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lemonlover1110 · 4 months ago

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𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Summary: Satoru makes the biggest mistake of his life. If he could go back in time, he would take it all back in a heartbeat.

Warnings: Heavy Angst, Cheating, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Some Biting, Vaginal Sex, Daddy Kink, Creampie

*This is a commission for the lovely @mew4-ever18. Thank you so much dear, this was so fun to work on❤️ also you can thank her since she wanted me to share with y'all!

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There’s something wrong with Satoru, and you can’t quite put your finger on it– Well, you have an idea of what it is but you don’t want to accuse your fiancé of such an outrageous act of betrayal. He’s coming home later than usual, bearing gifts and stinking of some cheap perfume. He claims he’s working late with his secretary, the company is going through a rough patch and he has to fix it all.

You noticed it from the beginning. One night Satoru came home later than usual and he wasn’t your usual Satoru. He was distant and refused to even make eye contact with you. He was hiding his phone, and was extra wary about where he put it for the night. It happened six months ago, and you were willing to look past it because you loved Satoru and it was surely a one time thing.

Until the next day where the same thing happened. And then a week later. Six months later you’re dealing with the same issue, trying to convince yourself that it isn’t happening. The signs are all there, but you don’t want to question your partner’s loyalty. Truly after making such accusations, everything will be over. So you bite your tongue even though Satoru clearly acts differently for a reason.

“How was work today?” You ask him, clearing the table from the dinner you just had. You surprised him tonight, preparing one of his favorite meals since you knew he’d be home early tonight. You hope that by surprising him with food, he’d come home early more often.

Unluckily for you, Satoru played with his food the entire duration of the meal. He was looking at his phone the entire meal, barely acknowledging your presence. But you’ll attribute it to him having a rough day at work. A rough week at this point… Nevertheless, you’ll find a way to excuse his behavior.

“Can you help me clean up?” You ask him after your question goes ignored, and Satoru barely acknowledges your existence. You’re getting tired of this, and you’re not sure for how much longer you can withstand it. You speak again, your voice much firmer this time, “Satoru, honey, can you help me?”

“Uh… Sure.” He replies, standing up from the table and doing just as you’ve asked. You make some conversation with him, knowing you hold his attention for a small fragment of time and you have to make it count. He gives you vague answers, but at least he gives you something.

Midway through the conversation is like a flip switches in Satoru, and he begins to smile as he speaks to you. He cracks a couple of jokes, and you two begin to laugh like the sweet couple you are. You feel like you’re in the very beginning of your relationship once again. He’s making jokes just to hear your sweet laugh.

Before you know it, you’re cuddling up with him on the couch. You allow yourself to easily forget about his past behavior, simply because he’s acting like the man you love after all this time.

“Was dinner not good? You barely touched your food.” You ask him, and he bites down his lip.

“It was good, I wasn’t too hungry though.” He answers, though he quickly changes the topic. You partially understand why he wants to talk about something else. You’re finally having a good time, he doesn’t want it to change. “When’s your next work trip? I don’t want to get accustomed to having you here.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow for three days.” You respond, and you see a small pout come to his face. You almost laugh at the response, chuckling before kissing his cheek. You don’t understand the response when most nights he isn’t by your side either way, but you still appreciate the reaction. “I’ll be back in no time, babe.”

“I’m going to miss you.” He says, a phrase that is odd to hear from him but it brings a smile to your face. Maybe whatever is going on is fixable. You peck his lips, getting even closer to him.

“You can appreciate me while I’m still here.” You tell him, and within a blink of an eye, you’re on top of him. He’s given you no sign, but you feel the need to try to initiate something with Satoru. You had a consistent sex life with him until recently. The last time you felt Satoru’s touch was three months ago, and it was unsatisfactory to say the least… You hope you can change his mind this way. It’s stupid.

You’re getting frisky, your hands unbuttoning his shirt while you kiss him, full of desperation. You need him. You’re too caught up in your own sentiments, barely noticing that he’s not touching you. You’re doing everything.

He’s not even kissing you back. You’re grabbing his hands and putting them on your ass since you know it’s one of– If not his favorite part of your body. But his hands quickly fall, telling you he’s disinterested.

“Satoru–” You pull away, about to ask why he isn’t even moving. Before a business trip, he’d make sure to remind you how much he loves you– But right now he can’t even keep eye contact with you.

“I’m not in the mood.” He mutters, and you swear you hear your heart break. It feels like this confirms all of your fears and doubts. You just know you’re frustrated. You get off him, and without even thinking twice, you blurt out,

“Are you cheating on me?” Which makes his eyes go wide. He looks at you, offended that you’ve asked that question. As if he hasn’t given you reasonable doubt. But even though the question lingers in your mind, you regret the words that leave your lips.

“How dare you?” He immediately replies, and you feel the urgent need to apologize for what you asked. You still want an answer that’s not his offense. Even though his response should give you an answer, you’re still wanting to hear him deny it.

“You’ve been acting weird– I don’t know what to think.” You try to justify yourself, as Satoru stands up from the couch.

“What? I told you I’m busy with work! But your first thought is that I’m–” Satoru finds himself yelling, and he stops himself. He takes a deep breath to not be too rash. He’s upset, but he won’t yell at you. “I love you so much, why would you even say that? I’ve done nothing but be loyal and cherish you but you’re–”

“You’re acting weird, Satoru! I– I’m sorry that I even suggested that but you’re acting really weird.” You’re tripping over your words, getting nervous during your confrontation. This is something that can completely ruin a relationship, you should’ve bit your tongue and held back on asking the question.

“I can’t even look at you.” He mutters, walking away from you. He’s heading toward the front door, and you can’t stop him. You want to tell him to stop, you can figure this out; however, your voice gives out. Maybe deep down you know that you don’t have to apologize for anything.

The feeling lingers, deep down you know you’re right.

You allow yourself time to think. Time away from Satoru to decide what you want to do with your relationship. Work keeps you busy, but it reminds you of him. You met with him through your work, you were hired to accompany him on a trip and he kept flirting with you until he mustered up the courage to ask you out.

You’re wondering if maybe your work is the reason why he’s acting like this. Maybe you’re overthinking that he’s distant, and he’s actually just worried that someone else will woo you. You’ll think of anything to excuse his behavior, anything to stay on cloud nine when it comes to your fiancé.

During your time away you reflect on your relationship. You need to have a serious chat with Satoru, something that you’ve been holding off on. You don’t want to have tough conversations in fear of hurting him, but it’s hurting your relationship.

You’re losing sleep over your issues, and you can’t stay away for another day. You’re going home early to try and fix your relationship problems, because you won’t be able to properly rest if you don’t fix it.

Luckily, the lights are on when you come home. You’ll be able to speak with him immediately. You hope that by next week this will all be something that you laugh at. Alas, you know that you’ll need to put in a little more work.

You walk into your place, leaving your luggage in your car. You want to talk to Satoru as fast as you can.

You expect to find him in the kitchen, cooking something for himself since Satoru tends to try to make himself something when he’s free. But you guess you’re a little late. It’s past dinner time, he’s not in the kitchen… But he did leave a mess. You’re about to walk past it and check for him in the bedroom, but your eyes fixate on the sink.

Two glasses of wine. One has a red lipstick stain. The son of a bitch lied to you– No, maybe you’re overthinking. Perhaps he invited his mother over for dinner. He’s probably upstairs, too tired to clean up after himself so he left the mess for the morning.

You take a deep breath, using all your might to move your feet. You have to go upstairs to talk to him. You pray that you find him sleeping so you can avoid this whole situation right now– Or that the scene that plays in your mind isn��t happening.

Satoru is loyal to you. Satoru is loyal. You keep repeating the words to yourself as you walk upstairs. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest with every step. You’re getting sweaty, and thinking of the worst when you’re standing outside the closed bedroom door.

You hear it, and your heart breaks. You’re fidgeting with your fingers as you press your ear against the door to listen better. It’s his voice… It’s Satoru. Your Satoru. The same man that got defensive when you confronted him about his loyalty.

A man that you’ve loved so dearly for years, has betrayed you in the worst way possible.

But maybe, just maybe, you’re getting this whole situation wrong. You refuse to cry when you’re probably misreading this situation. Perhaps he’s just watching some explicit videos on his phone, something to kill his loneliness. You crack the door open, and you want to puke at the scene.

A gasp leaves your lips, as if you’re surprised by it all. As if you didn’t already feel this was happening. Tears well your eyes, quickly spilling and falling down your face. He’s not only betraying you, but doing it on your own bed as if it were nothing. The bed that you’ve laid down beside him and shared so many intimate moments.

You make eye contact for a split second before you look at her. The woman that was always so sickly sweet with you is in bed with your fiancé. You always knew that there was something up with her, there was no plausible reason for her to be so nice. You brought up your concerns with Satoru, and he brushed them off.

“You two can go to hell.” You yell, remembering the words that Satoru always told you: She’s no one important, she won’t last long in the company or something along those lines. And yet here she is. You’re holding your breath, unable to exhale until you finally turn around. You hear Satoru call out your name as you begin to walk away.

You try to hold back on crying now, you don’t want to look pathetic in front of them. You’ll simply leave, even though he calls out your name to talk to you. The man that you swore you’d love for the rest of your life has made a fool out of you. With his secretary of all people… How cliché.

“It isn’t what it seems!” Satoru is yelling, trying to catch up to you. You take a swift look at him, rolling your eyes. At least he has clothes on now, that’s an improvement.

You don’t want to entertain him, you just head to the front door as Satoru mutters out baseless apologies. You don’t want to hear it, he’s just spewing whatever to get you to stay. Your hand lands on the cold doorknob, and before you get to turn it, his hand lands on your wrist.

“Please let me explain.” There’s desperation in his eyes, something that would’ve made you drop everything and tend to him ten minutes ago. Right now your blood is boiling, and the only sight that you want to see is a bloody Satoru lying down on the floor– It’s extremely unlike you, but you guess your thoughts won’t be too normal after finding out your fiancé balls deep into his secretary.

“Fuck you, Satoru. Fuck you and your secretary–” You begin before a loud laugh leaves your lips. It’s rare that you curse, but you can’t hold back now. You truly mean it, never in your life do you want to see the man that stands before you. You were ready to devote your entire life to him; yet, this is how he repays you. “I guess you already did, didn’t you?”

“Please, it was nothing.” He tries to explain which makes you scoff. You pry his hand off your wrist and open the door.

“I’m coming to get my stuff tomorrow while you work. I’ll leave the engagement ring on your nightstand.” You tell him before walking away, leaving him behind to yell your name. He mindlessly calls out to you, hoping that you come back to talk to him, but you don’t dare to look back at him.

That concludes your relationship of years with Satoru. A few minutes of pleasure were worth ruining your four year long relationship, and an eternity together. You wipe away the tears that leave your eyes, trying to not feel bad about it. After all, Satoru made his bed, and you can’t change anything about it.

Satoru tries to contact you more times than you can count, which results in him being blocked everywhere. You don’t want to speak to him ever again. You spoke to his parents one last time, and explained everything to them before closing that chapter of your life. You want to completely forget that Satoru Gojo ever existed in your life. In your mind, you want it to be as if you never crossed paths.

You had two weeks of dwelling in sorrow, pitying yourself for your ex-fiancé’s actions before school started. Going back to teach English was actually going to be more helpful to you than you thought. The students keep you busy, managing to push away any dark thoughts from your mind.

You find the school to be a safe space from all the drama that surrounds your life. You don’t have to worry about Satoru trying to get you to communicate with him, and you know that he won’t dare to show up at your work. The idiot somehow found out where you live, and he’s been attempting to send you flowers or other romantic deliveries that quickly get turned down or end up in the trash.

You hate the turn of events. You were practically begging for a more eventful life since everything had suddenly become so dull– How you regret wanting that change. Yet you guess it’s better like this. You should be grateful that you found Satoru’s true colors before it was too late.

“There’s someone that wants to talk to you… He’s at your desk.” Your coworker warns you as you walk to the office. You furrow your brows, picking up the unsureness in her voice.

It’s been nearly two months since everything happened, so Satoru is the last thing on your mind. So you don’t have a problem walking to the office, assuming that it’s a student that is seeking help. Though you’re not too sure about it since most of them are supposed to be in class.

A scoff leaves your mouth when you enter the office and you see the man that you’ve been avoiding for the past two months. As you watch him lean over your desk and inspect every little gadget that’s on it, you realize it’s a miracle that he hasn’t shown up at your door to beg for forgiveness.

He hasn’t realized that you’re in the same room, so you have two options: turn around and pretend like you were never here, or confront him. You want to turn around and avoid him. And you will. But just as you turn on your heel to leave, he calls out your name.

“Can we talk?” Satoru asks, clearly desperate to explain everything to you… But what is there to explain? No matter the reason, what he did is unforgivable.

You want to yell at him, and tell him to get out of your life forever. But your coworkers are standing around and you don’t want to cause a scene. You have to swallow the sharp words that rest at the tip of your tongue. You choose a more professional way to deliver your message,

“Mr. Gojo, please stop contacting me. Next time I receive some sort of message from you, I’ll be forced to file a restraining order.”

He calls out to you again, but you don’t acknowledge him in any way. Your coworkers stare at him, wondering what happened between the two of you, but no one is bold enough to actually ask. For your ex-fiancé to show up at your work to talk, and refusing to speak to him is no small feat. Regardless, no one will ask you and no one is going to dare to speak to the man.

They don’t get a chance either way, Satoru quickly walks out of the office after checking his phone, leaving the place behind. Leaving too many questions unanswered.

“What do you need?” Satoru answers the phone with attitude when he gets into his car. He’s too annoyed to deal with anything else, especially with her. The woman that he broke things off with immediately, yet she won’t leave him alone for some reason.

For some reason, as if he hadn’t started an emotional affair with her– Sure, for him it was purely physical but for her it seems like feelings developed. Even though he tried to fire her (which didn’t work out since she threatened to sue due to an inappropriate workplace relationship with a very clear power imbalance), she keeps trying to call him and act as if their relationship hasn’t ended.

“When are we meeting again?” She acts as if nothing happened. Her voice is so irritating to him, it’s become one of his most hated sounds. He rolls his eyes when he hears her speak, and he has to sigh. He can’t get rid of her completely, as much as he wants to.

“Please refrain from calling me unless there’s a work emergency.” Satoru tries to remain calm. He’s not going to waste his energy by losing his cool on her. By keeping things professional, he hopes that she’ll take a hint and leave him alone. But he’s not so lucky, he’s getting extremely bad karma for his actions. “Is there anything else? I’m busy.”

“We– We have to talk.” She sounds hesitant, though Satoru doesn’t really care. If she wants to never speak again, he’d be overjoyed.

“What is it?” He asks, hoping that it’s something she can say over the phone. He wants to meet as little as possible with her. The line is quiet for a minute before she says,

“Can we please meet in person?” She questions, making Satoru scoff. No way in hell will he willingly meet up with her. His response gives her the answer she needs. She knows he’ll hang up soon so she blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

“Huh?” His eyes go wide as he processes the words that he just heard. Pregnant? No, that can’t be, he’s always been so careful with her. He ensured she was on birth control and he always made sure to wear a condom. A pregnancy shouldn’t even be possible. “What– You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“I– I’m not. I wish I was.” He can almost hear the smirk that’s on her lips. She tries to act like this is something bad, but he can hear that this is ideal for her. “I swear I’m not lying.”

“What the fuck?” Satoru is pinching the bridge of his nose as he wonders how the hell this happened. He still can’t believe her, and he won’t until he sees a test result right in his face. One that he sees her take.

He absolutely can’t trust her with anything.

Satoru finally decides to leave you alone for the first time in months. You’re still on his mind, but he has bigger issues to deal with right at this moment. Somehow, someway, he’s becoming a father. This wasn’t in the cards for him, especially with someone that isn’t you.

“What do you think about going shopping for baby clothes tomorrow?” She’s resting her head on his lap, talking like she usually does when she’s with him. He’s engrossed with his phone, creating a new account to check up on your social media. Satoru’s given you space since he has a girlfriend now.

He’s not sure if he’s a coward or what, but he can’t do much. He got someone pregnant, so he’s forced to step up. He’s fucked up in a lot of ways, but he isn’t the type of man that’s going to leave his child behind. But he’s for sure the man that secretly looks at his ex’s social media.

“Satoru, are you listening?” He hears, and he hums in response. Though he’s not too enthusiastic, which makes her sigh. She raises her head from his lap and squints her eyes as she looks at him. She doesn’t have to look at his phone to know.

She snatches the phone out of his head and tosses it to the side, making a frown appear on his face. He’s about to protest but she gets on top of him, cupping his face. “You know… I miss you.”

“I’m right here.” Satoru can’t make eye contact with her. He feels guilty by just looking at her. Not because he feels like he owes her anything, but because by looking at her he’s reminded of you. You two would’ve been married now.

“Baby, stop thinking of her.” She says, going down to peck his lips. The sentence would’ve driven any other woman mad, but that’s her reality. It’s been her reality since the beginning, ever since she decided to sleep with a man that was in a relationship. “I saw her last night.”

“Where?” A sudden spark appears in his eyes which ticks her off. She has to pretend like she doesn’t see it.

“She was out with some man.” She’s fighting off a smirk, she can’t seem wicked in front of Satoru. Though watching his expression darken satisfies her. “She’s moved on, you can move on as well.”

“I guess.” Satoru is vulnerable, weak enough to believe anything that goes past him. As long as he gets to hear about you, he doesn’t care if a statement is true or false. Though he doesn’t like the news he’s receiving. “Are you sure it was her though?”

“Yeah. I know so. She’s hard to confuse with someone else.” She answers, and Satoru clenches his jaw. Perhaps it was just a male friend, no one that you’re interested in romantically… Though he did the same thing, and this is where it landed him. “I’m here for you, baby. Me and our baby.”

She grabs his hand and places it on her small bump, reminding him that they’re bound together for life. Satoru is biting down his lip, jealousy consuming him at the mere thought of you with someone else. He almost wants to get back at you. As if you’d get hurt by what he does or doesn’t do. You’ve moved on from him, you clearly don’t care about what he does.

Satoru knows that he’s lost you, he doesn’t win anything by not giving in. He is touch deprived, desperate to feel something more. He’s already sacrificed so much for the few moments of pleasure that the woman in front of him gave him, what’s one more time?

Her lips land on his again, and he doesn’t fight it. But he also doesn’t kiss her back. The situation reminds him of the last time that you made a move on him and he rejected you. He’s so close to shutting his eyes and listening to his dick, but he almost pukes when an image of you pops up into his head.

He can’t do it, not even when he’s trying to get back at you. It’s his bad karma. He ends up pushing her away, telling her, “It’s best if we don’t.”

“What’s the harm in it?” She’s annoyed that he pushes her away. He’s not wrapped around her finger like she thought.

“I’m not in the mood.” He takes a firm stance, and she tries to remain calm. She opens her mouth to speak but Satoru clears his throat, “I think it’s best if we stop whatever we’re doing here. It’s not healthy.”

“What do you mean?” She furrows her brows. Satoru takes a deep breath, thinking of how to land the blow. He knows that she won’t be too delighted, but does he really care about her feelings?

“If we’re going to have some sort of relationship, it’s only a co-parenting one. I’m not interested in anything else.” He says, and she begins to laugh as if it’s some kind of joke. Though it fades when she realizes that Satoru has a stoic expression on his face. He couldn’t be more serious.

“Satoru, I am carrying your baby. You can’t be serious.” She makes a big show of it, putting her hand on her bump. She wants to make it as clear as she can that she’s expecting his child.

“Which is why we’ll co-parent. Other than that, I’m not interested.” He responds, and her hands ball up into fists. She doesn’t understand. He’s already lost everything, what’s the harm of being with her now? He should move on since you clearly don’t care about him.

“What is wrong with you?” She asks, completely offended. How could he not want her? He’s risked everything to be with her, but when he actually can be, he refuses. “We’re having a baby, you’re not with her anymore– We can finally be together.”

“I don’t want to be with you. It’s simple.” Satoru answers, and before a major argument ensues, he stands up. He begins to walk to the door, leaving her behind to yell at the wall. He knows arguing is senseless.

If she wants to escalate the situation, he’s more than willing to settle everything in court.

Satoru is trying to come to terms with the fact that he’s becoming a father, and you aren’t the mother. His secretary is six months along, and time is flying by. The day that his baby is born is getting closer, and he has to come to terms with it soon.

His parents aren’t thrilled by this. They love his son, but they hate that this is the result of an act of betrayal. They dreamed of becoming grandparents but the situation was much different than this. They’ve made their feelings clear to Satoru, but Satoru couldn’t care less. He has his own feelings to account for.

Satoru has his own weird feelings and behaviors to deal with. Like camping in his car, and waiting outside your apartment. He wants to see if you’re actually seeing someone else. With all his other issues, he’s been limited in time. He’s only been able to check up on you through social media, and you haven’t been posting which means he has no way of checking on you. He can’t contact your friends without getting cursed out, and he can’t just reach out to you to ask. Therefore he only has one way to check up on you; even if it’s creepy.

You leave the house at around 8:00 PM, and he’s on the move. You take a cab, and he follows you to a nice restaurant. Outside of it you meet a man. Satoru squints, trying to see every detail of this man. Perhaps it’s some relative that you’ve decided to meet outside a very expensive restaurant. Who is he fooling? You’re clearly on a date.

He still exits the car and enters the restaurant. It’s unlikely for him to get in without a reservation, but luckily Satoru is influential– Even when he isn’t well known, he has money to spare.

He convinces the hostess to give him a table near your own, but your back is turned to him so you don’t see him at any time. He’s listening in, and he feels like a psycho for even being here but he has no other option. It’s a one off situation, a confirmation that you’ve actually moved on before he finally lets you go for good.

He doesn’t know why his heart hurts so much as he hears you laugh with someone else. He fuels with jealousy as he hears the dumb conversation that you two have. You don’t even sound entertained, but Satoru feels his eye twitch. He can’t just pop up at your table and ask you to speak, you’ll for sure ask him for a restraining order.

It’s best if he just leaves, it’s clear that you’re going out with someone else. He can’t do anything else. But just as he’s about to rise from his seat, someone catches his eye. He frowns, seeing the woman that carries his child, arms intertwined with someone else’s.

He watches attentively, trying to figure out if it’s a relative that he’s yet to hear about. He doesn’t really remember anything about his secretary… It was all sexual, and he didn’t care enough to listen to what she had to say about her life. Perhaps it’s a brother– The same stupid way that he thought you were here meeting a relative.

Satoru stands up and approaches their table, genuinely smiling as he sees them, “Good evening.”

“Satoru–” She looks astounded when she sees the man. She looks back and forth between the man that sits across from her, and Satoru. Her face grows red, knowing she’s been caught red handed. But she can play it off, she just has to control the situation before either speaks. “This is Satoru, my boss.”

“Nice to meet you, and who are you?” Satoru extends his hand for the man to take, and the man suddenly straightens his posture. She tries to speak, but Satoru directs his attention elsewhere. He doesn’t care what she has to say, he’s not going to believe her. Satoru doesn’t hear a name from the man, he blocks out everything except the vital word: fiancé.

“Well we– We… We were taking a break for some months and we’re back together now.” She attempts to play it off, and Satoru smirks. Right. As if he was dumb enough to buy it.

“We have a lot to talk about on Monday. Dinner’s on me tonight, enjoy it.” Satoru is sickly sweet with them, overjoyed by what he found out. He walks from the table and breathes a sigh of relief. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He just has to take one DNA test to prove that he isn’t the father, and he’s free of her.

He’s upset to find that you’re not alone romantically, but he’s overjoyed by the news he’s just found out. He might not be becoming a father like he thought.

After finding out about Satoru’s betrayal, you thought you’d never move on. A man that you were ready to devote your life to, threw everything away for no apparent reason– You never asked why, but you don’t care either way. A year later you’re thriving without him, and with a man that makes you happy.

The perfect man that sends you flowers to work weekly even though you’ve been dating for almost a year. A man that’s open to communication, handsome, hilarious and to top it off you have great sex with. You’re still not sure if Akito is the man that you want to spend the rest of your life with, but you’re pretty comfortable by his side. After all, he fills in all the checkmarks.

You’re preparing dinner with him tonight, singing along to one of your favorite songs as you chop some vegetables and he pours you something to drink. As the song and your voice drowns out, you bite down your lip and you prepare yourself to speak. You've had something in your mind for a while, but you’ve been too nervous to say it.

“I think I’m going to leave the agency.” You tell him, as he slides you a glass of your beverage. He continues his task without saying anything, and you feel the need to explain yourself. “I hate leaving on business trips every now and then. I just want to focus on teaching.”

“I get it.” Akito sounds unphased, and it bothers you. You feel his arms as he hugs you from behind before kissing your cheek. You bite down your tongue, unsure as to why you’re annoyed by this. He should be thrilled since it means that you’ll be around more often.

“Is that all?” You ask, and he hums in response. He lets go of you and grabs a pan to begin his part of the dinner.

“Won’t you miss traveling? You’re going to lose touch with some of your languages.” He finally says, and you purse your lips together. You’re not satisfied by the response. Satoru would’ve reacted differently– No, you can’t compare him to Satoru. Akito would never betray you like Satoru did.

“I can always travel in my free time. Plus, it’d be more enjoyable since I don’t have to worry about work.” You respond, and he hums again. You compare him to Satoru once more in your head, before changing the topic. You can’t compare him to Satoru; after all, they’re on very different levels.

“Hey!” An all too familiar voice calls out your name when you walk into the school. You begin to walk faster to the building, not wanting to speak to a ghost from your past. It’s been well over a year since the last time you saw him, and you intend to keep it that way.

You know he’s following after you, and he’s quickly catching up because of his damn long legs. Just as you’re about to enter the building, he grabs your arm, stopping you from going inside and avoiding him. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you look back at him and look into his regretful blue eyes– And your heart skips a beat like the first time.

“May I help you?” You ask, averting your gaze as guilt quickly consumes you. It immediately feels as if you’re cheating on your boyfriend.

“I heard that you’re not working with us anymore and–” Satoru is stumbling over his words, getting nervous. He should probably ask how you are first, or any other small talk but he knows it won’t help in this situation. He can’t waste a single second. “Did I do something wrong? I mean, I know I did with our relationship… But you’re leaving your job as a translator for–”

“Mr. Gojo, my decision is frankly none of your business. The last time we talked was over a year ago, you have little to no influence in my decisions.” You answer, and he gives you a weak nod. “Did you come all the way here just to ask me that?”

“I would feel like shit if I knew I did something else to make you quit… But I guess you wouldn’t leave the agency just because of me.” He runs a hand through his hair, giving it away that he’s nervous. You feel your face get warm, feeling giddy knowing that you make him feel nervous. But you quickly try to shake away those thoughts.

“I just want to focus on teaching. That chapter of my life is over…” You explain, although you don’t have the need to. “How did you even find out?”

“Heard from a friend of a friend.” He responds before an awkward silence ensues. He should probably speak, but what would he even say? Hey so you remember my secretary, right? The one I cheated on you with? Well she got pregnant and made me believe that it was my baby but it totally wasn’t. That won’t make for great conversation, and frankly it would earn him a punch in the face.

“Will you let go of my arm?” You ask him, and he looks down to see his hand holding your wrist. He nods and lets go of you, muttering an apology for it. You take a good look at his face before turning around to go inside.

“Can we go grab a coffee soon? I’ve been getting counseling and I want to have at least one last conversation with you before moving on.” He says which makes you stop in your tracks. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you think about it…

Maybe it’s what you need. One last conversation with Satoru will confirm your feelings for Akito. It’ll help you move on to the next chapter of your life with your amazing boyfriend. Not getting closure from Satoru is what’s holding you back .

“Are you free after four?” You ask him, and his eyes widen before quickly nodding.

Satoru frantically looks around the café, trying to find a sign of you anywhere. It’s five after four, and he’s sure that you’ve stood him up. He’s a nervous wreck as he waits for you. This is what he considers his last conversation with you, and he knows that once you get to the café, his time with you is limited.

He shouldn’t be too upset about it since you haven’t spoken in a while, but knowing that it’s the last time you’ll talk still stings. He dwells on his decisions, regretting everything he’s done that’s led to this. If only he could go back in time, he’d beat himself up for making such a stupid decision. He let go the love of his life, all for nothing.

He zones out, thinking about you. A warm smile comes to his face as he remembers every tiny detail of you and of your relationship. His times with you were some of the happiest of his life, and his stupid self just had to screw that up.

A snap of a finger brings him back to reality, and he’s overjoyed when he finds you standing in front of him. You bite down your lip as you see your order resting on the table. At least he remembered that.

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as you sit across from him. You try to act indifferent. As if this doesn’t matter to you at all. You’re here to do him a favor, at least that’s what you’ll make it seem.

“How are you?” He won’t get to the point as easily as he did earlier. He slides your drink, hoping that you’ll take it without a second thought. You glance at it, but you don’t take it into your hands immediately.

“I’m great.” You respond, not asking anything back because you don’t want to seem like you care about him even though you do. You’ve been wondering for days on end how Satoru is holding up. Wondering if he’s moved on, if he’s with his secretary or whatnot. “So you’ve been getting counseling.”

“It’s been a rough year.” He chuckles, and you give him a subtle nod. You can relate, but your year has gotten progressively better. You’re happy with where you are. “You’re always on my mind but now more than ever.”

“I would say I’m flattered but… I’m not sure.” You confess with an awkward laugh. He agrees.

“I haven’t gotten to properly apologize, and I need to do it to move on.” Satoru begins, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I threw away our relationship for nothing. You were the best thing to happen to me, and I messed that up.”

“Yeah…” You feel yourself get emotional, tears welling up in your eyes as you hear the apology. You had no idea how much you wanted to hear it. You thought that never talking to Satoru again would fix your issues, but you feel so much weight lifted from you as you hear his apology.

You take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You won’t begin to cry in front of him.

“Why did you do it?” You blurt out, wanting an answer for the reason why he betrayed you. You’ve come to terms that it isn’t for your fault, but you still want to know what prompted him to make that decision.

He stays quiet, which makes you ask, “Did I do something?... Was I not enough in that sense?”

“No! No, you’ve always…” Satoru begins, biting down his lip as his cheeks turn pink. It’s almost embarrassing to say out loud. “The best that I’ve ever had.”

“So, what was it?” You ask, and Satoru sighs. He doesn't really know himself. It was just something that happened and he couldn’t stop once it began.

“I’m an idiot, that’s all.” He admits, and it’s not the satisfying answer that’ll ease all of your worries. But it’s enough. “If I could go back in time, I would beat myself up for even thinking about it.”

“I would too.” You joke, and he chuckles in response. He’d deserve it. “But I guess I’m happy you did it. I’m happy with where I’m at now.”

“Really?” He raises a brow, and you nod, further confirming your words. He looks into your eyes, knowing that you don’t mean it. It’s so easy for him to read you. Maybe it’s because you’re with him, and there’s no way that you’d feel happy sitting across your ex-fiancé who betrayed you, but you don’t look happy. That spark that appears in your eyes when you’re overjoyed with your life isn’t there. “I heard you’ve moved on.”

“Yeah. I’m with this guy named Akito. I met him through work.” You share, and Satoru can’t help but furrow his brows.

“Did you meet through the agency or–”

“The school. His nephew is in my class and we met through a parent teacher conference, since the parents couldn’t show up.” You explain. You finally grab the beverage that Satoru gave you and you begin to drink it. Conversation begins to flow smoothly, and you change to a more lighthearted topic.

You laugh nonstop for almost an hour. Satoru has a lot of flaws, but he knows damn well how to make you laugh. You completely forget that you’ve had a tumultuous past with him. The man in front of you isn’t the man that betrayed you, but simply an old friend that knows you better than anyone.

Though your loving conversation comes to an abrupt stop when you check the time and you realize that you have to go back home soon. You cut him off as he speaks, telling him, “I should get going.”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He responds as he checks his watch. He got a little carried away, but you didn’t seem to mind. You’re about to stand up, but you take a moment to stare at him.

You bite your tongue, wondering if you should tell him what’s on your mind. Satoru is fun to have around, even if he isn’t your boyfriend or anything like that.

“We should do this again sometime. You might not be the best partner but you make a great friend.” You comment as you stand up. You’re about to walk away, but his voice stops you.

“I can’t.” He says, which takes you back. You’re a bit confused by his response– Is he dating someone? Is that why he can’t become friends with you? No, he wouldn’t have insisted on apologizing if he was seeing someone else. Sure, it gives him ease of mind but Satoru wouldn’t.

Before you can question it, he confesses, “I’m in love with you. I can’t be friends with you while you’re with someone else.”

“Oh–” Your stomach drops at the confession and your breath hitches. Out of all things he could’ve said, he said that. You open your mouth but quickly close it because you can’t say anything. You’re speechless. You point to the door and say, “I have to go.”

All the weight that was lifted off your shoulders after your conversation with Satoru, quickly comes back. You’re laying down next to your boyfriend who sleeps so peacefully beside you. He asked to spend the night and you couldn’t refuse. Yet tonight you keep glancing over, and wondering if you’re happy next to him.

You’re comfortable. Akito is a great man and you can see him being with you for the rest of your life. But do you love him? You knew you loved Satoru within a month of dating him, but you’ve been with Akito for a year, and you’re not sure about your feelings

You just want to curse Satoru out for putting you in this situation. You shouldn’t be questioning your feelings for your boyfriend. You’re happy, that’s enough.

You shut your eyes and lay on your side, trying to fall asleep. You aren’t going to question your feelings for your boyfriend because of Satoru. It’s all some dumb tactic to question your feelings. Satoru knew damn well that showing up at your work, and asking you to coffee will make your feelings come back–

Your eyes snap open as you realize that you’re still in love with Satoru.

“What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?” Akito speaks up, and from the sound of his voice you know that he’s been awake this whole time. You’ve been squirming, trying to find the right position that will get the unwelcome thoughts out of your head. You sit up on your bed, reaching over to turn on the light.

“I think we have to talk…”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up as well. You told him that you met up with Satoru, something that he had no issue with until now. Now, he’s absolutely worried. With one swift look at him, he knows. He’s gotten to know you better than you know him.

“I should’ve known.” He chuckles, getting out of bed.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize for it. You can’t control it.” He says as he begins to get changed in front of you. “It hurts like a bitch but at least we only wasted a year.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, burying your face into your hands. “I didn’t think this would happen. He’s hurt me so much and I–”

“It’s not something you can control, so I’m not mad.” He reassures you, but no amount of reassuring is going to make you feel better for what you’re doing to him.

After breaking up with Akito, you take a week to decide on what you actually want to do. You love Satoru, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that you should be together. You come to the conclusion that you want to try one last time; you’ve already wasted four years on him, would it hurt to waste some more time?

You contact him first, and you agree to take things slow. So painfully slow for Satoru, but he’ll take all that you’ll give him. He understands why you don’t want to rush things, so he isn’t annoyed by the fact that your relationship progresses slowly– But he’ll admit he’s tired of using his hand all the time.

A year after reconciling, you leave Satoru high and dry. The most you do is make out, and just when you’re moving to the next base, things come to a stop. You go back home, not even accepting the offer to cuddle.

But tonight is the night, Satoru feels it in the air.

He’s cleaning up after cooking you a decent meal while you do something. He’s not sure what you’re doing, but he’s happy as long as you’re near. He couldn’t care less if you’re snooping around or stuffing something into your pockets to take back to your own place.

“Satoru!” You yell, making the man nearly drop a plate. He bites down his lip, knowing that you’re in the bedroom. This is it, he’s sure. But he still has to clean up… Screw it. He can clean up in the morning.

“I’m coming!” He yells, putting the plate down in the sink and nearly running to the bedroom to go after you.

He finds you sitting on the bed, a smile on your face. This is it.

You stand up, taking a couple of steps toward him before your hands meet behind his neck. You kiss his lips as Satoru’s hands go straight to your ass– That’s the most you’ve let him do. Poor guy has suffered enough, at the very least he can squeeze your butt to deal with this torment.

“What do you think if we–” You begin, and he frantically nods which makes you giggle.

You pull away from him, not allowing him to help as you take off your clothes. His hands go to your hips, but they’re quickly slapped away. You don’t need any help, but he doesn’t mind. Even when you take things so slow tonight. He’s not mad that you’re doing things slow tonight, he’s been waiting for so long to feel you, so he’ll appreciate every second of it.

Satoru knows that he loves you, but staring at your beauty like this just confirms it more than ever. What a fool he was to even reject you once. And he almost hits himself as you get naked in front of him. How dare he?

Satoru helps you onto the bed before pecking your lips. Satoru begins to hungrily kiss down your neck, going down to your breasts. His tongue rolls around your nipple sucking. His soft hand caresses your thigh, the mere act making you squeeze your legs together. He hums against your nipple, something that earns a moan from you. A simple moan that nearly makes the man come in his pants… He’s needed you for so long.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says when he unlatches from your nipple. He kisses your breasts before going down and kissing your stomach, praising just how beautiful and perfect you are. He’s never been as lucky as tonight– Or well, the night that you decided to give him another chance.

He kisses down until he reaches your cunt, a smirk on his lips but he won’t spread your legs apart just yet. He begins to kiss your thick thighs, the sudden urge to bite down consuming him. It’s just a tiny bite that makes a small cry come from your lips. But you don’t stop him because it feels so good. He licks his lips, looking at his late night meal.

His head goes down, tongue licks up your folds, almost going insane at the taste of you on his tongue. Satoru spits on your cunt before his lips go to your clit, a moan leaving your lips as you feel his warm mouth on you.

“Oh, daddy. It’s so good.” Your moans sound like music to his ears. He’s sure he’s enjoying this more than you, even when you begin to moan daddy in total pleasure, he’s sure that he’s missed this more.

Satoru’s mouth kisses your clit before detaching, his tongue going down from your clit to the entrance of your pussy. He teases it, while his thumb plays with your clit. He’s already driving you insane, doing everything that he knows drives you insane. He wants your body to feel like it’s on ecstasy. He needs you to think of him and only him when you need some relief.

His tongue goes back up to your clit, circling around it while his fingers gather your slick. He pushes two fingers in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. They’re just so thick and long, it’s hard for you to contain yourself. You can’t help but moan, “It’s so good, daddy!”

It encourages him even more. He curves his fingers so they brush against your sweet spot, making you get even louder than before. Your voice is like music to his ears, and he wants to keep hearing it so he’ll do anything and everything to get a reaction from you. He remembers your body better than he expected, though he doubts that it’s something that he’ll ever forget.

He makes it clear how much he loves eating your pussy, moaning against your cunt with every lap of his tongue. Your thighs squeeze around him as you get lost in your own feelings of satisfaction. He’s going crazy. He can die happily right here.

You’re getting louder as pressure builds up on your lower abdomen, your climax approaching. Satoru feels you squeeze around him, fulfilling him. He’s completing his duty. A duty he should’ve been doing over the years.

He’s glad he’s back in between your legs, tasting you on his tongue. There’s no sweeter melody than you moaning in complete pleasure because of him. Your back arches, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you reach your peak, but that doesn’t stop Satoru. He takes his fingers out but his tongue keeps lapping at your cunt, running through your folds but mainly focusing on your clit.

Satoru isn’t stopping until he’s satisfied, which makes you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him away. He whines but it doesn’t take him too long to kiss up your body until he reaches your lips. He pecks your lips over and over again until you put your hand over his mouth to stop him.

“I need you so bad, Satoru.” You tell him, and Satoru doesn’t waste a second. He gets undressed in less than thirty seconds, grabbing your legs and putting them over his shoulders. He spits on your cunt before running the tip of his cock through your folds before teasing your entrance. You’re not one for begging, but you’re nearly begging the man to put it in. You’re desperate. “I need to feel you, daddy. Please, please, please! I need it.”

Satoru is dying inside because he doesn’t feel you around him. He needs you more than you need him. Right now. Always. Satoru pushes himself in, a breathy moan escaping his lips as he feels you around him.

“You feel so good, baby.” He moans as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size. He begins with slow thrusts, one hand on your plush thigh while the other is on your hip. “I missed you so much.”

His eyes are glued to your face of pleasure, and the look on your face drives him weak. You’re so fucking beautiful, it’s crazy for him that you’re actually with him. Satoru moans your name before biting down his lip. He doesn’t want to be too loud, he’ll just look pathetic.

“Right there–” You moan as he begins to pick up speed. His cock hits every right spot, and it won’t take too long for you to reach your peak again after your first orgasm. It feels like he’s doing everything to drive you over the edge, and you can’t complain.

You’re squeezing around his cock, and he feels like this is an out of body experience with how good he feels. His nails are digging into your soft skin as he tries to contain himself. The hand that’s on your hip goes to your clit, he wants to ensure you orgasm again before he finishes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He says. You hate the fact that no one will ever please you the way Satoru does. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why you’re getting back together. He goes just at the right speed, filling you with so much pleasure. Satoru does everything in his power to fulfill you.

You’re coating his cock with your juices, moaning loudly as your second orgasm of the night slowly gets the best of you. Perhaps it’s your high talking, but you’re so glad you took him back, and that you’re having sex with him tonight. You have no idea for how much longer you could’ve gone without him.

“Oh daddy– I’m gonna–” You begin to announce but before you can finish your sentence, your orgasm washes over you. You drive him absolutely insane, how could he have ever screwed things up so badly?

“Can I–” He begins as his thrusts get sloppy, surprised that he’s lasted this long. You couldn’t give him a more resounding yes.

He swore he was done for when you got naked in front of him. He’s moaning, feeling too good as you’re wrapped around him. He can never go so long without you again– In every manner, truly.

Satoru comes to a stop deep inside of you, grunting before filling you up with his cum. He remains buried deep inside of you until he makes sure every drop of his cum is inside of you. When he pulls out, he lays down beside you.

He brings you into his warmth as he kisses your forehead over and over again. Words can’t even describe how he feels as he lays down beside you. He’s needed this for longer than he thought.

He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “I’ve missed this so much. You’re so perfect.”

Giving Satoru another chance was one of the best decisions that you could’ve made. Though things took a while to come together, and you don’t blindly trust him like you once did, your relationship is nearly perfect. Sure, Satoru has his flaws but you’re over the moon while you’re at his side.

Things took a while to start up, but then things escalated fast. By a year and five months you were engaged. By two years you were married, which made everyone happy; especially his parents who have always seen you as a daughter. And now after three years, you’re pregnant with your first child.

You’re six months along, expecting a healthy baby. You and Satoru came to an agreement to keep the sex of the baby a surprise, which does cause you to bicker since you think you’re expecting a boy and he badly wants a baby girl. He swears he’s happy regardless.

You’re happy your relationship isn’t stale, like it once was. Truly, every day by Satoru’s side is magical. Though right now…

“Are you almost ready? The venue is an hour away.” You remind Satoru as he decides which tie he wants to wear. Akito’s getting married, and although you don’t have much contact with the man, he’s invited you and Satoru to come; of course, you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.

“You can’t rush beauty, my love.” Satoru jokes, making you roll your eyes. He decides to go with a navy blue tie, and he rushes to your side for you to tie it.

“If we’re late, I’m going to be so mad.” You remind him, as you tie his tie for him. You feel his hands resting on your bump, caressing the soft fabric of your dress as a subtle smile comes to his lips.

“It sounds like a dream. You’re so hot when you’re mad.” Satoru says before kissing your forehead. You roll your eyes, knowing that you can’t be too mad at him when he’s just trying to lighten the situation.

“Can you stop moving?” You ask him, and he hums in response. You kiss his cheek when you’re finished, turning around to walk away before being promptly stopped by Satoru. He wraps his arms around your bump, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Can’t we just stay? Watch a movie or–” He begins, and you glare back at him. “Got it, we have to go.”

“That man helped me through some of my toughest times, the least we can do is go to his wedding and give him a very expensive gift.” You lecture him, and Satoru pouts like a child that’s getting scolded. “Now hurry up.”

“See, you’re hot when you’re mad.” Satoru responds, and you glare at him as if you could kill him. He won’t lie and say it’s not a bit scary, but he’s feeling an emotion that perhaps he shouldn’t be feeling.

You begin to walk away, leaving him to finish getting ready. Even though you’re a pregnant woman, Satoru somehow manages to take longer than you to get ready.

“I love you!” He yells, hoping to calm down the anger that brews inside of you. He should know better than to mess around with your hormonal self, but Satoru can’t help his personality at times.

A sigh escapes your lips, knowing that you can’t leave him hanging as much as he’d love to.

“Love you too, Satoru!”

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charliemwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip.

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

“There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #cross posted on ao3 #old fic #sergeant squeaks #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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mioakem · 22 days ago

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shut up i’m talking patreon episode summary (only 7 dollars btw)

jack starts it off explaining the lead up to the situation and saying how dream involved himself out of nowhere. he said it was all very lighthearted leading up to dreams involvement (they don’t like mizkif or xqc very much but found the whole thing funny)

tommy said he didn’t think it would escalate very far and started off talking the piss out of it but after the 3 hour stream he realized it was getting serious. he didn’t want to involve himself with dream very much because a lot of people around him were saying that he shouldn’t speak to dream because of the way he took advantage of him when he was 16. tommy said he attempted to resolve it privately in the past but after the if youtubers were honest video dream sent him very mean and awful messages and after that he told dream he was going to block him everywhere (which he did)

jack says that it’s nearly impossible to resolve drama with dream privately because he makes everything public (and also it’s incredibly hard to talk to him) jack said that after the episode with phil he had a 2 hour long call with dream where they basically just went back and forth and nothing was really resolved

jack says that this episode was filmed right after dreams video dropped. tommy makes fun of the title (i’m sorry but not to tommyinnit). jack then admits that he does talk about dream a lot and he does it because he feels like before everything he was one of the only ones who openly disliked dream. jack says that everytime jack has criticized him in a non joking manner it hasn’t been a rumor. the only time jack has mentioned pedo rumors was when he was drunk and a fan asked if dream was a pedo and he said he couldn’t legally answer that. he said he was drunk and put on the spot. jack said that though he doesn’t think dream is a pedo he does think that messaging fans is inappropriate and strange. jack said that when the allegations came out dream messaged in the discord saying they were false and said he’s open to any questions. jack answered saying that even though he didn’t think dream was a pedo it was a little weird to be messaging fans (especially underaged ones). dream talked to jack privately after that saying that the message annoyed him because jack was being skeptical.

jack then talks about how on dreams stream he said that he knew some rumors about jack but wasn’t gonna say them but then said that there were rumors about jack being unfaithful. jack said that the point of that was that when jack had rumors it was handled privately but when dream had rumors it was very public- which is incredibly hypocritical because dream made jack’s situation public knowing it was false but jack kept dreams rumor private in his own regard.

tommy then jokes about cheating on molly and then goes into the editor thing. jack said that it’s a lie and then passes it over to tommy. tommy said he has nothing to say because there’s physical evidence that he didn’t underpay them (actually very graciously paid them). tommy says that it feels very weird that all his private messages keep going public. jack then starts talking about how the unpaid editor situation was actually about him. he said that he was one month into doing youtube and worked a minimum wage job and asked an editor what they wanted to be paid and they agreed on 50 quid. they said they both were young and didn’t know how much she should’ve been paid and he didn’t make any money from youtube at the time anyways. he said that now youtube is his job and he is much more knowledgeable in appropriate payments.

they then bring up how dream skipped over george and also how the only clip he took from tubbos stream was the one of him agreeing with him. jack says he can’t believe that dream tried to “win” by using straight up lies and brings up how dream has a reputation of lying and he doesn’t know why he did it.

tommy says he said all he needed to say in the video and the video was meant for dream rather than the viewers (except for the promo at the end). he says that dream knows why tommy called him sexist and he said that there’s so much that isn’t out and it’s incredibly miserable. tommy said that he doesn’t wanna do this anymore and he doesn’t feel happy with youtube anymore because of the creators in the space. he says that he won’t be doing the whole youtube thing in a couple years, he will still post videos but he’s not gonna interact with all the shit going around, especially when the people involved used to be his friends. he said that the dream video was kinda meant to be the last time he gets involved with everything. he says that it feels incredibly childish and that he’s appalled that people are pushing 30 and are doing this. tommy said that he makes jokes about mega famous people being dickheads because it’s how he puts his feelings into words. he says that dream is one of the most self indulging person he has ever dealt with in his life and he cannot believe he’s been dealing with him for nearly 5 years- and he doesn’t not intend to continue dealing with him. he says he doesn’t find the whole situation funny anymore and he finds no joy in it- which he did during the logan and mizkif situations. he says that this is no way to live and it’s all pointless to be creating drama like this online and whenever he punches up he’s not trying to cancel anyone he just wants to make a joke. he again says that it’s all childish and that they’re both adults now

jack brings up that there’s no one sticking up for dream and how everyone on the server that has spoken up has disagreed with dream. jack says that a lot of them have felt this way for years- especially him

tommy said that he feels very manipulated by a lot of these people and that it took him a very long time to realize how manipulative some of these people were. he tells a story about when he was just starting out and he did the lobby spamming in a twitch streamers lobby the guy got super mad at him and invited him to call and proceeded to scream at tommy and called him the r slur (he was 20 and tom was 14) he said he was super shaken and messed up from it- but now he’s incredibly used to it and it’s such a shame that he is.

jack said that he started disassociating with dream after the grooming allegations because he didn’t want to be friends with someone who would privately message fans (which was the case). he said that he doesn’t like being grouped in with dream because of the dsmp because he’s bad for his image so he’s tried his best to make it clear that he doesn’t like dream and that’s about all he wants.

they then start talking about how out of the blue everything was. jack said that he would understand his involvement if they had been bullying dream relentlessly for weeks but they were literally talking about mizkif and xqc at the time and

jack said that he’s made his piece why he doesn’t like him and how you don’t have to look very hard to see the manipulative tactics to get people on his side. they both say it’s painful watching him do that. jack said that he’s going to continue making jokes about what dream accused him of because they’re so ridiculous.

tommy says that it’s sad that the only thing that dream took from tommy’s video was that he was lying. he says it’s sad to see everyone come out with there bad experiences with dream and he can’t believe it got this bad.

jack says it’s questionable that dream mocked jack for jack not liking him because of things he’s heard about him and he was gonna keep joking about eveything public about him because it’s funny. jack said that there’s enough that’s true that makes him not want to associate with dream.

tommy says that dream is an impossibly selfish man . jack said that the only thing he’s gonna give to dream is that he’s clearly incredibly socially unaware and genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong- but that doesn’t excuse being a bitch. he says that people have tried to explain that to him but he just doesn’t get it. he also then asks how willing his misunderstanding is- because he most likely is aware of some of it. tommy says he lacks alot of empathy and doesn’t have guilt for the bad things he’s done. tommy says that it’s very easy to simply apologize but just keep doing the bad things and that’s what dream always does. tommy says he doesn’t take dreams apologies seriously anymore and he doesn’t forgive him.

tommy closes saying that he’s done with the drama and this is the last he will speak on it

#well i guess its done 😔#unemployment here i come!#dsmp #mcyt #dream smp #tommyinnit #jack manifold #shut up i’m talking podcast #dream situation

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velvetcrimsonkisses · 6 months ago

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Nanami and his camera...

Note: not smut but suggestive... very domestic nanami

Masterlist Discord

Nanami never saw the point in the whole “sending nudes” thing. He found it cliché and stupid, a meaningless exchange that seemed to reduce romantic relationships to superficial transactions. He believed that there was so much more to a relationship than just sending naked photos to each other, Nanami valued the tangible, authentic moments that built a real bond between two people. And that was one of the reasons you were so drawn to him.

He was respectful, kind, and hardworking–everything you could hope for in a man. Nanami embodied all the qualities of a perfect gentleman. And of course being in a committed relationship, it's natural to want to give your lover gifts. And so you did. One year into your relationship, you gift Nanami a camera.

Saying he liked it was an understatement, he adored it. He started off with simple things, like taking pictures of the meals he cooked, photographs of the scenery in the backyard, especially when the stray cats came to sunbathe on his porch. However, out of all the various things he photographed, his favorite was undeniably you.

He had a way of capturing you in your most candid moments, revealing sides of you even you hadn’t seen before. Doesn’t matter if you were lost in thought reading a book by the window, laughing uncontrollably at a joke he made with his dry humor, or gazing at the sunset after he took you out to dinner, Nanami found beauty in your every expression, every gesture. His eyes, through the lens, saw you as some kind of goddess.

Even at night, when you were all ready for bed and fast asleep, Nanami liked capturing you in those tranquil moments. Something about how peaceful you looked as you slept brought him a sense of serenity. The way your chest rises and falls softly as you breathe, the way your hair generously fanned out across the pillow, and the way the thin sheets dipped into the natural curves of your body. All these small details captivated him.

It took him a while for him to build his confidence to take those pictures while you were awake. He just couldn’t help it the day you wore that sheer nightdress to bed that one night. His jaw drops in awe as you slide into the sheets with him, his eyes not once flattering off your body.

“What’s wrong Kento…” you ask, making yourself comfortable in bed as you notice the way he seems lost in thought.

Kento clears his throat, snapping back to reality, picking his jaw back up as if he just realized he’d been staring for too long. "You look lovely," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "Is that a new dress?"

You smile at him and nod. You did in fact just purchase the dress, feeling the soft fabric against your warm skin. You had hoped it would catch his attention. And it definitely was working, noticing the soft red blush creeping up on his cheeks.

You watch his eyes take in every detail of the dress. The intricate lace pattern running up the dress, the way the fabric hugs your figure just right, and the softness of it that he could only dream of touching. The way that man looked at you always made you feel special, as if you’re the only person in the world at that moment.

“May I take a picture of you?” He croaks out, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and shyness.

“Of course,” you reply, a playful twinkle in your eyes that he catches. “But get my good side,” you tease him.

He laughs, a soft genuine smile spreading across his face. He slowly picked up the camera from his nightstand. Lifting it to his face as you patiently waited for him to snap the shot. He looks through the viewfinder, admiring your beautiful face, taking in every small detail of your face that makes you, you. His eyes continue trail down, lingering on the lacy neckline of the dress, adoring the way it gracefully hugs your shoulders and falls effortlessly along your frame.

He finally presses the button to snap the picture. The sound of the shutter clicking sends a rush through his body. He looks down at the picture he had taken. It was breathtaking. You were stunning beyond belief in his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, almost to himself, as he lowers the camera back down. His eyes come back to meet yours and you could almost swear your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His hands finally resting on your body, feeling the soft fabric against it.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami drabbles #nanamin #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #jjk kento #kento x y/n

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piastappies · 2 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. max verstappen x streamer!reader

⋆ summary. max wants to surprise you. little does he know, he just hard launched his relationship!

⋆ notes. a bit suggestive for a second lol, you’re responsible for the content u consume. not proofread 😝

YOU WERE BUNDLED UP IN A FLUFFY BLANKET that max got you on your first christmas together. it was a lazy evening, you weren’t even supposed to be streaming — you just wanted to play some games of valorant, though playing without talking to the people in your twitch chat, so… as you started the game, you also started a stream. your phone was charging in the other room, making discord the only way to communicate with you.

max didn’t know that — he was coming back from a few days up in milton keynes. you were still living separately, but you had keys to one another’s apartment as he rarely ever spent time without you during the breaks from racing. he didn’t think to text or call you, nor to check if you were streaming, it just kind of slipped his mind as you rarely streamed not in schedule. he was happy to be back, he missed you over the few days as you barely talked due to your merch launching soon and his workload at milton.

“thank you so much for the sub, oh my gosh!” you giggled, a smile creeping up on your face as you read the message from the viewer that just subscribed to your channel. you tried to read every donation, every sub so your viewers would feel included in the stream as much as possible.

it wasn’t always easy, especially when you streamed with a few of your friends that were a bit more famous, like max fewtrell, who you met through lando (who you met through your boyfriend). the donations, bits, and subscriptions would go crazy, but you loved the friends you made along the way, starting as a small streamer, casually playing valorant (or stardew valley on lazier days).

“guys, i can’t with this you die you drink a shot thing.” you laughed softly, running a hand down your face, your cheeks blushed due to the alcohol in your system. the chat was spammed with jokes and clips of your drunken self, but you didn’t really mind. drunk streams weren’t a common occurrence.

you started another game, as the last one was finished with — surprisingly — a win for your team. you squinted your eyes, pulling yourself on the chair closer to the screen, jokingly saying that it was a now-or-never game, after having fixed the position of your glasses on the bridge of your nose and locking in a character.

the soft tunes of a non-copyrighted song was playing in your headset as the game began, making you unable to hear the jiggling of keys as someone opened the front door to your house. it would’ve startled you if you heard it, especially in that state, but you didn’t, so when max came inside, no one could tell him that you were streaming and not just playing a game.

he’s grown accustomed to your silly antics, the screams, the rage, the laughter, and the stuff you were saying over the voice chat. he’s had your schedule memorised, he knew you weren’t supposed to stream tonight, so… he asumed you were either talking to yourself or just played a game.

dropping his carry-on bags in the living room, he moved to the kitchen to prepare something to eat, before surprising you with his presence. with all the information he’s had, the plan of a nice evening seemed flawless, he would make you something to eat, watch you play for a few minutes before giving you the best head of your life, it wasn’t really a point in his plan, but he wished it happen. his favorite place in the world was wherever, as long as his face was in between your legs.

he barged into your streaming room, thinking you were just playing a game. he went up to your setup, dropping his head to press a kiss to the crown of your head, freezing in one place as his eyes fell on one of the screen, seeing as your chat started going at an unholy speed.

fuck. “you’re streaming?” he asked, his voice quieter, so your mic wouldn’t pick up on him — it did, though. “you’re back?” you asked at the same time. the chat not quite understanding what has just happened, what was max verstappen doing in your room?

your thoughts, however, couldn’t be stopped from slipping from between your lips. “did you just hard launch us?” you said, slapping your hand over your mouth, causing max to chuckle a bit.

“i think you just did.” the dutch man grinned, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, his hand gently rubbing your arm as you pretended to not notice the shock on your second screen. you and max were supposed to publicise your relationship sooner or later, so you could easily support him during races.

you tipped your chin upwards to look at your boyfriend, your expression softening as soon as you noticed the hint of giddiness on his face. “ah, fuck it. mina, could you change the stream title to drinking with The Man, capital t and m? thank youu.” you grinned at the camera, standing up from your chair, signaling max to sit down before you comfortably sat down on his lap.

“is he staying?” verstappen read out loud, wrapping his arms around your middle. “well, i have no way to go anyway, so i might as well stay.” he answered the question with a silly smile, leaning against the back of the chair, his hand slinding beneath your shirt.

“of course he’s staying! none of y’all can keep him. he’s mine.” you spoke into the mic, a frown appeared on your face as max laughed at your reaction. “what? you are mine. i’m not letting you leave.” you said in the most matter-of-fact tone.

“don’t worry, i don’t even wanna leave.” he pushed your headset away from your ear, whispering. his nose gently nudging your temple. “good. i wouldn’t let you out, anyways.” you shrugged your shoulders, starting another game, while still sitting on max’s lap, your back pressed against his chest as he talked to the chat, pretending to be unaware of the chaos ensued on twitter.

max verstappen might be a multiple times champion, but right now, all he was — all he wanted to be was your boyfriend. that would be sufficient for him, he wouldn’t be upset if this was his life as long as it would include you. points in the championships didn’t matter, winning the title(s) felt nice, but it didn’t matter either, having a seat or being millionaires would never matter if you weren’t by his side.

the stream ended an hour later, when you got a bit too cozy on max’s lap, so he had to end the stream himself, before he ended, he thanked for a good time and said something along the lines of see you guys pretty soon.

“we should get you on sim.” the dutch man joked as you nestled your head in the crook of his neck.

“ah, fuck you.”

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pearlcigs · 2 months ago

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⋆ waking up on christmas morning ft. ellie, abby, and vi — tlou discord server

the air is cold, snow sticking to the cloudy window. the sky outside was pure, the wind sneaking into the cracks of the window. ELLIE kept you close, hands wrapped around your waist with your back pressed against her chest. the blanket wrapped around both of your frames to shield you from the barren cold. you both know there's presents to be opened but neither of you really find it in you to care. they'll still be there later. you stay there for an hour or so, with her soft kisses along the back of your neck and her stupid christmas puns.

"hey babe," she snickers before she can even start the joke. "what do you call people who have a fear of santa?" she grins widely, laughing to herself knowing she had been planning on telling you this joke for weeks now. you laugh at her silliness, shaking your head, imagining the stupid grin she had on her face. "what?" you inquire. "claustrophobic." she tells eagerly, waiting for your reaction. "god, that's— that's stupid." your laughs beginning to mix with hers.

small snowflakes fell down from the sky, painting the ground white. the sun had just barely rose when you stirred awake, excitement immediately flowing through your veins. the covers are thrown off you by your own accord, the chilly air nipping at your skin. you couldn't help yourself, pulling the blankets off ABBY just as you had done to yourself. she groaned, pulling you against her in an attempt to keep herself warm with no blanket. you giggled in her ear, kissing her cheek with too much energy for her liking.

"wake up, wake up." you kiss her cheek between each word. "what time is it?" she questions, face still pressed against her pillow. "who cares, it's christmas!" you exclaim, pulling on her arm to get her up. "it's time for presents— ooh! i know exactly which one i want you to open first." you continue to pull on her. "alright, alright, i'm coming..." she lets out a small 'oomph' as she sits up, pulling you into her lap. "merry christmas, my love." she gets sweet and sappy for a moment, kissing your forehead. "we're making coffee first." she demands and you just roll your eyes.

the fire crackles, blankets askew on the floor, barely covering both of your bodies. you slept in front of the fire place, VI insisting she just had to stay up all night to catch santa. you couldn't recall when you both fell asleep, only knowing you felt safe in her arms the night before. vi was the first to wake, eyes wondering to the tree that she was just sleeping 10 feet from. presents littered the skirt of the tree, a smile forming on her face as her eyes flickered between your sleeping form and the presents.

"santa came!" she shook you awake, eliciting a groan from your sleep deprived lips. she wore a toothy smile on her face, knowing it wasn't really santa who put those presents under the tree, but you. "come onnnn. these presents better be opened by 7 am on the dot." she threatened emptily. she leaned down, kissing your face, your shoulders, your stomach, anywhere she could. with each kiss, the grogginess vanished just a little. you had to admit, seeing her this excited made your heart warmer than hot cocoa.

finished this at 10:53pm 😅 better late than never i suppose..

#🍄 ⋆ the last of us #⚙️ ⋆ arcane #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #arcane x reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #vi

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thedeskofaltoclef · 2 months ago

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How I became The Desk of Alto Clef.

My response to a SCP Group designed around Hate and Bigotry who have targeted me and others in this community.

Nah, man, my daughter is dead.

It has been brought to my attention that there is a group of people on the internet who are fascinated with my fascination of Alto Clef and Meri. Hurtful and yet cute in a way so I think now I'll choose this time and these screen grabs from their discord to explain how I came to be 'The Desk of Alto Clef'.

My Daughter died six years ago and it sent me spiraling deep into the bottom of whatever bottle I could find.

I was completely prepared to take my own life and even had the things to 'finish the job' because my life had no meaning at that point. What was another statistic going to matter anyways, right?

It was in one of these dark, drunk moments with a gun when I fell across the Volgun's video on 'reality benders and you' and fell into a rabbit hole.

Drunkenly I fumbled around the wiki and learned more about this broken man known as Alto Clef.

A man whom I could relate to in my own way. A man who, no matter what he did, could never see his daughter as I will never be able to see mine. So thus, I became a very, very shitty cosplayer.

I like to believe that over the past four years my acting ability has increased to a sustainable level and as much as I joke about things I do try to stay humble about it. Though I like to think I've become better but I digress.

I love the lore of Clef and Meri, on or offsite, to the point that I am weird about it I know, but that's how I stay connected to my daughter. Writing the Deskverse is how I stay connected to my daughter.

I am also autistic which causes me to hyper fixate on Clef as a coping mechanism.

Because of this group of people I have greatly considered leaving the community and going back to my own personal solitude. Acting, Voice Acting, Cosplaying as Clef gave and still gives me something to live for again. I may not be this group's cup of tea but I do like to believe that I have helped others. My main goal has always been to uplift those who need uplifting. I do not want anyone to ever feel how I felt in my lowest and darkest moments.

The main story in the deskverse is about a father and a daughter torn apart by the actions of an abusive mother. My real life story.

I also have ZERO clue as to why I am being involved with misogyny or yuri things. If I have offended you in any way I do apologize.

I do not plan on posting the more 'suggestive' or 'lewd' responses they have made. Overly sexualized content does make me extremely uncomfortable.

This group of people have broken my heart into pieces. Seeing this list of images and names dragging me through the mud has already smashed my unstable self-esteem as it is.

At this time I do not plan on releasing any names associated with all of this because I am honestly tired of reliving the most horrid event of my life over and over because I, for whatever reason, do not fit what this group feels is acceptable of an actor/writer/fan.

I cannot say the same for the others in which they were assaulting.

In summary Alto Clef is an outlet for the pain I live with every day. I can never see, hold, hear, smell, or speak to my daughter. I have scars on my body from her mother that will never allow me to forget that life I had. I will always remember the taste of gunpowder but thankfully my drunk ass was too weak. If your going to be bad at something, be bad at that I suppose.

I will leave all of this with a final image from the copious list and the one that honestly hurts me the most. I am honestly a shy and reserved person and frankly it takes a lot for me to get out of my comfort zone. Not long ago I went to another SCP discord server because I wanted to meet new people and someone in there was awesome. I truly enjoyed my time with this person and just found them amazing. They were kind, open, willing to listen to my ideas, and gushed over Numberonedoggo. I thought I had finally made a new friend on my own. I was apparently wrong.

Art, from some of my favorite artists, was made for the sole reason of mocking me specifically. To laugh at me for finding joy in something that gives me purpose. Something I use to drive away the darkness.

No age, disorder, illness, or reason at all can be acceptable for anyone to act in this way. You are all a mockery of everything the SCP community should stand for.

-TheDesk

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leopardom · 3 months ago

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so you happened to miss the live Q&A with Nace and Bojan on the Joker Out official discord server yesterday? worry not, i got you covered

Souvenir Pop Discord Listening Party - Q&A with Bojan and Nace ✨

questions are in bold and are all from discord

quotation marks are being used for all the the word-by-word answers by Bojan and Nace

dialogues between Bojan and Nace, reactions and some worth-mentioning moments are in italics

there were some questions about touring to specific places again or for the first time. answers to all of them were vaguelly positive, so i didn't include them here

the whole listening party lasted about an hour and a half so this is a long read

{steaming Muzika Za Decu and Šta Bih Ja and waiting for Bojan and Nace to join}

Q: How are you doing after the album release? [missed Bojan's answer] N: "Feeling as usual - super bad" *joking about it with Bojan*, had to get up early to take Pino to the vet

Q: Which artists were your musical influences for Lips? both: The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey and Nick Cave

Q: How did you do the screaming kids in Muzika Za Decu? N: initial recordings were done with kids of their friends. after bringing the tracks to their producer, he asked for more voices so they recorded more with some kids from a music school in Kranj (Nace's hometown). Nace was present in all those recordings

Q: Do you have any vacation plans? N: most of them are going to Thailand again B: Thailand is "too far away to call it a vacation" so he's probably going somewhere closer to Slovenia

Q: Why is Carpe Diem ever so slightly diffrent? B: they remastered the song because they realised the mastering they had done already was a bit bad - "that's why it sounded like it came out of a toaster compared to other eurovision songs"

Q: Any TV series recommendations? B: Atypical, Narcos, Peaky Blinders N: Game Of Thrones Nace asks Bojan if he's watching anything atm and he says only some history stuff. Nace and Kris are watching Naked and Afraid religiously, and according to Bojan, "in the van, outside the van, in hotel rooms, everywhere"

Q: How do you choose what the next song will be about? Are there any criteria? B: "The songs just happen as they do, a storyline usually comes with the vocal melody [...] The story is never a fake thing, it's always something real so there is really no choosing more in a sense of like "we have a couple of songs and we choose which one we're gonna have" but it's not connected to what the song is about. More like "what the song sounds like and what kind of a vibe we wanna put out""

Q: What is your go to effect for your instrument/for some songs? N: only uses drive and tape echo

Q: Which song did change the most during the recording process? B: Lips *Nace agrees* - it started as a whole different song called J’taime and was supposed to be an english/french or slovene/french duet and also very rock n roll

Q: Are there any more tour dates coming? B: yes but they have nothing planned yet so it will take some time

Q: If you had to live somewhere for 6 months where would it be? both: London B: "If I had to go live somewhere for longer, I would go to Palermo"

Q: Why are your songs so good!? How do you never make bad music? B: "We do, you just don't get to hear it"

Q: Who is writing the weekly updates? N: all of them *Bojan gets confused for a moment and doesn't realise they're talking about the openstage weekly updates*

Q: Thought process during the making of the album? B: "It’s a clusterfuck" *banter about how they love and hate what they do while making an album*

{break to listen to Carpe Diem and Stephanie. Pino starts barking at the first few moments of Carpe Diem and then Nace and Bojan realise they need to close their mic for that section lol}

Q: (question for Nace) What strings/bass equipment are you using and if you have any small tips for bass beginners? N: tip - "the equipment doesn't matter, what matters is what you do with the bass. start with lighter strings and try to learn as many songs as you can" // he's using D’Addario and La Bella flat strings

Q: Which song took the longest to finish? both: Šta Bih Ja (they crashed the studio pc because of the number of takes they had to do)

Q: What was your music inspiration for Mesto Duhov? both: there wasn't some specific inspiration music-wise

Q: Which song did y'all think think would be the fan favourite?? N: Bluza [missed Bojan's answer here because my laptop ran out of battery lol]

Q: Nace, what is your screentime on your phone because you‘re online like every time N: 9h 23min today “because it was release day”, usually is around 3-4 hours (Bojan's is 3h)

*Bojan proceeds to yap about how he's learning spanish on duolingo*

Q: Ever thought of selling posters ? It's a lil less expensive way to support you and also propaganda both: no because it's difficult to ship and they get ruined in the process. they may think about posters as merch for concerts only

Q: Who played the piano in Sonce? B: it's written and played by Jan N: "One of Slovenia's best piano players, renowned..."

Q: What happend with Schlager? B: "Nothing happened to it, it's doing quite well, we had a chat yesterday and everything is going fine in Schlagerland, but it couldn't make it to the album. Didn't feel like it. Maybe next time"

Q: When you first made music did you expect it to reach people so powerfully that it created year lasting friendships and have people travel so far to see you live? B: no because they were used to the way things work in Slovenia (smaller distances and sometimes people don't even travel from one city to another even if they're around 20 minutes away from each other) so this was very new to them but they're happy to see it

Q: How is the new album going to affect the setlist? Will you still perform older songs? B: the whole third album will be performed on the upcoming tour and there will be some variations on the setlists regarding the songs from the previous 2 albums

Q: Is there any possibility to hear you singing in italian on next albums? B: there was an idea for this album but didn't work out

Q: Do you have plans for a spanish song? B: "There was an idea called "si me das in beso más" but didn't go through [...] because it was getting into a reggaeton-ish direction"

Q: Will there be a french song in the future? B: J’taime was supposed to be one but didn't happen

Q: What about Souvenir Pop fridge magnets? B: they're considering it (Nace adds that he'd love to have one)

Q: Best slovenian cuisine and best places to visit in Slovenia N: food - prekmurska gibanica // places - Bovec and Bohinj B: food - kranjska klobasa and žlikrofi (to represent Jure) // places - Bohinj, Postojna cave, Logarska Dolina

Q: Nace, which cruise ships did you play on? We would love to have Joker Out cruise gig in Finland! N: the cruise ship he worked on was AIDAbella (belongs to german cruise line AIDA Cruises), he was there for 6 months and the cruise was in the Baltics B: would love to do the cruise from Finland to Estonia "where everybody supposedly gets extremely smashed"

Q: Was the writing process of Stephanie different, because you have Žare as composer but not Jure? B: the percussions were computer-based drum loops so maybe that's why

Q: Where do you get your inspiration from? Or do you just wake up with it one morning? B: "(inspiration) is memories becoming visible in your own head" - they all have memories and impressions in their lives that just get triggered when writing a song

Q: How did you get the idea of making Lips? It has such a different vibe of all the songs you have B: Žare showed them the heartbeat that can be heard in the song, Bojan came up with the "put your lips on mine" line and proceeded to finish the lyrics on their way back home from Bucharest after Summer Well fest. it was basically Nace who turned the idea of Lips into a song music-wise

Q: Why did you decide to release stephanie so close before the album release? Was it the plan all along? B: apparently he didn't know the song was getting released, he just saw it on their instagram stories and rolled with it lol

Q: Does lyrics just pop into your head and then you decide the story or do you decide on a common theme/story the song is gonna have and then make the lyrics about that? B: usually there's an insistent thought in his head and he works around it

Q: What do you think of Baldies Out? Which song do you want us to cover next? context: Baldies Out is a group on instagram which posts - you guessed it - bald edits of Joker Out. occasionally there are covers of Joker Out songs, adapted with lyrics that fit the bald theme of the account B: they could cover Lips and turn the lyrics into "put your hair on mine" or Ako Toga Više Neće Biti "so it's a man who's going bald singing to his hair - it's a song between a guy and his hair" Bojan is frustrated because he looks very bad bald meanwhile Nace finds himself cool in his bald edition, Bojan too believes bald Nace looks cool, Nace jokes about shaving off all his hair and Bojan says he'd like to see that and proceeds to complement his beard and tell him he'd look "badass as hell"

Q: What's something you want to experience in life but haven't yet? N: see mount Everest/visit Nepal B: have a farm *banter with Nace: he'd like to have goats, chickens, a horse, rabbits, dogs, cats and a bull*

Q: Why did you choose the openers for the tour that you chose (I love them) B: the answer was in the question; they love them too

Q: Also Romania misses you guys, please come back next year B: they all loved Romania and Summer Well, he then mentions how he's not a fan of festivals as an attendand and has been to one for a couple of days only once when he was 18

Q: Are the cities at the end of the Bluza MV a teasing of a European tour? B: no, they were just cities on the old radio they used for the mv

{break to listen to Ako Toga Više Neće Biti and Bluza}

Q: Ruisrock next year?! B: they loved Ruisrock this year and would love to be back

Q: What are your favourite books, if you have any? B: The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini N: he's currently reading The Creative Act by Rick Rubin

Q: What's your favourite Big Foot Mama songs? both: Buldožer, Led s severa, Neki sladkega

Q: Have you heard of the genre "midwest emo"? both: no (and they had to google it)

Q: What was the most cathartic song to write and why? B: Everybody's Waiting, Lips and Ako Toga Više Neće Biti

Q: What’s your fav Schlager (as in the German music)? N: mentions Semino Rossi and Ibo and the songs Ibiza (by Ibo) and Rot sind die Rosen (by Semino Rossi)

Q: Are there more songs like Muzika Za Decu & Mesto Duhov (more loud and rock) songs in the vault??? B: no, just these two

Q: Souvenir pop Vinyl/CD when? N: CDs will be available at the gigs but they're not sure when they'll be available online. vinyls will come around January/February

Q: What is your favourite memory from making the album? N: the recording of Ako Toga Više Neće Biti *Bojan agrees*

Q: Fav Finnish artists/bands you know? (Käärijä doesn't count) B: Sonny, Ville Valo *Nace agrees*, Sunrise Avenue and he loves the Blind Channel cover of Left Outside Alone (Nace says this is Bojan's guilty pleasure song) N: Pikku G

Q: When new merch? B: it's coming with the tour

Q: Would you like to receive Get Watermarked stickers next tour? context: it's a photo of Mark in a pool(or a hot tub i'm not sure) and someone edited the phrase "Get Watermarked" on it and turned it into a sticker for the sys tour both: they'd absolutely want one

Q: Do you often get stopped by fans on the street or any public places? Is there anything that irritates you? B: gets followed around often but people are not very invasive N: doesn't get stalked as much as Bojan and doesn't mind when fans stop him on the street

Q: Are you familiar with Käärijä's EuroPass on Kollekt and would you consider doing something similar in the future? B: they don't know what that is and "if it's good then we should consider it but if it's not good then we're not considering it"

Q: Tying onto the q before, restaurant reccomendations and favourite sight? Bojan's fave restaurant is Aftr and Nace's is Sushimama, they both agree that their fave sight is the Ljubljana castle

Q: I noticed you guys follow some of my fav musicians on instagram so i was wondering Nace what’s your favorite Declan McKenna song and Bojan what’s your favorite Greta van Fleet song N: Nothing Works B: doesn't have a fave GVF song, just likes the band

Q: What are the possibilities for JO (whether concert and/or meet and greet) in the US and/or the UK? both: they were supposed to play in NYC in May but it was a very last-minute thing and didn't manage to get working visas in time. they'll have a gig or more in the UK next year

Q: When you were at the Sziget festival, have you tasted hungarian foods? if yes, what was it? / when will be new products in the shop? B: has been in Hungary twice (once this year for Sziget and once as a child) but hasn't tried anything hungarian - ✨I love food no matter where it comes from. Hopefully the kitchen✨ N: new products will be online hopefully by the end of 2024 but they're not sure yet

Q: Is the concert in Novi Sad definitely happening? Due to the tragedy a lot of events have been canceled out of respect for the victims so there's been some rumors about it possibly getting canceled B: the concert will go on and the profits will go to the families of those who have lost someone and those in need

Q: Are you gonna come back to places you've already performed at during the EU tour, or maybe try to get to new cities? B: "A little bit of both"

Q: What's your fav spanish dish? both: paella

Q: How is the trumpet playing going? Will we see it on stage? B: trumpet playing is going great, will happen on stage at some point too

Q: Is there any connection between Mesto Duhov and the lyrics : "mesto polno je duhov" ? "mesto polno je duhov" is a lyric from Padam B: "There is no connection except for the connection that both of them were written by me and it looks like I have horrible imagination"

Q: Did any of you play any unexpected instruments for any songs? For instance we already know Nace has a guitar track and a drum track on the album but are there any other surprising credits? - Jan played lots of synths and bass on the chorus of Stephanie - Nace played synths and programmed the drums for Stephanie and Lips - Bojan played the drums for Ako Toga Više Neće Biti, bass on the verses of Stephanie and also did synths for Stephanie - Jure played piano for Bluza (???) all credits are written down on the album

Q: Any chance of coming back to Scotland next year? *they both chant "no Scotland no party"*

Q: Do you like BOOOM? both: yes N: he used to be their producer and worked with them on their first songs

Q: Can you give advice for young musicians like you? B: "Surround yourself with people you love and people who inspire you. Trust yourself. Always be critical to yourself but not to a point where you become self harmful"

Q: What do you value the most in life? B: health N: health and relationships

Q: What book could you recommend? Or if you can't choose one, what book are you reading now? B: The Kite Runner and The Alchemist (he then jokes about how Nace should recommend some Disney cartoon)

Q: Who had the idea using the piano for Sonce and who played the part? (I assume Jan but still) And can you upload the damn music sheet for it? I need to play this B: the idea about the piano was collective and if anyone wants the sheet music for the song, they should ask Jan for it

Q: If you had the chance to record and release a cover of a song of any of your favourite artists, which song would it be? *Bojan jokes about it being Gangnam Style* N: something by The Beatles, maybe Let It Be B: Silencio or Bulería by David Bisbal *starts singing Bulería*

Q: Nace, what is the best bassist joke you have ever heard? N: most of them are in slovene and he doesn’t say any B: "I think being the bassist is the biggest joke"

Q: How do you approach writing lyrics? Do you prioritize storytelling, imagery, or rhythm? B: prefers and prioritizes storytelling

Q: Which song do you personally find the most emotional and why? B: "Everybody's Waiting because it's like a very personal struggle song, Ako Toga Više Neće Biti because it's… a very personal struggle song" N: "Whenever I’m hearing Sonce I just get in this special state like I'm getting drown in a song and stop thinking about everything else"

Q: Assuming you’ll come back to The Netherlands in the future, is there another city you’d like to visit or a venue/festival you’d like to play? both: they'd like to play Pinkpop fest

Q: Would you ever like to hold a concert in Ukraine?? B: they'd love that and hopefully as soon as possible

Q: Will there be music videos for the new songs on the album? B: yes N: they're recording a new video soon apparently Bojan wasn't aware of that either lol

Q: Any Italian French or Spanish music that inspired you to try writing in those languages? Also Bojan you can pick two+ languages on duolingo and do them at the same time N: they we listening a lot to an italian song called Il mio canto libero, he loves Nek and he listens to a lot of french electronic B: he's listening to italian, french and spanish music a lot, he loves a song called Buona sera signorina (note: had to google this and maybe the title is actually Buona sera ciao ciao) both: they all like L'Impératrice and Bojan butchers the pronunciation of the band name

*at this moment Bojan finds out you can learn two and more languages on duolingo at the same time and proceeds to add italian to his account*

Q: 1 - What were some of the inspirations for Muzika Za Decu? 2 - Bojan can you tell us a dad joke? 3 - I just wanted to say that Lips should be a soundtrack of a movie B: party breakers *doesn't answer the second question because he's too busy doing italian on duolingo* both: they agree that Lips should be in a movie soundtrack

Q: Do you know when will you release the dates and the cities for the tour? I assume there will be a european tour for the new album N: there will be a european tour at some point next year and they will announce it "once Bojan stops learning italian" (Nace basically makes fun of Bojan doing his duolingo right at that moment)

{break to listen to Lips, Mesto Duhov and Sonce}

Q: Bojan would you try to sing Carpe Diem in estonian ever again? B: yes

Q: Can we expect a new concert intro for the tour for one of the new songs like the intro for Katrina and Gola? N: yes

Q: Is Bojan learning finnish in Duolingo? B: no, only spanish and italian

Q: Will there be a chance of a collab between Joker Out and Käärijä? B: hopefully one day

Q: Do any of you play chess? B: he and Kris play chess online, Kris less often than Bojan

Q: Will you pop a souvenir in Istanbul soon? N: they want to but have to find a date to reschedule the cancelled gig from this summer

Q: Have you visited any tourist attractions while in Bucharest? N: no and only he and Kris walked around the city centre for a bit while being there

Q: Nace, why did you bring four basses to the recording studio in Hamburg and did you record on all of them? N: one of those basses wasn't his and "when you're in the studio you just wanna have more basses"

Q: Is Pino the best boy in whole world? N: yes ❤️❤️❤️

Q: How do you guys decide to who to follow on insta? (for example fan pages,artists) N: they just follow the pages they like

Q: Apart from Nace and gluten, are there any things you all don't like or can't eat? B: he doesn't like tomatoes and is intolerant to avocado

Q: Do y’all notice Joker Out edits on TikTok? Do (did) you like them? N: he and Bojan don't have tiktok. Jure, however, is addicted to it

Q: Did you know that all of you are saving and changing peoples lives? B: "When we started doing music none of us could ever believe, or think even, that it could mean so much to someone as it does to a lot of you. Even though we went through so many different stages in a very short period of time, because our life changed so dramaticaly, I will say that the fact that you actually feel the music and it helps you in certain situations and hard times... I just want you guys to know that literally it means the same to us. The whole sharing of this energy is very real and we are trying to do our best to kind of make you know that we're here. And sometimes it's also hard for us because we're trying to tolerate our personal life and everything else with the music and with communicating with fans, but we appreciate it so dearly and we're happy that it's changing your lives and, just so you know, you're also changing our lives everyday. We're very, very honoured to have you on board with us and so thankful for all your help and all your enthusiasm, for all the love. You're incredible artists as well, we see the arts that you create daily - a lot of it is inspired by us which is also crazy and incredible so... Just a big thank you! And thank you to the Joker Out discord server, you're doing an incredible job, it's become so much bigger than what we ever expected. (thank you) to Joker Out Subs, all the groups that have been formed, as well as Baldies Out. I think it's a very big contribution to the bald Joker Out generation 💀😂. Just thank you so much!"

*Bojan presses something, gets lost in the server and both he and Nace are trying to figure out how to get back to the channel with all the questions (they succeed), they announce that an art contest will start (more info about that can be found on the latest-news channel of the official server) and Nace informs everyone he has to take Pino for a walk before saying bye to the chat*

end

#note: wrote “je t’aime” as “j’taime” only because this is how they had written it themselves #any Pino mention was important and mandatory to include here. i don't make the rules #this took me ages to finish so i need to d word for a moment brb #enjoy ✌🏻#joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #nace jordan

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bytemee · 19 days ago

Text

GOT HER OWN. — karina (part two)

"𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝘁. 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵, 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁."

in which — y/n is a valorant streamer who loves trolling and chasing a spot on the top 10 valorant clutches list. when katarinabluu, a high-ranked player, takes the #1 spot, y/n throws shade during their stream only for katarina to clap back online.

pairing ! - streamer!karina x streamer!gn!reader

genre ! - smau w a little bit of written text, enemies to lovers, comedy

warnings ! - flirting, kys/kms jokes, swearing, this is very bad x2, readers really down bad but like… can u blame them

featuring ! - aespa, yunjin (le sserafim), keeho (p1harmony) minji (newjeanz), and more

a/n: part one. also this is kinda rushed

the day finally came.

after multiple tweets from both sides, begging from fans, and you-mostly you, karina had finally caved. you'd tweeted, she'd tweeted. you'd both been talking so much shit, and now, it was finally time to back it all up. fans were waiting, the chat was ready, and you were grinning at your screen, barely containing the excitement.

"alright, alright," you muttered, adjusting your headset. "we're just waiting for karina to join the discord call."

username i'm so scared for you y/n. jenaissante if you lose don't think about coming back home. jenaissante you have to stay out on the streets. username yunjin pls. username💀💀💀💀 username i never seen you smile so much in my life.

you glanced over at your chat, and before you could complain about the constant teasing, you heard the familiar ding—the sound of karina joining the call.

"hello?"

your hand slapped over your mouth at the sound of her voice, and it was like she hadn't just spent weeks publicly trash-talking you online.

"uh, hello? is anyone there?" karina's voice came through again, this time, with a bit of confusion.

"yeah, i'm here," you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly. you winced. great start.

she hummed softly, like she was assessing you already, you tried to not focus on that, but your mouth started moving before your brain could stop it.

"your voice is so..." you trailed off.

"sexy, right?" her confidence made your stomach flip. you could almost hear the smirk in her tone.

"can you tell me to kill myself?" you blurted out, eyes widening as you covered your mouth.

username OH MY GODDDD WHAT username i want to die rn username WHAT AM I WATCHING. jenaissante i jenaissante WHAT jenaissante ARE YOU FLIRTING RIGHT NOW???? username PLEASE STAND UP

"what?" karina sounded half-shocked, half-amused.

"i said, can you tell me what map," you lied quickly, tryina to cover.

there was a pause, then a soft laugh. "oh. ascent."

username IM FUCKING DYINGGGG username UR NOT SLICK AT ALL Y/N. username THAT SOUNDS NOTHING ALIKE

you side-eyed your webcam before trying to focus on the game, not her nor your chat.

that failed.

as the match started, you locked in iso, confident you could at least win the first round and set the tone. but confidence didn't count for much when karina absolutely destroyed you within the first 30 seconds.

"already?" she teased, and your jaw dropped. "i thought you'd at least make me work for it." you tried your best to get into the game, really you did. but with her taunting and teasing, it was hard not to get distracted.

"relax," you shot back, gripping your mouse tighter. "i'm warming up."

the chat was enjoying it though.

username Y/N YOU STILL HAVE TIME TO FAKE A POWER OUTAGE jenaissante "warming up" LMFAOOO username she's embarrassing you and she's not even trying.

round after round, it became painfully clear that karina wasn't just good-she was better. the first game on ascent ended with you losing 13-3.

"damn," karina said, a smile in her voice. "you got three rounds? that's cute.

you groaned, pulling at your headset. "you can shut up, y'know."

next up was icebox, and you swore you'd turn it around. except, somehow, it got worse. every time you thought you had the advantage, karina would outplay you, peeking angles you didn't expect, and her aim was perfect.

"are you even trying?" she asked, voice light.

you frowned. she didn't need to know how much it bothered you that you weren't performing as well as you wanted.

well, karina didn't just stream with you because it's what the fans wanted (and you), you two had actually made a deal. whoever won gets 100 gifted subs from the loser. and while the stakes were relatively low, you couldn't imagine losing, not with your pride on the line.

"i am trying," you muttered, frustrated but also... kind of impressed. "can you chill for like, two seconds?"

"nope," she replied casually.

icebox ended with an even worse score: 13-2.

username GOODBYE Y/N YOU'RE EMBARRASSING US username i want her to step on me username why do i actually feel bad for you rn. username WHATS HAPPENING username THIS IS SO PAINFUL TO WATCH

finally, you decided to switch things up. different agents, different strategies-something. you didn't care about pride anymore; you just wanted one win. but even then, karina still had the upper hand, winning every round like it was nothing.

your frustration hit its peak after another humiliating loss. "alright, new deal," you announced, crossing your arms.

"oh? another excuse?" karina sounded far too amused, and you hated how it made your heart jump.

"no," you shot back. "if you win the next match, i'll gift you 300 subs instead of the 100 we agreed on."

her tone instantly changed. "really? and if you win?"

your heart pounded in your chest, and for a split second, you considered backing out. but screw it-you'd already embarrassed yourself enough tonight. what's one more risk?

"if i win, you have to let me take you out on a date."

silence.

username Y/N IS INSANE jenaissante OMG username WHAT ARE YOU DOING??.

jenaissante DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF RN??? username Y/N I AM ON THE FLOOR SCREAMING username THIS IS NOT HOW IT WORKS. username OH MY GOODNESS VALENTINE?????

finally, karina broke the silence, her laughter light and breathy. "a date?"

you swallowed hard, gripping your mouse tighter. "yeah. a date. unless you're scared you'll lose."

"oh, please," she scoffed, and you couldn't help the grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

this was it. this was the last game. you weren't going down without a fight, and honestly, you couldn't deny how fun it was. it had been a long time since anyone challenged you like this, and you found yourself enjoying getting your ass beat.

but all of a sudden you could swear karina wasn't playing as aggressively as before. there were moments where she'd miss shots she'd normally hit, giving you openings you knew weren't just luck.

"are you—" you blinked at your screen, the kill notification popping up after you managed to finally clutch a round. "are you throwing on purpose?"

karina laughed, the sound casual but somehow still flustering you. "what? no. maybe you're just getting better."

your jaw dropped. "karina. are you seriously—"

"what? i'm just saying," she interrupted.

username SHE'S LETTING YOU WIN RN I KNOW IT username Y/N DON'T SELL username OMGGGGGGGGG SHE LIKES YOU username АААААААННННН.

"karina, play seriously," you grumbled, your face burning.

"i am," she replied innocently. but when the next round started, you caught her hesitating just long enough for you to land a clean shot.

you couldn't hold back the grin spreading across your face. "you're so throwing."

"maybe i am," she admitted softly, and you nearly choked. "but you better make this date worth it if you win."

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jksprincess10 · 6 months ago

Text

You just leave it up to me, we could have a good time || Eddie Munson x f!reader

A/N: Thank you to the discord server friends who helped me out with this !!!

Summary: You reunite with Eddie at the hideout, and he confesses that he's still a virgin. You're more than willing to help.

CW: No y/n, no physical descriptions of reader, sub!eddie, virgin!eddie, mentions of drinking, implied small age gap (reader is around 2 years older) awkward idiots, bad DND jokes, oral sex (f receiving), protected p in v, premature ejaculation.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

"That's it Eddie, you're being such a good boy." You slur, drunk on pleasure as you hold up his hair in a ponytail to keep it from getting wet. Eddie slurps energetically on your pussy, encouraged by your kind praises.

It had all started when you reunited with Eddie at The Hideout. After you had graduated - and he had been held back again, you found yourself busy with college life and you rarely saw him, albeit living in a small town.

But a night in a shitty small-town bar led to so much more.

You had forgotten how beautiful he was. And on the stage, guitar in hands, he simply looked in control. You wanted to make him loose it.

"That was really good." You said as you offered him a drink after he went off stage.

He looked at you, and it took a few seconds until he recognized you, his gaze lighting up as he found your name.

"Oh shit! You were at my school, right? One year ahead of me?" He took the drink in his hand, and you couldn't help but notice the rings on his hand. Your eyes slipped from his fingers, then to his big, brown eyes before he caught you staring.

"Yup."

You got to talking and a few drinks later, your tongues had gone loose.

"Did you finally graduate?" You asked, eyebrow raised.

"I did. I'm just... figuring things out right now. Still a virgin loser, though." He chuckled and lifted his drink for a toast.

"You'd think being a guitarist would help." You laughed and hit your glass against his for a mock-toast. "I can help, though."

"... what?"

"I can fix this." Your fingers grazed his, and his gaze darkened as he looked at you.

"Fuck it, let's go."

"This is my humble apartment." You said as you welcomed him in.

Eddie looked around with a smile on his face.

"Nice. D'you mind if I... freshen up?"

" 'Course not. I like my men clean."

You pointed him to the bathroom, and you waited in your bedroom, undressing to your underwear and your bra. You felt giddy and nervous as you waited for him. When Eddie came out, he was only clad in his boxers, black with a dungeon and dragons log printed a few times.

"Hi." He said awkwardly.

You rose and walked towards him, placing your hands against his chest.

"Hi." You smiled at him, big and sincere. "Can I kiss you?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically, and you wrapped your hands around his neck to angle his face towards your mouth. He tasted like cheap beer and Chapstick. His lips were surprisingly soft and when he held your waist, you could feel his confidence building. You licked and tugged at his bottom lip until he let you in, you glided your tongue into his mouth. His moans vibrating in your mouth went straight to your core. You pushed him to your unmade, messy bed, and he supported his upper body with his forearms as he looked at you, astounded.

"It's my fucking lucky day, damn." He said, voice rough as he wrapped a hand around your neck, bringing you down to him. You felt his cold rings on your warm skin. Eddie looked you up and down, taking you in, like you were some kind of beautiful dream or perhaps, the type of hallucination he would have on drugs.

"You know, I always thought you were cute." You confessed as you kissed the corner of his lips.

"You don't have to flatter my ego."

"It's true." You pulled back his hair to look at his face, then your fingers trailed down his chest, lean, with sparse hair and faded tattoos that looked like they were made with a single needle and pen ink.

"Now Eddie, do you know how to please a lady?" You asked in a sultry voice, the pad of your fingers tracing the vague shape of a tattoo that had blown out.

"In... theory." He responded, unsure.

"Do you want me to show you?"

The boy nodded his head a few times, and kissed your forehead as you swapped your positions, pulling him on top of you.

"Just take your time." You took his hands in yours and guided them to the back of your bra. He unclasped it with surprising ease and pulled it down your arms, after tossing it on the floor. "Hey! This shit's expensive, Munson." You joked, falsely offended.

"I'll buy you a new one." He seemed hypnotized by the sight of your breasts. You leaded his hands on your skin, letting him touch, pinch and explore. "Beautiful." He muttered to himself.

"You're cute." You let out without really thinking. You shouldn't get too attached. He smiled shyly, his cheeks red.

"Can you show me how to eat you out? Please?"

"Asking so nicely, like a good boy."

Your words stirred something unknown inside of him and went right to his cock. You could see the online of it through his thin boxers, and you unconsciously licked your lips.

You slid down your panties and opened up your legs for him.

"Go ahead. Spread my lips, lick around until you find my clit."

Eddie's fingers followed your lead, spreading you open. His tongue explored your slit, shyly at first, and when the tip of the wet muscle found your bundle of nerves, he became more confident. You encouraged him with soft praises and moans.

He looked up at you with big, innocent eyes, watching each and every one of your expressions.

"You can suck, graze your teeth... you can be messy. Can you hear how wet you're making me? Do you wanna feel it too?"

“Y-Yes, I hear it.” Eddie whispered against your soaked cunt, the warmth of his mouth heightening with your sensitivity.

Eddie's tongue circled your clit, fast, then slow, before sucking it into your mouth, sending shocks of pleasure through you.

Slowly, two of his digits breach your hole, stopping at his rings. He looks up at you for approval, and you nod with a fucked-out smirk.

"P-Push them in and out while you keep eating my pussy. Curl your fingers until… you feel something spongey." It was getting difficult to give him instructions as you were blinded by your own pleasure.

As he follows your directions, you arch your back and you gasp when he found the right spot, pulling on his hair tightly.

"R-Right there, oh god Eddie. "

He doubles in fervor and enthusiasm until your legs are shaking and you're gushing on his fingers. You let his hair go, and he sits back on his knees as if to look at a beautiful painting; pussy glistening with your come and his spit.

"You did so fucking good, Eddie." You look up at him as he overs over your body, biting your lip. When you looked down at his crotch, you can see the wetness in his boxers, until you meet his glazed eyes.

"Take this off. I wanna please you."

He lowers his boxers until they rest under his balls. Eddie's cock is red and leaking, his balls, tight. When you wrap your hand around him, he almost looks startled.

"Hey... I'm sorry baby."

"N-No it's just. I might fucking come on the spot if you touch me. Shit."

"It's okay. Tell me what you need." You caress the light stubble on his cheek.

"I-I want to fuck you. If that's okay." Eddie stutters as he pulls his underwear all the way down.

"Of course." Your hand finds a condom in your side table drawer, and you hand it to him. Eddie tears it open with his teeth and unwraps it on his erect cock.

"I'm not... really sure how to do this or-"

You lay a hand on his torso and push him against the bed. "Let me take over." You sit on his lap, and he looks up at you in pure wonder. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and you descend on him slowly. He takes in a sharp, shaky breath.

"So fucking tight. Fuck." He curses, his hands taking place on your waist. When your thighs are flush with his, you give him a few seconds to adjust to the new feeling. "Kiss me. Please." He says needily. You could never refuse anything to this man. You bend down and latch your lips onto his, taking the opportunity to move your hips slowly. He groans into your mouth.

You use your hands to support your upper body, laying your palms against his chest as you jump up and down on his cock, faster. Eddie is a babbling mess under you, thrusting his hips against yours. When you feel him unintentionally hitting that deep spot inside of you, you cry out his name.

"I'm s-sorry... I- I can't last."

"S'okay baby boy. You can come. It's normal on the first time." You say between heavy breaths. Eddie's hips keeps thrusting in a disorganized rhythm, until he stops, deep inside of you. He moans as he comes, so hard until he sees stars.

"Well, that was a fucking NAT 1 on performance." He says as you pull off him. His forearm lays against his forehead as he catches his breath. You snort as you get off him.

"You made me come, so that's better than 90% of dudes. You need anything?"

"Water. Please."

You nod and go to the bathroom, before coming back with two glasses of fresh water that you leave on your bedside table.

Eddie has already discarded the condom and is back in his boxers. "Huh I should... go."

"You can stay. If... if you want."

You watch him drink the water, the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

"Sure. And... I can bring you on a date tomorrow? If you want." He repeats.

You lay on the bed and smile at him. "Yes. Of course Eddie. Let's go on a date."

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x f reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic #eddie munson x reader

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coldranger · 17 days ago

Text

Art dump of some doodles that just haven't been posted yet, most were spawned by the black tabby discord

The two below came from me working on Hero's ref's. The neck one was a joke about Hero making sure his neck was still there, somewhat in reference to cage

Another classic move of "Ranger using colored lineart just bc lol"

#slay the princess #the long quiet #stp hero #stp opportunist #stp cold #stp paranoid #stp voices #stp fanart #kekdoobs #fanart #when I'm working on updating para's design but post old para art anyways:#this isn't even all of the doodles I just tried to keep on theme #that is. mostly hero

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lemonlover1110 · 9 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 25] Shared Birthday

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Happy birthday, baby.” This time it’s you who wakes up Ren in the morning, filling up his face with kisses. It’s extremely early, but at this time Ren is in your room, yelling at you to wake up. It’s surprising that the day of his birthday is the only day where he isn’t awoken by the first ray of sunshine.

“Mommy?” Ren slowly opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is a big smile on your face. You proceed to repeat,

“Happy birthday, Ren.” You feel his tiny arms wrap around you, and your heart swells with joy. You pull away from the hug and you tell him, “Breakfast is ready for you, baby. Just brush your teeth and then come out.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, he rushes out of bed and goes to his bathroom. You can’t help but chuckle, walking out of his room to ensure everything is okay. You woke up extra early this morning to decorate the house for him, and you want to make sure that everything looks like you had planned.

You hear the doorbell just as you walk over to the dinner table, and you know immediately who it is. You nearly run to the door to open it for him. You find Satoru, holding a gift that’s almost bigger than himself. He comes inside, and you’re shocked to find about five other people behind him, holding gifts that are all for Ren.

“Did you buy the whole store?” You ask him, and Satoru is too busy finding space for all his gifts that he can’t answer your question. You’re almost certain that it’s a yes. You immediately feel as if you haven’t done enough because you only got Ren one gift.

He already has everything, what more could he possibly get? Satoru always finds something that Ren could possibly need. You can’t help but joke, “Do you have some car keys hidden in there?”

“It’s Ren’s birthday, wait your turn.” Satoru says, and you laugh. The moment all the gifts are on the floor, the people that came with Satoru leave. The moment the door closes, he asks, “Where’s Ren?”

“Bathroom.” You answer, and you watch Satoru get impatient within seconds. He just wants to see his baby boy and congratulate him. You clear your throat and tell him, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Satoru smiles, almost forgetting that crucial detail. It’s not only Ren’s birthday, but his own. His priority is his son though, he couldn’t care about himself at this moment.

“Also happy anniversary.” You smirk, and Satoru can’t help but roll his eyes. He’s about to reprimand you for even saying it, but before he can open his mouth, he sees the miniature version of himself running to him. Satoru crouches down with open arms to welcome Ren’s hug.

“Happy birthday, my baby boy.” Satoru kisses the top of Ren’s head once Ren is in his arms. He picks Ren up from the ground, and takes him to the table, where a delicious breakfast awaits him.

“Do you want anything for breakfast, Satoru?” You ask him, because it is his special day as well. Satoru shakes his head, watching Ren eat is sufficient for him. You watch Ren as he begins to eat, and you announce, “Ren, it’s also your father’s birthday. Congratulate him.”

“No it’s not, it’s my birthday.” Ren clarifies, not quite getting that two people can share the same birthday. Well at least not with their father. You both laugh before you say,

“It’s also your dad’s birthday.” And you watch as the wheels turn in his head before he stands up from his chair and runs to his father. Satoru picks him up, and Ren kisses his father’s cheek.

“Happy birthday, daddy.” Ren has the brightest smile on his face, and it transfers over to Satoru. Satoru expected many things for his birthday, but celebrating with his now five-year-old wasn’t one of them. Although it’s the biggest gift for him, Satoru has stopped caring for his birthday– The day just lost its charm since his wedding, but now knowing his baby boy was on this special day, the day is the best day out of the whole year. He really thought the day would never be special again, but life really takes you by surprise.

“Thank you, baby.” Satoru answers, kissing Ren’s forehead.

“How old are you now? Fifty?” Ren looks so serious that Satoru is offended. You burst into laughter, and Satoru side eyes you before shaking his head.

“Twenty seven.” Satoru answers, and Ren is still astonished since twenty seven is quite old, at least for a five-year-old. Even then, Satoru can’t bring himself to be annoyed with Ren since it is the boy’s special day. Satoru can still tease him though, “How about you? Are you turning two?”

“Five!” Ren holds up his hand, showing off the number that he’s turning. He’s upset too, there’s no way he just got compared to a literal baby when he’s officially five. “Can’t you see? I’m not a baby anymore, daddy.”

“You are so right. My apologies, Ren.” Satoru says, putting Ren back on the floor so he can walk to his chair. Ren takes a seat again, and begins to eat the special breakfast that was made for him. “Hurry up, baby. I want you to open your gifts.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ren. Don’t give yourself a tummyache.” You quickly speak up. Ren has all the time in the world to open all of the gifts that Satoru brought him– It might take a couple of hours with how easily distracted Ren gets, but you have time regardless.

Ren doesn’t listen though, and he begins to stuff his face with the food that’s in front of him. He’ll cry later about how his tummy hurts, yet this time you can’t really scold him. You won’t pay any mind though, you’re fine as long as Ren enjoys his breakfast.

“My mom is coming by later to drop off some gifts, and Sayo too.” Satoru announces, and you can’t help but sigh. It’s already hard enough to organize Ren’s room with all that is there, by the end of tonight, you’re sure that he’ll be moving in with you because his room will be covered in toys.

“Did you get me play-doh?” Ren is hopeful that he’s getting some new play-doh since all of his is dried up and hard after not properly putting it away. Satoru ruffles Ren’s hair, and hums in response because of course he did. The kid won’t even get to go through all of what Satoru bought him.

“Oh boy, he’s not sleeping tonight.” You stand up from the table. You try to smile at Satoru before announcing, “I’m gonna get ready. Watch him.”

Satoru doesn’t need to be told twice before you walk away, leaving them alone. You won’t lie and say that you’re not a bit upset by all of this since for years it’s only been you and Ren. Even when he didn’t know, and you could barely afford to live, you would buy him something for his birthday, and when you finally can get your son a couple of things, you’ve been easily outshined. You won’t let it get to you, after all, Ren is happy. Either way, Mrs. Gojo outshined you last year when Ren turned four, you shouldn’t be upset that Satoru outshined you this year too.

You pass by Ren’s room, which is tidy and clean for the time being. What you should worry about is the mess that’ll come of it in a couple of hours.

“Finished! I wanna see my gifts!” Ren yells, and you chuckle before shaking your head. Forget about a couple of hours, the room has seen its last clean minutes.

Although it’s his birthday, Satoru can’t completely take the day off. But he planned it out, he’ll show up into the office, do a quick meeting and then spend the rest of the day with his son. Satoru’s main issue though, is that he’s become so attached that he doesn’t want to leave Ren alone on this special day. Which is why his son sits on his lap in the middle of a meeting.

All eyes are on the five-year-old who colors a blank sheet of paper. Satoru is making an excellent report, but none of them care because Ren has caught their eye. Since when did Satoru have a child? Nobody heard of Sayo being pregnant, but perhaps it’s been hidden all this time. There’s absolutely no way that the child is anyone else’s but Satoru’s, that’s for sure.

“Can I go to mommy? I’m bored.” Ren says, and Satoru doesn’t stop what he’s saying, he simply puts Ren down on the floor. He runs out with his paper and crayon in his hands, making a couple of people laugh. They hear him call out for you, as he runs to your desk.

“What’s up, baby?” You ask him when he comes to you, holding up his drawing. It’s just lines on paper, nothing impressive. You still manage to make him feel like he’s the best artist in the world. “I can’t wait to hang this up on the fridge, this is your best work yet.”

“Do you think so?” Ren’s eyes light up, and you hum in response. You take the paper from his hands and put it on your desk. You go to your desk, grabbing your purse to look for the toy that you packed for him. You know how sometimes he gets bored easily, you always have to find a backup plan. Satoru’s meeting is taking longer than expected.

“What do you want to do after lunch, honey?” You ask him as he takes his rightful seat in your comfortable desk chair. You have plans for a little party, but that’s in the evening which means you have a whole afternoon free to do whatever Ren wants.

“Can we– Hi grammy!” Ren can’t even finish his sentence because he sees his grandmother, excitement rushing through him since he can’t even remember the last time he saw her. He gets out of your chair to rush to her side, and a genuine smile comes to the woman’s face.

“Ren, happy birthday, my love.” She picks him up and kisses his temple.

“Thank you.” He answers. She brushes some hair out of his forehead, simply smiling at her grandson.

“You look handsome today, is this what happens when you turn five?” She asks, and you feel awkward watching the interaction. She’s a wretched woman but one thing is for sure, she loves her grandson more than anything.

“I always look handsome.” He corrects her, which earns a laugh from her. She nods, completely agreeing with him. She ends up putting him down since he’s becoming too big for her to hold him for too long. She greets you but you don’t engage in any type of conversation. She tells Ren,

“I’ll see you later, honey. I’ll make sure to bring you all your gifts.” And Ren is grinning, thinking about all the gifts that he has yet to receive– He’ll be so busy tomorrow with all his new toys. She walks away, going to the conference room to join her son.

“Here.” You give Ren a toy, and he takes his seat on your chair again.

Deciding to host Ren’s birthday party in the Gojo estate was the best idea you’ve had in a while. When you get to the place, everything is already decorated. You won’t have to clean up a single thing by the end of the night, although you know you’re still going to try and help. Additionally, the place is massive, and Ren can run around freely– If he breaks a vase, that’s Mrs. Gojo’s problem.

Ren loves his dad’s house since it’s massive, something that is vastly different from the apartment he lives in. The place has a big backyard that he can run in, and his room there is bigger with even more toys than at his home. Unluckily for Ren, you’re not letting him run in the backyard since it’s already getting dark out… Maybe if he begs enough you might consider, you are a sucker for him after all.

“Woah…” Ren looks around with wide eyes, seeing how nice the house looks for his birthday. It’s fair to say he’s happy with the results of everything, yet he doesn’t see the giant cake Mrs. Gojo promised him, and he’s quick to point it out. He runs to your side and asks, “Where’s my cake?”

“It’s coming out later, Ren.” You inform him, instantly making him pout. The child is so impatient sometimes, and sadly you can’t do anything about it. You’re fine as long as Ren doesn’t try to do anything.

“Where’s daddy?” Ren asks, and you shrug. Luckily for Ren, someone that’s listening in immediately tells him that Satoru is in his bedroom. Ren drags you upstairs, to his father’s bedroom, a place you’re not sure you should be heading to in the first place but Ren is dragging you there.

“Don’t you want to wait downstairs?” You ask Ren, and he shakes his head.

“We have to give daddy his gift.” He tells you, and you can’t help but sigh. It’s fine anyway, you guess it’s better to give Satoru his gift now because there’ll be too many people around later. So many memories flood into your mind when you stand in front of Satoru’s door, both good and bad. The small time that you lived here with Ren, you made it your point to avoid this area. Now here you are with your son.

“Ren, knock!” You scold him when he opens the door without even knocking first. Fortunately, Satoru had just finished getting dressed.

“There you are! I’ve been waiting for you!” Satoru has the biggest smile on his lips when he sees Ren. They separated momentarily so they both could get ready for tonight, yet Satoru missed him so much. Satoru notices the gift bag that Ren holds, and he can’t help but ask, “What do you have there?”

“It’s for you from me, mommy, and granny. Happy birthday, daddy!” Ren exclaims as he holds out the gift bag, and Satoru takes it. He looks inside, to find a white knitted sweater that he can only assume your mother made. He takes it out, and opens it to see how big it is; it’s a size too big, but he knows he’ll be wearing it for the holidays. Satoru notices there’s more inside.

“I didn’t know what to get you since you have just about anything, so I just threw in some stuff that I’d thought you would appreciate.” You inform him, and before he can say anything, you inform them, “I’ll be waiting down stairs, I want to talk to my mom before Mrs. Gojo gets to her.”

You’re out before either can protest. Ren doesn’t care all that much either way, he’s more focused on what Satoru’s reaction will be to his gift. Satoru reaches in for Ren’s gift, immediately knowing that it’s the drawing… It’s certainly something. It fills Satoru with joy though.

“It’s me, you and mommy.” Ren clarifies, and Satoru certainly needed the clarification– It’s beautiful though. He’s sure this is the greatest gift that he’s ever gotten. Satoru puts the drawing down on his nightstand, picking up Ren and hugging the air out of him.

“I love you so much.” Satoru fills Ren’s face with kisses. He’s sure this is the best birthday he’s had in a while. When Satoru puts him down on the ground again, he ruffles Ren’s hair before saying, “Can you wait for me downstairs?”

“Aren’t you going to open mommy’s gift?” Ren questions, and Satoru nods.

“Without you. Give me a moment.” Satoru answers, and Ren pouts but he makes his way to the door. Ren makes sure to drag his feet, taking his sweet time to leave the door, and Satoru can’t help but laugh. He’s peeking into the bag to see what you got him.

Just as Ren is about to leave the room, Sayo barges in, a look of worry written all over her face. Satoru immediately knows it’s serious, because Sayo wouldn’t even dare come into his room without making herself known.

“Sayo, what’s–” Satoru begins but he’s quickly cut off by Sayo.

“My parents are here.”

#[changes]#gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic

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whatswrongwithblue · 4 months ago

Note

Reader does actually try to walk off a cliff and Alastor catches them and gets furious and sexy about it and pounds Vexi... I mean reader into the mattress so hard she can't walk anymore and he ends up laughing saying 'let's see you try to do that again now your legs won't work'

Beta'd by @inuhalfdemon

For my darling @redvexillum, I know you're Overtime Vexi right now; working hard on the Discord server, keeping up with daily Kinktober posts, and also literally working an IRL job. This is a no pressure gift to you. Read when you have time and need a little pick me up. I even based Reader off of your avatar on your blog and used language specifically from my favorite fic of yours . . . you know the one *wink wink*.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: suicide ideation, suicide attempt, depression, mental illness, dissociation, possesive Alastor, Alastor owns Reader's soul, sex as punishment, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p/v sex, shadow tendrils/tentacles, bondage, use of a gag, overstimulation, lack of aftercare, begging, dom/sub dynamic.

Falling

The warm night breeze ghosted through your hair; a gentle lover’s caress across the back of your neck. It calmed your nerves as you looked down at the drop below and you closed your eyes, thinking you could almost hear the wind telling you to take that final step.

Just one little step.

A few seconds of falling.

Then darkness. Nothing. Peace.

The wind kicked up a little harder, fanning out your wings, and nearly making you lose your balance. You gasped and flailed your arms, catching your balance before you fell.

A stupid lingering human instinct to save yourself. Your body’s nervous system fighting against what your mind desperately wanted.

You took a deep, steadying breath in, and tucked your wings in. They were tiny; pink and membranous things that seemed more for aesthetic than any kind of purpose. It’s not like you could fly with them. They were no more useful than your asymmetrical horns when it came to that skill only very few Sinners were lucky enough to have. And they weren’t even very demonic looking, as far as demon appendages went. Both your horns and your wings were pink, slightly darker shades than the pastel of your skin and hair. Even your fucking irises were pink.

While you quite loved pink as a human, it just felt insulting down in Hell. Like every other aspect of your demon visage. Useless. Infantile. Boring.

Nearly making you fall to your death by being caught in a sudden gust of hot air was the only favor your wings had ever done for you.

Not that you would permanently die, you lamented. Eventually you would re-spawn somewhere within the city. But re-spawning took hours, sometimes even days. And in that time would be nothing. When you were alive you always joked about wishing that you could just take your brain out of your skull, like a temporary death, just to quiet the awful thoughts and feelings your malfunctioning organ plagued you with day and night.

Here in Hell, you could actually do that. Again and again, if you so chose to.

All you had to do was jump.

Maybe it wasn’t worth it. When you came back, Alastor would certainly hunt you down and find you. And you could just see the disappointment in his face. Hear the disgust in his voice. How lowly he would think of his darling then, that she would perform such an empty and pathetic act.

But then again, he was going to find out who you were at your core eventually. Better to rip the bandage off and make him face just how truly damaged you were before you continued to waste his time further. He was bound to get tired of pulling you out of your depressed funks after enough time had gone by. And what good did you bring to his life anyway?

You were a distraction.

He had snapped that to you earlier that evening when you had interrupted his work at the hotel. Those last stinging words echoed through your mind, branding themselves into your grey matter so that you never forgot them.

Well, you wouldn’t be distracting him anymore after this stunt. He wouldn’t bother with you afterwards.

And if you found you really did enjoy the nothingness that came between death and re-spawning, the extermination wasn’t far away. All you had to do was stand in front of an exorcist and simply not move as they brought their blade down on you. Then it would truly be an eternity of peace and quiet for you.

No more distractions.

The thought came to you bitterly as you considered that Alastor was the one who had been distracting you. All these months of his attention, of him making you his darling, of him making you fall in love with him, had just distracted you for a while. But now the pain was back, worse than ever, with one small argument between you two and you realized if it wasn’t for him, you likely would have jumped off this roof months ago.

You could have let it all go during the last extermination, while everyone else was huddled safely inside the hotel.

What a waste of time. A useless, boring, distracting life.

A deep breath. A single tear sliding down your cheek. A last thought of warmth and safety whispering through your mind . . .

“Alastor.”

His name left your lips like a prayer and an apology.

You took a step over the ledge.

The street below became your entire field of view as you lost your footing entirely.

And then the world glitched.

Colors blended in choppy formation and static screamed in your ears, threatening to burst your ears drums. Everything was fuzzy and going dark and a strange tingling filled your body, like your very blood had turned to static.

And then you were back on your own two feet, standing face to chest with the red and black pinstriped suit you knew so well.

Unnaturally large claws had you by the shoulders and you tilted your head up, taking in the full view of a very angry Radio Demon.

Alastor towered over you, his antlers spread wide, his eyes turning like radio dials, and he lifted you up like you weighed nothing until you were face to face and your feet were dangling several feet in the air.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, his voice even more full of static than you were used to.

Your eyes went wide at the use of vulgarity from him. You could count with your two useless wings how many times you had heard him swear before and never had it been directed at you.

When you didn’t answer right away, he shook you, calling you by your real name rather than darling, which he never did. He demanded an answer but all you could manage was a little whimper before you broke.

Your chin quivered and you felt the swell of tears in your eyes as a sob squeezed your chest and erupted out.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and then slowly, ever so gently, you felt yourself being lowered to the ground and then your face was pressed against the soft fabric of Alastor’s suit. His bow tie tickled the side of your face and his scent, heady with Spanish moss and cypress, and some other uniquely Earthy smell that was entirely him, filled your senses.

“Darling,” he said quietly, “my darling . . . why?”

You could barely breath through your sobs, let alone speak, so it took you a moment to gather the strength to answer. Clutching at the back of his jacket, you pressed your face into him harder, trying to hide your reasoning, bury your shame, pretend like every pathetic part of you didn’t exist.

But he had seen, hadn’t he? He had watched you take that step, had come up here to find you and seen that final microsecond when there was nothing but air between you and the ground below.

And he had altered reality to bring you back to him. To save you.

Half of you hoped that meant he really did love you like you loved him. Like he promised every day that he did, even though you never quite believed it.

The other half of you whispered an insipid little lie that was too tempting to not consider . . . that this whole stunt of yours was just another distraction.

“I don’t want to be a bother anymore,” you finally whispered, hiccupping and choking as you struggled to speak.

Alastor went stiff around you, and you thought then that he would finally push you away. Agree that you really were just a bother. That if he were to ever shackle himself to another soul, it certainly wouldn’t be to such a weak little wretch as yourself.

Instead, his long, clawed fingers grasped you by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. And though his expression was often hard to read, the strain in his smile showed anger while the burning in his ruby eyes showed pain.

“What gave you the idea that you could do such a thing? That I would allow it?”

“Wha . . . what?”

“You’re mine now, darling.” He pulled on your chin, forcing you on tip toe as he brought your face closer to him. “You belong to me and I don’t let what belongs to me just fly away. It seems you have forgotten that.”

His claws were digging into your cheeks and along your jaw line, stinging and threatening, even as he brought his lips down and gave you the gentlest kiss on the forehead.

“Perhaps I need to remind you of that,” he whispered to you, his voice low and tender, crackling with a passion you couldn’t misplace. He was angry, you realized, oh yes he was furious with you. But as the world went fuzzy once again, and you felt the familiar sensation of melting into shadow, and your soul blended with his, you could literally feel that burning rage inside of him being twisted and morphed into more direct emotions. Lust and desire filled what was left of your identity as Alastor transported you through the ceiling and walls of the hotel and into your room.

Now this was flying.

Alastor had sat you at the foot of your bed, making quick work of removing your underwear, lifting your pleated skirt above your hips, and kneeling before you, all before you had come down from the bizarre and disorienting high of being nothing but shadow with him.

Now you were reduced to a shell of a person, thoughtless and detached from your feelings and in the best of ways, as Alastor’s tongue made your nervous system aware of nothing else but the bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your knees were resting on his shoulders and already shaking as his tongue twisted and lapped at your clit, occasionally giving the swollen pearl a hard suck, as two fingers pumped into your core, working to pull a second climax from you.

Distantly you were aware of the flutter of your wings; a helpless reflex, along with the tremble of your legs. Tears streamed down your cheeks, though you paid that no mind either. Even if you had noticed them, you wouldn’t be able to place which emotion was drawing them from your eyes.

You only knew that this feeling; the intense physical sensation of Alastor turning you into a whimpering, wanton mess, allowed you to dissociate in the best of ways and everything that had tormented you to the point of standing on that cliff’s edge was completely forgotten.

The fingers of one of your hands wrapped themselves in a white-knuckled grip around his antler while your other hand found purchase in his red locks and you sobbed out his name as you came again.

Just as your walls began to clench, Alastor pulled himself from your clutches, leaving your cunt to clench needfully onto nothing. The abrupt lack of touch right at the beginning of your orgasm was torture and in his absence you pressed your legs together, searching for any friction that would allow for a fraction of the satisfaction his tongue and fingers should be giving you.

“Now, now, dear,” Alastor tutted, and you felt your legs forced back apart. “Remember, I’m here to make a point. And that point is . . .” You looked down to see tendrils of shadows spreading your legs farther open, tangling themselves around your thighs and hips. “. . . You’re mine.” He began undoing the top of his trousers. “And any rash decisions,” he pushed his trousers down below his waist, “like trying to jump off buildings,” he pulled his cock free and you salivated at the sight of its red and swollen tip already weeping pre-cum for you, “or pleasuring yourself without permission,” he leaned over you, his tense and wicked smile inches away from your lips as his took a painful fistful of your hair, “will be met with severe punishments.”

You swallowed, daring to meet his eyes with your own submissive, watery ones, and nodded.

“There’s my darling I know and cherish,” he said sweetly. His fingers left your hair and traced along your jaw until they came to your lips.

“And now that we’re at an understanding,” he snapped his fingers and your clothes vanished, “let’s see how well you can take your punishment.”

His cock thrust into you as black tendrils slithered their way up the rest of your nude body, pinning you in place. They teased and stroked every erogenous zone with lovely tenderness, their touch soothing and affectionate even as they forced you to near absolute stillness. In stark contrast, Alastor pounded into you, stretching you to the point of burning and igniting the still burning embers of your last orgasm that Alastor had left unfinished.

You came within seconds, your walls spasming hard against the fat width of his cock. Alastor drove on as if he hadn’t noticed, deep enough to hit the blind end of your depths with every forward thrust. The bruising combination left a dull cramp in your belly as your climax went on for several more moments, an intense combination of pleasure and pressure.

After the quaking within your core subsided, you went limp within the clutches of the shadows. Three orgasms as intense as the ones you had just experienced were more than enough to placate your mind and body and your teary eyes now began to droop with sleepiness.

And yet Alastor was clearly not finished with you.

“Alastor,” you pleaded, knowing he still hadn’t come but you intended to beg for him to be a little gentler with you until he had. Instead of letting you speak, however; a tendril that had been near your throat laced itself through your open mouth and synched itself around your head, effectively gagging you.

The only response you got from your lover was an angry red glow of his eyes as they narrowed onto you, before he gripped your thighs with his claws and continued on with his brutal pace.

Too much, too much, too much, you internally screamed, a fresh torrent of hot tears burning down your cheeks. Your teeth sunk into the meat of the tentacle between your lips and you strained against the ones holding your wrists down to the bed.

The brutal pace of your punishment went on for several more minutes; an eternity for your overstimulated sex. Everything between your ribs and your thighs burned and ached from the ceaseless, intrusive rhythm of Alastor’s body against yours. Inside and out, he continued to savagely ravish you, until there was nothing else for you to do but begin to silently cry and take the punishment he was dolling out.

Alastor pulled out of you with a suddenness that both relieved and confused you. Your throbbing cunt ached from what it had just been through but as your eyes met his, you felt an emptiness within you. Still wrapped in tentacles, you glanced down at his glistening cock before you looked back up at the sharp tooth smile on the face of the man that you feared and loved above all else.

He still looked as pissed off as ever but there was a softness at the corner of his eyes that hinted at concern and you knew him well enough to know he was worried he might have taken things to far.

As you felt the shadow tentacles begin to loosen around you, you felt a emotion so long-forgotten you almost didn’t recognize it.

Confidence.

And with that thought, you wordlessly turned yourself around until your lay on your belly, exposing your backside and the tiny pink wings you knew Alastor loved to play with whenever he was angry.

A moment came and went and you were just beginning to wonder if you had misread the owner of your soul. You opened your mouth to speak his name once more but before you could utter a syllable, you felt your arms yanked back by the wrists and a powerful tendril wrap around your throat, holding you face down into the mattress.

The shadows that were still around your hips tightened and forcefully lifted your ass into the air and you braced yourself a second before Alastor’s cock slammed back into you, filling you back up to completion and eviscerating that feeling of emptiness.

Tired and spent as you were, you moaned aloud and squeezed his member with every last bit of strength you had within your spongey walls.

You felt the long, slow drag of his retreating cock sliding against every sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you before another snap of Alastor’s hips had it rocketing back into you.

“Say it,” he commanded and you shuddered with your whole body, knowing what he wanted to hear.

“I’m your darling,” you replied, breathless and yet moaning again as he rewarded you with another thrust.

“And?”

“I belong to you.” He matched this thrust with a gentle stroke of a shadow across the membrane of one of your wings. “Mmmmmm, more,” you begged, as your wings gave a tiny, involuntary flap at the feather light touch.

But he had stilled behind you, waiting for your needfulness to build until you were begging.

“Please,” you sobbed out, feeling your chin quiver as all the emotions of the night came rushing back to you. “I’m sorry, Al’. I’m so sorry.”

As you spoke, the touching of your wings and the powerful movement of his cock began anew. You blabbered on, afraid if you stopped talking, the pleasant sensation of his touch within you and above you would end.

“I love you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never even think about leaving you ever again. Not in anyway. Not even when your angry with me. Not even when I hate myself. Because I’m yours and I’ll always be yours. I’m so sorry, Alastor. Please don’t stop. Please, you feel so good. Fill me up, love. Because I’m your darling and I’ll be good from now on, please just fill me up. I’m your good girl and I love you and I want to feel you inside me. Please, please, oh God Al’, you feel so good, I’m – I’m – I-”

With a painful pull on your wrists you felt all the way into your shoulders, you felt him spill his seed within you as his body tense and every shadow of his went impossibly taut around you. The heat of his cum burned your walls and spilled down your inner thighs, coating you and marking you as his, and you came along with him, screaming into the sheets. Every tendril bruised into your skin, leaving marks around your throat, breasts, wings, hips, and thighs, as Alastor lost all control, even as he continued to pound into you with an uneven and desperate pace.

Everything blurred as you came down from the high together. You felt your muscles turn to jelly and give out in the final moments of your climax, just in time to feel Alastor finally still and begin to soften before he pulled out.

After several serene moments had gone by, the sheets beneath you began to move and pull away. As if in a dream, you felt your body being moved up the bed and then Alastor’s weight joined next to you as you were tucked into bed. Without being cleaned and without a word of praise or love, which he usually included in an aftercare routine for you.

But you knew, deep within the fog of your exhausted mind, that you deserved this. You would wake up in the morning marked by the bruises and the sticky mess between your legs, and only then would you be allowed to shower and heal yourself.

“Thank you,” you murmured with closed eyes as he finished tucking you in. “I don’t think I can move after that, let alone walk.”

An amused, deep chuckle came from Alastor before he pinched your cheek hard enough to make your eyes snap back open.

He got up from the bed, now fully dressed, and straightened his bow tie and monocle before marching towards the door with a pleased and arrogant look on his face.

“Good, my darling. That’s good. Let’s see you try to pull that nonsense again now that your legs don’t work. Sweet dreams,” he added as he opened the bedroom door and gave you one last warning smile before he slammed the door behind him, hard enough to knock a few decorations off the walls.

You sighed as you heard a lock clicking into place, knowing his point was made, and that he was still very much angry with you. But the storm had passed, for both of you. You relaxed into the soft pillow and closed your eyes, the first smile in days touching your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

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