“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile.
the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”
your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.
“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.
each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—
"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."
—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you.
your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”
his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.
two strange things happened today:
1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!
2. said enemy… complimented you?
huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.
behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.
“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”
stupid… did i make a mistake?
to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still.
“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!”
"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.
just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”
alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.
“i’m leaving.”
"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”
“you’re outnumbered.”
alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.
(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)
ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.
“i think alhaitham likes [name].”
the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?”
across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening.
cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”
kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”
right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.
oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her.
(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)
“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”
kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.
“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”
sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could.
for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.
his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.
for him, it’s a language without words.
dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."
and what sealed their suspicions?
definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”
alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”
oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.
alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.
the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.
now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.
“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”
“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.
—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.
...make that 110%.
(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)
ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE.
the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.
he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.
"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl.
"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.
“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.
"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.
unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.
he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."
you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”
"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."
your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance.
alhaitham.
you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.
"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.
alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.
his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave."
the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”
alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction.
the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.
but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold.
“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”
the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable.
“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.
you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you.
"are you alright?"
you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you."
alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.
streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.
"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."
your stomach twists with guilt.
"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.
he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.
"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."
you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."
"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.
the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.
you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.
“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”
if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.
your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.
misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?
the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear.
“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”
"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."
your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.
“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”
“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”
his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”
his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”
you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically)
“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”
you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”
his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.
"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”
“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”
(oh this bastard!!!!)
you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?
after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.
he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.
“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."
you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.
you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.
it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket.
intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting.
ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN.
To [Name], I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise. You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you. If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly, Alhaitham.
you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.
tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it.
alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay.
(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)
of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.
for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.
ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY.
“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”
ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.
“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”
maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.
“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”
how so?
if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?
you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.
the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.
in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.
“haitham.”
the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours.
his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?
“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.”
“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”
you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue.
“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.
“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."
suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops, until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.
his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.
“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”
you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.
his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm.
it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”
you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.
“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”
reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin.
“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”
i love you too, alhaitham.
a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.
you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.
“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”
slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it.
“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”
there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.
his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.
“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub.
nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”
kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.
“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”
“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”
tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”
“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)
…
“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.
(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?”
alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."
you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)
EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.
“how long?”
you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”
alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”
you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?”
his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”
“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”
he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"
do you have any idea what you’ve done?
"mas lalong umibig sakin?"
made you fall in love with me even more?
you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.
“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.
you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.
in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.
you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.
“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."
he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.”
"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”
he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly.
“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”
sure, just wait till i buy the ring.
"wh—"
he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"
you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”
his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.
this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx
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MASTERLIST.
#✧renwrites!#IELIHY.ᐟ#—stellaronhvnters.#alhaitham x reader#al haitham x reader#alhaitham x you#al haitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham fluff#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#genshin x y/n#genshin fanfic#genshin fluff#alhaitham genshin#genshin imagines#genshin impact#alhaitham#al haitham
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Senior cat aging is so wild. Never know what’s gonna happen next. My family has two cats that grew up together, mine and a sibling’s, who have been seniors for a year or two now. My baby boy is about the same as he was when he was just an adult, the cat he grew up with seems twice as old. They are literally the same age. The other one is only like a month older at most
#emma posts#not me trying to absorb the information i just learned from the other cats vet visit#hehe nope. not in denial. I’m totally processing this and not just trying to cover it up with jokes in person#anyway. some of this has to do with his age affecting him already#but he also got an injury while outside#this is why I’m more weary about when my cat goes in the yard during visits#I can hover over him like a hawk in the apartment#i can’t do that on the farm#if my brothers cats get to go out my cat WILL find a way to sneak out#I’ve been starting to harness train him but he didn’t like the car and I’m worried i might have ruined his impression#but my cat is fine. doing super well. it’s… not my cat that I have to process info on#I don’t even know what I’m thinking about this#my feelings are confusing#I don’t know if I want to just dump this info on friends who know this cat#but strangers on the internet have no connections so… I guess I’ll just vague post here#tw animal injury#it might get worse but it hasn’t happened yet#I love animals and i love cats but my family had a confusing relationship with this cat#he loves people but is paranoid and bullies younger cats#well. he did. until they grew up and he got old#he won’t even eat and he’s already been losing weight. it’s not good. but it’s not my decision in the end#he’s not my cat#and I’m honestly. guilty. great full that I don’t have to decide this#I missed two months of therapy appointments due to random events so I’m gonna be dropping a BOMBSHELL the end of this month omfg#hopefully something good also happens that I can surprise my therapist with?#if it was my cat I think I’d be contemplating… well. my parents let me get him because of my depression#so… let’s just leave it at that
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you absolutely can get addicted to things other than drugs because somehow out of the two things i was doing two weeks ago the one i cant stop thinking about and have to keep myself from doing at all hours of the day is not the edibles but watching yuri on ice
#yuri on ice is just really good when im high.#and im keeping myself from watching it by reminding myself that ill have a better experience if i watch it high#and that ill have a better high if i wait until the weekend instead of just doing it whenever#and you might think at this point that im just addicted to weed and not the 2016 sports anime and that im in denial#but today my only other class was cancelled and i discovered that i had 100% less homework than i thought#and the devil on my shoulder is not trying to convince me that its monday so it would be ok to get stoned today and this weekend#its trying to convince me that watching yuri on ice without being high would be fine and i have so much time until the end of the day#so i might as well just watch it because i really really want to and like i said before its monday#so theres still a time buffer#and i know that if i watch it now i will also watch it tomorrow. and the day after. and every day after until im sick of it#which could take a while. i watched jjba part 2 like 30 times in a row. but that was because i like it and wanted something to put on#typing out all the reasons why i should totally watch yuri on ice right now is not helping my willpower#dampening the urge by imagining how mid it felt sober and in english the day before i decided to take a trip to yaoi world
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✎ rivals... in love?
- gojo satoru x reader
gojo is in shambles—so suguru might have a crush on you too?
genre: high school!gojo being a menace but pls spare him he just can't take losing, you see... crack, totally jealous!gojo, justice for geto, enemies to lovers, fluff
note: people have been asking for this so this is up next! i'm writing this while listening to bigbang's bang bang bang and fantastic baby so if gojo is a bit unhinged... you know why
a part of gojo's love entries
general masterlist
No way. There is just no way.
Satoru felt his eyes itch and twitch uncomfortably. Despite the opaque black tint of his sunglasses, he could still distinctly see you happily giggling.
“Geto-san, that’s so funny!”
With Suguru. His ride or die. Your massive crush.
Your crisp laughter rang in his ears, scorching his ego and igniting it in flames—that was precisely the reaction he had hoped to receive from you too!
"Aren't they just cute?" Yaga was suddenly beside him with a wistful smile, looking at you and his other student a few feet away. "What do the television say again... a perfect match? In this case, a perfect match made in jujutsu school, then."
And responding to your bubbly self, creating the very picture of perfect match made in jujutsu school indeed, Suguru was every bit as enthusiastic. “Nah, wait until you see this—”
"Perfect match my ass," Satoru grumbled outwardly, rolling his eyes, but he immediately dashed away before his teacher could bonk him in the head for cussing.
It was harmless conversation, or jokes, or whatever. Because Suguru couldn't possibly reciprocate your feelings. His type is women of gravure magazines—Satoru had deemed it as such.
…Right?
At this point, he wasn't in enough denial to say that he didn't like you, because he had made it so clear that he was, in fact, obsessed. He wasn’t shying away from the things he did, which included annoying you constantly, asking you out after school, helping you in missions, and sending you few pick up lines here and there.
And he thought he was certain he could whisk you off your feet. After all, who else could measure up to him and win?
Heh, no one.
(or basically that's just him ignoring the intrusive little voice in his mind that whispered, “Suguru!”)
“So what's with the nice act, huh?” Satoru blew his bangs in a huff as he questioned his best friend with a twinge of dissatisfaction. “Do you like her or something?”
Suguru quirked his eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. I have noticed how you two have been joined at the hip lately,” and with deliberate intention to spite his best friend, he made the sourest face as he mockingly recited, “Wait till you see this~”
Instantly realizing what he meant, Suguru burst into a loud snicker. “Come on, Satoru, really? Surely you aren't that petty. We were just chatting—”
“Not that. I know. What I'm asking now is that do you like her or not?”
It wasn't a rare sight to see Satoru with a pout and a frown, and usually he'd humor him. But this time, even Suguru could see that there was something different in the way he asked this. And should he say something that irked him then—
“Heh, so what if I am?”
That's the wrong answer.
Satoru halted abruptly, whipping his head around in sheer shock. "What the heck?"
“She’s a nice junior, kind, easy on the eyes,” Suguru shrugged, flashing him a dauntless smile. “Only a fool would let the chance pass up. Satoru, if you keep dawdling, one of these days, I just might—”
“Wha—hey!? That’s totally foul—!”
“Nah, they do say all is fair in love and war now, isn’t it?”
By a mind-boggling twist of events, apparently his best friend was also a guy after his dream girl. Satoru was irked, challenged, and he would never admit it, but a tiny part of him recoiled because Suguru clearly had an early start and a boost—you favored him first.
This was unexpected, and now he was conjuring up various scenarios of what he should do. He must act fast or else...
Little did he know that Suguru was thoroughly relishing his restlessness.
Everyone around you said that your relationship with Gojo Satoru... is intriguing to say the least. And especially ever since that one botched mission you two went, you also felt there was a shift in your dynamics.
And if by intriguing they mean him constantly blocking your way and invading your space, then yes, it definitely is.
"Okay, okay, but wait, just hear me out!"
You halted your steps and faced him with an annoyed frown. You really had no time for this. You were about to be sent on a mission. "Gojo, really, can't you just—"
"Okay, I know he's dashing, or whatever," he huffed, the last word he said with a hint of disdain. "But hear me out, and I'm sure you'll reconsider."
"Who are you talki—"
"Who else!? Suguru, of course!"
You couldn't possibly arch your eyebrow even higher, and before you could say anything, he somehow took it as his cue to keep going.
“First, he eats curses. Cursed spirits! He eats them like rice balls! Can you imagine just how foul the taste is?”
"Gojo, I don't have the time—"
"Then! Going from that, just imagine kissing him," he stressed, eyeing you intensely as your own eyes felt like popping out by the sheer suggestion. "What if you taste the cursed spirits rice ball?"
"You're unbeliev—"
"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"
"He's your best friend!" you finally interjected, obviously and utterly in shock by his unhinged rambling. "How could you say all of that?"
"No, you're getting me wrong." Satoru's clicked his tongue. "I'm just listing facts why it's better for you not to end up with him."
You barked a dry laugh. "And? Better with you, you mean? That's awfully biased."
"Why yes of course! Self-promo is never bad," he blatantly retorted. "Let me just tell you aallll you need to know about me!"
He audibly cracked his knuckles and puffed out his chest. "You know already, I'm strong. I can protect you well. My cursed technique doesn't involve eating curses, so you don't have to worry about tasting the said curses on my lips."
How could he blurt all of this with that perpetually playful expression? A chuckle escaped you unwittingly and that only spurred him to go on.
"And I'm handsome!" he boldly claimed, pointing at his face with pride. "And obviously I don't need to say this, but I'm filthy rich—"
At that, you burst into hearty laughter, unable to hold it in any longer.
Satoru's eyes sparkled, lit as if someone had just made his day. "All in all, you know what I mean. Everything with me, all of it is going to be fantastic!"
Even you couldn't deny that all of this exchange had been so amusing. Hilariously so. "You're down bad, huh?" you tried to taunt, although it seemed like a burst of snicker. Yet, you were caught off-guard when he said:
"For you?" his little smirk made your insides suddenly all jumbled up. "Yes."
Huh? What is this? Your bravado faltered a bit as your heart did a somersault inside.
It wasn't supposed to thump this hard. You weren't supposed to feel this overwhelming urge to squeal too. And your face wasn't supposed to grow this hot...
Seeing that, Satoru celebrated his little win, a wicked smile on his glistening lips—that somehow looked rather attractive to you now. "How? Thinking twice now, are we?"
But he couldn't believe that after all this, you would still cunningly retort with, "Ha! You wish, Gojo Satoru."
His stunned face was so comical that you chuckled once again. You wanted to rebuff him more, but before you could, Haibara's voice called you from a distance. "Heeey! Let's go! Or we're gonna be late!"
"I suppose that's my cue," you lightly shrugged, and before you left him in a dust, you could've sworn you saw a flicker of brewing tantrum behind those glasses, which brought a smirk on your face. "See ya, try harder, and I might look at your way."
Satoru was at his wit's end as he saw you sauntering away. What more that he could do so that you could be his? To keep your eyes on him and him only?
And yet, little did he know, in that beginning of summer in 2006, even before you realized it yourself, you had already did.
Epilogue
In another corner of the school, eagerly spying on you were...
"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"
"Did he just..." Suguru gaped, utterly in disbelief at what his own best friend said of him. "Did he just say that?"
Shoko let out a satisfied guffaw. "Oh, he definitely did."
"I can't believe he's tarnishing my name over a girl."
"Well, you know very well he could do way worse than that just to get what he wants," she threw him a thin smile, while exhaling a puff of smoke. "And hey, you lose. You gotta pay me."
Suguru turned to her in surprise. "Huh? Oh—oh, darn it. Shoko, can't you be less stingy?"
"Well, whose bright idea was it to pull that stunt on him and bet on whether Gojo would approach her in less than a day?"
-> continue to extended cut !
#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠#gojo satoru x reader#jjk drabbles#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk imagines#jjk x you#gojo x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo x you#gojo#gojo fluff#gojo satoru imagines#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo fluff#jjk gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jutusu kaisen x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo
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All Roads Lead To Rome
pedro pascal x younger!reader
summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee
word count: 3,519 words
side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!
"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"
Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.
"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"
The young man chuckles.
"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"
He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.
"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"
"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"
"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".
"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"
He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.
"Too bad I don't need you to"
Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.
"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"
"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.
"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"
He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.
"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"
"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.
"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.
"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"
"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.
"Stop being misterious and just drop it"
"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"
When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.
During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.
Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.
You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.
It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.
To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.
Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.
You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.
And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.
"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".
"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".
"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.
So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"
"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.
"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"
"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"
"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.
"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".
You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.
"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"
He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.
"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"
"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"
"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.
"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"
Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.
"You must be punished for what you did today"
You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"
"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"
"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"
"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.
Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.
"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"
You swallow, "I am"
He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.
Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"
"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"
"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"
"I'm a naughty girl"
He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"
"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.
"You were a little brat, amor"
You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"
He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.
"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"
You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.
"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"
You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"
He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.
"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"
You whimpered "Badly, papi"
"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"
You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"
"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"
"No one!"
You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.
"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"
You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.
"That's your punishment"
"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"
“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"
You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.
He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:
"You have to take this off, what if we-"
"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"
"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.
As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.
"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"
You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.
Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.
"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"
You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.
"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.
You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.
You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.
"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"
He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.
"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"
When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.
"You gotta reward me" you cough out.
"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.
"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.
"Princess..." he warns.
"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.
"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"
"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.
"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.
"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.
"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.
A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.
His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.
Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.
"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.
You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.
"I miss your tummy" you pout.
"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.
"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"
He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.
You're real, and his.
As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.
"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,
You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.
"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"
"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"
"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"
When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.
"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".
"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"
"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"
You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"
"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"
"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"
"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"
"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.
"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"
#dilfistwrites#gladiator II#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x you#pedro x reader#pedro pascal fluff#marcus acacius#joseph quinn#connie nielsen#may calamawy#paul mescal#i love him#so down bad for my latino man#pls excuse the filth<3
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Neil Gaiman is accused of sexual assault, sexual coercion and rape
A third woman came forward a couple of days ago.
None of the problems people had with the other podcast (and to be honest, I think those arguments mostly just represent the denial and bargaining phases of grief) apply to this one. This woman says she only came forward because the Tortoise podcast made her aware she wasn't alone. Until then she'd believed him when he told her it was just her. Good Omens fans, I'm sorry if you're hearing this from me (although unfortunately it does matter that you hear it from someone). If you had heard but tried to look the other way -- listen, I know this is shocking and heartbreaking. It is of course up to you how you participate in fandom from here. But please stop tagging your fandom posts "Neil Gaiman". You are ensuring that anyone searching for information is going be swamped with Good Omens fanart and S3 countdown posts and pictures of socks(?) and photos of actors who have nothing to do with this. They might then conclude that there's nothing to these allegations. And that matters: at present, aside from Rolling Stone and the two podcasts, this story hasn't received much press attention. The latest survivor says that she tried reaching out to reporters and was told her story "wasn't enough." So at least for now, social media sites do matter as a record on this. When you drown out this story with your fandom feelings, you are helping, whether or not you realise it, to cover it up. And considering that he seems to have targeted fans who trusted him... I don't even want to finish that thought. So please, stop. Do what you want in the other, more relevant tags. But you're likely to have a better experience if you start trying to separate it from him, anyway.
UPDATE, 01/08/2024: Two more women have come forward, bringing the current total to five. The very grim details are here.
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❝𝐤𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬❞
a/n: as usual, afab!body w/no gendered language. y'all i swear i'm back surely... i totally don't work five eight and a half hour shifts in a row after this... not at all.... anyway didn't include all of the hashira just because i don't want this to feel too overcrowded, might do a part two though if anyone wants a specific character. enjoy!
── დ ──
. *. ⋆ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA
▸ face fucking. he loves taking his frustration out on your poor throat, especially after particularly drama filled hashira meetings. watching the way the spit dribbles past your lips and how your eyes roll into the back of your head so unashamedly.
▸ spit kink. he goes crazy for it fr. having you kneel in front of him as he takes ahold of your jaw. forcing your mouth open and instructing you to stick your tongue out before spitting. he moans so beautifully when you readily accept his gift and swallow.
▸ choking. he loves the feeling of wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing, seeing how your cheeks redden. enjoying the choked gasps you struggle getting out with every thrust inside of you.
▸ degradation. he's got a mouth on him, that's for sure. insults upon insults thrown at you, practically babbling about how much you're a dirty whore- his dirty whore- the closer he gets to his orgasm.
▸ brat taming. breaking you down until your nothing but a shivering mess. you always just have to give him attitude, don't you? running your mouth until he's forced to put you back in your place.
. *. ⋆ GIYUU TOMIOKA
▸ hair puling. both giving and receiving. shamelessly moaning anytime your fingers brush against his scalp, yanking at the hair while his tongue licks at your trembling walls.
▸ body worship. he's so fucking in love with you and that's especially in the bedroom. he spends hours memorizing your body, trailing your curves, kissing at the dips in your skin. all before he even thinks of fucking you.
▸ bondage. intricately tying your wrists and ankles to bedposts, the roughness of the rope scratching at your skin with every pull. he'll stand above you for a few seconds after, just watching how you squirm against the restraints.
▸ cock warming. sometimes he's just so bone tired from it all. he just needs to feel you, nothing more. sitting you on his lap and sinking his cock into your welcoming walls. face burying into your neck and savoring the feeling.
▸ sensory deprivation. goes kind of hand in hand with his love of tying you up. he has an extensive collection of silk ribbons, in all kinds of colors, that he'll have you model for him later that night.
. *. ⋆TENGEN UZUI
▸semi-public. he's so daring with it, really. when he wants you, he wants you, and he's not ashamed of that. fucking you in too small closets as maids at the butterfly mansion pass by, or on the top of a roof where nightlife bustles below.
▸ size kink. he's fucking huge, towering over you in every sense of the word. seeing how your lips struggle stretching around his cock or how small your hand is compared to his- it drives him absolutely insane.
▸ breeding. my god please don't get me started on this.., he wants to cum inside of you so bad, anytime and every time he fucks you. thinking of how sexy you'd look all round with his baby!!
▸ humiliation. just like sanemi, this man has a mouth on him. seeing how your cheeks redden and you stutter anytime he calls you out on being such a whore for him- it's adorable, he just can't help it.
▸ orgasm denial. such a tease with it, too. lets you think he's gonna let you cum this time around, only to pull completely away from your skin as soon as your on that edge. cooing at how you cry at him, apologizing for being so mean, even if he doesn't really mean it.
. *. ⋆KYUOJURO RENGOKU
▸ breeding. best friends think alike, right? pls just make this man a daddy already. he's so desperate for it. rutting inside of you for the third time in a night, all to cum inside your pretty pussy.
▸ cunnilingus. oh, he is such a big pussy eater. sometimes it's just so much with him. large arms wrapping around the thighs that squeeze either side of his head, lapping at your pussy like it's his last meal and he's a man starved.
▸ eye contact. grabbing at your jaw, forcing your gaze to his, instructing you to keep it there. he's eyes are so intense, so fiery. boring into you with every thrust inside- taking in the dilation of your pupils and the flutter of your pretty eyelashes.
▸ overstimulation. most times he doesn't even mean to do it, y'know? you just feel so good, and he's chasing that high over and over again until you're jelly in his arms, feeling pleasure so painfully.
▸ dry humping. his favorite foreplay. the atmosphere thick as you both huddle close, grinding and frotting against each other. anything for friction. until he gets so desperate for your touch that he's ripping your clothes off right then and there.
#kny smut#kny headcanons#kny x reader#demon slayer smut#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer headcanons#smut#afab reader#x reader#gn reader#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi shinazugawa smut#shinazugawa sanemi#giyuu tomioka smut#tomioka giyuu x reader#tomioka giyuu#tengen uzui smut#tengen uzui x reader#tengen uzui#rengoku kyojuro smut#rengoku kyojuro#rengoku kyojuro x reader#sanemi x reader#tomioka x reader#tengen x reader#rengoku x reader
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Biker! Dan heng, Sunday and aventurine?
Sfw and NSFW
Like I'm brain dead for them
DREAM RIDE. biker! honkai star rail men part one
— featuring ┊aventurine, sunday, (il) dan heng x fem!reader (all separate)
— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual! sfw + nsfw, feminine terms used (she, girl, etc), cunniligus (aventurine #1 pussy eater strikes again), orgasm denial (sunday), jus a tad bit of subby dan heng, semi-public s3x? (sunday), blowjob (dan heng), use of vibrators (sunday), riding (dan heng) use of nicknames, multiple orgasms, bath s3x (aventurine), sunday is a MENACE here, reader implied 2 be a lil smaller than them, v4ginal fingering (aventurine), more tba! | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
— a/n ┊NOT PROOFREAD ! might correct tmr if i’m not sleepy! <3 anyways hi guys writers block stopped biting my ass anyways guys i’m SOOO attracted 2 aventurine it’s acc insane he needs to be jailed from how majestic he is.. erm! whoever keeps sending asks abt biker! hsr men god bless u and ur entire family | reblogs r appreciated
⊹ 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄
sfw.
⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who would take you out for late night rides! he’s a total drama queen, let’s get that out of the way. he loves you, yes, but he’d get so pouty whenever you turn him down for your daily night rides with him, he sulks and sulks.. clinging onto your figure until you finally say yes! jokes aside, aventurine really does enjoy your company, he really does value quality time as he would go as far to even take you out to see the stars, feel the breeze and have some fresh air, or just have a midnight snack!
“come on, baby.. 2am is nothing! just come and ride with me for a bit, i promise i’ll have you back til 3?”
⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who always finds himself buying you gifts before visiting you and such! sometimes he’d just be riding around on the road and all of the sudden his hands are full of bags and gifts just for you before he gets to your place! he’s a huge gift giver, spoiling you to the brim.
“would [name] like this one.. no no, maybe this one. hm.. maybe both.”
⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who can be insecure at times, sometimes he thinks about whether he’s truly right for you or not. like, usually he wouldn’t give in to these thoughts but there are times where he’s just riding around at night n he suddenly stops n goes.. “what if [name] is bored of me?” even though he might not show it, poor thing needs A LOT and i mean A LOT of reassurance from you, please tell him he’s good enough for you!
“my darling.. are you sure i’m right for you? i mean, you know. i’ve just been.. thinking. you’re not gonna leave, are you.. hm? ‘gonna stay with me, right?”
nsfw.
⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE absolutely loves having sex while you both take bubble baths, i mean.. it’s essential to have good hygiene, isn’t it? aventurine pumped his fingers within your pussy, circling his thumb over your clit as he licked his lips, nuzzling close against your neck. “mmh.. you like that?” his voice, husky and low as his fingers reached the deepest parts of your cunt, a sharp gasp caught in your throat as he held you firmly against him. watching you struggle to stifle your moans made him feel a combination of pride and surprise. aventurine gripped your waist lightly, offering support and reassurance. "damn, sweetheart.. are my fingers that good?" he murmured, his voice low and steady.
aventurine growled softly, pleasure coursing through him at your reaction. his fingers deeply thrusted in and out of you, feeling your tight walls spasm around his digits. with a lick of his lips, he added another finger within your drenched pussy.. the sound of water splashing against his fingers, his speed rising more and more.. stretching you delicately. "missed this," he groaned, adding more speed to his rhythm. "missed the way your body responds to me, my darling girl..” his eyes locked onto yours, seeing the desire mirrored back at him. he wanted to make you cum, that was his goal for the night.. to hear you scream his name again. the roughness of his fingers grew, the sounds of water splashing against his hand was enough to embarrass you, aeons.. he was going fast alright. “c’mon, sweetheart.. it’s been ages since i made you squirt. mmh.. these fingers are good enough to make you squirt, right?”
⊹ BIKER!AVENTURINE who would eat you out almost all the time, whether it’s on his motorcycle seat while he holds your body, or maybe his table filled with tools, or just a plain old bed. aventurine is willing to eat you out literally anywhere, his tongue piercing made it even better. aventurine savoured every second of this, allowing his senses to be consumed by your intoxicating flavour. your body trembled above him, carefully laid on the seat of his motorcycle as he chuckled against your pussy.. your hands buried in his hair as he delved deeper into your depths. the blonde’s tongue danced expertly, exploring every hidden crevice while his fingers played with your swollen bud. “you taste divine," he murmured against your sex, causing you to arch your back sharply. "just like the finest wine, only better." his words hung heavy in the air between them, fuelling your rising passion.
aventurine attacked your cunt hungrily, devouring your folds with complete vigor. aeons, he was obsessed with your pussy, and your taste. the way your wetness spilled out onto his tongue, mixing with the warm atmosphere surrounding the both of you drove him crazy. his large hands held you firmly against the seat of his motorcycle, hands roamed freely over your body, tweaking one of your nipples roughly while diving deeper inside your drenched pussy. your boyfriend groaned into your folds, feeling your walls tremble around him. “good darling.. such a good girl taking my tongue so well.” “.. ‘turine.. you’re gonna make me fall on here.. j—just eat me out on the desk..” you murmured, wincing when you felt a slap on your pussy. “whoops, sorry angel,” ugh.. this tease. “mm.. no-can-do, sweetheart. i like seeing you like this. just imagine, my cum leaking out of your pussy and right onto my bike.” he licked a single stripe on your cunt, chuckling when he noticed your legs quivering. “oh how fascinating would that be.”
⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘
sfw.
⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who has a habit of grabbing onto your waist, or just snaking his arm around it! i mean, he does this for many reasons.. one, to show you’re taken, and two, mm.. he just feels like it! sunday would do it on random occasions, whether he’s talking with his biker friends, at the cashier, anywhere! he loves grabbing your waist and he makes that very clear, maybe if he’s in the mood.. he’d slide his hand beneath your shirt as well wink wink
sunday glanced at your form, a small smile forming on his face when he saw you examining your surroundings. he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling your body firmly against his.
⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who’s jealousy is intense. sunday would get angry at you, give you the silent treatment, or just bluntly ignore you if you were found talking and laughing with another guy other than him. he refuses to believe that you can be happy with other guys other than him. he would glare at other people he catches staring at what’s his, he was.. possessive. and whenever you catch sight of it, he would try and manipulate you to thinking he’s doing it for your own good! because all those men that were staring at you were bad! (wow, he’s a bastard) saying this, he’s a huge manipulator.. it can be a handful dating him.
“trust me, my love. can’t you see how those men were staring at you?” his voice was soft, dangerously soft. the malicious glint in his eyes didn’t hide anything. “they’re after you, angel. they’re after what’s mine. i’m only trying to protect you. why are you so doubtful of me, hm? do you not love me anymore? are you perhaps.. bored of me?”
⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who loves being in control, this can be taken in a sexual or non sexual sense <3 sunday is assertive, and he knows what’s right for you. (most of the time!) he can be a bit controlling at times, but he means no harm! he just wants to keep you safe, promise! sometimes sunday would give you that look whenever you would try n defy him, he means business.. trust me. because of this, he can be cold and stubborn towards you at times without even knowing, geez.. he really needs to work on that.
nsfw.
⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY loves being in control, as i’ve mentioned.. but especially in bed. besides that, he’s so damn mean.. he doesn’t let you cum unless he tells you to, kissing your tears away with his lips. “ah ah ah, darling.. what did i say about cumming?” his eyes devoured your small frame, taking in every curve and angle of your body. sunday couldn't help but feel a surge of dominance and control over you, chuckling lowly. you was his, every fiber of your being was his, and he'd take care of you properly. his thrusts were hard to take in, his size and speed.. aeons. the way his cock slides in so easily had him biting his lip, he’s so mean and strict whenever you both make love, spanking you a few times whenever he sees you dozing off!
his eyes never left yours, even when he would immediately pull out when you were on the verge of orgasming, earning a sweet whine from your lips. “please.. please let me cum! sunday, baby please.. i can’t hold it anymore!” oh, how if only you knew how much he loves it when you beg. “oh baby.. i love it when you beg like that.” sunday groaned deeply from pleasure, landing another smack to your ass.. grinning at the sight of you swirling beneath him, “it only makes me wanna do this more.. it makes me wanna keep you here, stop you from cumming all over my cock. do you want that?” “n—no please.. please let me cum, sunday.. i need it—“ “keep begging, my angel. maybe i’ll let you cum if you keep begging and whining for me. come now, speak up.”
⊹ BIKER!SUNDAY who absolutely loves using vibrators on you whenever you both go out together, it’s amusing to him! (stupid bastard) he would increase it’s speed at random times to catch you off guard.. for his own amusement. listen, you really love your boyfriend but sometimes you just wanna slap that stupid smile off his face. you were casually picking out some candy in the candy aisle, a soft smile on your face before you felt that same old sensation within you.. causing a gasp to leave your pretty lips. “mm.. what are you looking at here, my love?” sunday murmured softly, chuckling at your vulnerable state. “sunday.. lower the speed please..” you begged, aeons! you were stupid to even think he’d decrease it’s speed!
your boyfriend smirked, the vibrator’s speed only grew more by the second as you could feel the wetness of your pussy seep through your panties, filling you with humiliation and embarrassment as you could barely walk, holding your hand over your mouth. “fuck.. sunday please..” you knew begging wasn’t gonna get you anywhere.. you knew you would have to have that stupid thing inside you for hours on end, overstimulating your pussy and entire body while your boyfriend watched and held you with pure amusement. to your bewilderment, there were times where sunday would go as far to fingering you by a nearby alleyway, his hands drenched in your juices. this man.. you wanted to be mad at him but you couldn’t bring yourself to be. sunday’s pretty fingers dug deep into your drenched pussy, knuckles deep while he had that same stupid sadistic smile on his face. “i should put that thing in you more.. look how wet your pussy is. it’s practically drooling for me, angel.”
⊹ 𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆
sfw.
⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who is more of a private relationship typa guy, he prefers to keep his relationships private! despite this, he still shows his love for you in many other ways, it’s easy to say that some people are even surprised he was dating you, because of how reserved he is when it came to personal matters <3 he values his and yours’ privacy, you can trust me on that!
⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who struggles putting on his helmet because of his horns (lol), you find it really cute! whenever he leaves your house, sometimes he takes 10 minutes trying to figure out how to wear a helmet because of his horns. he found this so annoying to the point he probably had a custom helmet made for him and his horns!
you nearly let out a giggle when you gazed at him, struggling to wear his helmet over his head. dan heng’s tail swished against his leg, glancing up at you with a slight frown. “[name], it’s not funny.”
⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who would teach you how to ride a motorcycle so you and him can ride around together, i mean.. you can’t blame him! he doesn’t show it much, but he really does hope to spend more time with you, and he thinks this is effective and efficient! dan heng would guide you through it slowly, keeping his hands on your waist while he helped your practice with the brakes and all you needed to know! to be honest, this was really just an excuse to touch you, but can you blame him? his large hands would brush against your hips, helping you adjust and sit properly, it’s a good thing these things take awhile to learn!
“mhm, i got you.” his thumb rubbed circles on your hips, humming. “you’re a fast learner, [name]. you never fail to surprise me.”
nsfw.
⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who just loves having your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock after an exhausting day of biking all day and night. soft gasps and whimpers left his lips as he showed a completely different side of him that night, full of pure desperation and need. “am i.. doing this right?” your voice was muffled against his dick, sending vibrations to his nerves as his hand was carefully placed atop of your head, body aching for release. “yes.. keep sucking me off like that..” with a grunt, he closed his eyes briefly while savouring the warmth of your tongue tracing circles around the sensitive slit.
"more please, baby..“ dan heng begged, arching his back slightly as your warm, wet tongue caressed the head of his cock, teasing him mercilessly before sliding down its veiny shaft. the sensation was foreign yet familiar, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. unable to resist any longer, he reached down, gripping your hair tightly as he thrusts his hips upward, pushing deeper into your waiting mouth.his breathing became heavier, the sound of each labored gasp echoing in the otherwise silent room, punctuated by the sloppy sounds of your mouth working him over. your tongue swirls around the base of his cock, teasing the sensitive area underneath his balls before returning to suck and stroke him feverishly. “you’re so good to me.. s.. so good to me..”
⊹ BIKER!DANHENG who would let you ride him just like how he lets you ride his motorcycles! he just wants to put your pleasure first, really. dan heng’s mind raced as he watched you ride him. he was going to lose it, he knew it very well. the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your pussy coating his cock with pure white juices, the sound of your gasps, and the feeling of your breasts against his chest created a whirlwind of emotions. he watched you struggle to stifle your moans while gripping your waist lightly, offering support and reassurance. "you’re doing great, love. fuck.. take your time and do what feels good," he encouraged, his voice low and steady.
he hoped his presence provided comfort, guiding his precious girlfriend to enjoy the sensations without feeling pressure to perform. their bodies moved in harmony together, lust fuelled by the thrill of victory as dan heng’s breaths grew ragged. his face flushed at the sight of your breasts bouncing, biting his lip at how overwhelming this was.. the sound of skin slapping against each other was all that came through, their moans punctuated the intensity of their shared moment. your hands grabbed everywhere.. his biceps, his chest, and oh.. even his horns. he was absolutely losing it. “sh—shit.. use my cock, use my cock for your own pleasure, beloved.. you’re doing so well..”
@ NEUVISTAR. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.
#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse’s diary ૮꒰˶˃̵ ^ ˂̵˵꒱ა#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ maryse answers ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა#aventurine <33#sunday <33#il dan heng <33#honkai star rail#hsr smut#hsr x reader#sunday x reader#aventurine smut#honkai star rail smut#dan heng x reader#hsr x you#sunday smut#sunday x you#aventurine x reader#dan heng smut#dan heng x you#aventurine x you
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trolley problem
in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned
flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K
Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago.
The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out.
You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.
So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere.
You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death.
But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.
Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?
It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death.
Just… not yours.
Or maybe you’re just in deep denial.
Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.
Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job.
“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”
Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns.
“Sorry.”
He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to.
“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”
Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?
“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”
At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well.
“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”
Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital.
“I didn’t walk into active g—”
“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”
“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”
You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Talk?”
“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”
“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.”
The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.
“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”
“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”
A beat.
Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words.
“Do you believe that?”
His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle.
You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that.
“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good.
It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now.
“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”
“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago.
“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”
There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa.
“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”
He snaps.
“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”
“It’s my job, Spencer.”
“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”
“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”
“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was.
You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door.
“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking.
“You need to eat something.”
Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before.
However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now.
“Spencer, please don’t—”
But the door is already whooshing closed.
You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one.
When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing.
The door closes as quietly as it opens.
This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse.
Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get.
“You didn’t bring food.”
“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”
Fair enough.
You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth.
Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall.
Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain.
“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly.
Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur.
“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”
He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in.
“I just wanna help people.”
“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”
“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night.
“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”
The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise.
“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”
For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.
When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention.
“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”
And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern.
“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”
“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”
“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”
“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”
And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.
Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place.
“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking.
“Hm?”
He hesitates.
“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”
“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”
“I mean beyond that.”
You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog.
“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”
If he responds, you miss it.
You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone.
Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel.
Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand.
You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight.
The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass.
Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass.
God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead.
Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did.
Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things.
Maybe you’re tired of being human.
Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore.
And yet.
It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful.
Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever.
Maybe that’s something you envy.
But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour.
You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now.
You doubt they ever could.
#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic
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PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2
simon riley / reader
FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3
tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI
cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes
note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3
you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.
PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k
Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you.
But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally.
You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was.
Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries.
“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”
“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.
“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly.
Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”
He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet.
Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen.
You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away.
You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify.
“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.
He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”
“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.
“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”
You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat.
But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing.
It almost felt like something a husband would do.
You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that
“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat.
Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you.
“Absolutely not,” he says.
Your jaw drops, “Why?!”
“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”
You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since.
You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.
You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.
True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.
Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.
That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry.
You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous.
Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work.
It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin.
You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip.
Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.
You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.
“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.
Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.
“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”
He grunts, letting out a soft sigh before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”
You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing.
You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.
Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy.
You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest.
You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit.
But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated.
Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.
As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought.
Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him.
No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again.
What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants.
Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum.
But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided.
With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night.
You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment.
The ring of his phone was the break.
“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner.
You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call.
“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.
There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”
“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”
“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon.
“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move.
“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”
You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”
“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt.
She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.
“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.
“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”
Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”
That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop.
Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay?
He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants.
But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.
There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.
You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.
Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem.
You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long?
Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me.
Please, just love me back.
“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”
He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt.
He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”
He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes.
Suddenly, you stand.
“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway.
He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down.
He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge.
Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before.
He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer.
“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”
“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.
“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”
“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”
You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes.
Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.
“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”
You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.
You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.
“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.
He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.
“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”
He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can.
He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do.
“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”
“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.
“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”
“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice.
When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.
“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.
“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you.
“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”
“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.
“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs.
He fucking laughs.
It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down.
“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”
Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before.
You dash the spark of hope that it causes.
He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away.
Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours.
It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you.
Simon kissed you.
“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”
He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”
“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat.
He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”
“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”
“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”
“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”
He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”
“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”
“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”
You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice.
But he does, of course he does.
He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.
“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.
Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to.
“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”
“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”
“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”
“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”
“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.
“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.
“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm.
A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.
“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed.
You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off.
Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–
“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants.
“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught.
He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”
He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.
“Si..?” you whisper.
“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”
You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.
“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you.
“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.
He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling.
You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements.
His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss.
After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair.
One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally.
All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.
Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?
Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”
Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.
“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”
“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”
You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back.
Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?
You can’t stop beating yourself up over it.
But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you.
You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts.
Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss.
“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”
That makes you sit up, “Leave?”
You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.
“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.
“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.
He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask.
“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.
It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay.
“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”
“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”
He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible.
“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”
“I will, Si,” you assure him.
“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”
You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”
He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”
Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.
“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”
He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world.
True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well.
You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it.
All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat.
You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing.
Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants.
There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can.
You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters.
This is going to be miserable, you think.
The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help.
It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best.
The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable.
The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate.
“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him.
He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.
“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.
“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”
“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”
“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.
“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”
You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”
He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.
“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”
The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you.
You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.
Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you.
“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.
It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact.
He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.
“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy.
Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.
You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”
“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”
“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”
“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.
“Huh?” you dumbly ask.
“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.
“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”
He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side.
“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.
Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again.
But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.
“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs.
You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”
“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”
“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”
He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”
“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel.
You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you.
You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything.
“What’re you huffin’ about in here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight.
“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.
“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”
“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”
He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”
“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”
“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.
You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited.
Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly.
“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.
He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back.
He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you.
You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.
“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.
He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.
Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling.
You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do.
“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”
The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras.
Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.
“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.
You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.
“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”
He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”
He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them.
You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice.
You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.
“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.
You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back.
“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are.
Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people.
“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.
“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.
“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”
He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking.
“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.
“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.
Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue.
“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.
Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.
“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.
The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”
“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice.
So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.
“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.
“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”
“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.
“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”
Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”
“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.
When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.
“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.
“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.”
“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.
“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back.
He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.
“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”
“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.
You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”
Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”
You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.
“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.
“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”
Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”
“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”
“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.
You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”
Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.
“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.
“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.
“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.
“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink.
The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses.
The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person.
With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient.
But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on.
“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.
“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.
“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance.
You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.
When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.
“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”
“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”
“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”
You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body.
You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.
“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him.
That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”
“Can I kiss you?” you ask.
He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him.
His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm.
“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.
He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties.
“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”
You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.
“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”
You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat.
You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve.
You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away.
A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes.
With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it.
“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body.
You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.
“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”
“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”
“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”
You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously.
“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”
It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself.
“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light.
You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night.
“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”
He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”
“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”
He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”
You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”
Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”
He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”
He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything.
“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”
You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.
“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”
Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about.
“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.
“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy.
He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone.
“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”
“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.
He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”
“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.
Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him.
He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.
“Why..?”
“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely.
“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying.
He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”
“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”
“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”
He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.”
You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was.
“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”
“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”
You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”
He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”
You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”
“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”
You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”
“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”
“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”
“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”
“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.
“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”
You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…”
You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”
Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”
“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”
You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”
He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”
Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?
“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”
Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”
“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you.
He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”
You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away.
“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”
With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom.
You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him.
“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”
You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”
“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head.
Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them.
You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material.
“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”
“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious.
His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take.
Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him.
Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh.
“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”
“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”
His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand.
“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”
You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants.
It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced.
That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good.
“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal.
“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug.
You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.
“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp.
His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious.
He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap.
“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”
You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are.
Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze.
He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.
“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”
“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.
And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body.
He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him.
Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”
You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again.
“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”
His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”
You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows.
It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger.
You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention.
He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.
“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.
“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”
“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”
“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.
“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”
“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.
You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end.
“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”
You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.
“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”
“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.
“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”
You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside.
After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.
“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”
“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”
Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.
It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.
That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.
And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange.
He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock.
If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him.
“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.
He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it.
You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself.
All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body.
You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him.
His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away.
He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good.
That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair.
“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard.
He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat.
You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud.
It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.
This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum.
Then everything stops.
His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.
“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.
Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake.
“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”
That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes.
“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”
Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.
His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.
“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”
You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy.
But it’s you. You’re special.
He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different.
He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy.
He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit.
You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you.
“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”
You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation.
When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out.
He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”
“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”
“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”
“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.
He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it.
It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock.
So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you.
You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop.
But you don’t.
You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you.
Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.
You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”
“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”
Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail.
He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax.
“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”
He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix.
He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation.
It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper.
His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good.
Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.
“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure.
“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips.
You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there.
“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”
“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”
“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”
You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge.
It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts.
You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.
It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant.
You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy.
Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises.
“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”
You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life.
All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again.
Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him.
But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock.
He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot.
Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still.
Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt.
His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.
“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours.
“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”
“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”
You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you.
Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you.
He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute.
Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you.
“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”
“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further.
His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”
But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much.
Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it.
But instead, he does something else.
You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact.
So he does it again.
And again.
And again.
Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it.
He needs you to cum for him again.
“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.
As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.
He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels.
Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock.
You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.
“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”
“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.
It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down.
But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.
His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk.
Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.
“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.
“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him.
“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”
And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent.
“Alright, love?” he asks.
“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”
He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.
“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”
You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.
It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together.
When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him.
“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.
You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”
“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.
“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”
Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”
You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again.
“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it.
And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.
It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him.
Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him.
PART ONE.
do not modify, translate, or repost
#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost smut#ghost x reader#cod smut#cod x reader
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GABI HOW COULD YOU POST THAT ABOUT STEPBRO JAKE YOU KNOW stepbro enha are my weakness (the thought plagues my brain ALL the TIME!!!!) and i was thinking abt it (again.. no one is surprised.. and ur post + the no doubt mv only fuelled my craziness) so. i’m gonna need to set the scene w corporate worker intern blah!jake. followed in his dads footsteps because the money is good and he’s got a knack for the math, but that doesn’t mean the job itself isn’t GRUELLING :( so when his dad marries your mom and introduces him to the sweetest little stepsister it genuinely feels like he’s been given a gift. you’re eager for a big brother to gossip with ‘n jakey’s just so accommodating and lets you sit on his thigh and babble about whatever you want as long as your pjs are thin enough that he can distract himself guessing at the colour of your panties. he can’t help himself from resting his hands on your waist and subtly repositioning you, grinning when bouncing his thigh jus’ a little has you squirming and stuttering! he definitely makes pervy comments too :( calls you his wife ‘n jokes about marrying you because coming home to you lounging in his bedroom is something that gets his slacks all tight in the front! he asks for a kiss on the cheek goodbye if you’re up early enough ‘n expects one when he gets home — you brush it off as accidental when he turns his head too fast ‘n you catch his lips instead. buys you the prettiest things and insists on spoiling you with shopping sprees that have him ruining his expensive boxers at the thought that you’re being mistaken for a couple :( like This Jake fully embodies the mean bully you talked abt in your post whenever he’s had a tough day or something you do ruins his fantasy — he likes thinking about you as his pretty little wife, not his slutty stepsister prancing about in the clothes he paid for, dolling yourself up for some stupid date! (as always, this is crazy long but i think you might expect this from me now.. also referring to me as ur angel baby did irreparable damage to my sanity gabi ‘m blushing and twirling my hair rn i cant)
— lots of love ‘n kisses, ur fairy anon
warnings: stepcest + creampies + masturbation + handjob ment. + daddy kink + orgasm denial + dacryphilia + pregnancy ment
💌: m gna eat u omg r u kidding me im so obsessed with this, my brain is melting n im drooling 😵💫
calls you his wife … yeah this is so… ‘m moaning. he totally would, n he’d even get u a cute little ring to wear, fantasizing about how it’d catch the light when he gets you to stroke his cock 😵💫 jerks off n nearly moans your name while thinking abt his cum leaking from his tip onto your ring :( maybe you’d even be a good little wife n clean them off with your tongue
god forbid you take the ring off, though! your husband stepbrother is absolutely livid when he finds out that you’ve left it on your vanity rather than keep it on for your date; n yeah its actually Very hot seein ur big brother all mad, his button up shirt undone at the top, sleeves rolled up n displaying his thick n veiny forearms, and his hair is all messed up as he plays the role of an overprotective big brother (is it in ur head or is he sounding a bit possessive?) but all you can picture is tugging on it while he fucks you, n you’re beating yourself up mentally for even thinking about your brother in that way (little do you know he needs to put a baby in you)
something you do ruins his fantasy… r u joking me.. sure this can go with the lil date idea but.. jake getting genuinely upset when you call him your brother 😵💫😵💫😵💫 would your brother tease your virgin cunt every time he had you in his lap? or press kisses to your neck while running his hands over your thighs, daring to pull at your sleep shorts n shallowly slide in your needy little pussy? either you’re even more of an airhead than he thought, or you enjoy watching him struggle to maintain his composure because there’s no way you dont know he wants you
he would absolutely love the two of you being mistaken for a couple n jakey’s quick to speak over your denial, a sweet smile on his face as he replies with a “thank you” to every person that calls you two a cute couple <333 when you ask abt it he just kisses your cheek (a bit too tenderly to be in a stepsibling kind of way) n says its just “too much of a hassle” to correct everyone… n even asks you if it’s such a bad thing for people to think he’s ur bf… are you embarrassed of him?
when jake finally gets you desperate enough for him, he has so much fucking fun making you say filthy things n has even more fun watching you squirm at his dirtytalk.
his pace is unbearable, you’re unable to do anything but take it as he batters your cervix with his fat cock n manipulates your body, pushing n pulling your legs to feel you even deeper. “d’you like havin’ my cock inside your tight cunt? does it feel good, princess?” he questions, voice thick with arousal.
but you’re too fucked out to reply, of course you like it but there’s no way you can form a coherent sentence as he keeps up the brutal pace, his tip hits your cervix with every thrust n he’s relentless. you’re so close, so fucking close and…
oh. it’s gone. your impending orgasm fades and it has your face crumpling, tears pouring down your cheeks at the lack of stimulation. why’d he stop? why why why why wh-
“i asked you a question, angel. y’gonna be a good girl n answer me?” a sniffle from you, and then: “jakey! please don’t stop, ‘m sorry ‘m sososo sorry please fuck me! pleaseplease it feels so fuckin’ good! love my brother’s cock so much-“ he cuts you off with a harsh slap to your tit, a sneer forming on his face at your surprised gasp.
“‘m not your fuckin’ brother. god,” he laughs humorlessly. “am i gonna have to fuck you until you get it through your dumb little head?”
jake pinches your nipple between his fingers n twists it enough to cause a jolt of pain to shoot through you n make your walls clench around him. “i’m not your brother,” he thrusts into you harshly with each word. “‘n you’re not my fucking sister, got it?”
your bottom lip trembles, eyes screwed shut with pleasure as he resumes fucking you n jake’s brain is foggy, he can’t believe he’s ballsdeep in your pussy n before he knows it, he spills his deepest desire to you
“you’re my wife,” jake sighs, pressing his forehead to your own. “say it. say you’re my wife.. my sweet little wife, god look at you. takin’ my cock so well, ‘s like you were made for me”
it’s not long before your orgasm builds yet again, white hot pleasure consuming you n his words send you over the edge, pussy spasming n clamping down on his thick cock until you cream around him.
“‘m your wife, jakey! ‘m your wife, yourwife yourwife, fuck. fill me up, knock me up, jakey.” you wraps your arms around him to pull him close, pressing your lips to his ear before whispering, “‘m gonna make you a daddy.”
jake cums with a deep, guttural groan, his teeth clenched as thick, hot cum spurts from his cockhead and fills your womb to the brim. legs wrap around his waist to keep him inside you n it takes him a second to realize your lips are moving n you’re talking to him. “sorry princess, what’d you say…?”
you giggle n bat your lashes up at him, still wet from your tears, i said, “do you wanna go again?”
#♡.signed. sealed. delivered.#♡.the honeypot#♡.sweetheart: my fairy#m gonna CUMMMMMNN#hes so sexy i want him to be my stepbrother#actually go away stepbro jake… i need to makeout with my sweet angel baby <333333333333 hehe#u r so cute i need to smooch u rn#missed u sooooososo bad my fairy u will always match my freak i adore u#enhypen#jake sim#sim jaeyun#enhypen x reader#enhypen smut#enhypen x reader smut#jake sim x reader#jake sim x reader smut#jake sim smut#sim jaeyun x reader#sim jaeyun x reader smut#sim jaeyun smut#💌.breeding#💌.stepcest#💌.daddy kink#💌.dacryphilia#💌.masturbation#💌.handjob#💌.pregnancy
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