Almost all of my fics are NSFW, just a heads up!! Written with F!Reader unless otherwise stated. I will write for most Naruto characters! Please feel free to chat with me if you have any questions/ideas! I promise I'm nice lol 🫶🏼
This master list includes completed, in progress, and upcoming fics❤️
Naruto NSFW Prompt List
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Key:
🌺 NSFW 🌺
🌸 Suggestive 🌸
🌼 SFW 🌼
🌿 HeadCannons 🌿
🌙 One Shot 🌙
✨ Story ✨
Kakashi
Say Yes to Heaven (Ongoing) 🌺✨
Provider (Houki’s Mom!Reader)(Completed) 🌺✨
Chokehold (Obito x Reader x Kakashi Hate/Jealousy sex)(Completed) 🌺✨
NSFW Prompt 5+13 (Fem Oral Receiving//Addicted to your body) 🌺 🌙
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 14 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about a 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
This chapter is influenced and named after another song by The Smiths 🫣
Time to take a delve into Simon’s mind again! (Also, I headcanon Soap living within light traveling distance from Simon bc they're bffs ❤️)
CW: Drinking, Light descriptions of PTSD and anxiety, NOT EDITED
All men have secrets, and here are mine.
Simon hated Bradshaw. Loathed him, even. Actually, the more he thought about it, it felt more like jealousy. How the fuck does that make any sense? How can he be jealous of himself? He is Bradshaw, right?
“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon sighed as he leaned back on his couch, running his fingers through his cropped hair.
How the hell had this gotten so messy? He asked himself, unable to remove you from his idle mind. Despite his every effort, you had managed to anchor yourself in his head, becoming unable to ignore as night drew close. Even now, he pondered waiting at the pergola to see if you might grace him with your presence.
If he had any luck, you would.
But that made him feel desperate, which in turn made him uneasy. It felt like a vulnerable position in battle.
Simon spent his days conflicted about how natural everything felt, even though none of it was natural for him. He has made few friends in his life, and far fewer partners. People weren’t something Simon did— he actively avoided conversation and contact whenever possible. He wasn’t the type to talk; he was a listener, which is what made him particularly good as a soldier. Well, one of the things, at least.
Very few people know Simon; to most, he is just Ghost.
Though the two names mean about the same thing by now. Truthfully, Simon died along with his family. He mostly lived as Ghost, which was the husk of the man he had to be: For his country, for the world, and for himself. He knows this dissociation is a trauma response from all the bullshit he’s lived through, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not like he can change anything anyway. He’s just doing what he has to make it, not really focusing on the how aspect.
And now some American broad is afflicting him like a fever, which was not in his bingo cards.
He didn’t even know what to do about it. He considered cutting it off— that he would stop smoking at the pergola and just let life move on. He could simply end everything before he got carried away. But for some reason, that idea pained him more than anything, so he quickly dismissed it. Simon was plagued with images of you waiting up for him, your eyes darkening with disappointment as each night passed without him. And Simon wasn’t stupid; he knew this wasn’t one-sided. He noticed the way your eyes sparked when they met his, the way you smirked and teased him. So he was worried about how you would feel if he just went ghost.
Which is the thing he does best.
However, when it came to you, he didn’t want isolation or indifference; he just wanted your presence. He wished he could understand it; understand why you wanted him around as much as he wanted you. In the end, he just gets pulled into an endless loop of you and nonsense.
Why the fuck do you make him feel… normal?
Is that the word for it?
He thought he was incapable of such a thing.
Heavy words are so lightly thrown.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t something that he wanted to shake. He wanted it to endure, despite the edge it put him on. This was all new territory for him, having deemed himself far past his prime for anything other than work acquaintances. Hell, he didn’t even have your number, but listening to you felt like listening to Johnny. Though you’re much prettier and far less annoying.
Speaking of…
Maybe Johnny could distract him from this internal madness, and he had been itching to go out.
Two birds with one stone, yeah?
Simon unlocked his phone and pulled up Johnny’s contact, his thumb hovering above the call button. Doubt prickled in his mind, but he chased it away, ignoring the pull in his gut telling him to stick to his routine.
No, he needs to clear his mind.
His thumb hit the button.
So, what difference does it make?
“‘Bout time ya took me out, L.T.” Johnny slapped Simon on the back with a rough hand, earning a firm grunt from the taller man.
Both men sat side by side at the bar of a semi-crowded pub in downtown Manchester. It was some place Johnny picked out, claimed it was casual and less busy than most on a weekend. Tugging his mask up, Simon brought the draught to his lips as he felt Johnny’s eyes linger on him.
“What?” Simon grumbled between gulps.
“You ‘right?” Johnny asked just as gruffly as he reached for his own beer.
“Peachy,” Simon muttered as his eyes flittered across the pub out of habit. He noticed Johnny roll his eyes with a huff as he took a sip.
“Yer so full of shite, man, never seen ya so damn airheaded in me life. What’s got ya spacin’?” Johnny pressed, fixing Simon with his ‘serious’ gaze. Simon had to stop his eyes from rolling, instead opting for a heavy sigh.
“Just the same ole shit, Johnny.” Simon tried to ease his friend’s concern, though he knew it didn’t come out too convincing.
Johnny let it drop, but he could tell it hovered around the corners of his mind. He launched into a story about a training op gone sideways— something to do with a recruit throwing up on another. Simon tried to pay attention, he really did, but his mind wandered to aimless thoughts of you.
It wasn’t until the third beer that Johnny narrowed his eyes at him, as if squinting to see through Simon’s skull. He elbowed him hard enough to spill Simon’s drink, causing Simon to frown. “Yer a right miserable bastard these days, mate. When’s the last time ya had a proper night out?”
Simon wanted to tell him to fuck off. Instead, he stared at the foam on his brew and grunted. “Goin’ out now, aren’t I?”
Johnny scoffed, the sound bubbling up with laughter. “This dinnae count, L.T.. Yer allergic to fun. S’like ya only come out of yer cave when Price orders it.”
He felt his lips twitch, the beginnings of a smirk fighting through, despite himself. “Caves are nice. Quiet. No one to bother ya.”
Johnny leaned in, dropping his voice. “Dinnae tell me the Ghost’s gone soft.”
Simon shot him a look, the kind that might make a lesser man apologize, but Johnny just grinned wider. “Something’s off with ya, Simon. You’ve been different. Who is she?”
Simon coughed into his beer, damning his friend for seeing right through him. “Not everythin’s about a girl, Johnny.”
He snorted and leaned closer with a smirk. “It’s always ‘bout a fuckin’ girl.” He watched Simon with an intensity he usually reserved for the field, and he could feel his ears burning under Johnny’s stare. “Yer not goin’ to tell me, are ya?”
Simon weighed his options, each one heavier than the last. Tell Johnny, and he’d never live it down. Don’t, and he’d just keep digging until he hit bone. Simon settled for a middle ground. “It’s nothin’ serious.”
Johnny’s eyebrows shot up as his smirk widened. “So there is a lass.”
The idea was so absurd that Simon nearly choked. “No.”
Johnny tapped his glass to his anyway, giving him a messy salute. “Then what’s got ya so twisted up?”
Simon tried to think of a lie, but nothing convincing would come to mind. The alcohol had loosened his grip on self-preservation, and the words fell out before he could snatch them back. “Met a new girl at the flats. Yank. Smokes like a chimney, can’t shut up to save her life.”
Johnny’s face lit up, scandalized and thrilled in equal measure. “Get fucked. Yer jokin’.”
Simon shook his head, all the while feeling like he was in confession. “She’s… different.”
Johnny took a dramatic gulp from his pint with a raised brow. “Different how? Like, a neighbor, or…”
“Neighbor. Catches me out at the pergola most nights.” Simon paused, trying to weigh each word. “Talks about plants and history and all sorts of random shite… I don’t know.” He trailed off, not wanting to offer any more. The words made it too real, too raw, in his mind.
Johnny didn’t let it go. “Since when do you talk ta’ anyone outside the force?”
Simon shrugged, self-conscious of his own transparency. “Don’t know.”
Johnny looked at Simon for a long moment before he grinned. “That’s cute as fuck, L.T.” Johnny’s eyes gleamed, delighted with the revelation. “Yer smitten, ya are.”
Simon groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “‘M not smitten. I’m just— fuckin’—“
“Yeah, yeah, yer just what? Jus’ chattin’ up yer sweet lil’ neighbor?” Johnny cackled, and Simon shot him a deadly glare. He only tipped his beer at Simon, completely unfazed. “So, when do I get ta’ meet her?”
“Never,” Simon immediately deadpanned, his tone final. “The last thing I need is you makin’ it weird, or her gettin’ even more curious about my fuckin’ life.”
Johnny snorted but didn’t drop it. “All right, all right. But still, ’m shocked she dinnae turn around ‘n run when she saw yer mask. Or is she into that freaky shite?“ He winked with that question, earning another eye roll from Simon.
Simon tipped his drink but found it empty. “Dunno what you’re on about.”
Johnny flagged the bartender for two more, half-leaning over the bar as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You ever ask her out, L.T.? Take her somewhere nice? Or is it all smoke breaks ‘n awkward eye-fucking like ‘m imaginin’?”
Simon narrowed his eyes, heat prickling at his neck. “Can we not do this here?”
Johnny only grinned, pleased, maybe a little proud (of himself). “C’mon, Simon. Ya got that look, like yer one good laugh away from fallin’ in love. Dinnae tell me you’ve gone soft for a bloody American.”
Simon leaned back in his chair, coming to terms with his predicament as his friend practically roasted him. Because Johnny’s right, he’s gone fuckin’ soft for an American girl. And for some reason, he’s helpless to it.
As if it were a weakness.
When the drinks arrived, Johnny stayed on his case. “What’s her name, then?” He nudged the glass toward Simon, overfilled beer spilling over the lip.
“Lana,” Simon said gruffly, the word feeling heavier than the glass.
Johnny gave a low, impressed whistle. “Lana. That’s a porno name, mate. Or a Bond girl. Fuckin’ Christ.” He sipped, then leaned in with a toothy grin. “What’s she look like?”
Simon didn’t want to say it out loud, but the shape of your mouth, the way you laughed even when you were tired, haunted his thoughts. “She’s… not my type,” he lied, but Johnny barked a laugh at that.
“Yer fuckin’ hopeless, ya know that?” Johnny clapped him on the shoulder a little too hard, causing him to grunt. “I say go for it. Never seen ya so chipper.”
Simon almost laughed ironically. Instead, he felt his back muscles tighten, old reflexes stirring as he scanned the crowd, the habit stronger with every pint. The pub’s noise blurred, the lights smearing into a headache. He looked past Johnny, searching for exits, then for reasons, then for shadows.
And that’s when his heart stopped: at the front of the pub, a familiar sight hit him like a beacon. Simon didn’t have to see your face to know it was you— in a blue denim jacket, hair loose, walking in with a taller woman he didn’t recognize. Your laughter rang out, a sudden, impossible threat to weeks of careful partition.
Johnny started talking, but it all went to white noise. Simon tracked your progress across the pub, the way you tossed your chin as you scanned for a table, the way your companion nudged you to the bar.
Simon had a split second to think.
If you saw him here with Johnny, you’d recognize him first. And if you recognized him, the whole fucking house of cards would collapse. Because you’re too smart, if you saw him with Johnny and came over, it would just be a matter of time until you put the pieces together.
So Simon acted before he could doubt himself.
The devil will find work for idle hands to do.
Without a word, Simon dropped his empty mug and clamped a bruising grip on Johnny’s forearm. The movement startled them both: Johnny nearly toppled off the stool, and the glass behind the bar rattled as Simon yanked him to his feet. Johnny let out a strangled “Oi!” but Simon was already threading between bodies, carving a path to the back exit. In his wake, he saw a waitress swerve to avoid a collision, the tray of drinks splashing dangerously. Simon didn’t stop, didn’t breathe, didn’t explain. The only thing on his mind was you, maybe ten yards away and closing.
He slammed out the service door into the alley, the metal thudding behind them and leaving his ears ringing. The air was cool and musky, reeking of old cigarettes and fryer oil. Johnny wrenched his arm free, planting his feet in the puddle-streaked alley and glowering at Simon. “What the fuck, Simon?” He spat, the words sharp with a rare panic. “Did ya see a fuckin’ ghost in there?”
Simon doubled over, staring at the cracked asphalt as he tried to collect himself. He’d only drunk three pints, but his palms were ice, and his shirt clung damp to his back. His heart was still racing, his hands still shaking as he tried to focus on the present.
Johnny reached for Simon’s shoulder, the gesture uncharacteristically gentle. “L.T., talk ta’ me.” His eyes darted back to the door as well, then around the alley, voice dropping to a whisper as if he expected bullets.
Simon rolled his neck and exhaled harshly. “Just needed some fuckin’ air,” he managed, but his voice was off— too shaky, too thin. “Wasn’t a threat, Johnny, just a panic attack.” His eyes skittered to the door, expecting you to appear, expecting the world to end.
Johnny didn’t buy it. He prodded Simon’s chest and neck before being pushed away. “That was no panic attack. You saw somethin’. Tell me.” He waited, lips pressed tight with insistent blue eyes.
Simon ground his teeth as he grimaced. “‘Said I’m fine.” He straightened, shrugged Johnny off, and readjusted his mask. The streetlamp overhead buzzed with a dying bulb, making Johnny’s face flicker in the dark. “Just got crowded in there. Needed to get out.” He hated the lie, but the truth would have stirred up far more trouble.
And wasn’t sure he had accepted it himself yet.
Johnny eyed him with a suspicious edge. “Yer fuckin’ weird, L.T.,” he said, but the words were soft, almost comforting to Simon. “But next time, warn a bloke before ya try to break ‘is arm.”
Simon let out a low noise between a laugh and a groan. The chilly air seeped in, and for a while, they just stood there, listening to the muffled pub noise through the bricks in a comfortable silence as Simon smoked a cigarette.
Eventually, Johnny clapped him on the back of the shoulder, a sign that he was going to head out. Johnny cocked his head, eyes flicking to Simon’s face. “You good to get home, then? Or d’ya need me to walk ya home like a fuckin’ ol’ lady?”
Simon scoffed, his pulse finally slowing, though the adrenaline had left his nerves tingling. “Don’t be daft. I’m fine.”
Johnny didn’t move, his gaze slightly intensifying. “Y’ever want to talk, mate… I mean it. I know you, and I know tha’ look. There’s more goin’ on than yer lettin’ out.”
The words were too close for comfort, so Simon shrugged them off and changed the subject. “Should get some rest. You need a lift?”
Johnny hesitated, clearly wanting to push further, but finally relented. “Nah, ’m good. Text me when ya’ get home, yeah?”
Simon grunted an affirmative and turned away, the city’s neon haze crowding back in as he strode down the slick sidewalk. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Johnny’s eyes on him for blocks.
His flat was a twenty-minute walk, and by the time he keyed in, his fingers had stopped shaking, but the restlessness remained. He dropped his keys on the counter, unzipped his jacket, and stood in the dark for a long moment, just listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet whirl of the air.
The silence was thick enough to drown in.
He didn’t bother with lights. Instead, he poured a double of whiskey and stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the pool of amber in the glass in the dark. There was a moment— just a second— where he wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter, to see what it would feel like. But that was pointless. He wasn’t angry, not really. Not at Johnny, not even at himself.
It was you.
Or, more accurately, it was the idea of you: the possibility that you’d seen him tonight, and the way his gut twisted at the thought of your eyes meeting his across that crowded room. He hated himself for the panic, but what terrified him more was the sliver of relief. Relief that you hadn’t seen him, that he still had his mask, that the worlds hadn’t overlapped— yet.
Not safe, he thought. None of this is safe.
And yet, tomorrow he will be waiting with a lit cigarette.
i wanted to start writing more fics but feel so intimidated posting them online, and just with writing them in general. do u have any tips? btw i love ur writing sm!
Hey anon! Tysm for reading and your kind words 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 Tbh it can be scary to post your writing online, but I promise the positive feedback will always encourage and inspire you. I have met some amazing moots from posting my writing, so I highly encourage you to do so! Way more people are nice and encouraging than mean, and also always remember this: You are writing for YOU!! No one is paying you, you are doing this solely for your own pleasure and interest, so be proud!!!
I hope that helps haha, but if you ever write anything, I would love to read it!! ❤️❤️
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 13 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
This chapter was inspired by I Think I Like When it Rains by WILLIS. It really fits the vibe ☺️ + UNEDITED- sorry for any errors
CW: Adult themes
You fucking hate the rain.
And it had been pouring all goddamn day.
Which makes sense, considering it’s April, but it’s super fucking inconvenient when it comes to smoking. Not to mention you hate being out in storms. You initially tried to wait it out, but it seemed to get heavier as the evening progressed. Determined to get your nicotine fix, you pulled on some rain boots and a sweatshirt, grabbed your cigarettes and discount store umbrella, and made your way out the door.
Waiting just beyond the flat patio was a rush of downstream water, practically destroying the new landscaping done around the complex. Navigating your way through massive puddles, mini floods, and heavy rain, you trekked your way to your sheltered haven. As you got closer, you picked out a familiar dark form through the raindrops, sending a wave of heat through your veins. Picking up your speed, you high-tailed it to the pergola, your umbrella taking the brunt of the rain as your feet kicked up water.
You hadn’t seen him since the night by the creek— though that was only three days ago, it felt like many more. Smoking without him really sucked; his lack of presence always made you feel lonely. It was comforting to have him there to listen as you ramble, chipping in with small comments as he sat with you. You didn’t chat with any of the other neighborhood smokers, choosing to keep it mutually exclusive to Bradshaw. Though the reasons are more selfish than you would like to admit.
As you came around the corner of the pergola, you closed your umbrella and leaned it up against the side before moving to your usual spot beside Bradshaw. But as your eyes fell upon him, you were met with an absolutely soaked dog of a man. Water droplets dripped down his exposed chin and jaw, as well as from his drenched clothes onto the ground, forming a puddle beneath him. You knew his mask was soaked and would practically waterboard him if he pulled it down. And from the water that pooled on the ground, it appeared that he had gotten here just moments before you.
“Jesus Christ, Bradshaw!” You scolded as you approached his wet form with a scowl, pulling your sweatshirt over your head, leaving you in a bare tank top. “Did you just fucking walk over here?” You patted the balled-up sweatshirt all over his face and head, trying to soak up as much of the moisture as you could. Droplets clung to his lashes and in the dip of his nose, and he blinked beneath your onslaught, his lips pulled into a tight line, trying to escape your grasp as you moved down to his jaw. Once satisfied that his face was dry enough, you slid the sweatshirt down to his neck and started patting at his shoulders and the exposed triangle of skin above his collar.
“I’m not a damn puppy,” he unconvincingly grouched, grabbing your wrist gently to slow your assault, but didn’t push you away.
It actually felt like he was holding you there.
“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, sliding the cuff into the crook of his neck, sopping up what you could. His black t-shirt clung to every inch of him, outlining the hard lines of muscle beneath. You tried not to look, but you caught him smirking at your attempt to avoid his gaze as you practically stood between his knees. When you moved back up his neck and head, you could feel him lean into your touch, but you acted like you didn’t notice.
You finally relented, satisfied with your attempt, and plopped down on the bench next to him. The rain rattled on the roof of the pergola, forming a steady white noise. You caught him watching you, mouth twitching upwards at the corner.
“You finally done?” He mumbled as he quirked a brow at you.
“Want a round two?” You threaten as you move to grab the sweatshirt again.
Bradshaw snorted as he ignored you, extracting a battered cigarette pack from his pocket. The moment he tilted it, water dripped out as the paper practically disintegrated. “Shit,” he muttered, staring at the sodden remains.
You fished your own pack from your jeans and nudged it toward him. “Here. Lucky for you, I came prepared.”
He furrowed his brows as he took one. “These are menthol, yeah?”
“Of course,” you confirmed, digging the pink lighter from your pocket, knowing full well that he smoked Marlboro Reds.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, reluctantly accepting one of yours. “These are shite, you know.”
“Sorry, I don’t smoke cowboy killers,” you fired back, flicking your lighter for him, shielding the flame. For a split second, his hands covered yours— rough and cold, but steady, the touch lingering longer than necessary as he leaned in, cigarette perched between his lips.
The flame caught, smoke curling around his damp face. Then he let go, exhaled, and you realized just how close you’d ended up. Only inches separated you, and your breath hitched in your chest. The smell of rain, tobacco, and his essence filled your lungs.
He regarded you through the haze, eyes softening as he noticed your gaze on him. “You’re going to get sick fussing all the time.”
“If anyone’s getting sick, it’s you.” You retorted as you took a drag, motioning towards his wet clothes.
“Maybe.” His voice dropped even softer, something unreadable threading through it. “Wouldn’t mind if you were my nurse.”
“Is that charm I detect, Bradshaw?” You tried to laugh it off, but the moment pressed in as his words landed. Your fingers remembered the prickly warmth of his jaw, the way his head dipped for your touch, practically careening for it.
You looked away, focusing on the rain, the smoke, the way the world beyond the pergola blurred at the edges. You didn’t want him to see the way your face burned, egged on by your provocative thoughts.
He leaned back, stretching his long legs out, one of his boots nearly touching the side of your shoe. When you turned back, he was watching you like he had something to say, but the sentence never made it past his lips. Instead, he looked away, focusing on the flooding parking lot. You let yourself slide down the bench until your shoulder nearly bumped his.
“Long day?” You asked, mostly to break the silence.
He grunted as he took a drag and ashed his cigarette. “You could say that.”
There were cuts on his knuckle, a light yellow shadow under his left eye that hadn’t been there the last time you saw him, along with a few others hidden in his dark stubble. You wanted to ask about them, but you weren’t sure if you should. He’d always brushed you off or changed the subject, but you selfishly wanted him to tell you anyway.
“You look like shit,” you said, defaulting to the comfort of lighthearted insults.
He let out a small, gravelly laugh. “I’ll take that as concern, then?”
“Wrong. I just don’t want you to peel over and die.” You smirked as you eyed him, playfully rocking into him. “It would really ruin my night.”
His shoulder knocked against yours, much harder than you’d expected. “Wouldn’t want to do that,” he said, his voice grovelly. “God forbid you get another thing to whine about.”
You looked at him with false offense, giving him a scandulous look. “You think I whine a lot?” You ask, pointing to yourself with raised brows.
He considered his answer, finishing his cigarette and flicking it into one of the puddles with a quick, practiced motion. “I know you do.”
You went to shove him in retaliation, but it was like pushing a telephone pole. He didn’t even sway, just watched you with a faintly amused expression. You let your palm rest against his bicep, feeling the warmth radiate from his moist skin, the subtle curve of his muscle beneath your fingertips.
He didn’t pull away.
“What the hell are you made of?” You asked, fingers reflexively testing the taut muscle there.
He looked down at your hand, cocking his head with lazy arrogance. “Expectin’ me to be built like a runt like you?” His gaze dragged idly over your frame, not bothering to feign subtlety. “Could snap ya’ in half if I wanted.”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but the heat that flooded your neck was impossible to ignore. “Get fucked,” you said, but it came out breathier than intended as you crossed your arms defiantly.
“Was that an offer?” He replied, voice gone rougher than ever. He leaned in, holding your eyes intently as your noses nearly brushed. The wet, cold scent of him, layered with menthol and smoke, made your mouth go dry.
His words went straight to your core.
Fuck.
You stuck your tongue out at him because the alternative was letting your jaw hang open like an idiot. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you managed, but your voice was all wrong for it, softer, coming off like a dare. Because maybe it was.
He laughed in a low rumble and freely lit another cigarette from your pack. Your cheeks flared as you dug out another cigarette as well, looking away to try and hide your blush. But Bradshaw pinched the cigarette from your lips and directed your attention back to him, lighting it for you with his own. The tips of your fingers brushed, and you felt the tremor go straight to your chest. He passed it back and leaned close, elbows on his knees, forearms bracketed with those fresh bruises and scratches.
You watched the rain together in a moment of stolen peace. It hammered the roof above, making the world outside the pergola feel distant as you enjoyed the moment. The parking lot had flooded, pooling in every crevice. You listened to the water, to the way his breathing deepened now and then. For a while, it was enough just to exist here, side by side, shrouded from the rest.
But your eyes kept drifting to his hands. To the angry red gash across one knuckle, to the dark purple spreading over his fingers. You knew that kind of damage. You’d seen it on partners, on marks, on yourself far too many times. The memory made your knuckles ache in sympathy.
“Did you win?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, peering up at him with bright, questioning eyes.
He didn’t look at you, just flexed his fingers like they were remembering too. “Yeah.”
“Well, good.” You smiled at your knees, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride on his behalf. “Can’t have you picking fights you can’t finish.”
You’d honestly been waiting for him to ask you why you cared so much, to ask about the worry in your voice, or the flutter of your hands, or the way you couldn’t stop glancing at him. But that wasn’t Bradshaw. He didn’t need stories or words; he just wanted presence. The two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in each other’s silences and exhaling smoke into the thick, wet air.
Thunder cracked suddenly, close enough to vibrate the bench beneath you. You flinched, not dramatically, but enough that Bradshaw’s hand snapped to your knee, steadying you on instinct. For a fraction of a second, you felt the way he tensed, a memory in his bones that made him react without thinking. Then he realized what he was doing and quickly removed his hand.
“Didn’t take you for the jumpy type,” he said, but there was no mockery in it— just that same, rough fondness you’d come to recognize.
“Just startled me,” you murmured, immediately missing the comfort of his touch. Heavy storms have affected you since that operation in Albania— the one you try to convince yourself never happened— but you’ve managed to overcome most of your fear responses. Still, they can put you on edge.
I wish he would put his hand back.
The rain came harder, drumming loud enough now that you felt it in your chest. Lightning lit the world up for a half-second— the glow catching every angle of his face, the hollow under his eyes, the lines of his jaw. For a moment, you thought about what he was hiding, what it cost him, and what it was that he actually needed.
“You good?” He asked, voice rough as he pulled you from your thoughts.
“Yeah. I just…” You shrugged, trying to laugh it off like everything else, but the words got stuck. “I just hate thunder. Makes me feel like a kid.” Lie. You wished you could confide the truth in him, to give him a piece of you that you never offer to anyone. To maybe finally move past one of the worst things that ever happened to you. But you don’t have that luxury, not with him, not with anyone. So you flicked your half-finished cigarette at the puddle, watching it hiss as contempt lingers in your heart.
“Could be worse,” he said, stretching like a cat, bones cracking. “‘M not a fan of it myself.”
You barked out a surprised laugh, eyeing him with a small smile as you focused back on his presence. “You’re scared of thunder too?”
His face twitched as he tried to control his expression, eyes narrowing as he gave you an incredulous look. “Didn’t say scared, did I? Said I’m not a fan. Big difference.”
You elbowed him in his side, harder this time, and he actually grunted, which was its own small victory. “You’re full of shit,” you huffed as you tried to hide your growing smile.
“Maybe,” he said with the hint of a smirk as he smoked his cigarette.
You didn’t answer with words; instead, you stared at the curtain of rain as you mirrored his action. You dragged in a breath and stubbed out your cigarette, watching the sparks snuff against the concrete. For a second, everything went silent except the rain— then another crash of thunder hammered around you, closer this time. Your neck prickled as it startled you, more than you meant to allow it.
Bradshaw noticed. He didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t, either. “You wanna head in?” He asked quietly, like he was testing the waters.
You almost said no out of habit, but your body betrayed you, already tense and tired from the day. “Yeah,” you admitted, cursing the edge in your voice.
He stood, stretching to his full height, then glanced at the downpour. “You got that umbrella, right?” He asked, giving you a sideways look as he handed you your damp sweatshirt. “I can walk you home, if you’d like.”
You eyed the hot-pink umbrella leaning against the wall, and then him, and then the rain, which had only intensified, as if punishing you for the brief reprieve.
“Only if you carry it,” you said, shoving the handle towards him. “I’m not getting struck by lightning just so you can make fun of me.” You said, caught between a joke and hiding your unease.
He hesitated, clearly weighing which was worse: getting drenched or looking like a six-foot-tall bruiser with a Barbie umbrella. You saw the calculation flicker behind his eyes, then the faint resignation as he took it from your hand, flipping it open with a snap.
The two of you made a dash for it, the umbrella barely shielding your shoulders as the wind angled the rain sideways. You giggled as water sheeted off the edges and splattered your boots, splashing Bradshaw as he tried to keep you covered. Bradshaw hunched, half-protecting you and half trying to keep the umbrella from flipping inside out. He looked ridiculous, and you gleefully told him so as he slowed himself to match your pace.
He just grunted and rolled his eyes, but you caught the twitch in his cheek— a smirk threatening. The journey to your building wasn’t long, but it left you covered in rainwater. When you reached the entryway, he shook out the umbrella as he stood sentry at your back.
You fumbled for your key, suddenly nervous despite yourself. “Thanks,” you said, meaning for the umbrella, the walk, and for sitting with you in the rain. For making me feel human. He simply shrugged, not meeting your eyes, but you knew he’d heard you. You lingered in the doorway, watching him with filtered longing. “Take the umbrella,” you ordered in as firm a tone as you could manage. “You can bring it back next time.”
He looked at the pink plastic, then at you, before sighing with easy defeat. “Fine, if it will make you feel better,” he said, voice still rough but softer now.
“I’ll feel much better.” You grinned, clutching the door handle, though still reluctant to go inside.
“Gonna be alright on your own?” He asked before making his move to leave, his voice laced with concern as he looked down at you.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile twitching at your lips. You enjoyed his concern too much. “I think I’ll live,” you sarcastically deliver with a wink.
“Sure hope so,” he retorted as he opened the flashy umbrella once again. He moved to the edge of the patio, gaze lingering on you at your doorstep. “Night, then.”
“Goodnight, big guy,” you smirked as you gave him a wave. He acknowledged you with a nod before taking off into the rain, the bright pink blob quickly disappearing into the distance.
Once inside and in dry clothes again, you still heard the loud booms of thunder, though they no longer carried the weight they once did. With each clash of thunder, you were reminded of the weight of Bradshaw’s hand on your thigh, sending a wave of warmth through your body.
That wasn’t the only sense of warmth he gave you tonight, but it was the only one you would willingly entertain, as it refused to leave you. Neither did the feeling of him leaning into your hands as you dried him, noticing how he fought the urge himself.
But ultimately gave in.
As you reflected on your visit with Bradshaw, you found yourself falling asleep with a smile on your face, all facets of fear replaced by his simple touch. Even if just for the night.
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 13 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
Guess who you finally see again?
“The target is not operating out of Manchester, Laswell, that’s what I’m trying to say.” You said with a controlled voice, trying to keep your frustration out of your tone. The conversation was dragging on, and you grew tired of dancing around your point, so you stated it directly, challenging the Agency and your Handler.
“I’m not saying I disagree with you, but until you locate where he is operating, then we’re going to have to go off what we have.” She ground out with an unusual edge, as if she wanted to agree with you.
“Which is practically nothing, and you know that. I’ve combed through every document, every piece of intel, and met with every informant. They’re practically useless, leading me on multiple wild goose chases all over town, and nowhere closer to Sylus.” You complain as you lean against your wall, staring at your front door, suddenly craving a cigarette.
You heard Laswell sigh before pausing. “You mentioned you traced some suspicious activity on one of the decoy networks. I looked into it, and there were transactions made from an account at the French National Bank under the name of Tomas Vinder. Let’s see if that can lead us anywhere,” she encouraged.
A sense of pride ran through you— your handler trusted your judgement and even looked into your suggestion— confirming her faith in you.
“Thank you, Laswell,” you said sincerely as you leaned your head against the wall. “I’ll see what I can dig up about this Tomas Vinder. If you find anything before me, give me a shout.”
“Of course. Stay well, Jinx.”
The call ended with a beep, signalling you to throw your phone on the kitchen counter and grab your cigarettes. Though you had this small victory with Laswell, there was still the main objective: to locate and recruit Sylus Monet. Something that seemed to grow more difficult through the days, mainly due to being spared few resources to do the dirty work you so desperately needed to do.
Not that you necessarily wanted to do it, it was just something that needed to be done. You would get so much further if you were in the field, but for some reason, the Agency wanted you out of it until Sylus’ location is confirmed. That was the typical protocol, unless you were directed to establish your identity, which they had not yet called for. So instead, you existed on the edge of existence and non-existence, something that didn’t typically mean anything to you, until recently.
Now the idea of it felt unnatural, as if you weren’t even a being. Especially when memories and moments of the real you emerged, as opposed to the mask you’re ordered to wear. Before this operation, you found it fairly easy to change identities and suppress your true self. You would compare it to method acting— completely taking on the role you’ve been assigned, even when no one’s around. That’s why you were so good at your job, making you an expert at espionage and subterfuge.
Though recently, you’ve felt the mask slipping, no matter how much you tried to hold it in place. You had now been in Manchester for a month, your confidence dwindling with each day that passed without progress towards your mark.
Ugh, enough about that shit, you thought to yourself as you walked out into the cool dark beyond. With your cigarettes in one hand and pink lighter in the other, you headed towards the smoke spot with a muddled mind, nearly drowning in your wild mix of thoughts.
But then you saw him.
Leaning against the front of a lifted black Silverado, mask pulled down, eyes focused on the pergola, which was currently packed with a large group of people, stood Bradshaw. You hadn’t seen him in days, his absence affecting you far more than you should've allowed. Yet still, your heart nearly jumped at the sight of him, imagining him scowling underneath that mask.
A smile quickly spread over your lips as you deftly tucked your lighter into the cigarette box, prepping yourself for the ambush. As you approached Bradshaw, his eyes quickly moved to you, and you watched something in them shift. You knew he wasn’t going to smoke with that many people there, so you devised a last-minute plan to test his boundaries and your curiosity.
Bradshaw pushed off his truck as you neared, as if readying himself for your presence, eyes now focused on yours.
“Howdy, big guy,” you greeted with a quirked brow and your hands bound innocently behind your back. Blatantly ignoring the part of you that practically called out for him, you maintained your arms-length distance for the time being.
“What kind of fuckin’ Yank says howdy?” Bradshaw crassly greets you, causing you to pause before breaking out into a laugh.
“Howdy is a universal American term shared across the nation, fucker.” You matched with equal sass, wishing you could see his lips to tell if he was smirking or not.
“That the lesson of the day?” Bradshaw grunted back, hands falling to his sides.
“Nope, but I’ll show you what is.” Before he could question you, you enlaced your hand around his and pulled him experimentally towards the wooded area beside the parking lot.
Surprisingly, he let you.
Though you practically felt his questions pressing into your skull, you maintained your smile and direction, leading him into the dark woods with a skip in your step like some enchanting fairy. His pace didn’t slow beside you, even as you skillfully traversed over large roots and rocks down a hidden path with limited vision. The sound of running water signaled you were close, throwing him an eager glance as you came to a large dip in the embankment.
Bradshaw silently assisted you down to the creek bed, following you to the fallen log that lay parallel to the creek. There, you turned to him with a bright smile, his eyes narrowed as you dropped his hand.
“Isn’t this a much better place to smoke?” You asked as you waved around to the landscape.
Bradshaw glanced around, taking in what he could with just the moon’s light. It was a much prettier view during the day, but you were happy to share this place with him regardless of the time.
“How the hell did you find this place?” Bradshaw asked as his eyes finally landed back on yours.
“I like to wander sometimes during the day, especially if there are other people at the smoke spot.” Anyone but you, actually.
“You really thought bringin’ me out here was a good idea?” He gruffly asked, eyes boring into yours with an unsettling intensity.
Without seeing his face, it was practically impossible to read him. Even just seeing his mouth was enough, but right now, you’re going off his eyes, brows, and voice alone.
And he honestly looked menacing as he stared down at you, gaze unwavering.
But you aren’t one to falter. “Is this when you tell me you’re the local serial killer?” You sarcastically asked while pulling out a cigarette.
“You’d be my easiest victim yet,” he huffed as he pulled out his lighter, sparking it and holding it up to your cigarette.
You smiled before taking a puff, leaning against the fallen tree to look over Bradshaw while he lifted his mask and lit his own cigarette. “You this nice to everyone before you kill them?” You playfully asked as he took another step forward.
He was silent for a moment, his presence just looming over you. You could have sworn his eyes went a shade darker, laced with something else now. “No,” he grumbled, his tone almost serious.
“Good,” you smiled, placing your hand gently on his chest in a placating manner. You noticed the change in his energy; your words accidentally took him to a dark place. You wondered what existed in that darkness, though you could make a few guesses. Right now, you wanted to pull him away from it, back to the creek, back to you and the cigarette burning in his fingers.
You could feel his breath shudder beneath your palm, then regulate itself once again as his eyes moved down to where your hand touched his chest. You quickly pull it away then, worried you overstepped.
“‘Can’t decide if you’re the bravest or dumbest bird I’ve ever met,” Bradshaw said before taking a long drag, eyes locking with yours through the exhale of smoke.
“That’s part of the game, Bradshaw, I gotta keep you on your toes.” You hopped up onto the log, balancing with your hands behind you, and pierced him with a look meant to disarm.
He surprised you by moving closer, so close you could count the flecks of gold in his eyes even in the poor light. He braced one tattooed arm on the trunk beside your thigh, the other lifting his cigarette to his mouth in a slow, deliberate way. Something about his size and the way he occupied space made the night shrink to just the two of you. It felt as if nothing else existed.
You kicked your feet lightly, the heels of your shoes knocking against the log idly. You found it oddly thrilling, the way he just stood there, silent and imposing, letting you fill the air with whatever words you pleased. Maybe it was the power trip of being unafraid, of seeing how much you could get away with. Or maybe it was something deeper— an aching, gnawing curiosity about what lived behind the mask.
“So is Bradshaw your first name, or…” You prodded, knowing full well he’d dodge the question.
He didn’t take the bait, just snorted softly and looked up at the moon through the branches. “Does it matter?”
“Only if you’re offended by me giving you a nickname.” You grinned widely, showing teeth, and let your legs swing. “I was thinking B-Dawg has a nice ring to it.”
His eyes flickered back to you, smoke billowing out from his lips as he exhaled. “Call me that and you’ll end up swimmin’ in the creek.” He casually threatened, though you knew there was no real heat behind it.
You stifled a laugh, nearly choking on your cigarette. “So that means you don’t like it?” You meekly asked, earning an eyeroll from him.
Bradshaw’s lips twisted into a brief, reluctant smirk. Then, as if remembering himself, he wiped it away with his thumb and resumed his watch. The night clustered around you, picking up a different energy enveloping you than at the pergola. You wondered if it was due to Bradshaw himself or the change in scenery.
You let the silence stretch, watching his profile in the slant of moonlight. There was something beautiful about the shape of his face— or what you could see of it. His strong jaw, sharp nose evident under the mask, and hard eyes that always looked tired. You wondered if he knew how much he gave away in those moments, how his hands tensed and relaxed, how he always kept his feet planted in the dirt as if bracing for something.
Without warning, he nudged your knee. “You come out here alone a lot?” The question was casual, but his eyes were anything but. They glittered heavily with meaning, as if looking for more than an answer.
You shrugged, taking a drag as Bradshaw leaned against the log beside you, now side by side. “Sometimes. It’s not like I have a family waiting for me back home.”
He shook his head, that little huff of exasperation surfacing again. “You shouldn’t,” he said. “Not safe.”
You grinned, savoring the scold, the way it made him sound like a cranky old man. “Aw, are you worried about me?”
“Damn brat,” he grumbled back, but there was a warmth in it, a just-for-you tone that almost made you shiver. “I just know what creeps around these places at night. Manchester’s full of fuckin’ psychos.”
You eyed him up and down, then clicked your tongue. “And yet here I am with the biggest psycho of all.”
He barked a low, amused sound, but the line of his mouth softened. “S’not smart, wanderin’ out alone at night,” he rumbled, but his tone was less judgmental and more resigned, as if he’d already lost the argument with himself. “Never know what you’ll run into.”
“Maybe I like the risk.” You smiled, sitting up straighter to be closer to Bradshaw.
He hummed, a low sound deep in his chest— amused, maybe a little exasperated. “You like pushin’ buttons, don’t you?”
“Just yours,” you said, and the words tumbled out braver than you meant them. You weren’t sure if you wanted to take them back.
The air stilled between you, neither of you willing to break the gaze. A moth fluttered between your faces before finding the moon and vanishing into the black, both of your eyes following it into the ether.
Bradshaw’s cigarette burned down to the filter, and he stubbed it on the fallen tree before looking back at you. “What are you really doing out here, Lana?”
His use of your cover name, so direct and unadorned, made your stomach turn slightly. You toyed with your lighter, rolling it over your palm and considering your answer. He didn’t rush you; he just remained there, as if rooted for your answer.
You shrugged again, feeling suddenly transparent. “It’s quiet out here. I can think straight. The apartment walls feel—” you hesitated, searching for the word, “—thin, sometimes. Like if I’m not careful, I’ll slip through them.” That was the best way to describe it, being locked in your apartment all day chasing loose ends made you feel small. Another reminder of your ‘nonexistence’.
His eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. He seemed to understand, or at least accept that as your answer.
“You always this honest with strangers?” He asked, voice low. There was a challenge in it, as if he dared you to take it further.
You licked your lips, nerves firing on a delay as you played in. “Depends on the stranger.”
He grunted, but you could see the ghost of a smile on his mouth. “You think I’m a stranger, then?”
You leaned forward, arms resting on your knees, and lowered your voice in a mock whisper. “I think you’re a mystery,” you confessed, letting the word hang, a dare of your own.
For a moment, the tension was like a living thing— a third presence in the woods, sparking in the gap between your bodies. He shifted closer, the distance not quite closing, but the air charged once again, the gravity impossible to ignore.
His voice came out gentler this time. “Mystery’s safer than the truth.”
“That supposed to scare me?” You asked back, the words soft but edged with laughter.
He regarded you for a long moment, and you could almost hear the machinery behind his stillness, the calculation of what— if anything— to say. His hand hovered near yours above the log, the distance almost nothing. In the darkness, with only the trickle of the creek and the burn of nicotine between you, the silence felt intimate, like neither of you could bear to ruin it by shifting away.
“No,” he settled, voice softer than usual. “Just don’t want to disappoint you.”
That landed heavier than you expected, and for a second, you had nothing to say, the bravado knocked out by the force of his honesty. The mask you wore, the one made of sarcasm and easy laughter, felt transparent in the night air.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Bradshaw.” You said above a whisper, but you saw the way his mouth dipped, as if he didn’t believe you.
He didn’t fill the space, not with words, not with movement, and you realized he probably never would, not unless you asked him directly. You respected that in a way you rarely respected anyone. You understood, perhaps for the first time, that some people had to hold in what they carried or risk spilling it everywhere. That the quiet might be less armor and more apology, an attempt to keep the world safe from whatever lived in the dark with him.
You slid off the log, brushing your hands on your thighs. Bradshaw watched you intently, as if you might vanish at any moment. It made something in your chest twist, a small ache that you tried to ignore.
“Don’t bring anyone else out here,” he said, sudden and sharp, the words cutting through the quiet with unexpected urgency.
You looked up at him, surprised by the intensity of his command. “You think I’m bringing other people down to my secret lair?” You scoffed with a conspiratorial grin.
He almost smiled, but it was brief, gone in a flicker. “Just don’t want anyone else knowin’ about it, s’all.”
You threw him a mock salute. “Scout’s honor, Bradshaw. This big mossy log is safe with me.”
He made a noise that could have been a laugh, then shook his head. “You’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that?”
“Just American,” you shot back, feeling the balance of the moment settle into place.
You started back up the embankment, and he followed, close enough that you could hear his boots crunch the damp earth behind you. At the hardest part of the climb, the ground gave out beneath your heel, and you felt yourself slipping. Before you could tumble back, a strong hand closed around your waist, steadying you. The warmth of his grip burned through your thin shirt, grounding you in a way that made your head swim.
“Careful,” he muttered, but he didn’t let go.
With an unexpected surge, he shifted his grip, hands bracing your hips, and lifted you easily up the rest of the embankment as if you weighed nothing. You landed solidly on your feet, turning to face him with a look of mock outrage.
“You trying to impress me?” You teased, half-breathless but trying to hide it. “Because it’s working,” you managed with a smirk, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.
He made a low, amused noise, the kind that vibrated from his chest rather than his throat. “Doesn’t take much,” he said, the words lazy, as if he barely needed to flex to send your neurons sizzling.
You brushed imaginary dirt from your shirt and eyed him with a new kind of appraisal. “Next time I need help with my luggage, I know who to call.”
He snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Might even carry you inside if you ask nicely.” The line lingered between you, heavy and intentional, until he tugged his mask down to cover his mouth. You couldn’t say if that were out of habit or necessity, but it made the conversation feel suddenly unfinished.
You stumbled for your next words as a blush crept up your cheeks. But he was already looking back toward the complex, surveying with a professional stillness. For a second, you both just stood, your body heat mingling in the cool damp that rose from the creek. He didn’t move until you started up the path first, and then he followed behind, boots crunching in your echo.
It felt like a weird reversal— him keeping your secret, you leading the way out of the darkness. When you cleared the last of the brush, and the yellow glow of the parking lot lamps caught your faces, you stopped, suddenly unsure how to end the night.
Maybe because you didn’t want to end the night.
You looked back at him, searching for the right closing line, something that didn’t sound like a nervous flirtation or an awkward aideu. He solved it by just nodding at you, a slow, calculated thing, as if to say: I’ll see you again.
The words you landed on were: “Don’t get lost out there, Bradshaw.” You stumbled out like a nervous teenager, instantly cursing yourself.
“Was followin’ you,” he said, as if that explained everything.
You smiled, a genuine one this time, even though you felt stupid. “Yeah,” you said, “I noticed.”
You headed off to your building, heart beating faster than the steps you took to get there. When you reached the entrance, you glanced over your shoulder; he was still there, one hand in his pocket, the other pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to piece together the night.
Back in your apartment, you flopped face-first onto your bed, the lingering scent of smoke on your clothes. You tried to replay the night in your head, but the memory was already blurring at the edges, like a dream you wanted to chase but couldn’t quite hold. Every time you reached the part where he lifted you over the embankment, your mind stuttered and filled the silence with possibilities.
You needed to get your shit together.
You had a target to locate, not a neighbor to crush on. Still, you let yourself dangle in that limbo between exhaustion and whatever this feeling was.
Hey guys! as some of yall might know @falloutrebellion filled my request for a Submissive!Genma fic. and I just wanted to say thank you SO SO much for writing him. It was such a good fic. So good, I reached out to @penac00ny on Twitter for a commission. a little gift for you for taking the time to write that sexy little piece of Genma.
Uncensored version version can be found here
and the link to the fic can be found here
💬 27 🔁 4 ❤️ 66 · Sub!Genma x Dom!Reader · Pairing: Genma x F!Reader
Request: Submissive Genma
Summary: You find out that Genma has a cru
Summary: You find out that Genma has a crush on you, though he always tries to play it cool when you’re around, stunting your advances. Pushing to see if he really does like you, you invite him over and test the waters.
What you didn’t expect was for him to get on his knees, begging for anything you’d give him. So you make him earn it, like a good boy.
🔞 Adult Content 🔞 MDNI 🔞
Naruto Masterlist
Tags: (Soft) Dom reader, sub Genma, (tho he gets a little dom in the end), desperate Genma, cunnilingus, face sitting, fingering, squirting, begging, praise kink, hair pulling, couch sex, rough sex, creampie, fairly tame for all the things I've written lol.
EDIT: the amazing @genmashiranuilover69 commissioned a beautiful piece from this oneshot, please check it out!!
A/N: I know some of you guys have been patiently waiting for this oneshot, so thank you for your patience! I hope you deviants enjoy it hehe
You’ve had your eyes on Genma for a while now, though he never seemed to pick up on it. You blamed it on his stupidity, not that he was stupid in general, just when it comes to you in particular. The man can flirt with any man or woman in Konoha as easily as he breathes. But when he’s around you, his hands go in his pants, and he acts aloof, almost as if he didn’t want to be around.
So when Kakashi pulled you aside today, you couldn’t contain your gasp and incredulous glare.
“Stop playing with me, Kakashi, that’s not funny.” You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at your white-haired friend.
“I’m being completely serious, and the only reason I’m telling you is because he’s too afraid to. Trust me, I hate seeing him act like an asshole because he’s too scared to talk to you, so I figured I’d do him a favor.” Kakashi shrugs, though his eye shines with intent.
“You sure he won’t kill you when he finds out you told me his little secret?” You scoff as you chew your bottom lip, contemplating what to do with this information.
You could practically see Kakashi smirk under his mask. “He couldn’t if he tried.”
. . . . .
It didn’t take you long to think of a plan to trap Genma and test Kakashi’s word.
The next day, you find him browsing the fruit stall with his signature slouch and senbon bobbing at the corner of his mouth. You slink around the stand, pretending interest in some bruised mangos, and watch him out of the corner of your eye. He looks even more tired than usual, like he’s been up late and behind on sleep. Even still, he looks just as good as any other day.
You time your move so when he turns from the stall, you collide with him, almost knocking the bag from his hand. “Watch it,” you say, a smile biting at your mouth.
He doesn’t smirk back as he does with everyone else. Instead, Genma’s shoulder tightens up, and his eyes dart to the side. “Didn’t know you shopped here,” he says, which is the is an obvious lie. You’re here every morning and he’s made a study of your schedule.
“You always this awkward, or am I special?” You lean closer, letting your shoulder brush his arm, amused at how his ears go a little pink.
He shifts, then tries to play it cool by inspecting an orange in his bag. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late,” you say with a beat. “Really, you’re not even going to flirt back? My ego is wounded.”
His hand stalls halfway to his senbon. He looks at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes, then shrugs. “Guess I’m off my game.”
You grin, feeling slightly victorious. “I’ll help you practice. Want to come over for a drink tonight? I promise I won’t bite— unless you ask nicely.” You wink as you lean in to him, clasping your hands behind your back innocently.
That gets him. He chokes on absolutely nothing, then hastily recovers. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rough. “That could be fun.”
You honestly weren’t expecting him to say yes so easily. The ever-composed Genma, master of wit, now can barely look you in the eye.
Kakashi wasn’t lying.
As you head home to prepare, your mind races ahead to a thousand possible outcomes. You can’t decide if you want to rile Genma up or strip him bare. In the end, you plan to do both. You change into something comfortable but revealing, pull out your sake and some glasses, and settle onto the couch with butterflies in your stomach.
When the knock finally comes, you nearly jump, heart hammering through your chest. You half expected him to bail, but here he stands at your door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair wind-mussed without his headband, and eyes downcast like he’s about to apologize for something.
“Come in,” you say kindly, and he does, immediately scanning your apartment, as if looking for traps. You pour him a drink before he can protest, thrusting it into his hands. He stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room, drink in hand, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“So,” he says, “you do this with all your teammates?” He asks awkwardly.
“Only the pretty ones,” you reply with a smirk.
He finally meets your gaze, and you see him visibly fight the urge to smile. “Guess I’ll consider myself lucky.” There’s that charm you love so much.
You pat the couch beside you, and Genma hesitates a moment before he sits down so close his thigh presses against yours. You can feel the heat of him, the tension radiating off his tall frame.
He tries to play it off, keeping his attention on the drink in his hand, but you’re not about to let him off that easily. Your palm lands on his thigh, casually at first, but when you feel the muscle jump beneath your fingers, you squeeze instinctively.
He nearly spills his drink and covers it up by taking a swig. When he faces you again, his face is red, and his eyes carry an expression you’re not used to. You expect a quip, some sassy rebuttal, but he just swallows hard.
“Genma, you’re blushing,” you tease sweetly.
He scoffs weakly. “Am not,” he protests. But he’s redder now, and you feel his leg tense beneath your hand.
“Liar.” You move your hand higher, letting your nails catch ever so lightly through the fabric. You sense the shiver that chases up his spine, the quiet gasp he tries to swallow.
“Are you—” he starts, but you cut him off by leaning right up to his ear, your lips so close to his ear that your warm breath causes him to shudder.
“You can tell me to stop,” you whisper coyly and squeeze the middle of his thigh.
He gives you silence, then a shaky exhale. “Don’t,” he says, so quiet you almost miss it.
You smile against his ear, emboldened by his response. “So polite,” you murmur your praise against him. Your hand creeps further upward to his crotch, tracing the seam of his pants, feeling the outline of his rock-hard dick. You squeeze it, just enough to let him know you noticed, then pull back to look at him.
Genma’s eyes are wide, his lips parted, his heart stammering as if completely caught. There’s a hunger there that’s almost painful— like he’s spent too long denying himself this, or maybe anything at all.
“Can I… touch you?” His voice is rough, sincere in a way that almost makes your core ache.
You consider his plea. The idea of him needy, desperate, and at your command is unexpectedly intoxicating.
You let your hand rest at his waistband, then arch an eyebrow. “You want to touch me? Beg for it.”
To your surprise, he doesn’t even hesitate. He’s off the couch in an instant, kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and desperate. “Please,” Genma begs, hands coming to your thighs. “Let me touch you. Please, I need— whatever you’ll give me, I need it.”
You’re so taken off guard by his earnestness that your composure nearly shatters. But you’re quick to recover, fingers threading into his brown hair, tugging just enough to force his head back.
“I didn’t take you for the obedient type,” you murmur, relishing the way he leans into your grip.
He smirks, regaining a splinter of his usual confidence. “Only for you, apparently.”
You decide to test the limits of that. “Take it out,” you order as you bite your bottom lip.
Genma’s breath stutters, but his hands are already moving. He’s so hard it looks painful as he undoes his zipper, hands shaking with nerves or anticipation, or both. His flush, hard dick nearly makes your mouth water. Your own breath is coming faster, admiration briefly stumping your control when he strokes himself twice and moans at your touch when you take over.
You curl your fingers around his thick length, squeezing just enough to draw a gasp, then drag your thumb over the slick at his tip. His whole body shudders as you touch him. He watches your hand, eyes bright and hungry; you sense he’d let you do anything to him right now.
“Lay down,” you command, your voice low and dangerous with desire.
Genma obeys so fast you barely have time to blink. He sprawls across your couch, shamelessly hard, hands limp at his sides, just waiting. You stand over him and pull your shirt off, slow enough for him to get an eyeful. His mouth falls open as he drinks you in, gaze lingering on your breasts to the curve of your waist, the way your thighs flex when you step out of your shorts and panties. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips hungrily.
It’s almost comical how fast his cock jumps when you straddle his chest and plant your knees on either side of his head. But the look in his eyes when he realizes what you want, no, what you’re about to take, is absolutely reverent.
“No touching yourself,” you order, and he obeys, bringing his hands to your thighs.
You hover over his mouth, so close you can feel his breath against your wet center. Genma groans in anticipation, his voice ragged, and cranes his neck up, desperate for a taste.
“Ask nicely,” you demand, one hand gripping his hair, the other bracing yourself over the side of the sofa.
“Please,” he mutters as you slowly lower yourself. Letting him nuzzle your pussy, letting him inhale your scent like it was his lifeline. “Please, let me—” He can’t even finish. You grind just a little, slicking his lips and nose, and his eyes flutter closed.
You’re tempted to draw it out, but your own need is so strong you almost whimper when his tongue finally flicks at your clit. He licks you in slow, flat strokes, like he’s savoring every drop. Then sucks at your clit with a pressure you never knew you needed, latching onto your pussy with expert skill. His hands dig into your thighs, white-knuckled, while his tongue is relentless, tracing every part of you, then plunging greedily into your entrance. Genma was determined to taste every drop, greedily lapping at your pussy.
You don’t bother hiding the way you’re grinding your hips into his face, the way you moan his name and praise him when he gets it right— over and over, because he always gets it right. At some point, you realize he’s rutting up into the air, leaking steadily against his stomach, but not daring to touch himself.
Good boy.
“Fuck, Genma—” you gasp, thighs squeezing his ears as your hand tightens in his hair. “You’re good at this. Who taught you?”
He hums, the vibration making you shudder, then closes his lips around your clit and sucks until pleasure blacks out your vision. You arch, clutching his hair, and as you come on his tongue, you hear him curse and feel a sticky heat against your lower lips. Genma’s cock pulses, painting his abs with cum as he buries his tongue deeper, drinking every drop.
You grind down, letting him chase the last, trembling shudders of your orgasm. When you finally lift yourself off his mouth, he looks up at you— hair wild, lips glossy, eyes blown wide with delight. He’s panting, face slick with your arousal, and all you can do is laugh, as you wipe the sheen from his chin with your thumb and into his mouth, where he sucks it clean eagerly.
He watches you, patient and hungry, as you then lean over him and drag your lips along the curve of his jaw until you meet his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. Genma sighs into your mouth, greedily kissing you like he’s starving.
“Please,” he pleads, his voice hoarse with desire, “let me taste you again.”
Like you could ever refuse. You guide him on top of you as you lie back on the couch, Genma settling between your legs, propping your thighs over his shoulders, staring at your cunt with rapt devotion. He spreads you open with two fingers and flicks his gaze up, a daring glint as he waits for your permission.
“Be a good boy,” you purr, “show me how much you want it.”
His eyes darken, and he groans as he slides his fingers in, slow at first, then curls them perfectly against that spot. His tongue presses flat against your clit, then circles it, causing you to arch your back when he resumes sucking it with a feral intensity.
“Oh, fuck,” you curse with a moan as the room fills with the squelching of your pussy as he works you with his mouth and hand.
The pressure builds fast, heat pushing through you like never before as you dig your heels into the small of his back, urging him on with your cries. Genma moans into you, the familiar vibration sending sparks up your spine. You realize he’s rutting against the couch again, helpless and leaking, but so focused on your pleasure he doesn’t even bother to touch himself.
You don’t last under his fervent touch. The slick sounds, the sight of his long fingers pumping knuckle-deep inside you, the way he won’t stop until you’re shaking— is too much. You cum again, harder this time, but Genma hitches his breath and keeps going relentlessly, until you’re moaning, squirming, and nearly sobbing as you squirt all over his hands and mouth. Your fingers knot in hair as his fingers splatter your juices everywhere. He groans in contentment, lapping up everything like he was drunk, then kisses your thigh gently before crawling up to kiss your lips, slow and deep.
He waits for you to breathe, then wipes his chin and grins, sheepish and proud.
“What do you want me to do next?” He asks, more than eager to fill your every demand.
“Strip,” you order, and he complies immediately, peeling off his soiled shirt, then his pants, and everything else. You pull his hips back down to the soaked couch, straddling him and dragging his cock between your slick folds, teasing him with the heat and the promise of it.
Genma gasps, eyes squeezed shut, and you clamp your hand on his throat with just enough pressure to make him whimper. “Tell me, Genma, do you want me?”
He nods frantically, already trying to line up the head of his cock with your entrance with his hips. Your cunt is still quivering, sensitive from his tongue, and you want him so badly it almost borders on pain.
You tease him for as long as you can, rubbing yourself against his flushed tip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he chokes back another little gasp. “Do you want to feel me?” You demurely murmur, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.
He nods again, this time looking pained as his hands clutch your hips hard enough to bruise. “Fuck, yes, please, I can’t—”
You give in to his plea, lowering yourself inch by slow inch until the swollen head pops inside you. Genma’s head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he shudders, already trembling as he feels your pussy slowly swallow his length. You sink down further, savoring the stretch, feeling yourself envelop him, wet and snug. You watch his face as you take his whole length. The look on his face was one of pure awe as you bottomed out, a small whine escaping his throat when you swivel your hips. You ride him slowly at first, rolling your hips so he can feel every drag and squeeze.
His hands skate up from your waist to the small of your back, tracing the beads of sweat along your spine. When he bends forward to catch your nipple in his mouth, you gasp, arching into his touch, his tongue laving circles around the stiff peak.
“Mmm, yes, just like that, Genma,” you praise, holding his head there, rocking your hips harder, just to hear him moan around your flesh. He switches his attention to the other breast as you continue to ride him, his mouth separating with an obscene pop as you increase your speed.
When you look down, you see his neck muscle tense from holding himself back for your sake. You reward him by grinding down harder, milking him with your cunt, keeping your pace just shy of frenzied. You tangle a hand in his hair and pull his mouth to yours, kissing him bruisingly hard as he thrusts up into you, his self-control lost to the wind, his hips snapping.
Genma breaks the kiss, panting against your lips. “Let me—let me come, please—”
You decide to break him and have your fun. “Not yet,” you order, clenching your pussy around him mercilessly. “You can wait a little longer.” But your own need is catching up, and you want to take him with you when you fall.
He whines, helpless as you drag your nails down his chest. “You’re killing me—”
You laugh, licking the sweat from his jaw as he shudders beneath you, hand wrapping around his throat again. “You can take it, Genma. I know you can.”
But Genma isn’t content to be good forever, you know a man like him can only hold back for so long. The moment you loosen your hold on his throat, he grabs your ass with both hands and flips you, pinning you to the couch. The look in his eyes is dark and wild, sending a shiver down your spine.
“My turn,” he growls, and pushes your knees up towards your shoulders, folding you nearly in half as you gasp at the sudden power flip.
The new angle is devastating— he bottoms out so deep your vision blurs, and your nails dig into his back as you cry out with each thrust. He pounds into you, fast and rough, but never losing control, gritting his teeth as he buries himself to the hilt again and again. He kisses your neck, your cheek, your parted lips, tasting the tears that slip out as you shatter around him.
You practically sob Genma’s name as the pleasure rips through your core— he fucks you through it, his lips finding yours to swallow your cries. He’s shaking above you, muscles tense and quivering, hands clamped so tight on your thighs you’re sure you’ll bruise. “Gonna—fuck, I’m—” he manages, his voice hoarse and desperate.
“Do it,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “Come inside me,” you demand as you meet his eyes.
And he does as if on command, his hips slamming flush as he pulses deep inside you. He groans your name, stuttering it as he comes with a shaky breath. You feel his seed, hot and thick, spilling into the deepest part of you— the thought alone is enough to make you clench around him, milking every last drop.
He shudders through the aftershocks, then collapses onto your chest, both of you panting, sweat-soaked and fucked out. You run your fingers through his damp hair, smirking as he nuzzles your collarbone.
“Hmm, not bad,” you mutter, “for a guy who can’t flirt.”
He huffs a laugh, face still buried in your neck. “Slander. I just conserve my energy for the important moments.”
“Like this one?” You squeeze your cunt around his softening cock, just to prove a point.
He yelps and bites down on your shoulder gently. “Sadist,” he grumbles, but you both know he’s grinning.
You stroke his sweat-slick back, feeling the slow, steady thud of his heart under your palm. He’s still inside you, refusing to move, exactly like you wanted him.
You let the silence stretch, just breathing together in the dark until Genma finally props himself up and looks you dead in the eye. “So, uh. You gonna kick me out now? Or can I stay the night?”
“Depends,” you say, arching a brow. “Can you behave yourself?”
He grins lazily, giving you that smile that stops your heart. “No promises.”
You tug him down for a kiss, deep and thorough— there’s no rush now, no games left to play. When you finally break apart, you realize you could get used to this: the weight of him, the easy banter, the feeling of being wanted so badly it almost hurts.
You brush your fingers through his hair, then press a lazy kiss to his chin. “You gonna ignore me at the fruit stand again tomorrow?”
He snickers, resting his forehead against yours tenderly. “Maybe I’ll just eat you for breakfast instead.”
You laugh girlishly and pull him closer, already plotting new ways to break him.
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 12 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
Another short chapter, but the next one will be good 😙
You picked at the chipped nail polish on your thumb before pulling out your first cigarette for the night. It had been another long day of work, with no real progress made, so you were really craving a smoke. It was fairly early in the evening, at least regarding your unplanned rendezvous with a certain masked neighbor, but you called it an early evening and decided to try your luck.
Wait— what am I saying?
No, you came out here to smoke. That’s all. Bradshaw included or not.
His presence was always a plus, but it was unnecessary.
You kept that sentiment in mind as your first cigarette slowly burned to the filter, immediately lighting another as you sat in the quiet, ears peeled for footsteps. But all you were greeted with was the chirping of crickets and a creeping sense of disappointment. You pushed that feeling back to the far corners of your mind, not giving it any energy.
But by the third and fourth cigarette, the disappointment tasted sour in your mouth. The pit in your gut was undeniable, proof of the feelings you ferverently ignored. Despite your best attempt to be unbothered, you couldn’t help but snuff out your cigarette in agitation.
You knew better, but for some reason, you couldn’t let him go. Bradshaw is just a guy you occasionally smoke with; hell, you don’t even know his last name or shit about the guy. Though that actually goes both ways, it’s not like he truly knows you…
So then came the guilt.
You couldn’t hold his reservations against him while your entire existence to him is a lie. Though some truths managed to slip through in your stories as you found yourself easily carried away by his patient listening. He never seemed to mind, always grunting or giving dry comments that always made you smile. He seemed to tolerate you, maybe even more than tolerate, if you believed your delusional mind.
“Ughhh,” you groaned outwardly as you slumped in the bench, running your hand through your loose hair. “What the fuck am I doing?” You huffed in defeat as you pushed yourself to your feet.
You had far more important things to be doing than sitting here, hoping for Bradshaw to miraculously appear around the corner. It was pathetic, really, lowering yourself to such actions. Perhaps you were just bored and he was a source of entertainment, something to help you pass the time in Manchester while you struggled at your job.
Yeah, that must be it.
Still, stuck between denial and justification, you couldn’t shake Bradshaw’s intense hazel eyes from your mind. Or his large, muscular arms, covered in tattoos. Or his strong jaw—
Fuck, stop!
You hadn’t noticed you were pacing, having unconsciously channeled your racing thoughts to your feet. It’s time to change tactics, you decided, sitting back down on the bench and covering your face with your hands.
Using the Agency’s training, you sorted your thoughts into facts and emotions, trying seperate your feelings.
Fact: You’ve been in the country for three and a half weeks.
Fact: You’ve made zero progress on the primary objective.
Fact: You’re now spending a significant portion of your evenings chain-smoking and thinking about a man whose face you’ve never seen.
Fact: You’re a goddamn professional, and this is not how professionals act.
Fact: You are already involved, and that is the problem.
Emotion: Loneliness, tinged with a splash of need, like the aftertaste of a shot. You hated that you even recognized it in yourself. You’d gone years without getting close to anyone, prided yourself on being the kind of operator who could disappear into the structure of any city, any mission, any life. The job devoured intimacy; you let it. It even felt noble sometimes.
Now you wondered if you’d ever been truly immune, or just hadn’t found the right kind of distraction.
You pressed your thumbs to your closed eyes, massaging out the beginnings of a headache, and tried to recall if you’d ever let a mark get this far under your skin. Bradshaw wasn’t a mark. Not really. But he wasn’t exempt from the laws of your craft either: Trust nothing, suspect everything, and never let your guard down.
The bench pressed cold into the back of your thighs as you forced yourself to sit still. You’d meant to be compiling a mental list of places Sylus Monet might be hiding— a map of the city’s digital underbelly, connecting data centers to pubs and residential areas. Instead, your thoughts careened back to the last time you saw Bradshaw, when the two of you had sat in silence and just listened to the frogs. He’d told you about a pond on the edge of town that he used to hunt at before it was all torn down and turned into a shopping center. You had a similar story from your home— your real home— that you shared with no sense of hesitation.
It was nice to tell him something about the real you, something that wasn’t a lie. It reminded you who you are beneath the mask, having lost some of yourself with each identity you take.
You shouldn’t have let that matter. But it did.
You tried to conjure all the appropriate shame and self-loathing, but instead you felt something closer to longing, though you refused to call it that. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t require a mask of some kind. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted absolutely nothing from you.
Then there was Bradshaw. He would accept your company if you didn’t say a single word, or if you rambled for an hour on a single topic. In your pajamas or in your jeans, make-up or no make-up, if you were chatty or withdrawn…
He just took you as you were, never questioning it.
A car door slammed in the distance, jolting your senses. For a second, you braced yourself, expecting to see his silhouette materialize out of the dark— to no such luck— it was just a neighbor. You let out a soft, bitter laugh and finally called it a night before you let your weary mind get the better of you.
You stood, stretching out the kinks in your back, and started the slow walk to your building. The wind had picked up, crisp and forceful, tangling your hair with quick work. You let yourself be pulled by it, rounding the corner with your head down until you reached the porch. On instinct, you turned to survey your surroundings one last time, eyes scanning for something and nothing at the same time.
With a sigh, you walked through the door with your shoulders hanging low. You completed your lock-up ritual and retreated to your bed, desperate to sleep away your lingering thoughts of Bradshaw.
But it was harder than you expected.
Far too hard.
Uh oh, do you have a crush!?!?!?
If you enjoyed this, the next several chapters are posted here!
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 11 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
Some time has passed. How is Simon doing?
Simon definitely regretted lying about his name.
But he was too far gone now to backtrack on that, so he dealt with it, although begrudgingly. At first, it was just a minor annoyance, but after the seventh encounter, it unexpectedly pissed him off.
Not at you, of course, but at himself. Simon put himself in this position the first night he met you. He should have trusted his gut and admitted his name then to save himself from this growing torture. If he were to tell you now, he doubted you’d even believe his confession; far too much time has passed.
Spring had officially begun, not that he was paying particular attention, but you had made sure to point out all the budding trees and shrubs around the complex with eager delight. You really had a thing for plants, he noted. You even plucked several wild violets from the grass next to the pergola and explained all their medicinal uses. Simon listened on silently, internally praising you for the spontaneous knowledge you were passionately rambling about.
He found it endearing.
Especially when you placed a single small flower on his knee with an enthusiastic smile. He felt his heart clench, unable to put the feeling into words. Then you proceeded to say the flowers were edible and tried to eat one, before Simon scolded you and ripped the delicate flower from your fingers.
“What if a dog pissed on that?” He reprimanded you as he furrowed his brows.
“Extra minerals,” you hummed with a shrug, trying to hide the small smirk tugging at your lips.
But he saw it.
“Where’d you learn all that useless shite anyways?” Simon asked, twirling the tiny flower between his fingers.
“Ever heard of a book?” You playfully asked with a devious smirk.
“Oh, piss off,” Simon grunted with an amused scowl, flicking the flower in your face.
That was several days ago. Currently, he was stationed at his usual spot on the bench, eyes focused on the dark parking lot as he listened to the gentle footsteps approaching. He knew they were yours, but he didn’t want you to know that he knew you were coming. So he sat motionless, arms crossed, with a cigarette between his lips until you came around from the sidewalk, acknowledging you with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head.
The weather had warmed up quickly this year, and Simon found himself in a short-sleeved shirt for the first time this season. A trend you also followed; he soon found out as you emerged in pink plaid pajama shorts and a white tee-shirt. Paired with what he has come to know as your signature smirk.
“Nice guns,” you immediately shot to him with a quirked brow, pausing for a second to look over him.
“You checkin’ me out?” Simon gruffly responded with an arched brow of his own.
Your smile didn’t fade as you sat down; if anything, it widened. “Maybe,” you lilted as you pulled out a cigarette. Fresh smoke filled the air as you lit it, your slitted eyes flickering back over him. “Didn’t know you had tattoos, they look good on you.”
Simon’s hand hovered by his mouth as he paused at your words. He was testing the waters initially, but like always, you somehow turn it around on him. You said the words so casually, a simple compliment, but it felt like uncharted territory.
He brushed it off, grumbling out a thanks and ashing his cigarette. Out of his periphery, he watched you cross your legs; the chill from the cold bench caused your skin to break out in gooseflesh, a detail he cursed himself for noticing. He caught that your eyes never left him, assessing as you smoked in silence.
The chilly cold nights had shifted to comfortable evenings flushed with the sounds of frogs and insects. That was never something he noticed until you mentioned it, and now he notices the symphony of nature whenever he smokes. It’s a nice change of pace from the way his mind is conditioned to notice every manmade sound, every footstep, every breath. Nature feels less threatening, even when it’s loud.
He likes it.
“So, Bradshaw,” you drawl, pulling his thoughts back into the present and his eyes over to you.
That fuckin’ name.
You uncross your legs and lean towards him conspiratorially with a small smile to match. “Tell me, why do you come all the way over here to smoke? You could just break the rules like everyone else.”
That struck him as a strange question, mainly because he didn’t truly know the answer off the top of his head. He had to pause a moment and consider— why do I come here?
“Just feels proper,” Simon finally managed. It was the best thing he could think of, and it sounded better than ‘it’s the rules’.
Your light chuckle surprised him, watching as you leaned in slightly closer. “You don’t strike me as a proper type of man.” He held your gaze as a light smirk spread across his lips.
“’m not,” he snorted, moving to take another drag of his cigarette. If you knew the things he’d done in service to his country and the world, you’d understand just how far from ‘proper’ he truly is. That was a side of him that he needed to keep hidden the most, especially from you.
It came with a darkness that drowned him at times, leaving him restless at night and weary during the day. There are no pills he could take or words he could say to make it any better, so he buried it deep and convinced himself he was okay.
Okay enough, at least.
“You know,” you said as you leaned in even further, now only several inches apart. “For a guy who says he’s not proper, you have a very proper way of doing things. Rules and routines and all.” You flicked your cigarette butt towards the bin, eyes still locked onto his.
Simon paused, acknowledging how you’ve managed to gather that from him despite his attempt to be distant. “Old habits,” he said, but there was something heavier in his tone now— as if it were laced with admission. “S’pose it’s easier to stick to the rules than to think about why you’re followin’ ‘em.”
He watched you chew your lip as you pondered him, face light with thoughtfulness. He could practically see you rack your brain for a response. “You may not be proper, but you’re a good man,” you finally said.
The words hung between you, absurdly vulnerable in the open air. He went absolutely still, the words hitting him like a train, nearly jarring him from reality. What good could you possibly see in him? He’s practically the goddamn grim reaper.
He turned his head and held your gaze head-on, fingers squeezing his cigarette subconsciously. “And what makes you say that?”
You didn’t flinch at the question. You just held his stare, shrugging lightly before lulling your head to the side. “I may not be able to see your face, but I can see enough.”
For a long moment, he looked right at you, searching for the lie. When he found none, he turned away, exhaling smoke into the dark. He wanted to tell you that good men didn’t do the things he had. They didn’t end lives with the mechanized efficiency and numbness he’d mastered, didn’t lie about their name for weeks like it was nothing, didn’t walk around waiting for the next call, the next kill order. He wanted to say you’d got it wrong.
Instead, he shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”
You smiled, not with your mouth but with your eyes, which made it harder to dismiss. “I work in sales, Bradshaw. I read people for a living.” You scooted fractionally closer, your knee nearly bumping his. “You read like someone who’s had to be the bad guy so someone else didn’t have to.”
The words landed heavily, his eyes widening just a hair, a shiver running down his spine. You weren’t wrong; he just wished you were. That would make all of this easier.
From the corner of his eye, he watched your face contort with concern, though he wasn’t sure for what.
Then he felt your hand on his bicep, a warm, light pressure that sent shocks through his nerves. “Sorry if that was weird,” you mumbled sheepishly, disarming Simon immediately.
“It wasn’t,” he reassured you quickly, sensing your unease at the thought of making him uncomfortable.
He let the strange warmth of your nearness settle into his bones, the old reflex to move away overridden by something hungrier, yearning. He thought about how it would feel to let down his walls, to let you in, and to sit here and chain smoke and talk until dawn. You would tell him stories of your childhood or more random shit about plants, and he would listen intently, hanging on to your every word. Simon enjoyed your wit and the fearlessness with which you delivered it. He appreciated the way you never pushed him, always somehow sensing the line without him having to draw it. He wanted to tell you these smoke breaks had become something he looked forward to, that just being out here with you felt nice.
But then he remembered who he was, what he was.
A lie.
If you would like to continue, the next 7 parts are posted here!
Summary: Dragged by his friend to a frat party after refusing way too many times enough for Naruto to be more annoying than usually, Sasuke find you in a messy condition. All of you are friends, so it’s not surprise Naruto joined the party after.
𖥔 Content Warning: modern AU, fratboy! Naruto, childhood friends, threesome, switch/versatile characters in bed, blowjobs, pussy eating, multiple orgasm, praise kink, after care, small yaoi/bl scene, poli couple suggested, SA mentions, 10k words
𖥔 A/N: Me and @beingsillyhere saw a modern fanart with them and it was impossible to let our lust demon control us. She inspired me to write this too. At first, I thought it would just be smut, without ever delving into the subject of poli. I realized after this fic that in certain contexts, I can understand why such concept exist. xD
Sasuke sighed irritated as he looked from where the abusing sounds come from — because that’s clearing not music. The recoiling din coming from the house only confirmed to him that he had no business being there.
You know when you say no to going out so many times that if you say it one more time you might lose your friend so you just say yes once?
“Lose” is not really a fitting word when it comes with Naruto, but he was way too annoying than usually. His loud voice buzzing his ear off these week.
“Come on! I’m sick of your ass staying in your damn house all day! Can you just come ONCE? You’ll not regret it, I swear!”
Sasuke leaned his back one of the University’s desk, hands over it each-other at his chest. The class will be empty soon. That’s what he hopes, since his friend decided to drag all the attention to him, curious eyes searching for more drama probably.
Come where? To…Naruto’s frat parties? Not his thing, and Naruto knows it, so why the hell he is so insistent—
“I’ll come too. I’m bored enough to come to one of your parties, Naruto.”
“Really?”
Naruto hugged you in front of Sasuke, way too enthusiastic about it while he rubbed his cheek against yours and Sasuke could’ve only imagined two chibi characters by how childish you both look. He almost rolled his eyes, but when you looked ar him, he found your gaze in an instant.
“How so?” He remember asking.
“Why? Now you’re tempted to come? That’s cute.” This time he rolled his eyes as you smirked back at him. “Come on, at least we will leave together if we get bored to death.”
Naruto’s mouth open offended, pointing his fingers at both of you.
“Don’t you dare leave until Flip Cup! You NEED to play at least once.”
You and Sasuke responded at the same time. “Pass.” And you chuckled, he snorted, eyes clinking with amusement.
Now here he is, wasting a Saturday night instead of doing something actually worthy of time.
Sasuke walked smoothly between shadowed figures, not really in the mood to interact, but he knew he would eventually. Maybe after a glass or two of whatever the frat boys have. Even the word "frat" makes him cringe inside just thinking about them — Kiba (of course), Choji, Shino (?), Naruto and Shikamaru. Rock Lee comes most of the time, as he heard from Naruto, happy to be included in anything his friends are in and way too serious whenever they play some stupid game together.
That’s right. It’s not his first party of this kind. He thinks he probably comes as rare as Neji does. He respects him from that. Nor that they are friends of anything.
Sasuke eventually entered the house. A two-storey house, something inherited from Naruto's uncle, Jiraiya, who most likely did this too in his past considering that he sometimes comes to parties and is embarrassing because Naruto always tells him that he's too old, but they still sometimes end up drinking together (and having a competition to see who drinks the fastest) while sharing stories until the morning arises.
He thought he should’ve worn noise-cancelling earbuds so his ears wouldn't bleed now by the trending music you also listen to sometimes, and he is always surprised to hear you singing mindlessly around him since at the same time you also share some common tastes in music too; actually, you even come to him to see his favourite artists at concerts.
Speaking of it, where are you? He quickly scanned the first floor, but there wasn’t any sight of you. Late? A little unusual, but he knew you liked to pre-game with your other friends, dressing up and all that. You shouldn’t take so long; he sometimes observed when you do your make-up in front of a small mirror how skilled you are when doing your…eyeliner? He remembered the word that you told him multiple times before.
As his mind wandered, Naruto’s figure appeared more clearly by the way he waved exasperated for Sasuke to see him.
“Hello?? Sasuke? Over here!”
He nodded, making eye contact with the others after. Naruto’s arms were over Shikamaru’s shoulder, who exhaled the smoke out of his mouth as he glanced at Sasuke coming. Naruto spoke first.
“It surely took you so long!”
“At least I’m here before [Name].”
Sasuke comes into the circle of them as Shikamaru addresses him, giving him a cigarette.
“Want one?”
Sasuke shook his head. “No. Maybe later.” He realized too late the smell from the cigarette was different, but he didn’t say something about it. Each on their own. But probably Choji’s father, who's also a police officer, could let them off easy.
Naruto spoke again.
“Where are they, anyway?”
While Kiba thumb-wrestles with Rock-Lee, both of them speak. First Kiba said, “Hinata texted me she will come soon with Tenten." Then Rock-Lee added. “Sakura and Ino too!” Kiba groaned when Rock Lee catches him off-guard, winning.
“Sorry, man! No intention to win every time, I promise.” Rock Lee's smile was contagious, making Kiba less irritated.
“Again.”
Sasuke’s phone lightened; a notification popped in. Naruto leaned over his shoulder when he saw Sasuke type back. Seeing a photo with you, Sakura and Ino drinking a glass of god knows what by the flashy colour it has.
🔗 Don’t we look like the most badass girls out in town?
You’ll be freezing to death in that dress.
Ok, dad.
I should’ve texted Naruto instead…
Naruto grabbed Sasuke’s phone, making him irritated by the gesture as Naruto pressed his thumb on the screen to send a voice message between the loud music, his voice loud as fuck to make both him and Shikamaru flinch since they were the ones closer.
▶️ Yeah, you should’ve texted me first, duhh! You all look veeery beautiful! So stop drinking all alone and come soon!
On the other side of the phone, you played the voice message as you applied the last important part of your make-up — lipstick. Then, you gulped down the glass, exhaling satisfiedly.
Ino chuckled, arranging her ponytail in the mirror. “Someone’s excited?” Sakura added as she tied her shoes near the door, ready to go. “I’m too. So hurry up!” Ino smirked, teasing both of you.
“Don’t tell me you got all pretty for some boys.”
Sakura huffed, annoyed, while you followed them as you replied to Ino.
“Yeah, right. Like it’s someone worthy out there to be excited.”
Looking at your own ghostly reflection in the taxi’s window, you were lost in belittling thoughts. Is something wrong with you?
It’s not like your whole purpose is to find a good man, nor like you believe those kinds exist (they do; take Rock Lee for example, you’re just exaggerating) or that you don’t enjoy your time alone, time with your friends and anything like that. Is that something that's been bugging you for some time…You need to get fucked. Like, really fucked. Not the barely satisfying quick sex with no real tension. The good, mindblowing fuck.
But it’s clear you’re not going to do it with anyone anytime soon, nor that you ever meet someone this fast who feels safe enough to do it.
Ino nudged your knee as Sakura watched the interaction in the middle mirror from the car.
“You good?”
Ino may like to tease you both, fight with you and everything, but she is a good friend.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry.”
Both of them are, actually.
When all three of you had your hands in each other, stumbling between crowds and crowds of people inside the house, Ino made enough room to walk, barking at random, drunk people for not having any kind of spatial awareness to move an inch as you all walked to dance a little. The music put out by Shino, since he had a thing for mixing songs and watching “his” public behind those black glasses, seems like it provides him enough fun to do so.
It didn’t take long for Naruto and Sasuke to see you. Sasuke watched for the side, glass stilling mid-air near his lips. He gives a quick scan of your appearance. Sasuke sighed, thinking to himself — You’ll be begging for his jacket later since you decide not to listen to him. A velvet black dress with thin stripes and lace details at the neckline and hem. A sensual cut on your thigh with a V neckline, adorned with a delicate decorative pendant in the centre. It looks good on you. Of course, he didn’t dwell on that thought. When he looked over and spoke, Naruto was nowhere to be found.
“They are here—Naruto?"
When Sasuke glanced back, he already saw his friend running towards where you are as he start hugging all of you. Naruto’s wide smile brightening the whole room as always.
“Uh, uh! What are my pretty girls doing?”
Ino and Sakura grinned at each other as they danced around him, circling him. He blushed as he chuckled softly, swinging his body along with them as he looked at you when you spoke.
“I told you we will be there. Lucky the drinks made by Ino’s mother were good enough for Shino’s music to actually sound good.”
All three of them agreed by the synchronised nod they gave you.
When Naruto vanished like a smoke in the wind from Sasuke’s side, the empty spot was soon filled by another presence. The redhead smirking at Sasuke as he looked back at her, recognizing despite the flashy, smoky eyes watching him.
“Oh? Look who decided to make his presence known at the party?”
Sasuke didn’t hear Karin too well, leaning to speak next to her head.
“Can’t hear you well. I’m here by force.”
The action didn’t get missed from your spot. Analysing them because from this position, you could see a Sasuke whispering in her ear and a Karin who giggled back as she took his hand to guide him…where?
You didn’t see much when your attention came back to Naruto, who just comically moved your hips to the beat, placing his hands on them as your hands found his shoulders. He lowered his head when you came to speak against his ear.
“I think Karin’s flirting will come to an end tonight.” Naruto blinked, lifting his head to look at you before turning his head dramatically to find the source of your conspiracy, but you gripped his arm tightly. “Don’t look like that, idiot! He’s going to see it.”
“Eeh? How?”
You rolled your eyes, still dancing with him like this. It might be weird for others, but people know how close you are enough for no possible girl crushing on Naruto to take it in a wrongful direction. In fact, most of the time you try to alert them not to fall for this fool. Not like Naruto will be a bad boyfriend, but he is in a phase of being a man-child, despite Kushina’s efforts. You feel embarrassed to tell her how her son behaves sometimes. Should you? Hmm.
“You know how creepy observant he is.”
Naruto snorted, glancing back shortly before grinning at you.
“Then if he’s getting it, I also need to pull out my game too!”
Tsk. You clicked your tongue, slapping his head slightly as he touched the spot.
“Ouch!”
But when he left, you had a clear view of the image in front of you. As Karin leant over a corner, smiling at Sasuke while speaking, Sasuke found your gaze in the crowd. You widen your eyes a little, feeling like you just interrupted something, so you find yourself shying away, going back to the girls.
Meanwhile, Sasuke’s talk was nothing you expected it. Karin was a classmate; he sometimes shares courses with her, along with two other guys. He actually thinks he wants to see them, at least for a cigarette. He was irritated to be dragged by Karin’a hand to a more open space, but his voice was neutral despite that.
“Why did you say you were forced here?”
“Not my type of parties.”
She chuckled, smiling at him sweetly.
“True. I was surprised even myself to see *the* Sasuke here.” Karin looked shamelessly over his body as he didn’t move an inch. “You look…good tonight.”
He’s not stupid; he knows Karin wants him in a way he doesn’t want. And when he looked in another direction, sensing someone’s watching him, he caught your glance as you danced with Naruto. You averted too quickly, and he raised an eyebrow, but then he remembered Karin is here too. He eventually dodged her compliment.
“Where’s Suigetsu and Jugo?”
Karin’s irritation was visible on her face, for him being as he always is, but also to remember that annoying hell of a friend they have together.
Near midnight, your dizzying state due to sweet intoxication made you tipsy for trying more since you’re not really drunk. Just close for perfection. Now in the kitchen, the second shot you took by yourself of tequila, followed by squeezing the lime between your lips, made you accidentally slurp a piece from it, hitting the back of your throat abruptly as you start chocking. The drink had a different taste, like some harsh herbs were mixed in here too, making your throat feel sore.
You felt Sai presence before you see it when he was near you, patting your back as his words seemed concerned in contrast to his faint smile.
“Are you okay?”
You gestured with your hand, body leaned towards as your hand gripped your stomach.
“Yes, yes.”
He gave you a glass of water as he smiled.
You don’t particularly have something with Sai. Just his cluelessness of how things work outside makes your veins boil sometimes. Like right now.
“Oh, it must be the drink I spice.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, licking your lips to taste that unfamiliar taste. You didn’t have time to check to see the tequila has actually tones with verdita and he is just a fool. When he just looked at you to see some reaction like you are some kind of social experiment, your voice turned aggravated.
“Are you joking, Sai?” His constant smile made you take him by the collar. “Tell me. Are you fucking joking?”
In the other room, closer to this, Sasuke was staying next to Naruto, who annoyingly put a hand over Hinata. She sent him a glare or two but didn’t complain. She knew Naruto knew she stood no chance. As the smoke from Shimakaru blew out from Sasuke’s mouth, his head was embraced by a fuzzy, comforting feeling, filling his lungs. Only for something to be taken out of the state. Your voice. Are you yelling, or does he have some paranoia? The second time he heard it, you were louder.
Sai raised his hands in surrender at your grip.
“It was a joke, haha…But why are you so riled up about it? We can try together if you want.”
When he towered over you, his hand touching your arm as he came closer, you felt an adrenaline pumped into you, your hand clenching on the side, the other flinching from his touch. “It’s not that why are you dressed so provocatively right now? I volunteer.”
I’m going to hit him. I’m going to hit him now.
“Get lost.”
Sai’s eyes widen, mirroring yours as you straighten up at the sound. First, you saw Sasuke’s hand over Sai’s shoulder; second, as Sai turned at him, the expression of your friend was intense. The seriousness in his gaze made you feel suddenly sober.
“Sasuke?”
“That’s not how you speak with a girl. You can see all over her body and face she’s uncomfortable.” He glanced at you.
Sai’s frightened eyes were proeminent only at the first.
“I didn’t realise."
Sasuke sighed, seeing the anger in your eyes.
“I said get lost. She’s not interested.”
Of course I’m fucking not!
You mantain eye-contact with Sasuke as Sai left; the kitchen room felt small since some of the people came to hear what happened, making you want ro go to the second floor, feet pushing against the steps like you wanted to dig holes. Sasuke followed you slowly with his hands in his pockets.
You flung open Naruto’s bedroom door. The last room on the right side of the corridor. Sasuke closed it quietly behind you, while your gestures remained utterly rough. You sat down on the bed, kicking off your sneakers and staying in your socks, yanking one shoe off aggressively as it refused to come off while you were speaking.
“Stupid fucking Sai. Is it really so hard to pick up on some signs? I swear they do it deliberately. Okay, maybe not Sai since he basically just landed on this planet and he’s speaking with actual people for the first time.” You groaned. “That was mean. Fine. I know he has a past, but I don’t fucking care right now!”
You looked at Sasuke and he caught your irritated expression. But something behind it, something he hadn’t yet deciphered, made him think there was more here than just the situation with Sai. Still, he tried to dissipate the tension in the room.
“He was aware something was off. He should’ve been more cautious since he was also drunk, not that it justifies his actions.”
You muttered under your mouth, looking away and steadying your breathing before meeting his gaze again. Your eyes flickered, becoming more conscious of the present.
“Thank you, Sasuke.” He only nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and thinking he was already getting bored with this night, but before he could suggest leaving— “So… you and Karin.” You wiggled your eyebrows.
He sharpened his gaze.
“Don’t start.”
“What? You seemed close!”
He placed his fingers between his brows.
“This is the 15th time I’ve tried to turn her down.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Such a nonchalant guy. You have to tell her directly!”
It irritated you for a second, but somehow it was projected, unrelated exactly to the topic. Mare of fact, it was the opposite. It triggered something, reminding you of insistent people from the past who don’t know how to accept a silent “no” and need it spelled out—and even then, there’s still the possibility they’re complete degenerates. Sasuke didn’t take it personally; he had his own internal monologue about not having time for fleeting outings that end in something superficial. Not that he didn’t have time, but it simply wasn’t a priority. “Sorry. It’s just like—”
You stopped when the bedroom door burst open, Naruto walking in with a foolish grin that quickly turned into confusion upon seeing your irritated expression.
“Oh? Why are you guys in my room?” He looked at Sasuke standing in front of you, then down at you resting on the bed, noticing your vexed expression. “What happened?”
Sasuke sighed. Here we are again. He explained shortly for Naruto.
“Want me to beat him?”
You looked exasperated at Naruto; the frustration you felt wasn’t something a fight would fix. Sasuke suggested something else.
“Do you want to leave?”
“You’re really going to let that dumbass ruin your night? Oh, come on!!! This night could be a blast!”
Sasuke raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why are you in your room?”
“I’m sweating all over. Need to change my t-shirt at least.” He then smelled his own armpits and looked satisfied, a smug expression on his face. “I still smell good as fuck. The perfume I bought from the store isn’t all that bad!”
Both of you made a disgusted face, saying in unison, “Naruto….” and then you added, “The cheaper it is, the worse it is for your skin.”
He mimicked your words, making you shoot him a glare, but then he added a teasing compliment.
“Sorry I’m not as fancy as you. All pretty dressed up and everything.” — making you blush, while Sasuke mentally added, “True,” silently aligning himself somewhere between Naruto and you when it came to taking care of appearance.
Then Naruto pulled his shirt off over his head as you watched him unconsciously, not having any inappropriate thoughts about his toned muscles—maybe just a fleeting one like, “So the effort really paid off, huh? He really is a gym bro.” But Naruto blushed slightly when he noticed you staring at him.
Your eyes wandered mindlessly at nothing in particular before Naruto broke the spell.
“Let’s go downstairs!”
You sighed, not really feeling like joining again, but not wanting to ruin their mood.
“I should go home.” You spoke with Sasuke. “Don’t need to come with me; I’ll take a taxi.” Then you spoke with Naruto. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s mood.”
“Huh? But it’s not like you to avoid… Wait a minute.” You felt little under Naruto’s gaze. “What’s with that face?” Sasuke could see it too. Anger and sadness meddling together.
Finally, as they looked at you like you owed them some explanation, you found yourself speaking.
“I’m tired of arseholes. I’m so fucking tired. You two are guys — well, in a way.” They glared at you before you added. “It’s something wrong with me?” Their puzzled look made you shake your head. Forget it. It’s clear all my friends will say no. The girls already said it.”
You actually stilled when they spoke.
Naruto scratched under his chin.
“You’re too unapproachable sometimes to guys.”
“And impulsive," Sasuke added, then looked at Naruto. “Like you.”
Naruto raised an eyebrow, then continued his idea.
“Remember that time our classmates come to you to take you out?” He faked a shiver. “He was so scared when you looked at him with a murderous look. I bet he cried at home.”
You gasped. “Of course I refused him! Come on, we barely talked, and he invited me outside in front of all people?!”
Sasuke agreed with you.
“I’ll be the same.”
“Thank you!” You breathe out harshly. "These are shitty examples, whatever you two said. But I mean it! I’m so fucking tired!” As your words flowed out of your mouth, you felt falling into a trance, voicing out a monologue. “Don’t get me started on how awful the sex was with all of them.” You hummed, eyes furrowing in thought. “Maybe that time with the senior guy was not so bad. His tongue doesn't work wonders.”
At the lack of reaction, you looked at your two frozen friends on the spot. “What? Why are you guys acting like a 5th grader?”
For some reason, Naruto and Sasuke shared a glance. An unreadable message that neither of them really knows what it means. Despite the visible blush in Naruto’s cheeks, in contrast with Sasuke’s small ones on his pale skin that were covered by the moonlight, he spoke.
“Ermm, what does 'bad' mean for you?”
You blinked, thinking if you should explain some basic female anatomy, but eventually you closed your eyes as you exhaled.
“Nevermind.” When Sasuke sees your thinking face, he knows it will be trouble. “How the fuck do you guys get any?” You pointed first at Naruto.” Messy guys that probably forget their names but win them with silly jokes.”
“Hey! That’s not true—“Naruto’s words were cut off when you pointed at Sasuke too. “And the emotional constipated man who doesn’t want a relationship, but somehow he pulls.”
Sasuke interfered, not really taking your words to heart (you are right anyway).
“You shouldn’t compare your experience to us.”
But his impulsive friend has other opinions when you don't stop.
“You can’t be all that.”
“Want me to show you?”
Sasuke almost chokes on air at Naruto’s question. He shoved his friend in the shoulder, yet Naruto’s voice was annoyed, mocking even as you matched his childish behaviour, rolling your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. No thanks.”
You rose on your feet when Naruto spoke again, not really meaning what he said.
“Are you sure you don’t expect too much, [Name]? Like…errrr I don’t know, do you just sit still and do nothing?”
You gasped, coming closer to him.
“Do nothing? Shut the fuck up, actually! I’m sure you don’t even focus on them that much. Maybe they even fake their orgasm!”
Naruto opens his mouth, offended, as Sasuke is on the side, not really believing what the fuck their friends are talking about.
“That’s not true at all! What are you—“
You chuckled, but not friendly at all, and you were so close the aggressive huffs of warm air spread on both of your faces.
“Yeah? Then why are you so angry if you are so sure you are soooo good? I bet you don’t even know how to kiss, but how to fuck!”
Naruto was out of his mind, but so were you. So, no one was at fault; it was equally a stupid heated action when your hand came behind Naruto’s back head while his came to grasp your cheek while your lips met. The kiss was urgent, to prove something, as Naruto’s tongue slipped into your mouth in a sloppy way, sensual enough to make you feel dizzy as you let them, to show you how wrong you are until you finally fight against it, your hand pressing against his chest to create a distance.
You couldn’t admit it, and you couldn’t yet realise what happened, only continuing the crazy scene.
“Don’t look so satisfied. I bet Sasuke is better than you.”
When you both glanced at your friend, the realisation started kicking in.
“Are you guys stupid? What the hell are you doing? Really, what the hell are you thinking?”
You blinked twice, letting your hand go from Naruto’s chest as Naruto was as bewildered as you are.
“Oh fuck!” Naruto tried to secure himself, turning his body to the sight as his hand was over his mouth.
“Shit…” You murmured, eyes wide open as you shared a glance at all of them. A stir of emotions messed with your head real bad. The taste of Naruto’s lips on you is still present, as both of you couldn’t really stop looking at each other to gauge any reaction. The guilt you felt every time you met Sasuke’s eyes was like you disappointed him. Both of you.
“Are you both drunk?”
You shake your head at the same time with Naruto, scared to say more. But Naruto accidentally looked somewhere he shouldn’t.
“You are hard too!”
You followed, surprised, where Naruto’s eyes go until you looked at Sasuke, well…at his lower body. Sasuke grunted embarrassed, now he was the one hiding too.
“Shut up. I was surprised.”
You repeat Naruto’s words.
“And you got hard.”
“Yeah. Because of my friends. So I’m no better. Let’s stop—“
“Is that really bad?”
You didn’t realise what the fuck you said until Sasuke looked over his shoulder in shock while Naruto was completely out of it.
“What…?”
They were so surprised when they saw your expression. Flustered, confused, with a loving glint in your eyes for one of the closest people in your life. But it's impossible not to observe—that you are aroused too.
“[Name]?”
Sasuke’s mind turned black for a second until he tried to make sense of all this situation while you turned around to not face them. He looked at Naruto's concerned expression, yet not against it. Fuck. They are fucked.
You looked toward the ground, only hearing your own violent heartbeat and the heavy breaths coming out of your mouth. They come slowly, giving you any time to move as you didn’t. Naruto’s hand brushed yours, letting his fingers trail down your arms as he followed every movement, mesmerised by how your skin shivered against his touch. Sasuke comes in front, letting his hand reach your chin to lift it softly only to meet your vulnerable, fragile gaze.
Naruto was the first to spiral, his hands stilled in the air.
“Are you really okay with this? Fuck, I feel so bad—“
While you processed Naruto’s world, glancing slightly to the sight before back to Sasuke, he spoke what you showed him.
“The limits are already crossed. We might as well go through it.”
Naruto gulped, feeling at ease when you finally spoke.
“I’m…okay with this.”
Sasuke didn’t trust himself as he hesitantly let his hand cup your cheek while you leaned into it. Hell, none of you could trust yourselves.
It made sense in a way — the vulnerability slipped through Naruto’s soft touches as he let your dress’s straps fall from your shoulder, his head lowering to kiss the spot here, making you gasp. The way Sasuke’s other hand let it wander down your neck, circling your collarbone as your breath accelerated by the minute. The way your head leans on Naruto’s shoulder as your hand comes next to your head for you to touch the half of his face in support.
It makes sense in a way why you all feel thrilled by the fact you shouldn’t do this, as guilt and intrusive thoughts start to evaporate by the trust you guys have in each other.
Your half-lidded eyes were drowning in Sasuke’s onyx eyes as Naruto’s touches started to be more firm, dragging his hands on your waist, lifting your dress up in the process as he felt your heated skin from the side of your thigh while his head nuzzled into your neck, letting slow kisses mark your body.
Then, you moved your head to close the distance as Sasuke did the same, letting you control the pace until your heavy breaths burnt against his mouth. You hummed against his lips when Sasuke finally kissed you. A kiss not rushed like Naruto’s previous one, yet with equal sensuality as he purred his desire in it.
When Naruto kneeled behind you, letting his hands brush your legs up and down to warm you, you felt your back arching, forcing you to stop Sasuke’s kiss as you glanced down to look into Naruto’s one in which he already watched you. His hands come between your thighs as his kiss comes closer and closer, where you feel throbbing.
Naruto's hoarse voice makes you whimper in need when he kisses the inside of your thigh. “Should I continue? Please tell me I can.” As he returned the gesture to the other, Sasuke’s eyes waited expectantly for your answer. His hands come to the side and the other of your body before one of them comes behind your back, pushing it towards his chest as his spiky hair brushes your face, now being his turn to trace Naruto’s kisses with his own.
“Please…”
Naruto groaned, nipping your skin as Sasuke’s hand came to push you by the back more against his chest for him to wet your neck more with the touch of his hungry lips. The shock still runs through your body, not yet matching the fast of the events as you find yourself needing their affection, despite fighting them no longer before. Are you really going to do this?
Might as well do something back. You tug at Sasuke’s hair as he lifts his face, inches apart from you, until you kiss him again while he responds in an instant, more passionate than before. You hear Naruto’s knees hit the floor as he lifts your dress more, giving him more access to see your ass hidden by those panties that made him twitch in his pants at the sight.
Your eyes widen, breaking from Sasuke’s kiss as you moan against his mouth when Naruto starts palming your ass in his big hands. You suddenly became aware of your surroundings, the music from downstairs a harsh slap.
“W-wait—“
Sasuke moved his eyes all over your face, his breath ragged while Naruto stopped himself, his hands still on the sides of your legs.
“What happened?” Sasuke asked in a whisper.
“The door. Lock the door!”
Naruto stumbled to rise from his feet, hands supporting his weight, clumsy as he almost fell in order to reach the door.
“Fuck, true. I should text Shikamaru to say, “Don't..." He locked the door as he took his phone from his back pocket. “…don’t search for me.”
Shit. Right. Maybe your girls are searching for you too? Maybe there's a possibility for them to not miss your presence that much? What if—
Sasuke tilted your hand from the side with one of his fingers to make you come back to them.
“Don’t overthink it. We will speak about it after.”
You gulped as you nodded while Naruto returned to his previous spot, phone now in some random place in the room, moving his hands down your body, squeezing here and here as he murmured. “Yeah. Let me prove you wrong for all the shit you said to me.”
He grinned at you from below, and it only made you breathe out a laugh. The anxiety once again dissipates while Sasuke showed he shared his friend’s sentiment to make you feel good as his own hands start roaming on your body, palming your breast against his hands until he squeezed them.
Then, you remembered what you wanted to do. To regain a little control. He gasped when you came to kiss the skin on his neck, moaning between those kisses as Naruto’s touches came closer between your legs until his fingers felt your pussy through the panties, slowly dragging them up and down.
“Fuck, [Name]. You are already so soaked for us.”
You felt embarrassed by him exposing you, yet you let your own hands wander over Sasuke’s body until you reached his waistline. He watched you, feeling his muscles tense, yet you could see he wanted you to continue. His breath faltered as he made eye contact with you when you started stroking over his pants, only to bypass them to feel him against his hard dick struggling in his shorts.
His lips claimed yours as you continued to feel him under his pants, yet it was hard to focus to be more coordinated as Naruto teased your pussy, occasionally licking your ass cheeks. Only then, at the same time, when Naruto put your panties to the side to expose your glistening pussy while you wanted also to feel Sasuke’s directly, you find yourself speaking.
“G-Guys, we should wash our hands.”
Naruto groaned in complaint as Sasuke stilled in front of you. Why didn't he think about it sooner? You didn’t want to ruin the vibe, but you still feel Sasuke’s taste of weed and Naruto’s one with alcohol. Who knows what things they touched before, and you the same—but Naruto took your hands in his to rush you to the bathroom as he let you first.
“Let’s do it faster. Fuck, I’m so hard. I need to eat you.”
You blushed, and Naruto just laughed it off, dragging you into the bathroom as Sasuke followed. You wash your hands under the sink, ears ringing from the sudden interruption you caused, more aware of the present, but they didn’t seem to mind. Naruto’s hips pushed Sasuke’s to wash his hands as Sasuke returned the gesture, making Naruto splash water on him.
"Asshole!"
“Tsk. Naruto…”
Sasuke gripped Naruto’s arm as his friend gripped the other one, their faces inches apart. Jeez, such foolish guys. Yet, when you see the way they looked at each other, a sudden thought popped into your mind. They glanced back at you as you couldn’t hide a smirk.
“What?” They asked in unison, and you shook your head. No, maybe you’ll do something about it later. Now is not the moment.
You turned around as your skirt was still lifted, ass exposed to their sight, as they followed you mindlessly into the room until Naruto rushed to the bed, taking your hands in him to move you over his lap horizontally.
“Naruto, that’s embarrassing!”
“Nuh, uh! This is fucking sexy.” As he starts squeezing your ass, the side of his hand comes between your cheeks and parts them to give him space while he moves the panties to the side.
“I’m not shaved.”
Naruto stopped for a second, raising an eyebrow. “Oh. And…? Aww, it’s trimmed. All this for us?”
“How should I have known—Fuck…" You suck for breath, making him chuckle.
“Shhh, let us make you feel good.” The shyness faded when you felt his fingertips directly on your clit, playing with the wetness. “Oh, damn….” He groaned at the feeling, looking then at you as you opened your mouth, eyes glancing up at Sasuke, who approached the bed, his hand coming to lift your chin, his thumb pressing on your lips as you started to suck around it.
You push your arms, elbows resting on the bed, and your hands come to rushly undress him while he helps you.
“Someone’s impatient?” Sasuke asked, and Naruto then slapped your ass, making you gasp. “She sure is by how wet her pussy is too.”
You whined at his dirty words, “S-Shut up!” Yet the slap was so sweet you moved your hips to ask for more as Naruto chuckled, slapping your ass again as he watched it bounce. At the same time, you lick your lips when Sasuke’s pants drop to the floor, taking his dick in his hands to stroke it.
“So pretty.” The whisper falling from your mouth made Sasuke’s leg tremble. You put your hand over his as he let you do it alone. His groans start mixing with your moans.
When Naruto’s fingers circle around your pussy hole until he tested the tightness slowly to enter more, he stilled your hips as you wanted to run for him at the sweet feeling.
“No, no. Stay here, baby.” His arm rested on your back, his hand squeezing your waist as the other made sure to do the job better, fingers thrusting in your pussy deeper.
“I-It feels so fucking good—“
“Yeah?” He added one more to reward you, making you so aroused by the slightly painful stretch that turned into pleasure that it made you stroke Sasuke more roughly from the base to the bottom, spreading his precum as he hissed.
Then when you let your mouth open, tongue slipping out of your mouth, and tapped Sasuke’s tip on it, you made sure to look into his eyes. You never saw Sasuke with this expression, so utterly fucked, making his dick throb already.
“Sasuke…”
“Open, [Name].”
Naruto watched when Sasuke put a hand over your head, slowly inching you closer as he moved closer until his dick entered your mouth. He groaned at your eagerness as you started to swallow his friend's dick, hollowing your cheeks as you gagged around his size. It made Naruto’s dick painfully hard, moving his hips as he felt your heat under him. His fingers pumped rougher inside of you, making your throat meet Sasuke’s slow thrust.
Naruto slapped you with his other hand, more loudly than before, as the red imprint it made now, making you moan louder, sending vibrations on Sasuke’s dick as he looked down at the tears painting your cheek from his cock filling your mouth, at the pleasure resting between your eyebrows as you tried to suck him more and more.
“Mhm. Good, [Name]. Look at me. You’re going to cum for us?”
You nodded rapidly as Naruto saw it, letting his thumb go to circle your clit at the same time his two fingers fucked your pussy.
Sasuke emptied your mouth as he felt you barely breathing, giving you a short kiss as he crouched down to be at your level, to look at your desperate expression.
“I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum—“ Your screams filled the room, making Sasuke clasp a hand over your mouth as he whispered, "Shh. Sorry, sorry.” While from Naruto’s mouth, only praises could be heard. “Fuck, baby. Cum on my fingers—such a good, good girl.”
Your cries now muffled by Sasuke’s hand turned to an end while you orgasm as he slowly let his hand go, legs convulsing around Naruto’s grip as he dragged your orgasm slowly with his fingers until they slipped out of your pussy, only for him to suck them as he moaned. Naruto, quickly move under you, switching places and raising your trembling legs, coming on his back as his face comes under your lower body.
Sasuke tried to help you move as you barely catch your breath, struggling to form words.
“Naruto, what are you…what are you doing?”
He tried to move your hips, urging you with a small pat on your ass.
“Come on, baby, one more. Let me eat you. Sit on my face.”
“Noo! I’m going to suffocate you—Ah!”
He dragged his fingers between your folds as he groaned. “You’re so soaked for us. Soo fucking wet.” He managed to kiss your sensitive clit, sucking around you as he gripped your hips to go lower as you unconsciously rested on his face. Sasuke helped you straighten yourself, hands resting next to your body as you grinded on Naruto’s face while you watched Sasuke undress the last piece of his cloth, his black shirt. With a knee over the bed, Sasuke comes closer to you as your hands come to wander over his abs. He put a hand behind your head, closing the distance to kiss you. Luckily, he finally gets you to touch you more, squeezing your breast and pinching your nubs as you cry against his lips, barely meeting him.
You and Sasuke barely heard Naruto’s sweet words between the squelch of your pussy.
“Such a pretty pussy—Mhmm—you taste so good, b-baby—“
His hand goes lower when Naruto lets his tongue go inside and out of your pussy, cleaning your orgasm while Sasuke’s fingers now circle on your clit. Sasuke’s mouth twitched as you once again were struggling to kiss him back, coming to whisper against your ear.
“You like it when Naruto says compliments to you?" Since then, do you need validation? Or... is this a praise kink?”
You shivered at his words, never seeing Sasuke teasing you while his fingers circled more rapidly, letting your chest rest on him as his head came over his shoulder, seeing only an inch of Naruto’s face buried into your pussy.
“Should I compliment you more? Tell you how you make me feel too?”
“Sasuke—Y-Yes! Please—fuckfuckfuck!”
He tugged your head to lean back as he watched how your eyes rolled by the way Naruto was moving your hips against him, while two more strokes of Sasuke’s hand helped you reach your second orgasm.
Only then did Naruto lift you enough for you to sit on his chest, breathing heavily, face completely red.
“Fuck me…. This was so fucking hot, baby…All of this is so hot.”
Sasuke cupped your cheek, murmuring a soft “Are you okay?” as your breath faltered, eyes heavy with desire while you nodded. Naruto helped you move from one top of him by the grip on your legs, while Sasuke guided you by the hand, yet they both followed how your fragile legs landed on the floor as their eyes followed your movements down when you knelt in front of them. The eyes were now wide open.
While Sasuke was already undressed, you only put a hand on him while the others struggled to help Naruto take his pants off.
“Wow, wow—[Name], what are you…" Sasuke added, knowing what you want. “You don’t need to…”
You glanced up at him, and he was still on his spot as you murmured while your face now nuzzled along the hard bulge formed over Naruto’s shorts.
“But I want to.”
“Oh, damn…" Naruto moaned as you played with his dick until he helped you get his dick out of his pants. You licked around his tip, cleaning off the precum here before you hollowed your cheeks to take him in inch by inch.
Naruto’s hand comes to tug your hair gently, barely putting it in a ponytail, as Sasuke gasps when your other hand starts wandering from his waistline until you wrap it around him, stroking him as he is already wet from your mouth.
You took turns then, alternating between their dicks as you tried to look in their eyes. Sasuke caressed your face, tilting your chin and then widening your cheeks a little with his fingers for his dick to reach deeper. You moan at the gesture, squeezing lightly Naruto’s cock as he hisses in pleasure while you start stroking him more from the base to the bottom. He starts squeezing your breast, tugging your nubs between his fingers as you return to suck him again, sending vibrations on his veins too by the moan you give them.
“She’s so out of it. So pretty.” Naruto watched in awe, as Sasuke was no different. “Mhm. She is," Naruto added again. “So good for us.”
Naruto’s dick slipped out from your mouth with a pop as you started stroking it at the same time. Your heart beats so hard as you watch their chest go up and down; their focus on you makes your mind turn wilder.
“Kiss each other."
“Hmm?” Naruto’s were shut as he hummed in pleasure while Sasuke furrowed his eyebrows in pleasure and yet confusion too.
“Please. I want to see it.”
Naruto opened his eyes, turning to look at his friend as he was already watching it. By the look in Sasuke’s eyes, he could see he was hesitant but completely getting with the flow when Naruto’s face could only signal one thing: Fuck it. His lustful gaze matched Sasuke’s one before he put a hand behind his neck to drag him closer. You helped Sasuke be more comfortable when you started sucking him again more, making him more aroused to kiss Naruto. He put a hand over your head while you moan at the sight before Naruto claimed his friend’s lips in a messy kiss.
It didn’t take long when you felt Sasuke’s hips moving, thrusting in your mouth deeper as cum started pouring down your throat, only for your face to be covered in Naruto’s cum too as he took your hand away so he could stroke himself rougher over you.
Naruto whispered against Sasuke’s mouth between his kisses.
“Mhmm—More." His tongue slipped inside Sasuke’s again while yours was now out of your mouth to lick Naruto’s orgasm too since Sasuke’s cum was already in your belly, yet some of it slipped on your chin, mixing with Naruto’s. Sasuke barely breathed out when Naruto finally let him, both looking in each other's eyes before they looked at your pleased expression, a smirk on your face as your wish happened.
Then, Sasuke took you on the bed, you sitting between his legs, back pressing against his chest while his hands find your breasts, playing with your nubs as you moan next to his ear. Naruto’s grin was devilish as he came in front of you, parting your legs as you trembled when his long finger circled around your clit.
Then, his eyes widen at a sudden thought.
“Wait! Wait—I have…? I have something here. Pink? Weird form? What’s that called, huh? Let me check.”
He stumbled on the bed, on his belly, while he started digging in the small cabinet next to his bed until a vibrator was now in his hand.
Sasuke was flabbergasted the same way you were.
“This is yours?”
Naruto scratched his neck, embarrassed, avoiding eye contact.
“I use it once or twice. Can’t remember…”
Mhm.
You felt already stimulated by the sound it made when Naruto clumsily turned it on. He gripped your leg to stay still as your hips rise by the sudden vibration against your swollen clit.
“Heh. You’re so sensitive, baby.” He chuckled as you couldn’t even retort something back, whining by the feeling. As your body convulsed under the restless movement of the vibrator, Sasuke didn’t lose time to touch every inch of your body, his mouth sucking against your shoulder, followed by a bite that made you hiss in pleasure. His hands caressed your sides until you felt his dick pocking in your back. While Naruto comes to kiss you, you lift yourself a bit, bending your body as Sasuke has more visible, cupping your ass and letting his dick grind teasingly.
“Condoms—“
“Don’t worry.”
He took the one dropped by Naruto earlier when he took the vibrator, his teeth taking out the preservative from it as his breath accelerated.
You gasp against Naruto’s mouth when you feel his tip testing your entrance. He slipped out, taking some arousal between your folds before fingering your pussy with two fingers slowly, stretching you out a little bit before he replaced it with his dick. Naruto kissed you even if you didn’t respond; his hand over the vibrator didn’t bulge as he spoke between low breaths.
“Come on, [Name].” He placed his hands over your lips, lowering himself as he watched both of his friends moan. Sasuke’s dick entered you inch by inch until you were fully filled by him. Your pussy squeezed around him, urging Sasuke to move as you start bouncing, matching his rhythm.
“Oh my God—“
“F-Fuck.” Sasuke groaned, feeling himself getting closer way too soon, slipping out at least for a bit just to help you move on on your hands and knees, just before his dick came back inside your trembling pussy, milking him enough by how wet you are as you start cumming on his dick, your cries muffled as Naruto put a hand over your mouth.
“You’re so pretty. Fuck, can’t wait to feel you. Did Sasuke fuck you dumb, baby?” You whine in pleasure as Sasuke’s hips thrust roughly, chasing his own orgasm by how aroused he is, looking on as his friend kisses you as Naruto starts stroking himself when he puts the vibrator to the side, already hard just from watching you two. When Naruto glanced up, his gaze locked on Sasuke, like a trigger for his friend’s orgasm, his cum purring inside of you, filling the condom to the brim. One last thrust and Sasuke stilled inside you, his head leaning back with eyes closed.
Naruto, on the other hand, takes you with him as he leans on his back; a whine leaves your mouth when Sasuke’s dick slips from your pussy, feeling already empty. Yet, not for too long. But first, you want to do something else. You took the vibrator in your hand, watching Naruto’s panicked expression.
“What do you want to do with t-that?”
You whispered against his ear, tracing his body with the vibrator in your hand.
“Can you let me do it on you too, Naruto? I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
Sasuke doesn’t know if he is lucky he is not the one in Naruto’s place or not. Watching Naruto, how he hesitantly nods, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment as a cry escapes his mouth when his dick starts feeling the vibration while you move it up and down, touching slightly from time to time his tip. Letting him in a haze as you chuckled, Naruto barely managed to put his own condom on his dick before you were already on top of him.
“Baby, wait—l” Naruto put his hands around your waist in an instant. “Nghh!!” Your hands came around your shoulder as you bounced on his dick, hips burning for your desperate moves. Lucky, he helped you by gripping both sides, sliding your pussy up and down. Sasuke was still recovering on his back, watching the scene in front of him completely in awe. He moved just when Naruto switched the position, your back dropping on the bed, your legs now over his shoulder as his dick starts fucking you rough. When you look up, Sasuke comes over you, placing his hands on each side of your head as he nuzzles your face, kissing your cheeks and temples as you cry for both of them.
“One more time, baby. I know you can. This sweet pussy listened to us all night. R-Right—Mhmm—Sasuke?”
Sasuke claimed your lips despite the weird position, murmuring against it.
“Mhm. A very good girl.”
His whisper against your ear makes you already on the edge, letting your hand come between your legs to touch your clit, barely feeling it by how sensitive it was. You watched Naruto moan in pleasure when he saw you, just before you glanced up to lock your gaze on Sasuke, who was already watching every reaction you gave him.
“I’m close. I’m so close—“
Naruto’s thrust reached deeper, rougher, his balls slapped your skin so loudly as he chased both of your orgasms. “Yes, yes, yes—give it to me. Cum on my dick, please—“
“Fuck!” Your cries now muffled by Sasuke's mouth as Naruto felt your walls squeezing inside as you cum, his tip so stimulating it was enough to fuck your pussy just a little for his own big load to start, filling your pussy.
This time, Naruto didn’t slip out like Sasuke needed to, coming over to you, nuzzling in your neck while Sasuke pressed kisses on your face, caressing your body while your orgasm wore off. Eventually, Naruto moved to give you space to breathe.
Sasuke was on the side, his body facing yours, resting on your back, while Naruto’s was between your legs, his head resting on one of your thighs as one of his hands circled your skin.
You glanced back at your phone after you finally managed to text one of the girls, Ino.
I will not come back to the party :( I’m sorry!! Dance for me some more 🥹 I’m with the boys
🙄You are lucky I trust that assholes when it comes to you
The silence of the moment triggered as reality started checking in. Naruto’s gaze dismantled you; you also felt Sasuke’s gaze following every exhalation you had, the pressure between your ribs heavy. Sasuke was the first to nudge your body. You felt as if you couldn’t realise it was your voice speaking.
“Do you guys feel less of me now?”
Naruto lifted his head slightly, brows furrowed. “Huh?” While Sasuke looked down at you, you only gave him a quick glance before avoiding both of their staring.
“Do you? Think less of us?” When you bit your lip, the words didn’t slip out of your mouth, but for Sasuke, it was enough. “So there is the problem.” He added after a pause. “Do you think we saw you like this until now?”
“D-Did you?”
Sasuke’s reply comes in a second. “Never.” Following Naruto’s one, as he sits on his elbows, you closing your legs embarrassingly broke the safe they provide. “Me neither. Wait. Well… I kind of saw you in that way. Just one time! Maybe in 5th grade when you kissed me on the cheek on my birthday! “His cheek blushes. “But you were the first girls, so that’s why! And I felt very bad afterwards — he gestured with his hands to show an X. “—And ban myself like it’s a no, no—a minefield!”
Because of Naruto’s antics, you couldn’t control it, the small snort slipping from your mouth. To both your and Sasuke's surprise, Naruto continued.
“You are pretty and attractive—I mean…both of us are aware of that. And cool too. But…” He glanced in a random spot, pouting as he tried to find his words. “I don’t know…in a way like…we could beat someone’s ass if they mess with that big heart of our friend.” He accentuated his point by pressing his finger two times between your breasts as he spoke. “Not like we want to fuck you.” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, we did fuck you, but you get it—“
Sasuke sighed, pressing his fingers between his eyebrows.
“Naruto, shut up. It’s enough.”
You murmured, “I… I’ll do the same for you, guys. I hope you know that.”
Sasuke was silent, communicating with his soft touches against your shoulders, his arm going over your head as you leant your back onto his chest. A mix of emotions is bubbling inside your veins as thoughts start to form and disperse until another one picks up your anxiety. Naruto glanced at both of you, unsure on what to say more until you speak.
“What will happen now? What will happen if you guys get in a relationship? It will be weird! I couldn’t ever face your new—“
They both freeze, and Sasuke tries to interfere, in vain. “You speak too soon—“
Your eyes stinged as the raw voice left your mouth, trembling. “I-I don’t want to lose you!”
The silence that followed, the impactful one after your words, gave Naruto and Sasuke time to think.
Sasuke was the first to speak. “You will not.” Then Naruto followed, glancing at Sasuke before he nodded. “Yeah, we don’t want to leave you.”
You turned to Sasuke, then at Naruto, heart pumping violently at the implications.
“But how? It’s not like we can become a c…people will—“
Naruto, at least, didn’t think through the end of what a relationship with you and his friend might mean, so he watched Sasuke with curiosity the same way you did.
“We are not in ancient time… It’s not like it’s shocking news for boys to kiss boys or girls to kiss girls.”
He saw the glint in your eyes, already anticipating the tease in your next words.
“I guess not. I mean…you guys also seemed immersed when you kissed each other."
They both flinched visibly. Oh? Spoke too soon? You thought you should let them explore this when you looked down at Naruto’s adorable expression, still between your legs as he looked up at Sasuke. His friend's expression wasn’t indifferent to them; it glinted with something they both see in yours. Some hidden rule broke that time.
After that discussion, you and Naruto were still in the bed. Catching your breath, you and he were lying flat on your backs on the whole bed while Sasuke picked up your clothes from the floor, blush spreading on your face when he also took your soaked panties.
Then, at a final deep exhale, you and Naruto both look at each other at the unplanned synchronisation. It took a second before you both burst out laughing, your eyes tingling with something soft.
“Up.”
You both lifted your heads slightly toward Sasuke, who was looking down at your ravished naked bodies. Even though he didn’t have his hands on his hips, his attitude was exactly like that.
“Eeh?”
Sasuke closed his eyes, sighing.
“You need to wash up. We are dirty. The sheets are dirty too.”
Naruto whined, his head slumped back on the bed.
“Do we really have to?” He blinked twice as you watched him, amused. He’s still himself; your fear that he might be different around you now eased a little. “Wait! Together?”
Sasuke made eye contact with both of you; it was as if you were waiting for something you couldn’t quite put into words. His voice softened, despite his irritating gaze.
“If this is what it takes for both of you to take a bath…I guess so.”
Then, Naruto turned to you excitedly, giving you a quick kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks, before helping your trembling legs move and leading you to the bathroom, holding your hand tightly. Sasuke followed afterwards, but before you entered the bathroom, you looked over your shoulder, your gaze meeting him.
Sasuke’s mouth parted a little at your sudden gesture when you leant toward him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Come with us, Sasuke!”
And he did. He followed both of you like he always did and will do.
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 11 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
CW: Creepy guys being creepy
You had spent the majority of your Saturday sorting through CCTV footage, witness accounts, and informant statements. Running solely on caffeine and stress, by the time you got around to taking a smoke break, the sun had set, blanketing the world in chilly darkness.
I’ve earned a cigarette or two, you justified to yourself as you grabbed the closest jacket to you and bee-lined for the door with your cigarettes in hand. You embraced the mildly cold air as it enveloped you, welcoming the chill. In the adjacent building, you noticed an abundance of cars, filling the parking lot so much so that some people had resorted to parking in the grass. Based on the dull thump of music and strobbing lights coming from one of the apartments, it was safe to assume someone was throwing a party.
Sounds like a better night than I’m having, you mused to yourself as you settled on the now familiar bench. The muffled music didn’t really bother you, but you’re grateful that you don’t live next to them.
Lighting your first cigarette of the day, you can’t help the sigh that escaped your lips as you breathe in the acrid smoke. It’s been just over a week since you moved in, but you’ve made no progress towards your target. Not that you expected it to be easy, but the Agency has been pressing for a report, and you didn’t have much to submit. Laswell said not to stress it, but you’re always stressing it. It’s practically your second nature.
Though you are good at hiding it.
…As long as the gray hairs stay away.
The sound of murmured voices and uneven footsteps pulled your attention to the left, coming from the direction of the party. Three men in puffer jackets drunkenly approached the pergola, still oblivious to you. Ah shit, you cursed to yourself, looking down at the half-smoked cigarette between your fingers.
You were not in the particular mood to converse with three piss-drunk young men; your brain is already fried as it is, and you didn’t want to waste any remaining brain cells on this band of assholes. Just as you decided it’s best to dip out and avoid them altogether, they spotted you and jogged up to the pergola with newfound enthusiasm.
Goddamnit.
Taking another long drag, you ignored them for as long as possible until they were practically surrounding you. They looked like the epitome of trashy British fuckboys in their bright colored jackets and beanies. As your eyes quickly flickered between their faces, you assessed them to be about your age and of average size. Men are fickle creatures, similar to a box of chocolates— you don’t know which kind you’ll get til you take a bite, and most of the time they taste shitty. These men could be nice and non-threatening, maybe they might even be merciful enough to ignore you, or they could be something worse.
So you do your best to swallow down any assumptions and remain neutral.
“Got a light, miss?” The man in the cobalt blue jacket and white beanie asked with a roguish smile.
You skillfully disguised your unease with a small smile as you hand him your pink lighter. “Here,” you prompt as they all huddle around to light their cigarettes.
The blonde one with the red coat dragged out the moment, exhaling a lazy cloud of smoke into your personal space before handing you back the lighter. “So, what’s a pretty American chick like you doin’ out here all alone?” He asked, leering as if his line was the pinnacle of wit.
His friend, the one in the white beanie, sidles up closer and gives you a long, appraising look, his gaze obscenely taking in your features. The third, round-faced and slightly less hammered, hung back and glanced between you and the others as though he was scoping for an escape if things went south. Not a good sign. You take another drag and aim your gaze past their collective mass, hoping they’ll properly interpret your body language as not in the mood; though that was a language men like them rarely bother to read.
You try civility as your first resort, despite your rising annoyance. “Just needed a break from work.” You offer a pointed smile, not the warm kind that invites more.
“Ah, work, eh?” Red Jacket piped up, crowding you further against the bench. “You a student or somethin’?” By the way he said it, you can tell he’s hoping he made the right assumption.
“E-commerce sales manager, actually.” You lied easily with your well-rehearsed line, which seemed to trip them up just enough to buy a few seconds of peace.
“Bet you’re selling yourself short,” White Beanie retorted, giving you a cringeworthy wink. “We’re havin’ a party, couple flats over. You should come. Loads of people in there, you’d fit right in.” He nudged his friend as if this were a group effort.
You tapped ash onto the ground and shook your head with apologetic politeness. “Appreciate it, but I’m wiped. Maybe next time.” Get the fucking hint.
Beanie Boy’s face fell, replaced by a pouty taunt. “Aw, come on. You can’t say no to us,” he lilted, leaning with his elbow on the beam of the pergola. “That’s not very American, is it? Don’t you lot love a good party?”
Red Jacket laughed and practically climbed onto the bench beside you, his leg knocking against yours. “If you’re bored out here, we can keep you company. Otherwise, you’ll freeze your tits off.”
You bit your tongue and ran a quick mental calculation on the best way to defuse this. You’ve trained for far worse, but protocol states to avoid any unnecessary conflict, and you’re technically undercover. Still, with each passing moment, your self-control chipped away. Red then put his hand on your knee, palm heavy and unfamiliar, making your eyes narrow with simmering anger.
You smile sardonically, a dangerous glint sparking in your eyes. “I’ll take my chances with the weather, thanks.”
Undeterred, Red Jacket leaned in, his breath stinking of cheap gin and cigarettes. “That’s a shame,” he lulled, voice dropping as if to share a secret. “But I can think of a few ways to keep you warm.” He’s close enough that the smoke curling from his foul mouth blends with your own. You reflexively shrink back, trying to create as much distance from him as possible.
It would be so easy to break his nose. The knowledge wasn’t a temptation so much as a reflex, a calculation running in the background of your mind: the snap of cartilage and bone. Instead, you force your jaw to unclench and channel your specialized training to maintain your control. There are easier ways to end this— smarter ways.
As he leaned in closer for another attempt, a shadow fell over the group. You didn’t see anything at first, but you registered the drop in temperature. Then the moment froze: Red’s grip tightened on your knee, Beanie’s leer went slack, and the third boy’s eyes went wide. The silence was split by a voice so cold and dark, it was practically a growl.
“You have three seconds to remove your hand from her,” the voice calmly instructed, “before I remove it from your arm.”
The voice was unmistakable, more intense now that it was laced with an absolute threat. Bradshaw. You didn’t notice his approach, didn’t know how long he’d been watching, but he’s here now— shoulders squared, mask pulled low, eyes hard and shadowed with violence.
Red Jacket attempted bravado, keeping his hand clamped to your knee like a trophy. “Oi, why don’t you fuck off, mate? We’re having a conversation—”
Bradshaw’s hand closed around Red’s neck with lightning speed and force. The movement was so fast you almost missed it; the next instant, Red was face-down on the bench, arm twisted behind his back, mouth open in a wordless gasp. The other two surged forward, but Bradshaw stepped between you and them, never loosening his grip on the first. He didn’t flinch as Beanie swung at him— just sidestepped, pivoted, and planted a boot in the man’s stomach, launching him onto the mulch with a heavy thump.
You watched, a fresh cigarette halfway to your lips, as Bradshaw turned back to Red. “Party’s over,” Bradshaw growled as he shoved Red’s arm away, and the man tumbled to the ground, clutching his wrist and swearing. White Beanie helped him up, hastily making their retreat. Only Round Face looked back, likely to ensure Bradshaw wasn’t following them.
They’re gone in seconds, the echo of their humiliation trailing after them like dust.
You lit your cigarette, taking care with the ritual as you let the sudden calm settle around you. Bradshaw didn’t say anything; he just sat down on the other side of the bench and pulled out a cigarette, completely unbothered.
“That was something,” you chirped after a moment, watching as he tugged up the mask just enough to expose his lips to light the cigarette.
Your hands were steady despite the previous tension that was suffocating you, appearing unfazed by the entire thing, just like Bradshaw. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a good thing.
Bradshaw glanced over, ashing his cigarette with a harsh flick. “Hope they didn’t bother you much.”
You smiled and shook your head, taking a drag from your cigarette. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” You gave him a sidelong glance, studying the set of his jaw, the way his knuckles were still slightly white. “But I appreciate the cavalry.”
He grunted, bringing his cigarette to his lips. “Didn’t look like you needed it.” His tone was flat, but you could feel the warmth lingering underneath. For a moment, nothing moved except the pulse at his throat.
You rested your elbows on your knees, head cocked, cigarette perched between your lips. “Maybe not, but it’s always nice to see chivalry isn’t dead.” You glanced back over, gauging his reaction, searching for the faintest sign of amusement in the tight line of his mouth.
He didn’t give you much, but you noticed an ever-so-slight uptick at the corner of his lips, as if the muscle tugged in protest. “Wouldn’t call it chivalry.” He watched the smoke curl from his cigarette, his posture still rigid. “More like pest control.”
That got a genuine laugh out of you— light and girlish against the hush after the scuffle. You couldn’t help but lean in, feeling a little conspiratorial, a little bold. “I didn’t take you for a hero, Bradshaw.”
His head turned, and for the first time, you got a full-on look at his face unobscured by gloom or smoke. His eyes— you couldn’t decide if they’re hazel or brown, but there’s an intensity there, measuring and precise, and more than a little tired. “You shouldn’t.”
“Oh, I don’t,” you shot back, the words out before you could think to soften them. “But I’m glad you didn’t just walk past, either.”
He stared at you for a beat, then looked away. “Had a shit day. Needed the distraction.” The words sounded controlled, but maybe that’s his way of keeping you at arm’s length. You can’t blame him.
You read between the lines, always a sucker for a man with a story to bury. “Want to talk about it?” You cautiously offer, softening your voice. “Or should we have the next group of wandering frat boys try their luck first?”
He actually snorted at that, the sound feeling foreign to your ears. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, the embers of his cigarette glowing between his fingers. “Doubt we’ll see any more of ‘em.”
You caught how he dodged your question, but didn’t press him further. “I don’t know,” you hummed as your eyes drifted to the overfilled parking lot. “Looks like they’ve got a small army.”
“Good thing we’ve got you to take ‘em out,” he retorted with a sly glance at you.
You gave him a cunning grin, crossing your legs as you turned to face him. “Don’t worry, Bradshaw, I’ll protect you.”
He graced you with a smirk that time, giving you an amused grunt before he took a drag from his cigarette.
You sat in silence a while, the space feeling oddly tranquil despite the commotion only minutes ago. The party noise was a distant, irrelevant thrum and easy to block out. Time seemed to slow, your nerves settling from the earlier encounter, your body relaxing into the bench.
You chain-smoked two more cigarettes, the routine now a comfortable lull between the two of you. Occasionally, a shiver would pass through you, but the cold felt less biting with Bradshaw beside you. You found yourself falling into an easy rhythm— smoke, ash, watch the faint plume drift and dissolve into the night. The conversation darted between inane and intimate, each new topic a test of boundaries.
He told you about the neighbor across the way who’s an obvious drug dealer and about another woman who’ll call the office if a dog pees on her bush. You told him about the time a pigeon flew into the bar you worked at, and no one could get it out, so they just named it Larry Bird. He laughed at that— an honest, full-bodied sound muffled by a cigarette. It was a nice laugh, deep but not forced, and it made something warm twist in your chest.
You talked about food (you both think cilantro tastes like soap), about music (both big fans of The Smiths, though you disagreed on their best song), and how you both believe that social media is ruining the youth. You noticed, as the evening stretched on, that Bradshaw had a habit of watching you intently when you spoke; it almost felt endearing. He didn’t offer much about himself, but what you glimpsed in the gaps— how he sat with rigid posture, the way he scanned the parking lot at regular intervals— spoke volumes. He was always surveying, always vigilant.
Who are you, Bradshaw?
When the butt of your final cigarette glowed down to the filter, you looked at him through the haze and hummed. “You know, you’re not as scary as you look.”
He side-eyed you, a smirk barely visible across his lips. “‘try not to be.”
You held the moment a beat longer before yawning, the fatigue settling in your bones. “I should head in. I have some calls in the morning.” Lie.
He stood as you did, stretching his arms above his head as you stood and moved next to him. It was then that you fully realized his true size, his body hulking over yours, casting you in his shadow. He’s built like a fucking tank.
“Get some rest, Yank,” he said, voice low and almost fond.
You saluted him with two fingers and a smile before making your way back to your apartment. The party across the complex was still raging, but the noise felt far away, muffled down to a subtle vibration. You shut the door behind you, locked it, and exhaled, letting the hush of your apartment surround you.
That night, you lay in bed and replayed the way Bradshaw moved. He hadn’t hesitated for a second to step in; he handled the situation like it was instinct, every motion deliberate. It wasn’t just that he was strong— lots of men were strong— but he had a kind of presence that made the air around him heavier. You wondered what he had done before, what kind of “contracting” he meant. He didn’t have a mercenary’s ego. He carried himself more like a soldier— someone who’d seen too much and now lived on the periphery of everything.
You swore you could still feel the ghost of his hand on the bench between you, the way he’d held his ground and wordlessly absorbed all the shit the world threw at him.
You wondered what Bradshaw was actually running from.
Or towards.
You were supposed to see everything— that’s what you specialized in. But his story was mostly a mystery. There was the way he wore the mask tonight, even though it was unseasonably warm for March. Perhaps he always wore it, though the logistics behind that must be annoying. You’d clocked dozens of strange little signs: how he always positioned himself with his back to the wall, how he scanned the darkness before lighting his cigarette, how he flinched at the pop of a car door in the distance, how he never let his hands idle.
He was all muscle and impenetrable silence, but had a thread of kindness that he cautiously offered you.
There was something in the way he watched, the way he stood between you and the three drunk idiots— not for show, not for glory, but as a force of habit. You thought of the other men you’d met in your line of work. You had met brutes and monsters, war criminals and desk-bound voyeurs, the kind who paraded their power with a sneer. Bradshaw wasn’t like them.
If anything, he seemed burdened by the violence— not afraid of it, but tired of how often it called his name.
The red flags should have been a parade by now: the mask, the posture, the hair-trigger reflexes, the way he neutralized a grown man with practiced ease. But you couldn’t work up the proper sense of dread or concern. If anything, you felt safer with him around, which was probably its own brand of insanity.
You eventually drifted to sleep thinking about the way his voice went soft when he bid you goodnight, how you might have imagined his eyes on you the entire walk home. You wondered if you’d ever catch him off guard, if you’d ever get him to open up. For now, you’d settle for his company, the easy silence, the unspoken pact that existed in a cigarette between your two lives.
On a side note-- can anyone guess where I got Bradshaw from lol
The next 8 chapters are posted on AO3 here if you enjoyed!!
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 11 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
A/N: A lil snippet from Simon's POV 🙂↕️
Simon watched you walk away until the darkness swallowed your figure, leaving him alone in the cold silence. Taking a final drag of his cigarette, he flicks the butt into the trash with a scowl.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned to himself as he tugged his mask down over his chin. This whole experience had thrown him for a loop. He immediately regretted lying about his name, figuring that would be an annoying thing to keep up with if he ever saw you again. But that ship had already sailed, unfortunately for him, so he’ll just have to add Bradshaw to his long list of aliases.
Simon remained under the pergola, unmoving, feeling absolutely stunted after his conversation with you.
What the hell even was that?
In all the years he’s lived here, he could count on his fingers the handful of times he ever encountered anyone at the pergola. And most of those people scattered like roaches when they saw him, giving him weary looks before scampering away. That’s why he opted to smoke out here in the late evening, avoiding the other residents like the plague— a seemingly mutual thing.
Until tonight.
Which was a testament to your bravery, or stupidity. He wasn’t exactly sure yet. You had caught him off guard, honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time a civilian looked him in the eyes and didn’t reflect fear. Normally, people had a way of calculating him the second he entered their periphery— dangerous, useful, a menace, a tool. But not you. You just sat down, like it was the most natural thing in the world, destroying every expectation with that gentle, open smile.
Simon ran a hand over the rough stubble under his mask, trying to label and place you in a box, but ultimately failing.
Americans. Always so loud, so forward, but you were something else— a kind of directness he hadn’t braced himself for, the way you cut through the tension as if it didn’t exist. Were all the young women from Boston this naive and comfortable? He doubted it. You had that glint in your eye, the one that said you could spot a lie and still choose to play along with it.
Did you pick up on his lie?
He should have left it at that, a one-off interaction with a random neighbor. You, laughing in the dark, legs drawn up, the smoke trailing from your fingers like ink in water. It felt surreal to him now as he pictured you. He tried to commit the memory to a vault in his mind, somewhere behind “unremarkable contacts,” but it kept surfacing, refusing to be filed away.
He scoffed at himself; this wasn’t why he’d come out tonight. He was supposed to clear his head, not fill it with meaningless thoughts. He’d spent the last week neck-deep in blood and bureaucracy, sleepless and jumpy, with gunmetal still under his nails. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done. The last thing he needed was some wily, beautiful American thing distracting him when an international crisis is rearing up.
And yet.
He couldn’t shake the sound of your laugh, not even after he stubbed out three more cigarettes and retreated to his apartment. The space felt smaller now, the quiet less comfortable. He stripped off his jacket, careful to hang it in the usual place, and moved through the motions of his nightly routine— double-checking locks, inspecting windows, running his fingers along the edge of the kitchen counter to make sure nothing had shifted, nothing had been touched.
As he lay in bed, he wondered if you thought about him at all, or if he was just a blip in your evening, another shadow in a city full of strangers.
He hoped you’d forget about him.
But a part of him didn’t.
The next 9 chapters are posted on AO3 here if you enjoyed!!
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Summary:
New identity. New location. New target.
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
The first 14 chapters are currently posted on AO3. Click here for more parts!
Your new covert assignment landed you an indefinite stay in Manchester as you track down a notorious high-profile hacker. The job proves to be stressful and littered with mistakes, so you find yourself sneaking smoke breaks more and more.
That’s how you meet your masked neighbor, the two of you slowly growing close over shared cigarettes and mutual respect. He’s an enigma, guarded and cold, yet an unspoken intrigue pulls you into each other’s orbit. What started as innocent conversation and easy company morphs into something deeper and more meaningful. Soon enough, the lines between friendship and love begin to blur, something that neither of you can come to terms with...
Because your entire relationship is built on lies.
Your journey is unexpectedly filled with happiness, but plagued by guilt, as the man you come to love suffers silently beside you. And as your emotions deepen, so do the lies, until they threaten to seperate you completely.
Masterlist
AO3- First 11 chapters are posted here
🚬 Inspired by Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You 🚬
Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, This is planned to be a two part story, Reader has an alias but name, appearance, and race are ambiguous, Badass Reader, Secret Identity, Reader is CIA, Simon and Reader are smokers, Idiots in Love, Denial of Feelings, Simon is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Smut, Romcom vibes along with heavy angst bc everyone has PTSD, Clueless Simon Riley, Older Man/Younger Woman, Falling In Love, No Use of Y/N, Lots of fluff!!!, Protective Simon, American!Reader, Smoking, PTSD, Adult Content, A LOT OF CURSING!!!, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader's age is ambiguous, but there is about an 8-12 yrs between you and Simon
A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for checking out my first COD fic, I hope you like it! I greatly appreciate any likes, shares, and comments!
Just a few notes:
MW3 doesn't exist to me —Soap will always be alive ❤️ Also, this story doesn't follow any game storyline; it's pretty much a standalone AU.
Reader’s undercover name is Lana, but she is rarely referred to as that (I avoid it as much as possible). Her callsign is Jinx, which won’t be used much until Part II.
This is a slowburn romance with lots of fluff, smut, angst, hurt, and comfort.
Simon lies about his name, so you’ll know him as “Bradshaw” 🫣 Just a fyi in case that bothers you
ALSOOOOO I kinda struggle with keeping everything in matched tenses, so sorry lol, but feel free to lmk if you spot any errors! The first 11 chapters are posted on AO3 here!
22:07 March 17th
Manchester, England
The sun had long set before you ever got the chance to step out of your new apartment. The move was relatively easy; you didn’t bring many personal effects besides your essentials, a bunch of clothes, and all the necessary gear. Luckily, the luxury apartment came furnished, saving you the trouble of setting up an entirely new home. The longest part was getting your computer connected and gear properly hidden away, then it was just a matter of unpacking your bags.
Which can wait til tomorrow.
“Get the asset and get out, that’s the missive. Finding him won’t be easy, but snuffing out rats is your specialty, so I have faith in you. I’ll forward you any intel we get to help stay on top of his location.” You recalled your handler telling you in a firm tone over the phone as you navigated the Charlotte airport. Yeah, yeah, you thought inwardly, having heard this all before. “And Jinx.”
Ah hell. She used your callsign.
That means she’s using her serious voice.
“We need Sylus on our side. I don’t care how you do it, but it must get done. Threaten him with Guantanamo if you have to, but I need him on the roster. A hacker with his skill cannot remain unchecked. I’m sure you understand the implications.”
“Yes, Laswell, this is the third time you’ve drilled this into me. Are you doubting me or something?” You huffed in frustration as you made it to your gate.
“Doubt you? Never,” she sighed. “I know you’re the best person for the job. Just promise me you’ll watch your back. We know Sylus was working with some nefarious groups, so the closer you get to him, the closer you’ll get to them.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” you assured her with a steady voice, knowing full well that danger could await you around any corner. It’s just like any other day in the field.
“Stay on your toes, Jinx, and I hope you enjoy Manchester.” She hung up without a formal goodbye, leaving you to study the dossier with your new identity as you wait for the plane. Flipping open your laptop, you turn down the brightness and study the secured document she forwarded you.
Name: Lana Ashbury
Age: 24
Biographical Background: Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts. Graduated from Columbia University with a Bachelor's degree in Marketing and Sociology— framed diploma included in deployment.
Occupation: E-Commerce sales manager for Capitalism Worldwide, transferred to Manchester to manage an expanding sales team. Employment verification documents are attached.
Operation Level: Gray
The dossier went on to give you details about your new home, important contacts, and people of interest. All the usual shit. You closed your laptop and stuffed it back into your bag, then went back to scrolling through your phone. You have a twelve-hour flight ahead of you, so you’ll deal with all the fun details then. But right now…
I need to smoke.
Abandoning the half-empty suitcase on the bed as you pulled yourself from your thoughts, you fished out your half-empty pack of menthols and a pink lighter from your purse and threw on an oversized gray hoodie before trekking your way to the center of the complex. Though this place was nice and modern, it had strict smoking policies, limiting it to a single designated spot by the complex office and pool. It wasn’t a rule you would typically bother worrying about, but from the few residents you have encountered so far, they seemed to be wary of new people. And the last thing you need is to draw attention to yourself simply because a neighbor reported you for smoking on the balcony.
It was still practically winter, and your thin black leggings did nothing to protect you from the cold wind. Halfway through your journey to the smoking area, the wind had destroyed your hair, blowing it into a mess as you grumbled and shoved your hood up. However, that didn’t help much, as it blew it back down just as easily.
“Ugh, god damn mother fuckin piece of sh—” you cursed ferverently under your breath while you fought to untangle your hair as you approached the wooden pergola. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice a large dark figure posted up on one end of the bench underneath the pergola, immediately causing you to snap your head up.
How did I not notice them? Jeez, I must be slipping.
Smoothing your hair out of your face, you focused on the massive man in a black balaclava leaning against the far end of the bench. His mask was pulled up just over his mouth, where a lit cigarette was perched between his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes fixated on you while he remained unmoving, as if waiting for you to react first.
Fuck, I must look stupid, was the first thought that came to mind before you pulled yourself together.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” you mumbled politely as you approached the opposite end of the bench. “Mind if I join you?” You asked as you sat down anyway, regardless of his answer, and pulled out your cigarettes from your hoodie pocket.
“‘s fine,” he grumbled, his dark eyes still locked on you.
“Thanks,” you gave him a kind smile before lighting your cigarette. Taking an exaggerated inhale, your eyes nearly rolled back from the rush of nicotine you so desperately needed. You slumped back against the bench, ignoring the cold biting at your exposed face and fingers, along with the strange man who was actively staring you down.
After a few drags stretched in silence, the masked man spoke again, drawing your gaze back up to him.
“Not many people would willingly sit next to someone like me in the dark,” he declared in a low voice, his eyes now focused straight ahead at the dimly lit parking lot. He must be a local, you could tell by his dense accent.
But his demeanor told you something else.
You exhaled and watched the plume of smoke swirl up and around you, mixing with the heat of your breath. You gave him a sly smile when his eyes flickered back to you, crossing your legs casually as you ashed your cigarette with a delicate flick of your wrist. “You’re not that scary,” you responded playfully, earning something between a scoff and a grunt from the man.
You were being honest; you truly didn’t find him scary. Mysterious would have been a better word for it. From what you managed to gather about this stranger so far, he’s likely got a government or security background. His mannerisms, build, and poise stood as evidence of some form of non-civilian training. As for the full face mask, it’s fucking cold, so you didn’t blame him for wearing it, even if it made him look like he’s on the prowl for a victim.
“Got a name?” You asked with a quirked brow as you both took a drag, watching as he didn’t bother to ash his cigarette, carelessly letting it fall onto his jacket sleeve.
The man studied you with what might be confusion, but it’s hard to tell under the mask. He was silent for a moment, making you feel awkward and wishing you hadn’t said anything, when he finally answered.
“Bradshaw.”
You gave him another smile as you brought your cigarette to your lips. “Well, nice to meet you, Bradshaw. My name is Lana.”
Lie.
“You just moved in,” he stated more than asked.
“Yeah, I moved here for work. It’s a big change, but it’s kinda nice to get out of the States,” you shrugged as you flicked your cigarette.
He looked forward again and was silent for a few moments, taking a second to smoke as if he was trying to formulate what to say. “What state are you from?” He gruffly asked, looking back at you when he heard your gentle laugh.
“Wanna guess?” You smiled and turned to face him, drawing one leg onto the bench as you leaned closer to him.
Bradshaw is back to studying you; his practiced eyes moved across your form before settling back on your face. “Don’t know shite ‘bout American accents,” he offered, not giving in to your game.
“You’re no fun,” you huffed with a dramatic pout before putting the cigarette back to your lips. “I’m from Boston but graduated in New York, so I’m technically a Northener.”
Lie.
“Fuckin’ Yank,” Bradshaw muttered with the hint of a visible smirk, watching you from the corner of his eye.
You laughed again, the sound coming out more naturally this time. “Coming from the colonizer,” you joked back, looking at him through the smoke of your cigarettes.
The corner of his lip tugged upwards as he tsked, drawing your attention to the faded scar above his lip, visible through the short stubble that covered his chin and neck. It didn’t take you long to realize he’s a man of few words, so you worked with what you could get out of him. Not that you truly needed to be talking to him, but smoking was always better with company.
“Are you from here?” You asked after a brief moment of comfortable silence.
“Yep,” he replied shortly, taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing the butt perfectly into the trash. You expected him to get up to leave with it, likely bothered by all your talking, but he made no move to leave.
You let your curious brain prattle on, practically testing your conversation skills on him, because he seemed as dense as a rock. “So you’ve lived here all your life?” You pressed on, unable to ignore the shiver that ran through you as the wind blew, causing your cigarette to slip from your fingers and onto the ground. The wind kicked up again as you cursed under your breath and leaned over to grab it, but it blew right between Bradshaw’s feet. He snuffed it out with his boot and threw it into the trash before turning to look back at you.
“I’d just smoke a new one,” he advised, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Thanks,” you hum, giving him an eager look.
He lets you stare at him for a few seconds before narrowing his eyes. “What?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” you huffed as you pulled out a fresh cigarette.
Bradshaw sighed as he watched you light it, then popped another of his own cigarettes between his lips too, seemingly unfazed by the frigid wind. However, the same could not be said for his lighter, as you watched the small flame blow out with every effort. Scooting to his side, you used your hands to block the flame from the wind, allowing him to finally light the cigarette. As the smoke billowed out between you, you moved over a little before fixing your gaze back on Bradshaw, giving him an encouraging look.
“Lived here most ‘f my life, but I’m rarely here.” He said in a low voice, shifting on the bench as if he were uncomfortable.
Maybe he is uncomfortable.
Guilt runs through you as you watch him, worried that you’ve accidentally started interrogating him subconsciously. However, he continued after a brief pause, his eyes meeting yours once again.
“I travel a lot for work,” he gruffly added after he took a long drag, ashing it onto the ground. You notice that he held his cigarette between his thumb and pointer finger, unlike you, who pinched yours between your pointer and middle finger. It stood out to you as something particularly masculine, though you weren’t entirely sure why you were so focused on his hands.
“What do you do?” You asked with a soft expression, trying to stifle the chill that ran through you.
“Contracting,” he mumbled with the cigarette between his lips.
Well, that’s really fucking vague, you noted inwardly. But it also practically confirmed he had some sort of government history— unless he was referring to construction or something. But for some reason, you instinctually doubted that. It’s difficult to gauge Bradshaw’s age between the mask and bulky jackets, but you estimated him to be around his 30s, maybe even older, with the edge that he carried himself with.
“You?”
His question pulled you from your thoughts, finding his eyes focused on you once again. You gave him a disarming smile and flicked your cigarette on instinct. “I’m an e-commerce sales manager, focusing on a business-to-business model.”
Lie.
“Sounds shitty,” he commented with his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Another laugh left your lips, finding yourself enjoying Bradshaw’s blatant cynicism. He sounds just like me, except less sarcastic.
“It’s a job, so of course it’s shitty,” you responded with an exaggerated eye roll and pointed smirk. “But it pays well, and I can work from home. Plus, they shipped my ass out here for a promotion, though the verdict is still out about that.” You took a heavy drag and felt the cold nip at your uncovered skin again, unable to stave off the violent shudder this time.
“‘m sure you’ll do fine,” Bradshaw grumbled as he watched a silver car drive slowly through the complex. Your eyes followed it too as it parked, reversed, then left the same way it came.
The frigid wind blew again, causing gooseflesh to spread all over your body, testing your limit to the cold. It was getting late, and your body was becoming weary from the long day of travel. Standing up with a stretch, you snuffed out your cigarette and tossed it in the trash, feeling Bradshaw’s eyes on you the entire time. You turned to face him with your signature sly smile and gave him a little wave goodbye. “Thanks for the chat, big guy, but it’s fucking cold. Have a good night!” You winked when you heard him grunt in response, taking a drag of his cigarette.
Accepting his goodbye for what it was worth, you turned on your heels and headed back home, knees weakening with each thought of your bed. Bundled up under several layers of blankets, you fell asleep quickly as you tried to brush off your encounter with Bradshaw from your mind, trying not to dwell on it too much.
But still, you wondered if you’ll ever see him again
The next 10 chapters are posted on AO3 here if you enjoyed!!
