#his dark materials

[judeswhore]

something small and silly based on this

go easy on me i haven’t written in months idk what im doing

your brother's best friend was studiously trying to ignore you as you perched on the kitchen counter, his attention darting over anything that wasn't your bare legs or glossy lips. the quick clench of his jaw made it obvious that his efforts were in vain because jude didn't need to look at you for his heart to thud or his skin to heat, just the fact you were in the room was enough to make his head spin. his reaction to you was addictive and playing with him was more entertaining than anything else you could have planned for the afternoon.

"why're you lazing around in your knickers?" your brother's voice was laced with disdain, his face scrunched in disgust when he entered the kitchen behind jude. at the mention of your underwear jude glanced sideways at you from his spot by the fridge, dark eyes drinking in the yellow bikini you were sporting and you knew he was replaying all the dirty things he'd done to you in it only days before. he blinked slowly as though mesmerised by the material and the way it clung to your skin, still damp and glistening from the pool.

"it's hot." was all you said, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug as you leant back on one hand, the move pushing your boobs a little further out and causing an awkward cough to splutter in jude's throat. it had you smirking, beyond happy knowing you were making him squirm and knowing the more you taunted him in front of his best friend the more likely he was to make you pay when he got you alone.

"well, you’re an eyesore." you rolled your eyes at the insult, bringing the ice lolly you'd previously been sucking on back up to your lips and watched the two boys root through the fridge. "y'might wanna clear off by the way, the rest of the lads are coming over and none of them want to see you like that."

"the only reason your pig headed friends spend any time over here is because they get to see me." you pointed out, tongue darting out to lick the very bottom of the lolly to save the juice threatening to drip over your fingers.

jude, bottle of water tipped halfway towards his lips, narrowed his eyes at you, brows tugging together in an unimpressed scowl that made your tummy dip. you weren't sure if it was a reaction to the comment that his friends were always leering at you or the suggestive way you were mouthing at the icy goodness in your hand but you enjoyed it either way.

while your brother's head was still stuck firmly in the fridge, jude finally let himself admire your half naked body and the heat of his gaze almost felt like the soft drag of his fingertips when he touched you. it made you shiver, a full body tremor that scattered goosebumps over your arms and legs and awakened the soft tug below your bellybutton that you only ever felt around this boy. you shifted a little atop the counter, squeezed your thighs together to dull the sudden ache and watched jude's lips tip upwards, his eyebrows rising in smug satisfaction.

this was suddenly a two player game and there was no way you were letting him win.

"it's nauseating how full of yourself you are." your brother grumbled, throwing a glare at you over his shoulder as he pulled cans and snacks from the fridge, setting them down on the counter next to him before crouching to raid the freezer. jude remained leaning against the counter directly opposite you, not once letting his gaze stray from yours now the other boy was preoccupied.

"if i was full of something, trust me, it wouldn't be myself." you drawled, lighting up when jude gave a soft laugh and shake of his head, mumbling a quiet "jesus christ" that was almost drowned out by your brother's groans of discomfort.

"for once in your life shut the fuck up." he complained, voice a little muffled behind the freezer door. you had no reply to that, too focused on the way jude was watching you, eyes sparkling with unfiltered lust and that usual sprinkle of mischief. you cocked your head to the side and swung your legs out a little, heart thumping unsteadily in your chest when he threw you a lopsided grin.

there was an obvious thrum of energy between you and you hated knowing you'd have to wait until later that night when your brother had fallen asleep before you could have any sort of alone time with him. sneaking around was fun and exciting until you were overcome with the need to kiss him but could do nothing about it. with your brother busy pulling bottles and bbq ingredients from the freezer you took the few moments his back was turned to play with his best friend, to make sure that when he crawled into your bed later that night it was only with the intention of ruining you.

the ice lolly you were sucking softly on was starting to drip over your fingers, red liquid trailing slowly over your skin but you made absolutely no effort to lick it clean just yet. instead you kept your eyes locked on jude's, let it trickle over your fingers before landing on your chest and sliding between the valley of your boobs. for a couple of seconds you simply let it roll over your too hot skin, hyper aware of the other boys gaze following the slow movement, pupils blowing wide as he took in the soft heave of your tits when you drew in a breath.

brown eyes snapped back up to your face, latched onto the playfully innocent smile you'd slapped on your lips as you tried not to laugh and whispered a quiet "oops" that caused jude's jaw to tick. with your gazes locked you used a finger to swipe over the sticky liquid, clearing it as best you could before bringing the same finger up to your lips and sucking it clean, tongue sliding over the skin as though it was jude's finger you were suckling on. you were making a show of it, revelling in the sharp rise and fall of jude's chest, of the dark look on his face and the slight flare of his nostrils.

slowly letting your finger go you flashed another grin, batted your lashes and went back to licking at the ice lolly, knowing fine well the boy opposite you was seconds away from having a meltdown. he narrowed his eyes, hand dropping to adjust his shorts in a way that made your skin flush with heat, a sudden giggle threatening to bubble up your throat.

"behave yourself." despite the fact jude only mouthed the words the air of dominance was obvious, the threat hidden behind his eyes forcing you to, once again, press your thighs together to ease some of the pressure. you swallowed thickly, ran your tongue over your bottom lip to taste the last bit of the strawberry flavour.

“make me.” you challenged silently, staring at him head on as you tried not to show just how badly you wanted him to make you. you were painfully aware of the wet patch that had bloomed at the centre of your bikini bottoms and even more aware of your brother as he finally started to rise from his crouch at the freezer.

the pulse in jude’s neck thrummed, half begging you to drag your tongue across it, to sink your teeth into the soft skin and leave marks that claimed him as yours. instead you arched a single brow before hopping down off the counter, dropping your now used lolly stick into the bin as you headed for the door.

“keep your dogs away from my bedroom.” you warned your brother, knocking your hand against the back of his head when you passed, using that same hand to playing pat jude’s cheek before his best friend could turn around. “see ya later, bellingham.”

you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back, or more likely your arse, as you walked away from him and knew he wasn’t paying any attention to your brother’s ramblings about the plans for the afternoon. a satisfied smirk was settled on your lips because you’d gotten what you wanted.

you’d barely made it to your bedroom door when two large hands caught you by the waist, hard chest flush to your back, hips pressed forward so you could feel just how worked up your little show had gotten your boyfriend. a hot kiss was settled against the curve of your jaw as the two of you half stumbled through your bedroom door, jude using his strength and grip on you to push it shut and pin you against it within seconds.

“always so fuckin’ desperate for it, aren’t you?” he mumbled, fingers skimming your stomach before he let them slide between your legs, pressing lightly over your clit through the thin material of your bikini bottoms until you gasped and arched into him. “now be a good girl and stay quiet f’me and i’ll give you exactly what you wanted.”

#hey jude :) #jude bellingham #leigh’s baby blurbs #sinclaiirs baby blurbs #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham smut

[luvyeni]

p. bsf!sohee x fem!reader | warnings: voyeurism (?), blowjob, allusions to sex | words: 0.8k ~ (854) 💂‍♂️ㆍ₊⊹

request: sohee smut pleaseeee 🫶🏻?

authors note. here you go lovey🩵

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

living in the ages of various streaming services; you barely made it out to go the movies; opting to wait until it came on tv— avoiding spoilers on tiktok so you could peacefully watch it the comforts of your own home; you just really didn’t enjoy the inside movie theater— so imagine your surprise when your best friends basically kidnaped you to drag you to a random drive in movie theater.

“sohee are you serious?” you scoffed as you pulled into the almost empty theater, the other three cars probably containing couples who want to fuck or teens needing a place to get high— or both. “what?” he smiled. “i thought it would be fun.”

the teenager who probably wanted a job but didn’t want to do any work sat scrolling on his phone. “this place is like 100 years old, and i doubt that popcorn is any good.” you pointed. “don’t worry I got us covered.” he pointed to the back seat, a bag full of snacks and drinks. “just gotta tune the radio so we can hear the movie.” he said. “cheer up, it will be fun.”

you decided to give it a try and not be so pessimistic— grabbing a blanket to cover yourself, grabbing some chips and a beer. “you know, most people don’t come to these things.” sohee said; munching on some chips. “yeah.” you laugh. “as you can see these three cars here besides ours and that car has been rocking for the past 20 minutes and there’s smoke coming out that one.” you pointed it out. “and i think that one is abandoned.”

he look around pouting; he really wanted to try something new with you. “don’t be too upset, you know i don’t like these types of things, but this isn’t all that bad so i give you props.” you reached over, pinching his cheek. “good job.” he smiled, stuffing his face some more with his favorite trip.

a few more minutes past of watching the movie when you heard a loud moan. “oh my god.” you let out a snort. “told you.” you turned to your friend, who’s neck was now red. “aw is our little sohee getting excited hearing the couples have sex.” he scratched the back of his neck. “sh-shut up.” You laughed. “you are!” you exclaimed, he whined covering his face. “is that why you invited me out here to live out you voyeur fantasies, pervert.”

sohee felt himself chub up in his pants, your words along with the moaning was doing unimaginable things to him. “it is hot, isn’t it?” you said. “he seems to really be giving it to her.” you smirked, seeing his hand come up to cover his hard on. “y-yn.” you placed your hand on his knee. “please don’t.”

“you don’t want me to touch you?” you tilted your head teasingly. “the movie still has 30 minutes left, are you gonna sit there palming your cock to the couple fucking next to us or are you gonna let me suck you off?” he moved his hand, heavily breathing; he couldn’t believe his best friend was about to suck him off. “lift your hips up.”

he lifted his hips, letting you pull out his cock, his tip dark red, dripping with pre-cum. “shit, hearing them fuck made you this hard, you really are a little perv aren’t you?” he let out a loud whimper as your hand wrapping around his length. “its kind of pathetic.” You squeezed his cock. “oh fuck! please don’t do that.” he moaned out.

“why?” you pouted, leaning over;;kissing his tip. “you gonna cum just from me squeezing your cock.” you squeezed it again, gripped the arm of the chair. “really pathetic hee.”

you finally put the boy out his misery, putting his cock into your mouth. “fu-fuck.” he moaned. “yo-your mouth is.” he gasped, unable to speak barely as you bobbed your head, jerking off what you couldn’t speak. “oh fuck your so good.” his head was thrown back, his hand coming to your head softly, caressing it. “sh-shit.”

it was messy, the noises from your mouth as you gagged on his cock will fuel him with jerk off material for mouth. “fuck yn im gonna cum, please get of.” you pulled off of him, looking at him in the eyes, stroking his cock. “come on hee, look at me.” you purred, the boy forced himself to look at you. “good boy.”

“come on cum for me, want you to cum in my mouth.” you put your mouth on his tip, sucking as you stroked the rest of his cock. “shit im cumming.” His hand slapped against the window. “ngh fuck!” he shouted, his cum spurting from his cock, hitting your tongue. “shit.”

you let him finish, pull off of him, swallowing his sticky substance. “yo-you didn’t have to.” but you weren’t listening, taking off your shirt, climbing into his lap, feeling his cock twitch against your clothed cunt. “just pay me back.” you kissed him. “h-how.”

“theres still 20 minutes left, let’s see how many times your cock can make me cum.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #riize x reader #riize smut #riize scenarios #riize imagines #riize drabbles #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours #sohee hard hours #sohee smut #sohee scenarios #sohee x reader

[lathalea]

Entangled 3/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). ✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3...

Khuzdul:

Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor)

Tumunzahar - Nogrod (my headcanon for this story is that the dwarven city of old had been rebuilt and populated by the Broadbeams)

‘Urdêk - local name of ‘the Lonely Mountain’ (referring to the dwarven Halls within the mountain), used by its inhabitants

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

‘Urd - local name for Lonely Mountain (referring to the Mountain itself)

Later that night

Mista sighed, finally freed from the weight of her crown and royal garments by Katla, her new maid. The girl knew her duties well and quickly helped her change into her sleeping gown. As soon as Katla curtsied and left the bed-chamber through a gilded door, wishing her queen a “fruitful night”, Mista – who did not feel like a queen at all at that moment – poured herself a glass of water. Her throat was parched, and her whole body felt stiff. She glanced at the other door in her chamber; the dark walnut door that led to the King’s chambers, but it was still closed, and no sounds seemed to come from the other side. Apparently, she still had some time for herself.

Mista took off her glasses and squinted, looking into the mirror in an opulent golden frame. This sumptuous object hung on the wall in her new chambers in the royal wing of the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. The reflected image was blurry, and so she squinted harder, stretching her neck forward. Finally, she made out a dwarf-woman, plain and far from being a beauty, her mousy hair unbraided — except for her marriage braid – and still adorned with scores of diamonds. Diamonds are the bride’s best friends, an old saying claimed. Yes, she was a bride and she was wearing a luxurious, crispy white sleeping gown. Why? Because, by a turn of fate, on this very day she fulfilled her dearest, her most secret wish: today she wedded the only Dwarf she loved. 

Mista became Thorin Oakenshield’s wife – and the Queen Consort of Azsâlul'abad.

And now she was waiting for her lord husband to fulfil his marital duties.

A knock on the door — the dark walnut door — jolted her from her reverie.

“Come…” She cleared her throat and tried again, hoping her voice did not tremble too much, “Come in.” 

She had barely enough time to stand up and straighten the silks of her sleeping gown. It was hard not to notice that her fingers were trembling more than her voice.

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin II Oakenshield, entered the room. Gone were his crown and his opulent wedding attire; he wore plain bedclothes, but his dark, wavy hair streaked with silver was braided only with his marriage braid, exactly like hers, just as the tradition dictated. She couldn’t stop herself from admiring his strong shoulders, his lush beard pleated into two thick braids, and his regal profile. Years passed since their first meeting in Tumunzahar, and yet her heart fluttered as if she were that girl hiding behind a statue again. “Good evening, My Lady.” He stopped by the fireplace, slowly taking in the room. Surprised, Mista could not help but notice the tension in his movements. Surely, he could not be nervous, was he? Not him, not now, away from the prying eyes. He was the fearless hero of Azanulbizar, after all, and she was only a bookish, unremarkable girl. It simply could not be. “Good evening, My Lord,” she replied and stole an apprehensive glance at the four-poster bed beside her. “Are your chambers to your satisfaction, My Lady?” Her newly wedded husband asked, putting his arms behind his back and taking in the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was he? Impossible, Mista scolded herself. Princess Dis informed her that he hadoverseen the renovations himself to ensure they offered the utmost comfort to his new wife.

Mista cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Indeed, they are, My Lord. I am very grateful. These rooms have exceeded my expectations by far,” she admitted truthfully. She was used to the comfort and splendour of Tumunzahar, but Azsâlul'abad’s opulence was unmatched.

“I am glad to hear it. If you  are ever in need of any one thing, please do not hesitate to ask for it. As the royal consort, Lady Mista, you shall receive only what is best in my kingdom.” He spoke in a steady tone, his low voice slightly hoarser than before.

“Thank you, My Lord, for your generosity,” she lowered her head, wondering whether he was just as uneasy as she was. He thanked her with a nod and observed her silently for a few moments. Mista knew very well how she must look in his eyes and swallowed in embarrassment. Her figure was not what they call “statuesque”, her bosom was too small to be considered enticing, and so, if anyone asked Mista, the low cut bodice was a waste of the tailor’s skill. Besides, she was a bit on the stocky side, and not in that feminine way that was so highly admired among dwarves. As her mother had pertinently put it, “curvaceous” was not the word that described Mista’s figure. Apparently, she resembled a stone slab the most. Crude, angular, and plain. To put it simply, she knew well that she was not the most graceful nor alluring woman in the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. Therefore, she felt a bit of relief at the fact that her new lord husband’s gaze did not stray below her neck.

“Let us sit down for now.” He pointed at the two armchairs standing nearby, “and talk.”

Mista hid her confusion at this statement, and joined him quickly by the fireplace. Talking meant that the moment she both dreaded and hoped for would be delayed.

After a few moments of silence, the King finally spoke, his voice solemn, “We have found ourselves in quite unusual circumstances, My Lady. We have been joined in the eyes of Mahal and our people, and are expected to consummate our union. I believe, however, that the best course of action would be for us to wait until we… are better acquainted with each other.”

“Oh, I see…” she replied, taken aback. Something stung in Mista's chest. Was she that unalluring to him? She mustered all her strength to appear unmoved and quickly added, “That is very… thoughtful of you.” “I gathered that you may not feel too comfortable,” his throat bobbed as he looked away, “sharing your bed with someone you have only met for the first time yesterday.”

A surprised, nervous chuckle escaped her, but she stifled it quickly, “Are you jesting, My Lord?” “I am not certain I take your meaning.” He frowned. “We met for the first time in Tumunzahar, at the feast in honour of your family’s arrival to our city,” she explained, cheerily at first, and then — not so much as the signs of puzzlement became more pronounced on his face. The King, her newlywed husband, knitted his eyebrows together. A ball of ice began to grow in her stomach. 

Mista added, her voice barely audible, “And you… you asked me to dance.” “Did I, My Lady?” he tilted his head slightly and looked above her head, perhaps attempting to recall the event. “That must have been… eighty years ago?”

“One hundred and three,” she interjected quickly and then felt her cheeks burn instantly. “I wore a blue gown adorned with sweetwater pearls and you asked me about them. We discussed pearling; I believe you wanted to try it yourself in order to find a pearl for your sister.”

Recounting those long-gone events she treasured in her memory for so many years, she saw an absent expression on his face and the enthusiasm in her voice slowly died off. Mista had hoped that the King, Thorin, would easily recall how he laughed at her silly dragon story or the moment when he showed her how to make a raven out of her dance card to her mother’s utter bafflement. Sadly, the handsome features of his face said the opposite.

“My apologies, My Lady,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I am ashamed to say it, but I must admit that I cannot recall that particular event. It seems that too many years have passed since then.” Silence fell after his words and she lowered her gaze, clasping her hands on her lap to prevent them from shaking. Suddenly, in her well-warmed-up room, she felt cold.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners,” Thorin Oakenshield stood up swiftly and made a small bow. “I did not mean to imply that your age…” “No offence taken,” she swallowed the lump in her throat as he sat back down. “We are not younglings any more. You were correct, My Lord. That feast happened long ago. Anyone could have forgotten.”

Anyone. But not Mista. She kept on cherishing the memory of that meeting, and when she first heard about the offer of marriage, she could not believe her ears. She thought that perhaps Thorin Oakenshield remembered her fondly for all these years and… nevermind. It was clear that she was mistaken. He did not recall Mista at all. Why would he? She was simply one of the many uninteresting maidens he had danced with. Plain and easy to forget. So unlike her stunningly beautiful sister Adla who never learned the bitter taste of rejection; whose husband waited impatiently for their wedding night – and with whom Adla now had three sturdy sons.

Thorin Oakenshield drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair but remained silent. Mista stared at the elaborate pattern of the carpet under her feet. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the mountain the mine bell struck for the third time since midnight when the King poured wine into two goblets that stood on the nearby table. Only then did he finally speak. “As you know very well, My Lady, this… marriage,” he said that last word with a hint of uncharacteristic hesitation, “was to serve several purposes. Did your father inform you about all the clauses of the contract before sending the proposal to me?”

Her eyes widened. 

“Before…? I do not understand. Were you not the one to offer the alliance between our houses, My Lord?” Thorin II, the King Under the Mountain, frowned, “The offer came from your father.” “Oh… I see,” her throat tightened. Her eyes pricked. “Were you not aware of this?” The King’s eyes searched Mista’s face. “Father spared me the details,” she admitted, trying to ignore the dull ache deep inside her that seemed to come in waves. It was not the first time Lord Tair, her father, did something of this sort, but she promised herself it would be the last time. The Lonely Mountain and the kingdom beneath it was beyond his reach. 

“I have been informed of the cornerstones of the deal: you give the Broadbeams of Tumunzahar the trade licences and I…” Mista swallowed. “I give you heirs.”

Somehow, she managed to keep her tone of voice casual. Her voice did not tremble this time. What a relief. Perhaps she was not as alluring as Adla, perhaps her husband — unlike Adla’s — was set on delaying the consummation of their marriage, but at least she kept her dignity intact. She would only need to hold in the tears until she was alone again. 

“That is indeed a very straightforward approach,” the King offered with a nod. “I understand that this must sound to you like a soulless contract, but rest assured that I aim to follow all the clauses of the agreement. And as the Queen Under the Mountain, Zabdûna undu ‘Urd you will be treated with the utmost respect due to the royal consort.” “Of course, My Lord, I did not expect anything less of you,” she uttered. He had been a true gentledwarf when they had met for the first time, after all. One hundred and three years ago. “Your reputation is that of an honourable Dwarf. That is why I agreed to this marriage.”

“Then I will strive to maintain it. May I reciprocate by saying that although I do not yet know you well as a person, your conduct gives you great credit. I admired how composed you were during the ceremony, but perhaps that is not a surprise, knowing that you come from such an ancient and noble house. And I have heard of your admirable work in the Blue Mountains. All those traits are exactly what the kingdom of ‘Urdêk needs from its Queen,” the King gave her a small smile.

“I am happy to hear it, My Lord,” she whispered, looking at her hands on her lap. Your admirable work. Warmth spread in her chest. “May I ask what ‘‘Urdêk’ means? I don’t think I am familiar with this word.”

“Forgive me, this is how we call this kingdom – our home within the Mountain,” he offered. “We do not often use it when talking with outsiders. But now, you are one of us, My Lady.”

Mista’s throat tightened, but she was somehow able to utter a handful of words. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“The task before us both,” the King continued, unaware of the sudden wave of emotions that washed over her, “is to serve the Kingdom Under the Mountain to the best of our ability. Our people will rely both on you and me now.”

Our people. You and me. Those words rang in Mista’s ears like the loudest mine bells after a discovery of a new gold deposit would.

“I will strive to learn my duties as fast as I can and help you with your work, my king,” she replied, feeling his gaze on her face, but unable to meet it.

“Perfect. Time is of the essence, so Lord Balin has taken the liberty to find a capable secretary for you. She will introduce you to the way things are run here. And if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask him. You can trust him – he taught me most of what I know about ruling this kingdom. He will be more than happy to offer his advice to you as well. There is a lot of work ahead of us; my wish is to make the Mountain fully habitable to our people as soon as possible.”

“You can count on me, My Lord,” she replied enthusiastically. “The people of ‘Urdêk, the Longbeards, the Broadbeams, and everyone else — our people — are returning and they deserve to find new homes here.”

“It brings me great joy to hear you say it, My Lady Mista,” the King took a goblet in his hand and raised it, as if to toast her, before taking a sip. “Once again the proverbial generosity of the Broadbeams turns out to be worth its weight in gold.”

“As you know, I have never visited Azsâlul'abad before, but I have heard many tales of its greatness of old. What I have seen so far only confirms these tales — and I wish to help return the Lonely Mountain to its former glory if I can.”

She looked timidly at the King from under her eyelashes and saw a flicker in his eyes as he peered at her.

“And I will do what I can for you to feel at home here, My Lady,” he gestured at their surroundings. “This kingdom is now yours as well.”

“You are very kind, My Lord,” Mista bowed her head reverently.

For a moment, they sat in silence. 

“Well, this was a productive conversation, My Lady,” he clapped his hand against his muscular thigh and then rose from his chair. “I will not impose myself upon you any further. You must be exhausted after today’s ceremonies. Allow me to bid you good night,” King Thorin, her husband, made a hasty bow and returned to his chambers.

The sound of the closing door echoed dully in the silence of her bedchamber.

For a long while, Mista stared blankly at the dark wooden surface behind which her newly wed husband disappeared, without even once addressing her as “wife”. She was barely aware of the tears that fell from her face onto the soft fabric of her nightgown. Even this elegant piece of clothing was not enough to make her alluring in the eyes of the King. If she only were as enticing as Adla…

It was Mista’s wedding night and she felt like the greatest fool in the world.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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[sinon36]

Husband!Ghost x teacher!reader HC - Part 2

Part I

Author's block and tummy aches don't make a great team. Apologies that it took some time to post this. Enjoy!

Warnings: none other than mistakes, it's fluff.

-

Being a primary school teacher is far from easy. From the endless hours spent correcting homework or grading tests to preparing visual materials, your work never ends. Maybe you should listen to your colleagues and double down on the work you put into this. But you can’t deny the satisfaction you get from seeing your students get excited in class even when you assign extra work for them over weekends and holidays. But now that you came down with the flu, another downside of working with kids, you couldn’t care less about the little punks.

You lay down in bed covered in the thickest of blankets, shivering and barely able to breath. The house is empty and you’ve never felt so alone. You wish Simon would walk through the door and snuggle you until everything is better again. He was deployed again, and in the past few months you managed to talk to him for a total of 10 minutes. He’d call you to check on you and let you know he was fine, but he’d be quick to tell you he can’t say more about his whereabouts.

Being married to him brought a hell of a lot more stress than you could have imagined. Not knowing where he was or what he did was eating you on the inside. You worried about your husband’s well being but you always reminded yourself not to pester him too much. His job is stressful as it is, no need for you to put anymore pressure on him when he was home. You painted an image of his coworkers through his brief comments on what they did on base. The most you heard about was the Scot, Johnny, the young lad had made an impression on Simon. Even though he’d complain that Johnny was a ‘pain in the arse’, you couldn’t miss the small chuckle he let out whenever he spoke of him. You concluded that this young Scottish man was the closest thing to a friend your husband had.

The clock on the nightstand reads 2AM. The fever and headache are back. Your body hurts everywhere. you stand up readying yourself to leave the warm cocoon of the blanket and go to the kitchen to make some tea and take some more medicine. The otherwise short trip to the other side of the house seems now like an endless maze, it’s dark and you can barely see; you keep one hand on the wall just to be safe if nausea takes the better of you. You take a seat at the dinner table as the kettle starts warming up.

There is a faint click at the front door, so soft that at first you believe you imagined it. But it turns out that it was real, that the sound was a key turning the lock and the knob twisted, and the door opened. You watch everything as in slow motion, your brain too fuzzy with the flu. The massive body dressed in all black walks in illuminated from behind by the street lights, leaving their shoes on the rack. It’s Simon…. He’s home but you don’t have the energy to move. In the still and quiet atmosphere of the house the bloody kettle lets out a blood curling whistle signalling the water is boiling. Simon’s eyes dart towards the kitchen space, not having noticed you until now.

  ‘What’re you doin’ in the dark, love?’ he chuckles coming over to you. He’s becoming suspicious when you don’t make a single move to get up and greet him as you would. He first reaches for the knob to turn off the stove, then he pulls off the balaclava, reaching down to your sited position to kiss your forehead. ‘You a bit warm…’ he hums and you nod sniffling your runny nose. The rest is a blur, you can faintly remember him pouring the tea for you and handing the medicine. Next thing you know strong arms carry you to the bedroom, the same arms you fall asleep until morning.

Simon is trained in the art of staying still no matter what waiting to get a clear shot of the enemy. But since he met you, that skill has been put to a better use. He had no qualms with becoming your body pillow over night. He just loves the feeling of you pressed so closely to him, head rested on his peck near his beating heart. He would gladly stay there for an eternity is you asked him.

Anything for you. Always, no matter how costly or how small, he’d do anything to see you happy. That’s his love language, while he struggles to word it he makes up with his actions. And you’d never trade him for anyone else in the world. The following days are spent with him not leaving your side, pampering and loving you the way you’ve never been loved before.

Once you feel better, he asks you to go on a date just like first time he asked you accepted with a school girl giggle. It’s safe to say you’re in love. The date goes well and you find yourself walking through the park like two hopeless romantics, talking and laughing. He tells you that Soap caught a whiff of him being married to you and now he won’t stop pestering him with questions about you two. ‘Maybe you should invite him to dinner… if you want to.’ You smile at him. ‘Maybe’ he grunts not looking at you. Bringing Johnny to your house, to meet you, it involves risks. But he knows that he can trust the sergeant with his life, so what if his only friend meets his wife. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Bonus:

On base, Ghost approaches Soap in the armoury, making sure no one is in ear shot. He gives the Scot a date, time and the name of a bus station somewhere in suburban Manchester. At Soap’s questioning look Ghost lets out a grunt ‘Wife wants you to come to dinner.’ At that Soap grins and accepts politely which prompts the lieutenant to threaten to kill him if he tells anyone about this.

The day when Johnny arrives at your doorstep comes faster than expected. You open the door and greet him, rather warmly which is a stark contrast to your husband’s harsh demeanour. Opposites do attract, he supposes. At dinner you listen to him talk, about their time on base, stories from missions, nothing too detailed though, and about his own family. He shows you pictures of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. They’re cute. You talk about your pupils, sharing stories of your own. Johnny perks up at the knowledge that you are a primary school teacher. He asks if he can have your number in case he needs help with their homework. You gladly give it to him, asking in return to keep an eye on Simon for you. He accepts your deal.

Johnny leaves after a couple of hours, going back to the hotel, even though you insist he can take the couch. But you know that Simon is glaring at him over your shoulder daring him to accept. Once he left you turn towards your husband hugging him and kissing him. You thank him for letting you meet his colleague, and he reminds you that he’d do anything for his lovely wife.

A couple of weeks go by. You’re in bed with Simon having a heated kissing session when your phone rings. Groaning you pull off from him and grab it. Johnny’s name lights up the screen and you answer. The conversation is short, something about math and how to use the graphic method to solve a problem. Simon listens intently seeing you smile conspiratorially. When you end the call, he grabs you and pushes you underneath him, trapping you between his body and the bed. ‘Why does Johnny have your number?’ the low rumble pulls a laugh from you. You know you have no chance to lie to him, he’ll see right through. You explain to him that he wanted it so he can ask you whenever he doesn’t know how to solve his nephews’ homework. He watches you not really convinced by your answer. ‘You hate talking to parents on the phone. What did you get him do? Spy on me on base and report back to you?’ Busted. You laugh and let out an even more unconvincing ‘no’ for an answer. He knows you too well.

#ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #shi #shinnochiwrites

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

I have come back am I allowed to ask about more WIPs from your list. I am so so curious about "Shen Yuan Gets Two Daemons", the intersection of daemons with transmigration is so interesting to me. (I may be back again later but I am trying once again to not do So Many Asks At Once)

omg thank u for the continued asks!!

for this fic, the concept is that when shen yuan transmigrates into shen qingqiu, he takes over the OGs body but not his soul. therefore ergo, shen qingqiu is gone, but his daemon is still there. shen yuan reluctantly makes a deal with the og scum villain's daemon—xiu ya won't turn him in for the body snatching if shen yuan works on finding a way to resurrect shen qingqiu. shen yuan's own soul is very excited to suddenly have a body of her own AND a bonus brother.

Shen Yuan returns to the world of the living with a scream.  Not his own, as it turns out. He awakens laying in bed, something warm and soft and weighty laying in his chest. There’s a soft thump thump thump that beats in time with his heart. For a moment, he feels perfectly at peace—like the best ASMR ever, sending tingles through his whole body and making every muscle relax.  That’s when the screaming starts.  Shen Yuan shoots up and instantly regrets it. The weight on his chest goes flying off with a discontented noise, and the room spins around him. He’s caught between a need to get up, to find and soothe the source of the sound, and an arresting vertigo that steals the air from his lungs. The result is him flailing half way out of bed in a tangle of—silk?  Two large, firm hands catch him around the shoulders.  “Shidi, please, stay in bed. Everything will be alright. I’ve called for Mu Qingfang. A-Su is doing what she can. Just stay still.”  Shen Yuan doesn’t recognize the latter name, but the former pings something in the back of his mind. He looks up blearily as those hands gently press him back into the mattress.  The man leaning over him has a broad, handsome face that, combined with the dark eyes and gentle, worried crease to his brow, immediately puts Shen Yuan in mind of his older brothers. He allows this to be his excuse for folding right away, letting himself be manhandled back into bed even as half of his brain is clawing for him to move, to help. He looks over the man’s shoulder, searching for the source of the agonized screaming. It sounds like someone is being murdered. What he finds is a sight his mind can’t fully comprehend. There is a large dog in a corner of the room with its paw holding something down. The thing under its paw is a shifting mass, leaking strange golden dust. One moment there is fur, then feathers, then scales. It screams all the while.  “What’s wrong with him?” Shen Yuan asks blankly.  “I’m not sure,” the man says, “but we are going to fix it.” His eyes look sad.  There is a little scrabbling noise, barely audible over the creature in the corner’s yelling. A fluffy white cat jumps onto the mattress and climbs up onto Shen Yuan’s chest.  “Ah,” he says, and his hands instinctively come up around her. She must be what he accidentally flung away before.  She makes a sleepy grumble and gets comfortable. Shen Yuan finds his energy and his ability to comprehend his surroundings fading rapidly, now that she is there, warm and solid in his arms. He bats away the human hand that reaches for his wrist absently.  “Xiao Jiu, that—”  The man next to the bed looks strangely horrified as he drifts off. Shen Yuan has no idea who he was talking to.

#daemon au #svsss #svsss fic #scum villain fanfic #qijiu #bingqiu #his dark materials #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #yue qingyuan #scum villains self saving system #scum villain #burywrites.pdf #buryspeaks.mp3 #my fics #my writing #this one also doesnt have a title rip #also very little written of it bc sadly its lined up after some other fics on the assembly line at the moment rip #but its gonna get here eventually #unless? maybe i use this as my freeform prompt for the gotcha? we shall see

[simplydannie]

Part 1 || Parts 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

After running from his sisters outrage, Veneer found himself in alley where he met a very familiar little friend.

The meeting is cut short as a new face comes in to save Branch. Finally being able to leave, something stops Branch… he somehow can’t leave Veneer behind to the dangers of Under Rageous.

Branch squinted his eyes, taking in the sight in front of him. Same pale skin, deep blue eyes, the darn swooped up hair, it was definitely Veneer. A smile spread wide on the boy's face.

“You’re Floyds brother!” He called. “H-how is he? I wrote to him and he never wrote back. Is he okay? Is he better? How did you get here? Is he here too? Is the rest of Brozone here? Is….." Branch ran up to Veneer covering his mouth with his tiny hands. This kid was a yapper.

“Dude. Calm down. You’re giving me anxiety.” Branch scowled.

“Sorry! I’m a little nervous.” Veneer kneeled on all fours to get at level with the little Troll. That’s when Branch noticed the faint bruises all along Veneers face, a scar healing above his lip…. This wasn’t the same flawless face he had laid eyes on a year ago at the Rage Dome. Branch glanced behind him, noticing the unconscious Rageons laying on the ground.

“Did you do that?” Branch asked in surprise. Veneer cocked his head unsure of what he was talking about at first. He then turned around.

“Oh! Y-yeah. Good thing there was a crowbar nearby.” He chuckled. He turned back to Branch. “I know you’re Floyd’s brother, but I don’t know your name.”

The little Troll was hesitant. This was the same face that tortured his brother a year ago, nearly killed him…. But then he did admit to his wrong doings, he did just save him, and he hasn’t tried kidnapping him…yet. He had to proceed with caution.

“Branch.” He said coldly, crossing his arms. “And where the heck am I? You’re here, but this doesn’t look like Mount Rageous.”

“It’s because it isn’t. Umm.” Veneer extended his hand on the ground, waiting and hoping the small Troll would take the friendly gesture. Branch hesitated, Be ready for anything, he thought to himself. Eventually, Branch mounted Veneers hand. Gently, like carrying something delicate, Veneer walked over out of the alley. Without being chased, with everything calm, Branch was able to take in the scenes for the first time.

The buildings where stacked on top of each other, bunched up crowded reaching the sky. Streets and walkways unkept, broken, cracked. Nothing but neon artificial light lit up the city as far as he could see. It was high tech for being somewhat run down, Branch would give it that. He stared straight up. Far above he noticed clouds, the cloud line, bright lights barely shining through…

“Is that, Mount Rageous? Then what’s this place?”

“It adopted the name ‘Under Rageous’. It’s…. It’s a lot different down here than it is up there.” Veneer explained.

“Obviously. Mount Rageous was too colorful, this place, well, hardly anything.”

“We make do.”

Branch glanced at the Rageoun confused. “What do you mean?”

“We….Me and Velvet…. This is where we’re from…. I found Floyd down her before….” He voice and eyes trailed off as he avoided eye contact with Branch. “….It can be hard down here…”

“How hard?” Branch asked….

….What they didn’t notice, hiding in the cracks in the buildings above them, was a gray little Troll. He’d been eyeing them, watching them the whole time. He peeked his head out ever so slightly; he wore a dark blue beanie that covered his Troll dark blue hair except for a piece that covered his right eye, he wore sa denim-like material that was fashioned into a sleeveless vest, the same material he used for his pants. He was young, a Troll born and raised in Under Rageous… and throughout all his 17 years of life, he never saw a Rageon and Troll interact in such a casual manner. The young Troll kept a watchful eye, waiting for the opportune moment.

“Just… hard.” Veneer didn’t explain any further, and Branch didn’t push it. “How…. How did you end up here?”

“I was….taken….Pop Troll Village was attacked. Some of us kidnapped. I was able to escape with a few others… everyone else… I don’t know.” Branches voice and gaze grew distant, remembering the events that occurred that day.

“Is…Is…Floyd okay?” Veneer asked with a desperation in his voice. Branch arched an eyebrow.

“You care?”

Veneer turns his gaze away, looking at something at the ground. A sense of guilt hit Branch, maybe he did….

“I don’t know…I don't know what happened. That’s why I have to get out and go back.” Branch finally responded. Veneer turned back to look at Branch. He noticed and knew that look all to well…it’s a look he would constantly give his sister….worry.

“I can…help you…” Veneer finally replied after sharing a silent moment. The Trolls small ears perked up.

“R-really?”

“Y-yeah. But ummm…. Could we go with you?”

Great. Branch was not in the mood to make promises. Did he want to take the kids with him? No. He didn’t trust him, he didn’t trust his sister. What if this was some trick Veneer was plotting? A plot to get closer to the Trolls, find their destination, take them all…. But what if Branch said no? Would Veneer still want to help him?

“I….”

SWOOSH. THUMP. THUD.

Something came swinging in, hitting Veneer full force on the chest, knocking him off his feet. Branch went tumbling out of his hand and onto the floor with a small thud. He rubbed his head as he stood up.

“Ven-..” Another little Troll came up to Branch, covering his mouth.

“Shh! Let’s go!” The dark blue haired Troll with a dark blue beanie pulled Branch along after, heading back into the alley.

“Wait. What? Who are you?”

“Hurry up!” The young Troll ran until they made their way into a crack in the building. The Troll looked at Branch and heldl a finger to his lips.

“Branch? Branch?” He could hear Veneer call out as he rubbed his chest. Peeking through the crack, Branch could see Veneer peeking and overturning debris to find him.

“Who are you?” He asked looking at the young Troll.

“….Tye.…My name is Tye.” Tye peeked through the cracks as the young Rageon outside kept digging through the debris.

“Branch!” Veneer called out again.

“I don’t think he’s all that bad-..”

“Shhh!”

The two Rageons that Veneer had knocked out earlier regained consciousness. They wabbled their way to Veneer, holding their heads, letting out small moans of pain.

“You…. You stupid little freak!” One exclaimed, a fury growing in his eyes. Veneer quickly got up from all fours, he turned and ran….

THUD!

He slammed into a body that was standing right behind him. Veneer fell back again, he stared up the tall Rageon: pale skin like them all, orange stringy hair style into a Mohawk. A cybernetic eye on his left, matching his clawed prosthetic arm.

“Wel, well, well. I should be honored. The one and only Veneer everyone!” He gestured to the young Rageon still on the ground.

The Trolls watched silently from the cracks of the building.

“Okay. They’re distracted, let’s go.” Tye attempted to pull Branch along.

“Wait.”

“For what? Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Branch exclaimed, peering through the cracks.

“H-how do you know m-my name?” Veneer stuttered.

“Isn’t that what you guys wanted? ‘Baby, remember my name’” He sang mockingly. “Oh you were famous down here as much as you were up there. Only for the wrong reasons.” The Rageon gazed and fiddled with his prosthetic arm as he continued to speak. “You and your sister, Under Rageons living the luxurious life. And you didn’t bend a finger to help out the rest of us down here.”

At his last words the orange haired Rageon grabbed Veneer's neck with his prosthetic, robotic arm, he began to squeeze tightly leaving Veneer choking and gasping for air. The rest of the Rageons smiled at the sight of Veneers suffering.

“You’ve seen enough. Let’s go.” Tye whispered again.

Branch stared at the sight before him. Veneer desperately claws at the at the other Rageon, pleading to be let go, fear in his eyes…

“….I can’t…” Branch replied. Tye spun around in genuine surprise.

“What.” He demanded.

“I have to help him. Please help me help him.” Branch said.

“He’s a Rageon! They’re all disgusting filths!”

“I think… I think he’s different. Trust me. I know him, kind of.” Branch stated.

“Yeah! So does everyone down here. We know who he is and what he did. I am NOT helping you help him.” Tye crossed his arms and turned around.

“Please! Troll to Troll.” Branch heard painful whimpers and grunts. He peeked to see Veneer struggling in and out of consciousness.

“Many would pay a heavy price if I took you in right now. Public execution would be nice. But the satisfaction of killing you myself is rewarding enough.” The Rageon squeezed his hand tighter. “Not to mention you allowed a Troll to escape my guys.” Tighter he squeezed.

Tears began forming in Veneer's eyes, his face going from red to blue….he felt his heart fighting to continue pumping.

“Please!” Branch said again, turning around to Tye with a desperation in his eyes as Veneer inched closer to death. Tye let out an annoyed sigh, balling his tiny fists. Reaching into the pockets of his vest he pulled out two seeds, handing one to Branch.

“Ummmm..” Branch began to say.

“Do you want to help him or not?” Tye asked, earning a nod from Branch. “Then listen to what I say…”

“Someone should record this.” One Rageon laughed as their boss squeezed tighter and tighter around Veneer's neck. His thoughts went straight towards Velvet… who would watch out for her? Who would help her with the condition she was in? He was all she had, Veneer couldn’t just leave her alone.

CLANK!

The sound of metal hitting the ground echoed through the alley behind them. The orange haired Rageon slightly let go of his grasp around Veneer's neck.

“What the hell was that?” He murmured…. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, two tiny Trolls came swinging in.

“Veneer hold your breath!” Branch cried out. As he and Tye neared the other Rageons, they squeezed the seeds they held in their hand, releasing a yellow pollen into the air. Taking one breath, the Rageons began falling to the ground one by one. Veneer felt the hand around his neck go limp as the orange haired Rageon lost consciousness and fell to the ground with a big THUMP.

“Okay…. You can breathe now.” Branch said as the pollen quickly disappeared.

Veneer gasped for air, coughing and choking as he held his neck. Red marks began to bruise around his neck where the Rageon squeezed.

“Are they..” Veneer said softly as he tried to regain his strength.

“No. Insomnia Lily Seeds. Knocks you out in one shot. Trolls are immune, but not Rageons.” Tye responded. Veneer glanced at the small little Trolls.

“T-thank you.” He said.

“Don’t thank me. I’d personally have had them kill you. He was persistent though.” Tye nodded at Branch who was caught off guard.

“I- l…. W-well…Let’s just call it even!” Branch turned around and crossed his arms, avoiding Veneer's thankful gaze.

“Whatever. Let’s go now.” Tye nudged Branch. As he began to run away, footsteps and voices were heard rounding the corner….

“Boss said he’d be back in a few. Where the heck is he?”… More Rageons, and not the nice ones.

“Great. We- ah!!!” Tye yelled as he felt himself being scooped up. Veneer also grabbed Branch and made a run for it, holding both Trolls close to his chest.

“Let go!” Tye began beating his little fists against Veneer's chest.

“Where are we going?” Branch called out.

“Somewhere safe….I hope.” The Rageon replied

#trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #velvet and veneer #trolls veneer #veneer #velvet trolls #velvet #fandom #velvet and veneer trolls #trolls branch #trolls 3 veneer #trolls 3 velvet #veneer trolls #trolls velvet #dreamworks animation #dreamworks #trolls au #trolls fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #trolls fandom #fanfic writing #trolls #dw trolls #ve

[bibyshitsuji24k]

I wanted to talk to you about this official art. When the movie came out, I was young and broke so I never could buy the magazines :C but oh well. I didn't pay much attention to it until I started analyzing the image o.o

They're wearing each other's colors. Lizzy is wearing o!Ciel's colors (blues), while o!Ciel is wearing brown, which is basically a dark yellow, like Lizzy's hair. These outfits were shown on the back cover of volume 12.

It looks like they're in a carriage, but I think they're in a room on the Campania ship since Lizzy didn't know Ciel was going to be on the ship. I originally thought they might be in a carriage on their way TO it, but it can't be because of what's mentioned 0: remember, they're together for 3 days before Aurora's society meeting, so they probably did various activities together.

THE HAND. What stands out the most about this art is that they're holding hands, BUT WAIT, it's CIEL who's holding Lizzy's hand (//excited squeals//) and not the other way around as usual. Ciel doesn't like to be touched much because of the trauma he suffered when he was kidnapped, so he's reluctant to initiate physical contact with anyone. That's why Lizzy always takes the initiative, hugs him, touches him, stays close to him... and doesn't mind, he doesn't look bothered. In this art, it's Ciel who takes the initiative to touch Lizzy by holding her hand, and I think it's the cutest and most tender thing for him to open up to her physically.

They fall asleep together. Ciel is the most paranoid person ever for obvious reasons, in fact, he keeps a gun under his pillow. But here, he's shown deeply asleep with her, giving a sense that he feels safe. HOW CUTE TTwTT.

In conclusion, CANON. Nah, just kidding,in conclusion, thanks to the artistic team of Noriyuki Abe along with Minako Shiba for giving us all this material in 2017, I didn't appreciate it back then haha :c

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #elizabeth midford #cielizzy

[xehanortsreport]

rolls over alright it's a reasonable hour

i really like to explore ansem as like. a master xehanort who got to relive his life and come to different conclusions. i don't believe ansem and xehanort are inherently different, despite the entire terra-xehanort thing; ansem is pointedly, time and again, by multiple different people in game and multiple paratextual materials as specifically "xehanort" or "xehanort's heartless". in my brain they are more or less the same heart, the same person.

where things split is age and lived experience. ansem went back in time to when xehanort was a kid and then lived out the rest of his days in real time all the way up til kh3. that's damn near a century of extra knowledge, experience, time. reflection.

much like how one views themselves as a child when they've hit adulthood, i think the difference between MX and ansem comes down to perspective and the natural changes time brings to everyone. MX is to ansem as YX is to MX. they're not different people but the gap in experience and maturity is so wide that they're practically separate beings anyway.

i think that's how you can have someone as doggedly single-minded and thirsty for knowledge as ansem, who proudly declares himself as a seeker of darkness, just want to straight up give up by the end of kh3 while it took MX getting beat onto his deathbed to do the same. i think ansem reached the same conclusion far earlier simply because he has lived longer. goals and dreams change as you age, and i think getting beat once in kh1 really did a number on his ambition. i think it caused the same self reflection MX only achieved in the equivalent moment in kh3.

it's like looking at a video of yourself in the past, with full knowledge of hindsight, and knowing it's beyond your control.

so im any scenario where i'm writing a post kh3 ansem, i'm sort of inherently taking the time to write an...alternate MX? if that makes sense. MX is a possible future, and ansem is another possible future. and so i like to explore that.

#im very bad at ending these things #xey rambles

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know... (3/?)

Word Count: 1,186 Words

Rating: Explicit (Violence/Gore)

Chapter 3

"I can be your heavenly or I can be your hell

I can say a prayer for you or I can cast a spell

I push you to the darkness just to pull you to the light

'Cause I can take away your breath or I can bring you back to life..."

- In This Moment

Directly following the events of Lucifer’s visit: Alastor smoothly shifted from the shadows, materializing himself into the midst of his radio station that was attached to the hotel. He glared at Lucifer, the fallen angel languidly stretched out fully and comfortably in his chair beside the radio control panel; a large shit-eating grin across his face. 

"What are you doing here?" Alastor asked him, lowly. 

"Charlie invited me." Lucifer's grin actually widened. 

"I'm well aware." Alastor bit back. "I mean what are you doing here? Now? Don't you have a meeting to arrange?" 

"It's already done." Lucifer shrugged. "Lilith has it all taken care of. I'm here to check-in; suck your dick if you’d like. You seem a little...tense." 

"I decline. Now get out." 

"You're sure?" Lucifer asked him, laughing. "It wouldn't take long and I assure you, I'm quite good." 

Alastor bristled. 

Normally, he wouldn't let the man get so under his skin... However, these past couple of days, Alastor had been feeling the beginnings of an impending rut. He was refusing to admit that little bit of honesty to himself, though, let alone Lucifer. There was still too much to do yet; the extermination was merely a couple months away....he didn't have time for such nonsense. 

"You seem like you could really use it, too." Lucifer was digging in. "Aren't you supposed to be protecting this place? I thought the radio demon avoided all that kind of riff-raff." 

"I took care of it." 

"Hm, yes. I saw. A very intimidating display. You know, had you been better at addressing Charlie's needs here, I never would have gotten to see it." 

"I haven't heard any complaints from…my Queen." Alastor told him.

"Nor would you..." Lucifer sighed; getting up from the chair now and walking over to where Alastor stood. "She seems rather fond of her new...pet." 

Alastor fought to maintain his composure at this; the remark effectively agitating an already struck nerve. Lucifer smirked at this; enjoying the effect his little planned comment had made. He hadn’t missed the little discussion Alastor had had with the bartender; just one of the unfortunate souls Alastor still had bound by his chain.

Lucifer stopped; standing very close to Alastor now. 

"Last chance. We could whip this out right now and you can go enjoy yourself a nice cigarette." Lucifer leaned in, his eyes darting to Alastor's crotch then back again; his eyebrows bouncing in a overly dramatic and suggestive way. 

"Must you act like that?" Alastor hissed. 

"Like what?" 

"A child?" Alastor glared. 

"How should I act, to you, Alastor? Is it so important to you that I display myself in frightening and intimidating ways so that others may respect and fear me every moment they are within my presence? I am well aware of the power that I command; I don't have to be concerned with what others believe or may think...that would possibly suggest a significant level of...insecurity."

Alastor growled; his eyes glowing a soft red. 

"Well, that turned you on." Lucifer quipped. 

"You know," Alastor's eyes flared redder. "I almost want to let you..." Alastor reached out, clawed fingers curled - he set his hand beneath the King's chin, leaning in.

Alastor's shadow slipped from him; sliding along a darkened corner and rising slowly behind Lucifer.

"If only to watch you choke on my cock; jammed deep into your throat as I utterly wreck that pretty face of yours."

Alastor's shadow pressed in closer, clawed hands reaching...

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" Lucifer blurted, rather cockily.

Alastor's eyes narrowed. "You'd be beautiful...gasping and choking beneath me...wondering at just how a fallen angel ever could manage to sink so low..." 

"Uh, huh." Lucifer had had enough.

Alastor's shadow darted for him but before it could touch the angel it was struck sharply by the end of a brightly glowing and golden chain. Hissing and spitting, Alastor's shadow fled. Alastor barely had time to flinch before Lucifer turned the chain on him; sending it to tighten around his neck and hoisting him sharply upwards so that he was kicking and strangling in its grip. Moving; the chain drug him backwards, slamming him painfully into a wall and holding him fast.

“Your pillow talk really needs some work.” Lucifer told him, darkly as he approached him.  

Alastor still struggling; choked against the chain. Reaching out, Lucifer clenched Alastor’s side with sharpened talons; claws sinking into his hip and holding him firmly in place against the wall. Gasping; all the remaining air left Alastor’s lungs and his struggles drastically lessened.

“Now.” Lucifer flicked a sharpened claw; tracing it over Alastor’s fine pin-striped suit – sharply cutting into it and the soft cavity of Alastor’s abdomen – just below the sternum. “Let’s discuss this rather poor attitude of yours.”

Pulling the claw down; Lucifer gutted the radio demon like a fish. Alastor gave a garbled cry; writhing against the chain and against the wall – his blood and guts spilling into Lucifer’s outstretched hands.

Twisting the writhing intestines between his fingers; Lucifer stared up at the look of pure look of manic horror that was Alastor’s face. The sinner was still smiling but his ears where laid flat to his head in complete and desperate submission; his eyes wide and panicked; his body flaying less and less…

“I don’t care what you think of me, Alastor.” Lucifer said, softly. “You walk a rather treacherous path, my friend. Never let your detestation – no matter how great - cloud your perceptions of someone… You may think little of me but that does not change the amount of power I have at my command.” He gripped the moving intestines tightly in his hands and Alastor shrieked; foaming at the mouth.

“Lilith requires your services, you bastard.” Lucifer continued. “I cannot take that from her; but I can put you in your place.”

Alastor’s body had stopped it’s flaying - going limp now; his consciousness quickly fading.

Sighing; Lucifer released him. The intestines pulled from his hands; curling themselves back into Alastor’s cavity – his abdomen and suit zipping themselves neatly closed as if Lucifer had merely pulled down on a zipper. The golden chain came loose; dropping Alastor unceremoniously onto the ground.    

Alastor fell forward; his body violently shaking as he heaved in great gulps of air and tried to process what the fuck had just happened.

Rolling his eyes; Lucifer turned and walked away – throwing up a swirling golden portal with a wave of the hand.

“Per our deal, I leave you to it. Call on me when or if you require it.” Lucifer told him.

Alastor shakily rose himself from the ground so that he was knelt before Lucifer on his knees – still clutching for air and ears pulled back; staring crazily at the King. Lucifer’s eyes shifted to the seam of his pants. Raising an eyebrow just before he stepped away and into the portal he said; “You’ll have to take care of that one yourself.” – referring to the very distinct tent that jutted from the layer of fabric between Alastor’s legs – leaving the radio demon alone: feeling rather whipped and humiliated.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor #fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #my fanfic #lucif #alastor and lucifer #alastor x lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x alastor #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne #radio #radioapple #alastor the radio demon #appleradio #duckiedeer

[draconym]

Live theater in the His Dark Materials universe must be wild. Surely an actor's daemon also has lines to recite, so their daemon's form probably also factors into casting decisions. Maybe some plays have vague character descriptions for daemons, but I bet other plays have really specific or central daemon characters. And sure, big-budget theaters can afford to hire a separate actor with a particular daemon to stand backstage while their daemon plays its part onstage, but community theaters don't have those kinds of resources.

Like if you're casting for Julius Caesar, surely the real historical Caesar had a pretty iconic daemon, right? Are you going to cast an actor with a pigeon daemon as Caesar and just have everyone suspend their disbelief that it's Caesar's lioness, ἁμαρτία?

#his dark materials #for the record I do think daemon-blind casting is the way to go #theater is all about suspending your disbelief after all

[ashes-in-a-jar]

Who's dark materials

#mine #his dark materials #1k

[redfagdiver]

#Literature #children's literature #books #Goosebumps #Babysitter's Club #Animorphs #His Dark Materials #A Series Of Unfortunate Events #Warrior Cats #Lord of the Rings #Chronicles of Narnia #Hope I didn't miss any better ones

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

[arealtrashact]

Boadicea

#marisa coulter #lyra belacqua #his dark materials #the golden compass #my art #this song reminds me of Mrs.Coulter.... #Alluring and beautiful with an ominous (sinister) undertone

[bi-writes]

thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)

just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.

it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.

and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.

maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.

you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.

or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.

because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.

so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.

"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"

"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."

"tha' right?"

"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.

"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"

not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.

"h-how to be a good girl."

and you think you feel him smile.

#mmmmm #i like them big and awkward and mean #and i like controlling big dogs with pussy 😃 #makes me feel powerful ok #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts

[hashtagloveloses]

the equivalent exchange of your favorite childhood book series (his dark materials and percy jackson) getting the adaptations they finally deserve but the price is that one character must be played by lin-manuel miranda

#original post #percy jackson #pjo #his dark materials #hdm #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson series