Male minotaur x female reader | NSFW: p in v, semi public sex, forbidden sex, secret relationship, age gap
Him?, your friends scoff, when you tell them you fancy the minotaur. He’s several years older than you, a bit thick around the middle, one of his horns broken, always serious. But his eyes are kind and warm when he looks at you, and you’ve never been the typical beauty yourself anyway.
Your friends’ opinion of the minotaur doesn’t matter, but your parents are a genuine obstacle. They don’t approve of him either, not for a nice human girl like you. So at first, all you can do is steal a few words with him at parties now and then, letting his deep voice burrow into your bones, and stare at each other from across the room, his eyes darkening. The first time you finally dance together at a ball, you love the chance to be so close to him, having a real conversation with him, but your parents are appalled, and explicitly forbid you from seeing him again—which only makes you want him more.
Yes, you’re a nice girl, but soon you’re being naughty and sneaking off to see him. It’s all innocent at first, just talking and walking together. You like making him smile. He takes your hand one day, the first time he’s touched you since that dance, and the feeling is exhilarating. It’s not long after that that he kisses you for the first time, hiding in the shed behind the village mill, awakening something deep inside you that you return to with him again and again.
The mill is a good place to secretly meet—the sound of the churning water covers up the wanton moans you let free the first time he splits you open on his fat monster cock. Your skirts are hiked up around your waist, one hand clutching his thickly muscled shoulder, your other hand wrapped around his one good horn to steady yourself as he pounds into your slick little cunt. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he rasps into your ear, and bliss tightens in your belly—then snaps, flooding you with breathtaking pleasure. He grunts and shudders at the feel of your release, then slams in as deep as possible to unload his seed into your spasming cunt.
I’ve wanted you for so long—and now he has you, just like you have him. Yes, him.
~ 😈🎩 ~
Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing or my master list.
taking screenshots while on ft with sugar daddy!jack abbot to show ur friends who ur yachting for. telling him, oh my friend asked for your number, she said she’d be a sugar baby for you too! while giggling, curled up in his crisp white sheets, right at his side despite him having a california king. he just roll his eyes—his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed though—while his glasses sit on the tip of his nose, playing solitaire on his phone. “give her robby’s number, i’m closed off,” he mutters, taking just a second away from his game to reach over and smack your ass, making you squeal on purpose. “got my hands full already, don’t want anyone else, baby”
content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, AFAB reader, murder (not described in detail), (1) dead body, blood mention(s), unprotected (PIV) sex, dry humping, hurt/comfort, established relationship, pope POV
author’s note: this fic was supposed to be freakier, but i couldn’t help making it a little more angsty and fluffy (as much as possible when a murder is involved) than intended. this is my first pope fic, and he’s a very difficult character to write, so please give me a little grace for OOC-ness. enjoy!
When you ring late at night, past your normal bedtime, Pope answers with a wrinkle between his brows. He sits up in bed, his back straight and shoulders square, phone gripped in his meaty hand and held to his ear.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
You breathe heavily into his ear. Short, rapid breaths.
“Can you come over?” Your voice trembles. “I did something. Something bad. I need your help. Please, Andrew.”
He blinks. His mind races, trying to piece together what you, of all people, his darling, sweet angel who wouldn’t harm a fly, could have done to warrant such distress.
He gently shushes you when you break out into a sob. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
No questions asked.
Pope hesitates when he’s just outside your door. He texts you that he’s here instead of knocking. He doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention.
You respond instantly.
The door is unlocked.
He curses himself for not checking first. Love and worry make him stupid. He opens the door and closes it behind him, locking it with a soft click.
Right away, he can sense that something is off.
Light in the apartment is faint, pouring in from where it’s flipped on in the restroom in the hallway that leads to your bedroom.
He can smell it.
The sickly sweet, rusty smell of blood that he’s spilled time and time again. More familiar to him than water, now.
His heart pounds against his breastbone, an erratic thundering. Are you hurt? You didn’t sound hurt when you spoke over the phone.
What have you gotten yourself into?
His footsteps are heavy but silent across your carpet, as stealthy as Pope can manage for a man his size and weight. He hears squishing beneath his feet as he nears the restroom, something oozing out from under his sneakers and seeping into the fibers of the carpet. The door is a quarter of the way open, and he raps on it lightly so you know he’s just outside.
The smell is strongest here. He looks down at his shoes, illuminated by the flickering light of the restroom. They’re covered in red.
“Come in,” you whisper.
The door creaks open.
“What happened?” he asks, crouching beside you on the bath mat.
You’re seated on your knees in front of the bathtub, bloodied and beautiful, face wet with tears.
You wipe your eyes with your forearm, tracking blood across your cheekbones. The blood is everywhere: on your exposed skin, on your clothes. Not to mention the coppery trail of it leading to the tub. Your top looks as if it were spray-painted red.
You’re wearing a virginal white sleep set. Soft and flowy. Splattered and tainted with blood.
You sniffle. “I killed him.”
Pope hates seeing you cry. He feels his eyes water, but he manages to hold back the tears.
“Who is he? Why’d you kill him?” he asks calmly, non-accusingly, eyeing the corpse in the tub before returning focus on you.
“This is—this was—my coworker. He found out where I lived and showed up here unannounced. Shouldered his way inside and wouldn’t leave.”
So, this is him, Pope thinks. The pushy coworker you complained about to him before. You told him not to get involved, said you could handle him yourself.
Looks like you did.
“Did he hurt you?” Pope asks, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“No, but he would not leave. I threatened the cops on him, but he knew that I was just bluffing.”
Pope is nowhere near the paragon of patience, but he is struggling to understand why you would have killed him over his refusal to leave. You could have called him, and he would have been over in an instant to kick him out for you.
His brows furrow. “I don’t get it.”
You bite your lower lip hard, your fists clenched. “He knew about you. Your family’s reputation. About us. He... he said some things.”
“Like what? You can tell me.”
Pope rubs your back gently when you fall silent, wordlessly urging you to continue.
“I was defending you from the bullshit he was saying about you,” you spit, your tears halting to make way for the anger bubbling over, “things got heated, and we got into a fight. He said that you’re not good for me. That you’re dangerous. He cornered me in the kitchen, threatening to turn what he knows about you and your brothers in to the police unless I broke up with you, and so I—I grabbed a knife, and the rest is history.”
Pope takes a second to scrutinize the man in the tub.
His throat is slashed. The blood flow has tapered off, an inky scarlet swirling down the drain.
“I didn’t mean to do it. I thought I’d just nick him and he’d back off, but he said that he was a better, safer option, that he could take better care of me than you can, and I… I got so mad. Next thing I know—”
“It’s okay,” Pope reassures, “I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less. You dragged him in here?”
You nod. “There was so much blood. I panicked. I figured it’d be easier to deal with him in the tub, but it got everywhere on the way. I couldn’t move him fast enough to keep it from spilling onto the carpet.”
“Dead bodies are heavy,” he grunts in agreement, “but you did a smart thing. Where’s the knife?”
“Left it in the kitchen.” You turn your body to face him directly, gathering your legs to hug your knees. “What are we going to do now?”
“You’re not doing anything. I’m taking care of this.”
“Andrew, no. This is my mess. At least let me be of help.”
He holds your chin between his fingers, maintaining eye contact. “You’ve been through enough. I know some guys that can replace the carpet, and I can get rid of the body. I’ll make it like it never happened.”
Abruptly, you push him back by the shoulders so he sits on the floor with his back to the wall, and settle yourself over his lap, a wild look in your eyes. His brain stalls for a moment.
“You’re going to make my problems go away, huh, Andrew?”
“I’d do anything for you.” earnest, truthful.
Your lips are on his before he can process what’s going on. The shock of the situation must be wearing off, and with Pope taking things out of your hands, you must feel like you owe him this as a sort of repayment.
He breaks the kiss and pulls away, even as much as he would like to keep kissing you.
“Stop. You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.” You pout. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He glances at the graying body, blood-drained in the bathtub.
“Isn’t this… uncomfortable for you?”
You shake your head. “No, as a matter of fact,” you clutch his wrist and hold his hand to your breast, your heart thumping, “I’m a little... excited?”
“That’s the adrenaline. You’re going to crash come morning,” he warns.
“Then let’s make the most of it tonight?”
Pope thinks. The sun won’t be up for another several hours, and all that needs to be done is the cleanup and the drive out to the dumping spot. He also needs to make a phone call to one of his contacts about the bloodied carpet, but that can be done quickly. The last thing he wants to do is involve his brothers, or worse yet, J, but he can rely on them if need be as well. It’s worth sparing some time if it means it’ll get your mind off what happened.
“Let’s not take too long.”
You offer a watery smile, returning your lips to his. You rock your hips against his bulge, thick and trapped in his jeans. He can feel the heat radiating off your cunt through your thin sleep shorts. He sneaks a hand beneath the waistband, a rumble in his chest that you swallow down when he finds you aren’t wearing underwear.
“Fuck, Andrew,” you breathe out against his lips when he rubs your clit in tight circles, “you know I love you, right?”
That’s all it takes.
In combination with your words, your weight settled over his erection, grinding and humping him for your own pleasure, your cunt warm and wet, he comes in his pants, his fingers twitching against your clit as you pepper sloppy kisses along the side of his neck. He’s learned to not get embarrassed over how fast you can get him over the finish line.
He groans, reaching his other hand up to lift your face from where it’s tucked between his neck and shoulder so he can pant against the side of your neck, pressing his lips to the salty skin as his hips jump from the aftershocks of his orgasm. He breathes the scent of you in to calm himself down, traces of blood, salt, and a hint of your shampoo hitting the back of his tongue when he licks and nips your pulse point.
“I love you, too, angel,” he says, slightly out of breath, “let me return the favor.”
The bathroom isn’t well suited for rolling around, so Pope drags you to your bedroom. And as much as you throw a fit, “want to have sex in front of a dead body. Never done it before,” he refuses to buckle.
He doesn’t like to rush, not with you. He prefers slow, sensual lovemaking. He is pretty sure you do, too, but tonight you’re not yourself.
Your face is pressed into the mattress, back arched and ass up, toes curling over the edge of the bed. You both will remember this night for the rest of your lives. This moment in particular for him.
Turning your head over your shoulder, you plead, “please, Andrew, fuck. Harder. I want to feel it in the morning.”
He pants, catching his breath. A bead of sweat rolls down his muscular back. He pulls out of you, and you whimper from the loss.
He’s being rough as it is. Most likely you’ll wake up with bruises from how hard he’s been gripping your hips and thighs, a sore cunt from how deep he’s been thrusting into you at this angle.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“C’mon, I just… I want you to be rough with me.”
He shakes his head. He’s had a lifetime of roughness. But with Smurf dead now, he’s no longer under her control, no longer her mutt to unleash upon whoever she thinks deserves a bite from a set of sharp teeth. He wants a softer life with you, if he can help it. That translates to sex, too.
“Is that what you think you deserve? To hurt?” Pope asks, his voice grave.
You ignore his question, instead asking, “can I take over?” You scramble into a kneeling position and point to the headboard. “Flat against the pillows.”
Pope huffs but relents, not pushing you to talk if you don’t want to. Not right now, at least. What happened tonight is still too fresh.
He crawls up the bed and adjusts himself so he’s leaning against the headboard, looking at you in all your naked, sweat-slick glory.
You straddle and hover over him, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before dragging it along your slit to tease yourself and then slowly sinking down on him.
The dim light of your lamp is bright enough that he can clearly see the blood splattered on your skin. He licks his thumb and brings it up to your face, wiping some of it away.
You ride his cock, lifting up and lowering down on it in quick succession, eager and needy for your release. He helps speed things along by rubbing his fingers on your swollen clit, his other hand kneading your breast, pulling mewls from you.
You wrap your arms around his neck and drag yourself down on top of him, your upper body connected to his, grinding and rocking against his pelvis now more than bouncing on his cock.
He feels tears, hot and plentiful, drip onto his neck.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, though right away he knows it was stupid to. The reality is crashing into you at full force. “We should stop. Don’t cry. I’ve got you.”
He twines his arms around your middle, holding you tight to him as your hips still.
Between tears, you puff against his neck, “just want to come. For a second, just want to forget. Please help me.”
What kind of man would he be not to heed your call for help?
He lifts your head from the crook of his neck, his hands cradling your cheeks, kissing all over your teary face. One of his hands reaches down between your bodies to your clit, twitchy and wet with slick, rubbing it with just enough pressure to make you come but slowly so as not to overwhelm you.
You breathe out a little sigh as your orgasm washes over you, a gentle, soothing wave more than a wild crashing of water.
You lie there for a moment, resting your head against his chest, your tears drying, your heart rate slowing.
Pope rubs your lower back in soothing, mindless shapes, almost lulling you into sleep. Before your eyes close, though, he carefully sits up, holding you to his chest as he pulls you up with him. If it weren’t for the body slowly decomposing in your tub, he would stay here with you for as long as you need.
He gets out from under you and collects his clothes from the floor, throwing them back on. “Sit here for a minute. I need to get rid of the body. I want you to take a shower once I get him out of the tub.”
“What... where are you taking him?” you ask.
“It’s better you don’t know.”
“I’m going with you. This is all my fault. I need to see things through to the end.”
He huffs in frustration. There’s little he can do to change your mind once you’ve decided on something. It’s not as if he can’t force you to stay put, but he has the tendency to give in to you, to crumble in your loving hands.
“I’m going to put him in the trunk. I still want you to take a shower. Wash off the blood. Then we’ll go. You don’t mind me using one of your rugs, do you?”
Pope drives and drives. You sit by his side on the passenger seat of his truck, looking out the window, despondency rolling off you in waves. You washed tonight’s events from your skin and mopped and wiped them from the kitchen floor and knife, but they'll forever be imprinted on your mind.
He takes back and side roads where he can, exercising caution in case this problem of yours comes back to haunt you. Fewer cameras capturing the two of you heading out to where the dumping spot is this way.
The adrenaline of the kill is well worn off by now, and you’re feeling it: the guilt, the worry, the shame of what you’ve done. Though Pope has been through what you’re going through a concerning amount of times, he doesn’t quite know what to say to console you.
Do you regret killing your coworker? Should you? He knows you well enough to know that you’re fighting with yourself in your head, asking yourself these questions, working the past few hours over with a fine-toothed comb to see if there was not another path you could’ve taken.
Pope doesn’t have room for judgment, and especially not room to judge you. He doesn’t care what you did. The man forced himself into your home and threatened you, though not with his fists but with his words. Still, in his eyes, it was self-defense.
He reaches across the center console to hold your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles, physical touch, something he has been so lacking in before you, the only way he knows to ease your mind. His touch relaxes you, your thrumming heart rate slowing to something steadier against the thin skin of your wrist.
“It’ll be okay,” he says, clearing his throat of the rasp. It’s been just under an hour since leaving your apartment, and this is the first time he’s said anything. You haven’t had much to contribute to the conversation, either. “I’m here.”
You face him, then, a weak smile pulling at your lips. “I know.”
A field of sprawling, lush green grass, still wet from a week of the rare bout of summer rain, the soil loamy and soft enough to dig a hole the size of a man’s full-grown body, is where Pope drives out to.
“Stay in the car.”
You won’t be of much help with only one shovel to go around. You nod tiredly, not bothering to put up a fight, which he is grateful for.
He lets go of your hand and hops out of the truck, popping the trunk and pulling out the shovel.
Hours later, the hole is dug, and Pope drops the rug-rolled body into its grave with an unceremonious kick to the torso, sunlight peeking out from the far horizon, spilling onto the surrounding field of grass in soft hues of orange and yellow.
It takes him only a quarter of the time to pile the dirt back into the ground and return the shovel to the trunk, the sweat cooling from his skin with the decrease in effort.
Once he shuts the trunk, he hears the side door open and watches as you step out of the car.
He cocks his head in confusion. “Where are you going? The job is done.”
You don’t respond, your back facing him, and walk out further into the field. You sit down on a patch of grass a few yards away, leaning back on your hands and watching the sunrise.
Not but a few seconds later he approaches, crouching down beside you.
He says your name, worry creeping in on the edge of it. “We can’t stay here. Don’t you want to go home?”
You glance at him and then face the sky again. “Not even for a little while? The breeze is nice.”
He plops down on the ground with a grunt, stretching his legs out and rolling his neck and shoulders against the bite of the growing ache. “Just for a few minutes.”
“That’ll do.”
He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. He sits there with you for a few precious minutes, indulging in the cool breeze running its fingers through his hair and the sun kissing his skin and your scent enveloping him in a hug.
Your voice pulls him out of a trance.
“Andrew.”
“Hm?”
“I don’t feel...” you sigh, running your fingers through blades of grass. “I don’t feel as guilty as I think I should. I killed someone, but I feel more guilty that I don’t feel guilty about it, if that makes sense. Does... does that make me a bad person?”
Pope holds back a bark of laughter. “You’re asking me? You know what I’ve done in the past. You’re... you’re nothing but an angel compared to me.”
“I’m asking you because I care what you think.”
“No. No,” he repeats, “you’re not a bad person. You did what you thought you had to do. Something I would have done if it meant protecting you. You gave him a chance to back off, and he didn’t take it. That’s on him.”
“I don’t scare you?”
Pope cradles the line of your jaw, turning your head in his direction. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He presses a kiss on your forehead, putting forth all the emotion he can muster into it. “You’ll never scare me.”
You hum, reaching your hand up to wrap your fingers around his wrist, tilting your head to press your lips to his hand. “We are quite the pair, aren’t we.”
You sit there for a little while longer, watching the sun inch higher up the sky.
“can i open my eyes now?” you asked excitedly, kicking your feet as pope held up the diamond anklet he stole from his recent job with the guys. pope lived for your reactions every time he brought you back something and surprised you with it, his own small smile playing on his lips as he answered with a hushed ‘yeah’. removing your hands from your face, you gasped as soon as you saw the twinkling gems reflect off of the light from your bedside lamp, your eyes widening ever so slightly. “oh, andrew!” you stared in awe, the small ‘p’ pendant catching your attention as pope’s chest bloomed with pride. “do you like it?” he couldn’t help but ask, needing the reassurance that he did something good.
you nodded, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you threw your arms around him and littered his face with kisses. “it’s perfect, i love it so much!” pope felt relieved upon getting your approval, his skin flushing as you swung your leg over his lap and straddled him. handing over the anklet, pope watched as you inspected it— fascination written all over your face. “you’ll only be able to wear it around the house for now since people will be on the lookout for it, so don’t forget not to go out with it on or anything.” pope explained, his rough palms skimming the tops of your thighs as you hummed. “can you put it on for me?” you asked, handing the anklet back over. “i’m glad you asked, i was hoping to see it in action..”
at his words, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean?”
“andy—!” you cried, choking out a sob as pope forced your knees to be pinned to your chest, your ankles on either side of his head. hiccuping with each harsh thrust inside your cunt, pope eyed the diamonds clasped around your ankle, a groan rumbling from his chest as the pendant winked back at him in the form of a twinkle. you gripped your bedsheets, your eyes screwing shut at the pleasurable force his cock was hitting your cervix. “ah, fuckkk,” pope drawled out, his chest heaving up and down, “are you sure you like it?” you didn’t know if he was talking about the absolute pounding he was giving you right now, or the string of diamonds adorning your ankle, but to say you loved both would be an understatement.
“yes— i love it so much!” you screamed when he repositioned your knees to the mattress, his body now flushed against your own as his lips rested by your ear. “i thought about you all day.” pope said through gritted teeth, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he spoke. “did you think about me?” he asked, his voice carrying a small hint of insecurity. tangling your fingers in his curls, you made sure to look him in the eyes when you said your next words. “i think about you all the time, andrew.” his thrusts slowed down, his gaze flickering over the features of your face. “you worry me sick every time you go out on a job,” you stroked his flushed cheeks with your thumbs, “i’m scared one day you won’t come back to me.”
pope can’t remember anyone who truly worried for him and cared for him like you did, your words doing more than just tugging at his heartstrings. you gasped when you felt his cock twitch inside of you, thick ropes of hot cum filling you up in no time as pope grew desperate to give you an orgasm of your own. aching with overstimulation, pope shuddered as he continued rocking into you, the long, slow strokes of his hips paired with his rough fingertips on your clit making you tremble and shake. studying you closely, pope watched as your teeth pulled on your bottom lip, your skin growing hot as the coil in your tummy grew tighter and tighter. “andrew..” you whispered breathlessly, gazing up at pope through your lashes.
pope knew that look all too well, his fingers working relentlessly as he brought you over the edge, your thighs clamping tight around his hand. “keep them open, baby, just let it happen.” pope forced your thighs open, his lips ghosting over yours as tears slipped down your cheeks. you could never get used to the size of him, his length hitting you in places you had never felt before he came along. your blood was rushing through your ears, your limbs falling weak as you gave into pope and let him have his way with you. nails digging into his flesh, you tapped out as soon as the pleasure subsided and a dull ache began to form on your sensitive clit. “no more, no more!” you cried out, your hips instinctively backing away.
pope pulled out with a slick pop, a groan leaving his lips as he watched you clench around nothing, the sight of your abused cunt making him curse under his breath. you laid there, fucked out into oblivion and brainless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. leaving you for a moment, pope went to get something to clean you up with, his hands working gently to put you back at ease. eventually, your breathing slowed and all you can feel was pope tucking you against his chest, his large hands running soothingly down your back as he brought your comforter up to cover both of you. “please don’t get into that pretty head of yours so much,” he kissed your temple, “i’ll always come back to you.”
You know, there's this cliché that teenage boys always eat massive amounts, but teenage girls really aren't that different if they're not suppressed by diet culture and body shaming. Like, I was a teenage girl who frankly just stopped bothering to fit into mainstream beauty ideals at some point, and I would regularly make myself just one big massive pot of pasta and devour it completely. This wasn't even stress eating or anything, I just genuinely needed the energy because you know, I was a teenager and my body was developing. I feel like so many teenage girls think they need to eat as little as possible to be petite and pretty, but the truth is that your body is developing just as intensely as teenage boys' bodies. Eat more, please, your body needs it.
My mom has this saying about teens, no matter gender/sex/whatever: they eat one time per day - they start when they wake up and they stop when they go to sleep.
Teen bodies are developing and they need the energy. Please eat. Be healthy active, your joints and muscles will thank you, and *eat* your body need the energy
A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldn’t fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesn’t, mentions of blood, reader is never someone’s first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.
“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”
“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.
“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
“I thought you liked digimon??”
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”
Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
“Please.”
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
“What did I ever do to you?”
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
“I never want to see you again.”
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.
“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
your daughter seems to be completely smitten with kento. apparently, there's nothing more wonderful than sitting and watching dad.
✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦
the first time you realized that rei was completely in love with her father was on an ordinary morning. nothing special had happened, no moment worthy of a photograph or of a particularly memorable recollection.
nanami was sitting on the couch reviewing some documents while drinking coffee, and you were tidying up a few things in the kitchen. rei, barely eight months old, was sitting on a blanket surrounded by toys that could normally keep her entertained for at least ten minutes.
however, that day she completely ignored all the colorful blocks, fabric balls, and stuffed animals. she remained still, sitting with her chubby little hands resting on her legs, staring intently at kento as if she were looking at the eighth wonder of the world. he wasn't even doing anything interesting. he wasn't talking, playing, or making funny faces. he was simply existing. and yet, rei's eyes shone as if she were watching the most fascinating show of her entire life.
you were the first to notice it, though it wasn't that difficult, since every time nanami turned a page, rei's head turned, every time he crossed one leg over the other, she followed him with her gaze. even when he stood up to leave his empty cup in the kitchen, the baby completely turned her body so she wouldn't lose sight of him for even a second.
the intensity with which she watched him was almost absurd. she looked like a little moon forever trapped in the orbit of her favorite planet. when kento returned to the couch and looked up at her, she smiled so hard that her eyes practically disappeared between her round little cheeks. that smile caused an immediate reaction in him.
the most serious, reserved, and composed man you had ever known smiled back with such obvious tenderness that you felt your heart tighten inside your chest.
as the months passed, it became impossible to ignore. rei simply adored her father. if she was in your arms and he walked through the door, she immediately leaned forward trying to reach him; if she heard his footsteps in the hallway, she would start kicking her legs excitedly even before seeing him appear; if she was playing and he said a single word, she would abandon whatever she was doing to look for him.
there was something deeply endearing about the way she loved him. because it wasn't a love based on toys, gifts, or entertainment. it was a pure, simple, instinctive love. rei seemed to feel safe simply because he existed, because he was there, because he was her dad.
nanami pretended to handle it better than he actually did, or at least that's what he tried to make it look like, but you knew him far too well. you saw how his eyes softened every time she laughed at the sight of him, how he found excuses to hold her a little longer, how he deliberately delayed putting her in her crib when she fell asleep on his chest, how he came home exhausted after endless workdays and still seemed to regain energy the moment she crawled toward him.
because yes, rei had recently learned to crawl, and that had considerably worsened the emotional situation of kento nanami.
the first time she crawled directly toward him, you honestly thought he was going to cry. the three of you were on the living room floor, rei had discovered that she could move around on her own and was exploring every corner of the house with the determination of a little adventurer.
nanami was reading while sitting on the carpet when the baby saw him from the other side of the room. she stayed still for a few seconds watching him, then smiled, and then started crawling. not toward a toy, not toward you, not toward something bright or eye-catching. toward him.
her little hands moved forward clumsily as she let out tiny sounds of excitement. when she finally reached his legs, she lifted both arms for him to pick her up. nanami put the book down immediately. he didn't even pretend to resist; he lifted her as if he were holding the most valuable treasure in the world.
“hello, princess.”, the voice he used when speaking to her was so soft that even you felt like crying.
rei responded by placing both hands on his cheeks and letting out a laugh so deep and sincere that it ended up making her father laugh too. for several seconds they simply looked at each other, as if they were the only two people on the planet, as if they shared some secret that no one else could understand.
the nights were even worse. because rei had developed the habit of watching him until she fell asleep.
nanami could hold her in his arms for hours while she bravely fought against sleep. her eyelids would slowly droop, her head would begin to tilt, and even then she would make the effort to open her eyes one more time just to make sure he was still there. sometimes she seemed to have fallen asleep, but the moment kento moved slightly, she would open her eyes again to find him. she always found a way to look for him one last time before completely surrendering to sleep.
on one particularly quiet night, you found him sitting in the armchair by the window, with a sleeping rei on his chest and one tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. the dim light from the lamp barely illuminated their faces. kento was looking at her with an expression that very few people had the privilege of seeing.
it wasn't the look of a proud man, nor that of a satisfied father. it was something much deeper, more vulnerable, more human. it was the expression of someone who still couldn't believe the immense luck he had been given.
when you approached, he looked up at you, smiled, and then his eyes returned to rei.
“she's beautiful.”, his voice was barely a whisper.
“i know.”
“she looks a lot like you.”
that made you laugh because both of you knew that rei had inherited more of his features than yours, but you understood perfectly what he meant. because when nanami talked about beauty, he rarely referred only to appearance.
rei let out a small sleepy sigh and nestled closer against his chest. and then it happened, that gesture so small, so insignificant, so devastating. even asleep, the baby searched for her father. her hand clutched his shirt a little tighter, her little head settling more comfortably against him. as if even in her dreams she knew exactly where she wanted to be.
nanami looked down at her and smiled. that soft, calm smile full of love. the same smile he reserved for you.
because the truth was that rei was completely in love with her dad. and the even greater truth was that her dad was exactly as in love with her.
although if you ever asked him who held first place in his heart, nanami would still give the same answer as always. he would point to you without hesitation, with complete sincerity. but afterward, when he thought no one was watching, he would go back to looking at that little girl who crawled after him, who laughed every time she saw him walk through the door, who searched for his chest when she wanted to sleep, and who seemed convinced that he was the most wonderful person in the world.
and then his eyes would fill with that impossible-to-hide tenderness.
because maybe you were still the love of his life.
but rei, without a doubt, was the sweetest little piece of that love walking freely around the house.
roommate katsuki! who is the star player on the college basketball team…and the guy you also happen to share an apartment with.
roommate katsuki! who didn’t speak to you for the first couple of weeks except for an occasional ‘hey’ when you bump into each other late at night.
roommate katsuki! who steals your plush blanket from the couch, claiming it’s more comfortable to sleep with at night.
roommate katsuki! who starts waiting up for you every night, playing it off as watching game film or studying plays.
roommate katsuki! who gets a little too superstitious when one of his teammates come over and make it a point to speak with you. (or look, for that matter)
roommate katsuki! who has an insane attraction to you, but keeps it to himself in fear of making things awkward between you two.
roommate katsuki! who lied and told you he had someone coming over just for your reaction. only to be pissed off entirely when you don’t come home at all.
roommate katsuki! who insists on you coming to his next game. leaving you his away jersey to wear, name plastered in big, bold font across the back. letting everyone know who exactly gave it to you.
roommate katsuki! who would never admit he cares, but somehow your favorite food and drinks appear at your bedroom door after a rough day at work. “wonder what idiot did that.” he grumbles when confronted about where they came from.
roommate katsuki! who purposely leaves things in your room just for a reason to come back. whether it’s his charger, laptop, or even something such as his underwear he “accidentally” dropped while putting away your laundry.
roommate katsuki! who starts showing up after your shift at the campus cafe to bring you home. …just in case any of the dumbasses around get ideas and mistake you for theirs instead of his.
roommate katsuki! who walks in on you showering one night and doesn’t leave right away, eyes scanning over every crevice of your skin, even ones you can’t see yourself, before finally leaving with a small huff of “fuck. my bad.” and quickly slamming the door shut.
roommate katsuki! who spends days on end replaying the image of you in the shower, burned into the back of his brain. leaving no room for thoughts of basketball, classes, or anything else.
roommate katsuki! who finally loses all composure when he comes home late one night, completely and utterly exhausted from the day he’s had. only to find you in nothing but a small t-shirt and your very tight, very thin underwear.
roommate katsuki! who takes you right there. months of lingering tension finally easing with every snap of his hips. messy. filthy. but oh, such sweet things whispered into your ear.
roommate katsuki! who can’t get enough of you after that. every chance he gets, he’s touching you. kissing you. making love to you.
roommate katsuki! who sure as hell doesn’t remember why you ever had separate bedrooms in the first place.
an: this is way diff from my usual but i made an smau ab this on tiktok and felt this was needed as well so:))
Where have you been these past few days, I wondered, and then I realized you were taking exams. I wish you good luck! All A+, 100/100!!!!
Afterwards, please come back to us girlie and drop us another Rock Lee fic. Can I ask for something? Like when he hasn't seen his girlfriend for 5 days and he can't take it anymore 😋?? I love you and your fic
— threads | rock lee ˎˊ˗
pairing: rock lee x fem!reader
content: established relationship, porn with plot, soft dom!lee, lee is freaked out, descriptions of masturbation, kissing, making out, lee giving hickeys, lee giving praise, dry-humping, pussyjob, cumshots, body worship, lee being a slight tease, oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, crying during sex, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie
w/c: 5.7k words
ˎˊ˗ art credit: @virtuno on twitter
five days.
as a successful ninja, lee knew that five days was, objectively, nothing.
there were shinobi who would leave their villages to embark on missions lasting for weeks on end, sometimes spanning into months if it proved to be considerably challenging. on many occasions in the past, lee sustained wounds, cuts, and bruises that took longer than five days to heal. throughout history, there were wars and battles that raged for five years and beyond that, nevermind a mere five days.
with that logic, five days without your presence should have been exceptionally easy to endure.
except, it wasn't. by the first night of his mission, lee could already hear the sound of your voice humming a million melodies in his mind, like an echo chamber driving him into hypnosis. imagining the way you sound would not be enough, and it wouldn't ever be. he won't settle, not until he can have your lips a thread away from his lended ear, whispering all the things he wants to hear.
by the second night, the absence of your warm body next to him in bed made him restless. lee had never really considered himself a particularly needy person, but his tactile fantasies were keen on disproving that notion. all those little touches he took for granted, he needed. in this moment, the ordinary began to feel special. he craved the weight of your hands slipping into his palms. he wanted to feel your legs grazing against his own when you sit next to each other; your head resting against his shoulder; and your playful shoves whenever he said something you found funny. he wanted those simplicities back now more than ever.
and if the second night wasn't already intolerable, the third day of separation became even more so.
lee started to look for you in the mundane.
whether it was a street vendor serving your favourite snack, or seeing a pretty flower that managed to capture your energy in every petal, you would taunt him by showing up everywhere without actually being here. if at any time anybody spoke, he would take an upwards glance, half-expecting you to be the one speaking, even if the odds of it being you were slim. and when nightfall arrived, he would fall into the exact same ritual, except this time, he’d be peeling back the blankets constantly in the hopes of finding you underneath them, laying next to him between the sheets.
the fourth and final night was agonisingly slow, and the most torturous of them all. lee’s thoughts continued to grow more and more dangerous as the night aged. he had a hankering for the more provocative, more sensual touches you lavished him in. he wanted to drink up the taste of your lips, to hold onto the flesh of your figure, and to knead your skin under his fingertips. lee sighs. he both loved and hated how vivid his imagination could be. he loved how warm you made his heart feel, but he could almost hate how you made his blood boil with sickly desire, to the extent of him kicking his blanket off his body. he stares down in the darkness at the soft grey fabric tented over his hard dick, feeling conflicted by equal parts discipline and equal parts self-indulgence. making this wild decision would be easy so late at night. he could quickly pull down his boxers, stroke himself to completion, and sleep it off. it wouldn't matter much. he'd be absolved of his act by the time he wakes up, but what's the point? you're only a day—no—a few hours away, he reminds himself. losing control now, of all times and so soon, would be meaningless. there's nothing he can do other than sleep. he decides to conclude his thoughts for the night before draping the blanket back over himself. lee hopes that when he opens his eyes, morning will be there to greet him instead of a night interrupted by his own sleeplessness.
lee's hopes had worked.
at long last, the morning of the fifth day was finally here.
the mission was accomplished, and it had finished simply without complication. there were no noteworthy threats, or any major causes of concern to be intercepted. while it was undeniably good news, lee couldn't bring himself to properly celebrate that. he didn't care about reports or anything of the sort. you were finally within reach, and it was the only thing he could think about. the true celebration would take place at your doorstep upon reunion, so it was only natural that lee would sprint back to konoha as if you'd disappear if he wasted any time. he was fueled by nothing but raw longing for you, and his heart pounded harder and harder with every step. when he passed through the village gates, it felt like he had tunnel vision. that sprint of his turned to a brisk walk where his surroundings were blurred, with his focus exclusively on the path leading to your house.
when lee rounded the final corner, he froze.
there you were. stood in the hallway with the door wide open, just for him.
you look like something divine to lee right now, with the afternoon sunlight kissing your skin and turning you to gold. he couldn't fathom how within the space of five days, you somehow managed to look even more beautiful than he had recalled. the relief of seeing you whole crashed over him in a wave so intense, that it stole his breath. he only started to breathe again when his eyes met yours. the moment he made eye contact, every ounce of discipline he spent cultivating on that mission shattered.
"hi, lee." you smiled.
the first thread of restraint snapped.
lee crossed the distance between you in a matter of seconds before you could even finish saying his name. his arms wrapped tightly around your body, and the sheer force of his embrace almost knocked you off of your feet. he barely gave you any time to react, and if it weren't for your quick reflexes, you would've tipped over and fallen flat on your back.
"lee!" you speak in-between bouts of laughter. "i'm here, i'm here."
he's not registering a single word you're saying. he's busy burying his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the memory of your scent like oxygen. for five days, he imagined this moment. five days of wondering, worrying, and wanting you so badly that it made his chest hurt. now that you were finally here, he couldn't bring himself to let go of you. even loosening his grip would be a crime.
"you know, lee," you tease, rubbing his back. "most people say hi back."
his answer came out muffled against your skin. "i am saying hi!"
lee raises his head from the junction between your neck and shoulders, and presses his cheek against yours before speaking gently in your ear. "i missed you," the words feel heavy with the weight of five years as opposed to five days. "i missed you so much, y/n," he repeats, breathlessly. his hands travel to the small of your back, and he presses you flush against him. chest-to-chest, you can feel his heart pounding against his ribs. "i needed you."
"i know, baby," you chuckle softly.
"no," lee swallows at the pet name falling from your lips. he missed that more than he thought. he separates his cheek from yours to look at your face. "you do not understand. it felt longer than five days, y/n."
the intensity of his words invites an atmosphere that feels heavier than before. it compels you to stop your laughter, and instead, enter a light silence. for a moment you both remain still, breathing in each other's air, and standing too close to each other for comfort, but you both wouldn't want it any other way. right now, lee wanted to regain some semblance of control, but it was futile. he's helplessly drawn to you—your touch, your voice, your comfort he missed out on for five days. the truth hit him with startling force, and the truth was that he wanted to ravage you.
lee's gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back up to your eyes. you noticed. the corner of your mouth curved upwards in response. that was all the permission lee needed from you.
the second thread of restraint snapped.
the space between your faces is sealed the instant lee's lips crash into yours. your hands roam over the back of his neck, with your fingers digging into his nape. the force of the collision is enough to make him spill a whine against your lips. you part them wider, wanting to take more of him into your mouth as he presses harder and harder against you.
lee is not a stranger to the warmth of your mouth, nor is he new to the taste of your tongue as it swirls around his, and yet, the sensation is like nothing he could've ever imagined on those five days away from you. you are beyond imagination, and you always exceed expectation. the sensation spreads underneath his flesh and through his veins, satiating the relentless hunger that had been driving him crazy for the duration of that mission. 120 hours, all released in a single instant. his hands—large and concealed with bandages that cover a story of scars—find the soft plush of your ass with a firmness. a hum rumbles deep in his chest, sending a vibration against your lips as he squeezes the flesh. it's exactly how he dreamt it would be.
you didn't fight the iron grip on your wrists as his roaming hands moved from your ass. the strength of his body pinned you right against the wall, and he silenced all of your breathless whimpers with kiss after bruising kiss. you experimentally tugged your wrists away from him, but you notice that his hold doesn't falter. his hands don't move, not even by an inch.
the sudden resistance prompts lee to loosen his grip and slowly break the kiss, just long enough to breathe against your lips. he pulls back slightly, with his dark eyes wide, scanning your face with his chest heaving.
"please tell me if i am being too forward with you, my flower," he panted. "tell me to stop, and i will. i… i have missed you to the point of madness."
and if you were being completely honest, you loved it when lee was like this. you loved it when he reminded you that he could effortlessly overpower you. it made your pussy throb with want seeing your boyfriend, a man renowned for his extraordinary discipline, coming undone at the mere sight of you. nothing could possibly be 'too forward' if it were him.
"now that you are here," he continues, "i want nothing more than to show you love. i need you." his voice is such a soft thing, tinged with desperation. "i really need you."
hearing his vulnerable confession, and looking up into his puppy-like eyes made your heart feel sore. he could have you in an instant, but still, he insists on remaining at your mercy. you didn't want him to stop though, not now, not ever—you had to let him have you. you decide to press your body closer into his, completely yielding to his strength. when you give your answer, you never once shift your gaze from his.
"i don't want you to stop, lee. just take me."
the third and final thread of restraint snapped.
lee's hands abandon your wrists, and in one fluid motion, he lifts you off your feet as if you weigh nothing to carry. it's like a reflex when you wrap your arms around his neck, and lock your ankles around his waist. his hands find purchase beneath your thighs, and he doesn't waste any time in racing to your bedroom. the movement is swift, sharpened by years of testing the limits of his speed. he kicks the bedroom door open and takes a stride to your bed—still faintly laced with the scent of you exactly as he remembers it. even though his hands are shaking with anticipation, he still lays you down on the mattress with the utmost care, like you're a monument of marble that could crack and break into thousands of fragments.
lee hovers above your laid form, looking down at you with eyes that are committed to storing every part of this moment to his starved memory. your parted lips, slightly swollen from his kisses; the way you flutter your lashes at him with half-lidded eyes; the addictive sound of your soft breaths. he can't resist you any longer.
the world outside the room seems to disappear when he slots his lips in between yours again, more fervent and hungrier than he was earlier. your fingers tangle deep into the thick dark strands of his hair, pulling him closer into you as you match the passion of the kiss. you start to arch your back and buck your hips up against him in the pursuit of more pressure, more contact, the slightest something to ease the throbbing of your cunt. lee presses the weight of his cock—hard and clothed—between your legs, but not before pinning your hips down to prevent you from having your fill. you whine softly in response.
"come on, goddess," he breathes against your neck, kissing the skin there as consolation, "i do not want to deny you either… surely, you can understand." his voice is so gentle, but his actions are less than. he rises, and his bandaged fingers grip onto the waistband of your pants, dragging them down to leave you clad in your underwear. a hum rumbles in his throat when he sees the outline of your labia, soaked and swollen with arousal, through the thin fabric of your panties. "you must have missed me too. isn't that right, y/n?"
"i did, baby," you nod, voice breathy with need. "i'm glad you're here."
"i do not doubt that, my angel."
it's his turn to strip now. he's quick to unfasten his green flak jacket, setting the heavy material aside to reveal his broad chest. your eyes trail downwards, allowing his abs to guide you as they tense and relax with every ragged breath he takes. the outline of his obliques tempt your eyes some more, taking them further south to his adonis' belt. those two lines disappear dangerously low into the waistband of his remaining clothing. you don't have to ask for more. lee is already stepping out of his pants, revealing the bulge thats threatening to escape the confines of his boxers.
"but, i think you doubt just how much i missed you."
lee crawls towards you on the mattress, chasing the gap between your bodies. his warmth is enticing. you're trapped between the stronghold of his arms.
"you were on my mind every second," his breath tickles your skin as he tracks ardent kisses from the chisel of your jawline, down to your collarbones. "you were in my dreams, and now, you are finally in front of me." he rasps, rocking his hard cock against your pussy as if his words barely hold enough conviction. "i really missed you, y/n. really, really missed you."
you feel his hands snake behind your knees, raising your legs and pushing them up as his erection exerts more pressure onto your pussy. your legs rests on his shoulders as he continues. a shiver runs through you when you feel the damp spot of precum seeping through the thin cotton of lee's boxers against you. you're both soaking each other right now, and neither of you can stop the collective outpour of gasps spilling from your lips. the feeling of his hardness rutting against your clothed clit feels heavenly, and all you can do is moan, because you know your boyfriend is far from finished.
the warmth is building up fast. he stops his grinding quickly, just to pull down his boxers and free his cock. you almost want to drool over how it stands on end, how it pulses in the air, and how his flushed tip leaks with desire. he pulls your panties to the side, slipping his hard length in between the lips of your pussy. lee shifts back and forth, allowing you to feel every vein on him as it drags along your clit. you don't know where to look, with your hungry gaze torn between his slick erection as it passes back and forth between your wet core, and his intense face, cast with a light pink flush. lee moans as he meets your eyes.
"you don't know how good you're making me feel, y/n," he whispers.
he kisses at your sternum while bucking his hips against you. the kisses reach the swell of your breasts, and his tongue swipes over one taut nipple before he seals his lips around it. you exhale when he circles his tongue around the sensitive bud, sucking at it with thirst. the suction makes your back arch further against him, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. at that, he decides to pin your wrists up against the mattress to further immobilise you. it makes you moan with need. lee refuses to leave your other breast untouched, and he focuses his attention on it with the exact same passion, with his teeth grazing against it ever so slightly.
you can feel yourself about to cum, and you know that lee is teetering on the edge of his climax too as he struggles to maintain his pace. your body feels unbearably hot, and lee is pressing harder against you like he wants your body to catch flames.
he's overwhelmed at the fact that there's so much of you. those hungry lips of his return to your neck, nipping at the skin there before settling his mouth taut over the expanse of it. he sucks hard against your throat and lingers there indefinitely, nearly consuming you. you can feel his eyelashes brushing over your skin. it adds a new dimension to your indulgence, and you can feel yourself struggling to keep your eyes open against the rapidly approaching waves of pleasure bursting from your core. you're past the point of controlling yourself now, and it's automatic when your orgasm breaks over you, sharp and intense. your legs slips off of his shoulders. your eyes shut tightly. you're clutching on fistfuls of his hair, and every muscle in your body jerks relentlessly, causing the bedsprings let out a creak of protest from beneath you. lee follows up quickly with his own climax as he soaks you with thick, hot spurts of cum that spill on your belly. the suction on your neck stops, and it's instead replaced by lee's warm breath on your skin.
"y/n-" he cuts himself off with a moan against your ear, "do you see what you do to me, my blossom?" he leaves soft pecks along your neck, giving extra to the fresh hickey. lee doesn't intend for it to be teasing, but it feels that way when he slowly rubs his slick-coated cock against your sensitive clit, still pulsating and raw from orgasm. he raises his head to look down at you—more particularly, the love-bite on your neck.
"i can not believe you belong to me," he whispers. "give me a kiss, my love."
the kiss is nothing short of greedy and obscene. you both moan into it, and you can feel the warmth settling deep in your belly once again, despite the fact that lee has just coaxed an orgasm out of you. his tongue slips past yours for a final time before he breaks the kiss.
"perfect," he pecks at your neck, "just like that, y/n. so good." he breathes, beginning a trail of kisses down your chest. each one against your skin feels like heaven as they mark the gentle slope of your belly. the ghost of his breath sets a precedent, warning you before his lips can even land on you. it makes the muscles of your stomach contract with anticipation before each kiss.
"you are truly a beauty," he purrs. "every last part of you." the kisses travel even lower, moving just above the waistband of your panties in an unbroken sequence. lee appears to have predicted your next movements, because his hands have already found the flare of your hips. you sigh with exasperation as you thrust your hips up. all you want to do is move without restraint and ride against his mouth, but he's held you hostage, anchoring your lower body flat against the mattress again.
"please, lee," you sob. "please don't make me wait."
"but you will wait, my angel. just as i have." he fans the flame even further by having the nerve to press a soft kiss to your clit. "you deserve my complete focus. i can't give you my full effort if you rush me. just let me have you, okay?"
you nod, wordlessly.
"i am glad you understand."
lee slides his tongue across your needy pussy, dragging it salaciously in a stripe that stretches from your weeping entrance to your protruding clit. he swallows. you taste like all the things he was so desperately craving in your absence, and its better than anything his mind could have mimicked to fill the you-shaped void he left behind for five days. your essence taste sweet on his tongue, exactly like the feeling of reward after discipline. he makes a vow to himself: he will savour you as to never forget you.
after that one lick, he's insatiable. his mouth engulfs your clit, and you can feel every single nerve being greeted by the slickness of his tongue as it contorts and presses patterns on the very tip of it. lee has only been starved of your proximity, but he slurps and laps away at you as if he has been starved of all sustenance; as if there is no real difference between you, food, and drink. he's not letting you run anywhere. he tugs you by your legs and pushes your cunt further into his face, keeping your thighs elevated against the force of his hands behind your knees.
"fuck, lee," you moan into the air, calling his name like a prayer. "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
he's fighting a losing battle against the sound of your voice. he wantonly moans into you, and the vibrations against your pussy drive you closer to the edge. the room is filled with nothing but your noises at this rate: the noise of your gushing cunt against lee's hungry mouth, the noise of your constant gasps—your moans and your pleas. it's addicting to lee.
he can feel your second orgasm coming to take you by storm. your head throws itself back, your thighs are start to shudder, and your body is beginning to relentlessly writhe with every ruthless flick of his tongue against your sore clit. still, he does not move from the paradise between your thighs. he doesn't care, and he'll continue to have his fill of you until he's satisfied. there is no drop of your slowly trickling essence that goes to waste as his mouth catches it with every hard pulse of your pussy. it's akin to finishing the meal of a lifetime that leaves you licking at a near-empty plate. that unyielding tongue continues to take you through each wave of orgasmic shock until tears fall out of your eyes.
every single nerve is jumping. your heart feels like it's in between your legs, and you aren't sure how long you can stay strong for. unlike you, lee remains adamant and sure of himself. he refuses to let you come down from this high. he starts to curl two fingers inside of you, reaching for that particularly sensitive spot that lies deep in your pussy.
"lee!" you cry out his name. it does nothing to grab his attention.
you're oversensitive, past your limit, and he's still fucking into you with his fingers—still sucking away at you mercilessly. your cries are deafening. they get more and more broken as his fingertips tap that place inside you, over, and over, and over. if he couldn't feel it rising inside of you before, he can feel it rising inside of you now. he's circling his tongue around you determinedly, pressing against that spot, and-
warmth.
the moan you let out is sinful. your body gives out before it locks up a final time, and suddenly, lee's face is covered in a warm gush of you, coating his mouth, dripping from his chin and down onto the mattress. he slows down the pace of his tongue, alongside the pace of his fingers as you clench around him. your boyfriend just made you squirt.
when lee finally pulls his head away, he's looking up at you in awe. you're crying softly, chest heaving, and with eyes shut as tears streak your face. for a moment, he panics, absorbed in the fear that he pushed you too far.
"y/n," lee whispers, crawling towards your face. "are you alright, angel?" his thumbs brush away at your tears.
he reaches for your hands and locks his fingers between yours. when you squeeze his hands, he doesn't even feel the slightest bit reassured. he wouldn't forgive himself if he hurt you.
"please. talk to me, angel." he whispers.
there's a drawn silence, split only by heavy breathing.
"oh my god," you finally manage. your eyes open slowly, cast with a lustful shadow as you blink at him. "that was fucking insane, lee."
the worry lee felt gets washed away with your words. you can taste yourself on his lips as he goes in to give you a kiss.
"it was?" he asks.
"it was." you confirm.
"that makes me feel relieved." he cages you with his body. "there is nothing better than the taste of you. but there is nothing worse than your tears if i am hurting you. i love you, y/n." he whispers against your lips.
"i love you too, lee." your breath exchanges with his.
"i love you so much, and it isn't even close, y/n."
lee has been hard ever since he walked through your door, dying to feel his length burrowed inside you. he can't put the last five days behind him either. he taps the tip of his dick against your still-sensitive clit, wanting a sign from you. a sign that says you'll be merciful enough to accept him in your pussy.
"do you want me? as badly as i want you, sweetness?"
"oh, fuck, lee," you whimper. "yes…"
that's all he needs.
with two orgasms under your belt, lee slides into you with minimal effort. the groan he lets out feels like an expulsion of everything he had buried when he was away. every single ridge of your warm pussy around his cock feels like salvation; like a personal apology from you to him for your absence. before long, his balls are pressed against the cleft of your ass, and he's fully bottomed out against you. every vein, every inch, and every minute pulse as he probes inside you makes you feel complete. you're happy to have him back where he belongs.
his forehead is connected to yours, cemented by the thin sheen of sweat that coats both of your bodies. you remain like that for a few seconds, held captive in each other's gaze. lee starts to move now, beginning with a long, deep stroke from tip to hilt. when his hips slam into yours, the filthiest moan comes out of him.
now that he's finally fucking you, there is nothing you can do to stop him. how many times did he think about this moment on his mission? he couldn't tell you. he doesn't want to be reminded of control or discipline—not when he's pushing himself inside you, hard and fast. your breathless calls and pleas encourage him to fuck his hips deeper into you, with each thrust being more ardent than the last.
his strong hands find the back of your thighs and pushes them upwards, leaving your feet suspended in the air. the position he's folded you in makes you cry out obscenely, and lee knows that from there, he's found the tender spot that drives you wild.
his cock curves in just the right way from this angle. he pounds right into it, over and over without fail until your eyes are fluttering shut; until your teeth are sinking into the flesh of your lower lip; and until your toes are curling with pleasure. it feels like the bed frame is going to fall apart at this rate. his tanned skin is glistening with sweat now, with beadlets flowing down his abs. his hair is dishevelled. you are soaked.
"oh, f-fuck," your words are broken by gasps, "lee, please! don't stop!"
"i would never want to!" air cushions his words as he speaks. "if-if i could, i would stay inside you for a lifetime." he plants a messy kiss on your lips.
when the kiss ends, you slip a hand downwards between your legs and rub away at your clit.
lee may be distracted by your pretty face, and occupied by your warm tightness, but there's no way he's letting that slide. he catches on almost immediately, severing his eye contact to look down at your fingers rolling around your clit.
“stop,” he said huskily. "i am here. do not do that."
he seizes your free hand and pins it right above your head. he does the same for the other, holding your wrists flat with one hand as his thumb rubs firm circles around your clit on your behalf.
once again, you can feel tears of pleasure brimming at the corner of your eyes. you are absolutely sore with blinding pleasure. you're moaning desperately now, with your words growing more and more incoherent for every snap of his hips.
"i wish you could look at yourself, blossom," he praises. "you are taking me so well."
"every," slap! "last," slap! "inch." slap!
lee is moving at a speed you can barely process. your pleasure is growing exponentially, to the point where it's getting impossible to verbalise. it's coming now: that familiar sensation brewing in the depths of your womb, like a compressed spring about to free itself.
"lee," you rasp, "lee, lee, lee, i'm—hah—so close, i can't, i can't-"
"you can, y/n," he breathes, "you can keep taking it. come on, you feel so—ngh!—good around me. "
your face is wet with tears now. lee's forehead presses harder against yours as he tastes the salt on his lips, kissing the droplets as they fall.
you don't care who hears you anymore. you're shaking as much as lee's grip allows; gasping, and crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you with ferocity. your pussy is strangling his dick, gripping him like you don't want him to escape your cunt. lee gasps for every time you clench rhythmically around his length, but still, he fucks you through your high with the same vigour, and he still presses shapes into your clit as if you really need more. it's the best kind of torture. it really couldn't get any better than this.
his grip on your wrists are getting tighter, to the point of leaving bruises. his lips stay parted. he can barely keep his eyes open as he splits you open. he's getting close.
"y/n," his voice is strained-. "wh-where do you want me to fi-"
"-inside!" you answer immediately. "fuck! please, lee, i need you to cum inside of me!"
he'll give you anything you want.
lee drags his cock all the way back, and slams into your pussy for a final time before his thighs lock, leaving him reduced to a panting, moaning mess on top of you. you swear you can feel his cock jump inside of you. you can feel every throb as he paints your womb white with spurts of hot cum. even though he's plugging your insides with his length, his seed spills out of your entrance, trickling down your ass and pooling onto the mattress. he stays like that for a few moments, wrapped in post-coital bliss as his grip on your wrists finally loosens.
"i love you, y/n." his voice is soft.
"i know, baby," you murmur. "i love you too."
"you did well, and i am so proud." his fingers intertwine with yours as he peppers soft kisses on your cheeks. "i was a bit harsh though, wasn't i?" he remarks, sheepishly. he looks down at the hickeys on your neck, up at the minor bruises on your wrists, and down at the ones blooming on your hips where he had pinned you down earlier before meeting your eyes again. you catch him blushing faintly.
a soft chuckle escapes your breath. "you didn't hurt me. you could never hurt me, lee."
"i am pleased!" he smiles, revealing dimples.
"but you were harsh."
"yes… i was..." his eyes dart around, desperate to escape the weight of your gaze. it's almost as if he didn't fold you and fuck the life out of you.
"and all because you didn't see me for five days?"
"it is only natural, y/n! i think about you all the time. not being able to have you was terrible for me." he gets over his bashfulness quickly, looking down at you with rounded eyes.
adorable, you think. how such a small span of time can have such a big impact on a person. it makes your heart flutter.
"well, i'm not going anywhere, baby," you reassure. "i'm going to be right here, lee."
it's already over. you can feel his cock twitch inside of you again.
"i know, my flower," he kisses the corner of your lips. "you are going to be here all night."
Simon Riley with his weird ass acts of love and bizarre concept of boundaries
You’ll be waking up confused in the middle of the night, feeling a strange pulling at your feet, only to glance down and see your boyfriend has thrown the covers off and is attempting to clip your toenails for you
“What in the actual f-”
“I’m tired o’ your talons diggin’ into my legs every nigh’. This is for both o’ us, love.” He’ll grumble in that tone of his that leaves no room for argument, only the sound of nail clippers echoing in the room as your roll your eyes before shutting them again
Every so often when you’re on your period, you’ll be stepping out of the shower, bewildered to find that the night time pad and underwear you’d set aside with your pyjamas on the bathroom counter top, have been put together for you?
“Simon- you saved me all of two steps at most? Opening the wrapper and sticking it on?”
“And you’re welcome.” He’ll mutter casually with a quick kiss to your forehead before he’s off to brush his teeth
“I’m so confused. I might be losing it, Si.” You’ll mention one time, coming home after work with bags of greasy takeout food in hand, his brow only raising in question. “This is maybe the third time now I’ve noticed that the petrol was nearing a quarter tank, so I’d plan to fill up the next day. But next time I get in the car- the tank is fucking full! The first time I thought I had dreamt it, second time I thought I was hallucinating a little bit, but now-”
“Love, I’ve been filling up your car.”
“…what?”
“That’s me. Every time I’ve heard you say you need petrol- I’ve filled up the car.” Simon shrugs as though he’s simply telling you what the weather is for today, not that he’s been sneaking out in the middle of the night with your car keys to run a quick errand for you as you sleep
“I don’t know if I want to ask how or why first.”
“Well petrol’s fuckin’ expensive now, that’s why. You don’t need to be payin’ tha’.”
“You could have just … asked me?”
“… righ’. Noted.” He’ll nod in quick agreement before moving on to take the bags from you, no intention whatsoever of changing his habits
Simon doesn’t get why you hate him so much.
simon riley x sergeant!reader who hates(?) his guts
tags/cw: nsfw 18+, explicit sexual content, afab!reader, simon kind of corners you for a sec so a smidge of dubcon but there’s verbal consent right after!, male masturbation, light masochism, sexual tension, brat kink, degradation kink, sparring as foreplay, hate sex (kind of), dirty thoughts & dirty talk, teasing, oral, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, FEELINGS, just hear me out okay. [5k words]
based off of this request!, read on ao3
Simon doesn’t get why you hate him so much.
Doesn’t understand why you’re perfectly polite with Price and the others but look at him like fresh shit smeared on your boot’s sole.
Not that he cares; it’s only mildly irritating to have to listen to you talk shit whenever he’s busy tracking a target down his scope.
Better not miss, Lt.
Would be a really big mess to clean if you fuck this up, Lt.
Don’t tell me you’re getting rusty, Lt?
A right anklebiter, you are. It gets worse when you’re both on base– when the verbal pettiness turns physical.
You’re both on the running track, doing your morning runs at the same time.
“On your right,” Simon grunts, just loud enough for you to hear. He pivots just a bit to your right so he can pass.
But then you also slide a bit to your right, speeding up on the way so that you’re still in front and blocking his way. When he tries going to the other way, you zig zag with him. Left, right, left, left, more left, right.
In the end, you stop when he stops. You turn towards him, eyeing him like a moldy meal you forgot to throw out.
“Oh. Hi, Lt.,” you say. “Didn’t see you there.”
“I told you to move, Sergeant,” he mutters.
“Sorry, Lt., what was that?” You cup your ears. “Couldn’t hear you over my music.”
You’re not even wearing any earbuds.
He turns on his heels and leaves with his fists clenched tight.
It’s been like this since you first joined. He remembers it as clear as day-- a younger, somehow more stubborn-looking you.
Plucked fresh from whatever unit you were in before them, you had greeted them— Price, Garrick, Johnny— with respect: a salute, a handshake, and a smile to boot.
But then you hear his name, see his mask, and it’s like hell freezes over on your face.
Lieutenant Riley, nice to meet you– like it was the exact opposite, like it caused you physical pain to even say his name.
Johnny makes fun of him for it. Dae ye know 'em? Face looked like ye curbstomped a bairn or something.
You drop the filter entirely once you settle into the team months later. Tongue gets looser, no pulled punches, thinly veiled contempt slipping into pure snark.
He needs to grab something from a cabinet you’re in front of? Your hand shoots out, waggling your fingers. Five quid and I’ll move, Lt.
Helping him bandage up on an op? He grunts when your fingers dig just a tad too deep into his skin and wrap the wound just a tad too tight. Maybe if you didn’t get hit in the first place, Lt.
It’s infuriating.
But you don’t stop because there are never any consequences.
No matter how many looks Price shoots him when the old man overhears the blatant disrespect.
No matter how many times other soldiers stare at you like you’re out of your goddamn mind (you are) for saying the shit you do.
Why?
Because the reason Simon never writes you up for insubordination is the same reason he's fisting his leaking cock in bed like some horny fucking teenager.
It's the same reason he lets you snark in his ear over comms, quietly grinding his rock-hard erection into cold dirt, and grunts to hide the pleasure that shoot down his spine when your nails dig into bloody skin.
It's the only thing he can think about when he's like this— your nails tracing the muscle of his back and gripping his cock until his spunk gets all over you.
Simon doesn't remember when it started. Doesn’t remember when the want became a need.
Maybe it was the time you sassed him in front of the others, or maybe it was when you looked him straight in the eye and told him 'you look like a cosplayer, Lt.' Or maybe it was since the beginning, on your very first day.
The one thing he is sure about is how much he wants to fuck you.
Simon wants to fuck you until you're all babbles and wails— bend you over in his bed until you can't think straight and all you can muster is how you want more of his stupid, stupid cock.
He wants you to want him as much as he wants you. But he doesn't want to fuck the fight out of you though, no.
Yeah, a part of him still wonders why you hate him so much, but he doesn't mind you sticking to whatever fucked-up preconceived notions you have of him.
Your fire is what makes it fun, and Simon loves to burn.
He cums like that, mind flush with the thought of you fucking yourself on his cock while telling him how much you can't fucking stand him.
When the haze of pleasure finally recedes, he's stuck with one goal in his mind,
—getting you in his bed.
Your lieutenant's acting strange.
Ever since he walked away from you on the track, Ghost has been... accommodating. Moreso than before.
It's suspicious as fuck.
You're not an idiot. You know your behavior should've gotten you sacked ages ago. Even though Ghost might let it slide for whatever reason, it's still highly disrespectful to your CO. (But you have your reason, as petty as it is. He deserves it.)
So it's strange when he starts acting almost-nice to you.
Exhibit A.
Standing up for you.
The 141 is respected amongst operators and soldiers alike; this is fact. But there's always bound to be a green recruit who thinks, I can do it, I'm special, why not me?
These are the ones you encounter most as the most recent and youngest addition to the 141. It's something you had to grow new skin for, but that doesn't mean it isn't fucking annoying to deal with.
"I bet I could take them in a fight. They don't even look that tough," the recruit prattles. "Do you think the captain will let me into 141 if I beat them?"
The group of soldiers he’s posturing to snicker and laugh. They don’t seem to care that you’re standing ten feet away, or that you can very visibly hear their conversation.
You're about to tell them to drop and give you fifty when a big hulking man steps towards the group.
"Think you got what it takes, corporal?" Your lieutenant drawls, staring down at the recruits who look like they're all going to piss their fatigues.
"L-lieutenant! No--yes, I mean, I--"
Ghost jerks his head towards the training mats.
"Let's see how good you are then."
The recruit gets dropped within ten seconds.
Your lieutenant mutters something to him before barking at the rest of the group. Get your asses on the field. You lot are runnin' laps until you know what it means to respect your betters.
Does he even know how hypocritical he’s being?
Later on during dinner, the recruit who insulted you walks up to 141's table, still ruffled from the nasty takedown and sweaty from running around base. He barely manages to squeak out an apology to you, shooting the smallest glance at your lieutenant before running away with his tail tucked.
(How do you grapple with the way your heart turns?)
Ghost doesn't react, doesn't even look up. Only sips his tea like nothing ever happened.
Exhibit B.
Since when did Ghost start talking back to you on comms?
"If you let me die tonight, I'm going to haunt you and your bloodline forever, Lt."
An undercover mission. Infiltrating some invite-only bourgeoisie gala that's an alleged meeting place for many, many VIPs. Coincidentally, 141's newest target happens to be invited and you are the one who's thrown into the lions' pit.
"My bloodline? Not happening."
He's somewhere out there, watching. On the roof of a nearby building probably.
There’s a sense of comfort in that. You may not like his guts, but you’ve never doubted him on overwatch.
"Why? Got no game, Lt.?"
"Got plenty," he says.
The soft rumble of his voice tickles your ear. It's unusual-- weird-- to hear him banter with you over comms like this. He usually only ever does it with Soap.
"Well, make it happen then," you mumble.
A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne. You smile politely, shaking your head ‘no’.
It’s not the highest risk mission, but the amount of armed guards you’re seeing is a bit annoying. That, and your target is still nowhere to be found.
If you have to send another flirty smile to another grimy man while waiting, you're telling Ghost to aim the crosshair at you instead. And then you're going to haunt him.
"You volunteerin'?"
Your brain short-circuits.
What?
Your mouth bobs open, then shut, and then open again. Hoping to whatever deity out there that your lieutenant's scope isn't actively trained on you right now.
Shit hits the fan faster than you can gather your thoughts.
Screams ring out through the ballroom as windows shatter and gunfire fills the air. Chaos quickly spreads through the masses as people run for cover. Ghost's voice flickers in over the noise.
"Sergeant, take cover, now! Go!"
You don't need to be told twice.
There'll be time to think about what he said later, when you aren't actively in danger of being hole-punched.
And then, Exhibit C.
This is how it culminates.
Outside, on the fields with your fellow sergeants and Ghost. The four of you toss sticks to decide sparring partners; it's sheer dumb misfortune that you end up pairing with Ghost.
You've sparred with him before. He's relentless. There's always a bruise or two on your body when he's done with you. Never once have you won against him; you don't expect this time to be any different.
“Let’s see if you’ve improved, Sergeant,” Ghost taunts.
“I swear I won’t accidentally kick your balls, Lt.,” you reply.
The two of you grapple at each other, swiping and pushing, body on body. Ghost is wearing a tight compression shirt today. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't somewhat distracting with the way it hugged the planes of his muscles— no! Keep focusing!
It's never easy to wrestle a man as big as him. But you have to try.
Your hands can barely wrap around his biceps, but you use what you have to your advantage. Nails nearly break skin as you dig deep. He grunts, grip tightening on your arms.
A man's strength can sometimes be his undoing.
You let your weight shift, using his hold on you as an anchor. Tilting back, you let your legs swing forward, grappling around his waist. The momentum has Ghost stumbling back, and you make your final move.
Ghost lets out a surprised grunt as you let go of his arms and force your way through his grip. You push through, pressing your forearms against his throat until his whole body tilts and falls back onto the mat.
Oh, you're gasping out breaths. Holy shit.
You did it.
Ghost is, like you, breathing hard through his nose, eyes lidded. His hands no longer wrap around your arms. Instead, they're settled on your hips, holding you firmly in place.
It occurs to you then the position you're in.
Legs spread over his waist, sitting right on his belly. You're bent forward, hands splayed across his chest and next to his head. Practically laying on top of him.
He's so warm.
An involuntary jolt rolls through your body as you jerk backwards, an attempt to get some distance from his face.
Big mistake.
Holy fuck, this is not happening right now.
You feel it beneath your ass. Unmistakably big, undeniably hard.
A shiver makes it's way down your spine. Your legs clench tight, squishing his abdomen and grinding deeper against him. With the way Ghost's fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, you know he feels it too.
There's a fog closing in on your mind. The sight of your lieutenant under you shouldn't turn you on like this— and yet, the growing dampness between your legs tells you otherwise.
Panicked, you rip yourself off of him and get on your feet. A look over at Soap and Gaz, but they're still in a grapple of their own. It's only a temporary relief that runs over you when you realize they hadn't seen what happened.
"Sergeant," your lieutenant calls out. He's propped up on his arm; you look anywhere but him.
"Sorry, Lt. Feeling a little sick," you say, licking your lips. "Going to freshen up a bit."
You don't wait for him to dismiss you before you're jogging back to your quarters.
Standing in front of your little bathroom sink, you splash cold water onto your burning face. It barely helps.
How did you end up here?
Was it when he started being nice to you, even though you were never anything but rude? Was it when he defended you against egotistic recruits?
Or has it been doomed since the start, when he first looked at you through his stupidly long lashes, like he was trying flip you inside out with his stare?
You weren't lying when you told him you felt sick.
It's a creeping feeling in your gut that's been burning low for a while now. Don't want to call it denial, but what else could it be?
(Betrayal, maybe. You shouldn't feel anything else. Shouldn’t be feeling anything but spite for your lieutenant. It isn't fair to your friend who—)
Knock knock.
The sound breaks you away from thought. A part of you dreads opening it, because you know who stands behind the heavy door. The other part of you is who turns the knob.
Ghost stands there, towering over you.
"Alright, Sergeant?"
His composure is unfair. It's like before never happened. You take a deep breath before replying.
"Yes, sir," you say. It comes out all crackly and rough. "Nothing to worry about."
The silence that falls between you is unsettling.
“If that’s all.” You start to close the door, but his hand catches it.
“Need to talk to you ‘bout something,” he says.
You feel your heart drop somewhere into hell. “Sir, there’s nothing—”
He pushes the door back, pressing into your room. “D’you have a problem with me, Sergeant?”
Eyebrows scrunched, you back up into the wall behind you. “What?”
“I repeat, do you have a problem with me?”
Ghost tilts your chin up. His hand feel like a brand on your skin. Your gaze moves back and forth from his eyes to where his lips shift under the mask, all of a sudden taken back to the picture of him lying beneath your legs. He follows your stare, searching.
“Yes or no, Sergeant?”
His voice is all guttural and deep, like he’s holding himself back from something.
“…N-no, I—”
“Good,” he hums. “Won’t have a problem with this then.”
He moves faster than you can process. Hand slipping his balaclava up, just enough to expose thin scarred lips and a crooked nose. You blink, and suddenly they’re pressing against yours.
Any semblance of self-control melts away after that.
He kisses you like a man deprived of oxygen. Feels more like he's eating you up rather than kissing you. Like he's trying to drink up the air you breathe and more.
But after all he's been doing these past few weeks, the contact feels like a deep reprieve in your bones— a relief you don't want to admit to needing.
You chase him when he pulls back.
“Do you hate me?” He asks, thumb tracing your swollen lips.
"I just let you kiss me," you say, breathless and incredulous. "And you're asking me if I hate you?"
He smirks-- it's stupidly attractive seeing a real expression on him.
"Can't be sure when it comes to you, Sergeant."
You furrow your brows, annoyed. "What's that supposed to mean— mmph!"
Ghost cuts you off with another kiss, hands moving down to your hips. You yelp when he pulls your legs up to wrap around his waist, hauling you up by your ass.
"Arms around me, love," he grunts between pecks.
Once your arms wrap around his shoulders, he pushes off the wall and carries you over to the bed. With surprising care, he drops you on the mattress and settles on top of you.
"Tell me to stop," Ghost growls against your neck. "And I will."
You should say no. No to fraternization, no to betraying your morals.
Stand strong in the face of evil temptation!
"More," you plead instead, because the devil lives inside you. "Want more, Lt."
He groans into your skin. It excites you infinitely more. Leaning back, he pulls his shirt off, revealing firm muscles and a soft belly.
Fuck, he’s so stupidly hot. Your own top and pants comes off a moment later, left forgotten on the floor.
The two of you are a mess of tangled limbs in your little bed made for one.
Ghost kisses down your body, latching onto your soft skin and sucking bruises down your chest. He says things that make you burn a fever pitch— fuckin’ gorgeous, sergeant, knew you needed me, isn't tha' right?
It’s unbearable how turned on you are.
Whines bleed through clenched teeth as you paw at his body. He bites, eliciting a sharp flinch from you.
Always pissin’ me off with tha’ smart mouth of yours, he mutters. Makin' me go wank off like a fuckin' teen.
Your mind is blur— everything is happening too fast, too hot, to process what he's saying to you.
Ghost moves down your body, giving your chest a rough fondle before settling in between your shaky legs.
When he drags your underwear down, your pussy is glistening with how utterly wet you are.
"All f' me?" He asks, pupils blown at the sight of his prize. "Fuckin' drippin'."
You squirm, cheeks searing hot. "Shut up—"
He doesn't let you finish, burying his face between your thighs in one smooth motion.
If Ghost kisses like a man starved, then he eats pussy like it's the only thing keeping him alive.
He pulls you close in his arms and drinks you up like the slick dripping from your pussy is his own personal ambrosia. Moans and groans like it's some divine providence to have his mouth on your cunt.
Your hands claw at his neck and shoulders, but it only spurs him on with more fervor. You feel it simmering into a boil in your belly; the telling signs of your orgasm building.
"Hah—Fuck, Lt., I'm gonna—," you moan, squeezing your eyes shut in anticipation.
But then he stills.
Just stops completely as his mouth leaves your pussy cold and shaking. You lift your head to look down at him, eyes in a frenzy from a ruined climax.
"W-why'd you stop—,"
"Never answered my question, love." He blows cold air on your clit, teasing.
"Huh?"
"Tell me why you hate me," Ghost says, staring at you through soft lashes. "Tell me why you act like such a fuckin' brat, and I'll let you come."
Your breath hitches. “You’re such a fucking asshole—“
You try to kick your leg at him, but he's strong and there's nothing you can do with them pinned down. He nips at your clit, making you yelp out in shock.
"Answer the question, Sergeant."
Ghost shifts his arm, bringing his hand over while still holding your leg down. It's sinful to watch it happen-- his tongue flicking out, licking two of his fingers until they're shimmering with saliva, petting your pussy from the clit down to your pulsing hole.
"Mmhh—"
The stretch of his fingers in your pussy makes you tremble with anticipation. But he doesn't move them the way you want. Only teases you slowly and gently.
"Please, Lt.—"
"Not fuckin' you 'til you tell me, pet."
And isn't that simply the most aggravating thing to hear?
You let out a frustrated whimper. Mind running back and forth over what you could possibly say so that he'll make you come. A shock of pleasure flickers through you when he suddenly crooks his fingers inside you.
Keeping your gaze, he flicks his tongue out and drags it slowly, tracing a line from where his fingers fuck into you, all the way up to your clit.
"Promise I'll fuck you right if you tell me."
The words bubble up your throat before you can stop them.
"...myfriendaskedyououtbutyourejectedthemsoI'mobligatedtohateyou— please, let me come, Lt.," you half-beg, half-sob.
It’s embarrassing. Borderline humiliating to say it aloud.
The real reason for why you treat him like trash— how you only really hate him by proxy.
Truthfully, there's never been any real ill intent. Only a sorry moral obligation to be as spiteful as possible for an old teammate who had confided in you after being coldly shot down by the masked lieutenant of 141— the very one that's currently knuckles deep in your throbbing cunt and covered in your juices.
“Wasn’t so hard, was it, love?” Ghost purrs, fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you.
He's still smirking, that fucking asshole. You wriggle your hips, but he keeps you still with an arm and it’s just not enough.
“Fuck you,” you cry out in frustration.
“I will," he hums. "All tha’ sass for what, hm? Someone I don’t even remember?”
He presses his nose into the plush of your thigh and takes a deep inhale.
"Jerk— hngh!"
Broken moans escape you as his lips find your clit once more. This time, he eats you up without mercy, thick fingers curving wickedly into that one spot inside you. A familiar spark beginning its ascent from where it first fell.
You want to tell him that he's mean, a straight jerk for not remembering someone confessing to them. That this was your friend he was dismissing like a nobody.
(Oh, but what would your friend say if they find out you're in bed with the man who rejected them?
It was so long ago though, your mind whispers. Surely, they've moved on by now, right?)
His tongue laps with just the right pressure on your bud, full broad strokes that make you see stars. His fingers work your pussy with focused precision, sinking into the spot that keeps making you cry out in pleasure.
It's all too much for you to take.
When he finally wraps his lips around your sensitive clit and sucks— you come with blinding lights in your vision, hips grinding up into his face uncontrollably.
"Tha's it, just like that, Sergeant," Ghost coos against your clit, sending another jolt through your legs.
He slips his fingers out of you and pulls himself up back towards your neck, nipping and nestling at your throat. His still-clothed cock grinds gently against your pulsating core.
With the crash comes some of your rationality.
"They liked you, you asshole," you accuse softly, boneless.
"Like me?" Ghost says bluntly against your skin. "They don't even know me."
You roll your eyes. "What, like I know you?"
He pulls back, both arms braced at the sides of your head. Something indecipherable in his gaze.
"Don't you?"
Don't you?
Your breath catches in your chest.
And what would it mean to know someone like Ghost?
His name? His face?
Is it to know the same ten jokes he tells on the field? Or how he always makes sure to give his soldiers a once-over before heading out, and is always the last to exfil?
Or maybe it's to know the sound of his voice in your ears, to be able to pick him out from a crowd of blurry faces. To be able to recognize the scarred curve of his lips, the rough callouses on his palms against your skin.
You sink into the deep end when you realize how close the proximity between you and the man-you-tried-to-hate has become.
"You with me, pet?"
Ghost pulls you out of your thoughts with a nibble on your throat.
"Worryin' too much," he nuzzles into your neck, suckling a sensitive spot that makes you whine. "Couldn't care less 'bout your friend."
You frown, opening your mouth to berate him again, but he beats you with a deep kiss.
“Don't care f'anyone else," Ghost utters between kisses. "Copy?"
The thought makes your head go fuzzy. You nod.
"Good, 'cause 'm gonna fuck you now."
Like a switch, Ghost goes back to teasing you. He kisses you hard, still as desperate and hungry as it was before. Your hands slip down his muscly frame, tugging at the hem of his pants.
"—off," you manage to say between breaths.
Ghost obliges, breaking free from you to tug off his pants. You salivate at the sight; you'd felt it before, on the training grounds— knew it would be big.
His cock is fat and heavy on your cunt when he settles back in between your legs. Even against the size of his bulk, he's fucking huge.
"Scared?" He teases.
You break eye contact with his cock to look up at him. The stupid smirk is back on his lips, irritating you in all the right ways. His eyes stare down you, as heavy as his cock feels.
"I've had bigger," you lie.
He tilts his head. "S'that right?"
Grabbing your hand, he pulls it down towards his cock. His own hands guide yours as he drags them up and down his length.
Holy shit, you can barely wrap your hands around him.
He makes you press his cock against your pussy. It squelches with how wet you are, as his cock slides against your lips. Your breath hitches when his fat tip catches on your slick entrance.
"So fuckin' wet f'me," Ghost groans. "Want my cock inside you tha' bad, pet?"
You whine, needy pussy fluttering every time his nudges his cock at your hole. "Please, please—."
"Please what? Use your words." He presses his tip in, just a bit.
"Need you to fuck me, Lt.—," you plead, grinding your hips down in attempt to fuck yourself on his cock.
"Say my name, pet. I know you know it."
Fucking. Asshole!
Frustrated, you dig your nails deep into his arms, earning a pained grunt from him.
"Oh, go fuck yourself, Simon."
You're not ready for the way Ghost absolutely buries his cock deep inside you with a pathetic whimper.
Your own breath is knocked out of you with how fucking big he feels, legs shaking at the sudden intrusion.
"Fuck— so fuckin' tight," Simon grunts out.
His hips shift back just a bit before plunging back into your ruined pussy, drawing a choked moan from you. The stretch is euphoric— combined with the way his tip rubs up against that spot in your pussy, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling into the haze.
“D'you know—,” he says, sinking again and again into your cunt. “—how much I thought ‘bout this?”
"'Bout fuckin' this pretty cunt—" Thrust.
"Bending you over in my bed—" Thrust.
"Makin' you come over and over—" Thrust.
It's no use; you lose yourself in the pleasure of his cock, eyes rolling back as he repeatedly pounds you further into the bed. His hands squeeze tight around the curves of your ass, pulling you flush against him and stuffing you full with each thrust.
Simon doesn't stop teasing you.
"What's wrong, love? Got nothin' to say?" He taunts you, lifting both your legs over his shoulders and somehow fucking into you impossibly deeper.
"Cock's got your tongue?"
"F-fu-ungh—"
Tears trail down your cheeks as the simmer in your belly grows overwhelming.
He slips a hand between your legs and starts rubbing circles on your clit, coaxing a string of debauched sounds out of you.
"Sound so fuckin' good like this," Simon groans, eyes hazy and looking just as wrecked as you. "Should jus' keep y'here and fuck you forever."
"—mngh, f-fuck... you," you finally managed to choke out, voice raw and scratchy.
It doesn't distract from the way your cunt clenches tighter than before, not with the way you watch his eyes flicker dark.
He bottoms out with a particularly hard thrust at your words, leaving you a sobbing mess as he fucks you relentlessly.
You grasp away at him as your pleasure begins to overwhelm you— now threatening to boil over. Simon, Simon, Simon is all you can muster, but it's enough.
His cock ruts into you with no reprieve, fingers still flittering over your aching clit.
"Come f'me, pet."
And for once in your life, you obey your lieutenant.
Euphoria burns through your nerves as a second orgasm crashes over you from down under. Your cunt pulses in unrelenting waves, the pleasure borderlining too much. Squeezing his cock even deeper as Simon chases his own climax.
When he finally unravels, it's chaotic and frantic. Simon bends you over, covering you with his body and pulling you close as if to keep you under him. His eyes are squeezed shut, panting as sweat drips into the fabric of his mask.
Your pussy flutters one more time— milking his cock dry at the idea of knowing what Simon Riley looks like when he comes balls deep in your pussy.
“I still hate you,” you whisper, once the electricity fizzles out of the air, leaving only faint static remnants.
But there’s no real venom in your voice.
Simon huffs on top of you. You feel it in the way his chest jumps against yours.
“Right.” He relaxes his body onto you, weight squishing the air out of your lungs with a small ‘oof’. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, love.”
You can't describe the silence that falls over the both of you as comfortable, but... it's not bad, either. There's still a lingering sense of guilt in the back of your mind— but it's no longer screaming at you like before.
Simon's head shifts, the mask pulling on your sheets as he turns and mutters into your temple.
"Still plannin' on hauntin' me now that it's gonna be our bloodline?"
You slap his side as best as you can with your pinned arm.
18+ mdni simon riley is a horrible lay, everyone says.
that’s what you’ve heard around base, from men and women alike. he’s too fucking big, apparently, fucks like the mean bastard that he is. hurts. apparently, he’s so cold he doesn’t even care for his partner. and apparently, every time anyone’s tried to sleep with him, they’ve always stormed out of his room, pissed off at him because his room is a hellhole.
apparently. it’s all word of mouth, but you believe it.
but after the end of the month drinks at the local spoons, you can barely get simon off you, he’s pawing at you with his big hands. the two of you split a cider in two, and he looks at you with his big brown eyes, “y- you’re really fucking hot.” he blurts out, kissing your nose with chapped lips.
his face is red, blushing deeply as you try your best to not flush the same. “and johnny told me you can’t ever think about the pretty lass on floor 3 with the filing cabinet, but guess what, i can.” he kisses you on the side of your head this time, and you’re enjoying his affections.
it’s only back in his room on base that he fumbles with his belt, before he looks at you again, “s-sorry, it’s just, i don’t really get to spend the night with pretty women like you-“
you want to hide your face in his pillows, his room is really fucking nice. he has plants, actual plants growing from gaz, sketch drawings from johnny, photographs of him and the captain.
his cock is huge, hard and leaking, slapping against his stomach, but he still looks at you with his sweet brown eyes, “love, it’s okay if it’s too big…” he sounds dejected already, but you just shake your head, it’s nowhere near as big what the word around base was.
“it’s fine simon-“ you whisper, licking your lips and placing kitten licks on his length, feeling the taste of him coat your tongue.
“no no no-“ he shakes his head, pulling away before his hands touch your wet panties, “fuck, you’re so wet love.”
and then he dives in, tugging them off, before licking at your cunt with a sloppy tongue, he doesn’t have a technique down but whatever the fuck he’s doing it’s good, your legs are shaking as his tongue dips inside you.
“gotta make sure it’s good for you-“ okay, what the fuck was anyone talking about?
he slides into you with ease, and thrusts into you? his hands above your head, his eyes still looking at you. “you’re very fuckin’… mmmph… hot.” he says, with a grin on his scarred face that would look terrifying if it wasn’t for the way his brown eyes shone with sweetness.
it wasn’t long before his cock twitches inside of you, and his eyes roll back, “oh fuck love, right there— fuck!” he was filling you deep, his cum thick in your stomach.
“love?” he asks, whimpering, his head on your chest, “love, did you find it good?” he’s desperate for your fucking approval.
you kiss his head, his soft curls growing out of army regs.
“yes darling.” fuck the word of mouth, did anyone even try this with him?
“th-thank you dove-“ he pants, his cock deep inside you as you keep stroking his hair, feeling his breath even out.
neighbor!simon riley who can't say no to you asking him for help (and still does things without you having to).
pt.1
ever since asking simon for help on your car, it's like a floodgate has opened up. first you're asking him for help on your car, and the next thing you know, he's in your house every few days with a new repair you've roped him into. he doesn't talk much. actually, you haven't been able to get another word out of him since he was on his back, under your car.
you've tried, you really have, but the bastard won't give in. you think he's just closed off—in reality, simon's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his mind is repeating over and over again not to make himself a fool in front of his pretty neighbor.
so you figured that asked him to help around your house would do the trick, luring him into your space in order to open him up. it's not like you'd get around to these tasks yourself. they just weren't your area of expertise.
and for a decently new house, you sure had a lot to be repaired.
first, it was those squeaky hinges on some of your doors. now, in the beginning, you were still hesitant to wander over to his front door to get his help, but after his eagerness the first time, it gave you the confidence to return. simon was in your house faster than you were, already taking a guess as to which door it was—since he knew his way around from bringing in groceries and such. armed with a lubricant and a few other tools, he got to work. within a few minutes, they were good as new. you couldn't thank the man before he was out the door.
it was off-putting, but you were still determined. it was unlucky that the first thing you asked him to do took only a few minutes of his time, and even less for cleanup.
with every day that passed, you were grasping at straws. how could you get this man over here? your house was in perfect condition, and you barely saw the recluse of a man, as he remained in his house most of the time. save for the times he takes in your groceries or takes your bins out, you don't see him.
until you notice something odd.
coming home from work—this time, your car light remains off—you get out of your car and notice a bit of chopped grass that's been left behind. with furrowed brows, you took a moment to look at your lawn.
what are the chances that, after living here for a few months, the grass doesn't decide to grow?
yeah, none. the bastard has been doing it for you, and you never noticed. he never mentioned or made a big deal out of it, and somehow, it got missed on your motion activated doorbell cameras that has a perfect view of the lawn. even the hedges are trimmed.
so what do you do? take the opportunity to stop over to his doorstep, rapping your fist on his door until he opens. eyebrows raised, ready to take on the next task at your house, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. with a nod, he gestures you to lead the way.
except you don't have a repair for him. "have you been mowing my lawn?" the words spill from your lips before you have a chance to reign yourself in. the absurdity of the situation is making you loose-lipped.
his eyes widen, and you swear you see a faint blush on the pale skin behind his balaclava. he just nods, gaze softening as he stares down at you.
"thank you." you sputter out, in shock at his brazen admission. he just nods again, and you're at a loss for words. how do you keep his attention, keep his eyes on you? "well, I'm gonna need your help planting flowers."
planting flowers? that's all you could come up with? your face flushes with embarrassment, bracing yourself for his reaction. the man could easily say no because mowing the lawn and changing your lightbulb and fixing your squeaky door hinges is considered masculine. you could've insulted his masculinity by suggesting he plants flowers.
but he just stares at you some more. "let m'know when," and he shuts the door in your face.
but you turn around with the goofiest smile on your face and pump your fist with a soft "yes" before skipping back down the path and road towards your house just next door. little do you know, simon's face wears a smile just like yours as he watches the dorky display.
neighbor!simon riley and the mundane tasks he does to make things easier for you
when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.
you thought that was that.
for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.
you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.
until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.
you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.
without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.
what the hell?
the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.
he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.
when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?
you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.
he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.
it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.
so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.
the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.
with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).
just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.
you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.
"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"
the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.
after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.
when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.
you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.
he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.
"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.
he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."
your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.
"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"
"simon."
"really? you look like a greg."
he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.
simon has been working up the courage to say anything to you every time he helps you, nervous as hell to talk to his pretty neighbor who he likes to help. hell go home and think about that interaction for days—or until you ask for his help again.
t141 are used to simon muttering about his missus. to be honest johnny and kyle thought he was insane, because there is no way in hell lieutenant simon 'ghost' riley has a wife. especially one that he describes to be so soft and sweet.
when they pry and ask about you, he happily tells details, but will never disclose your name or show them a photo. he just has to keep you alllll to himself. naturally kyle and johnny don't believe him.
then simon starts arriving on base with lunches. real good lunches. johnny watches in envy as simon will lift his mask over his mouth and open his little (big) box, juicy steak covered in a real nice sauce.
"y'must be an awful good cook sir" johnny mutters, entranced in the smell of good food.
"told ya my missus makes it for me" simon would grunt. he silently pockets the small notes you would leave him.
i miss u <3
or
im proud of u <3
or
want u to fuck me real good tonight ;)
he would pocket the latter to jerk off to in his office later.
one day simon forgets his lunch. and being the everso caring and worrying wife, you rush down to the base to bring it to him.
when a pretty thing such as yourself arrives on base, the recruits can't keep their eyes off you. especially johnny who approaches awful confident.
"you lost lass?" he can't help his eyes drifting to your pretty tits spilling over your top.
"no" you bat your pretty lashes at him, "my husband left his lunch at home, i thought i could give it to him!"
johnny nearly fell to his knees in agony when you said husband. sighing he said, "aye then, do you know his rank or platoon number?"
you hum trying to recall. "i think task 141, his name is simon riley." you quickly reconfirm, "oh wait everyone here calls him ghost"
johnny stops dead in his tracks.
"you're LT's wife?"
you look up at him with a pretty smile and nod proudly. johnny had to hold back a groan, god you were beautiful.
and you were real.
you follow behind johnny while he leads you to simon and when you reach his office, johnny knocks once.
"come in" is grunted out slightly harshly
any hostility is quickly wiped off simon's face when he sees his pretty little wife standing next to his sergeant.
"hi si! you forgot your lunch" and you almost gallop over to simon in excitement holding out his lunchbox for him.
fuck. when is it johnny's turn :(
"you're excused soap" simon grunts, "although i'll get you to escort her back off base so stick around."
thats how johnny ends up sitting outside simon's office getting having to listen to the clattering of items on simon's desk as well as your sweet moans and whimpers while simon thanks you for making his lunch.
he can't stop staring at you when you stumble out on shaking legs with messed up hair and smudged lipgloss.
he has got to tell kyle that not only are you real, but you're fucking ethereal.
soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words “oh my god, please, don’t.” plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, he’d been terrified of what that meant. he’d heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, he’d heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and he’d even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker he’d put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good he’d just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.
It wasn’t until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the man’s hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, he’ll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. He’ll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, “Want me to kill him for ya?” and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, “free of charge.”
He almost can’t make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. “oh my god, please, don’t.” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t last a day in prison.” between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like it’s been punched straight from his lungs, simon can’t muster up a reply fast enough.
You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. “Do you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought I’d end up in a gang or something.” The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. “You’re not are you? In a gang I mean?”
Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. “No, military. Close enough, though.”
Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. “Well damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.”
He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, “Sorry to disappoint.” A double meaning you catch immediately.
You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, “Make it up to me, then?”
Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller.
He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—
Laughter stops him in his tracks.
Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it.
And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears.
“Cute pups,” you say.
Cute...what?
You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile.
“You military?”
He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip.
“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”
You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.
Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs.
And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet.
You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl.
Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.
“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”
As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.
And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all.
He might just have to become one himself.
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