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ohproserpine · 4 months

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i. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3 tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, allusions to murder and such, unsettling & obsessive behavior, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, gorey-ish descriptions of love

"So what?" Angel Dust hummed, drumming his nails on the counter. "You and Alastor are like... friends?"

"Oh, well, that ain't the word I would’ve used, but it's something like that!" Mimzy chirped, reaching for her drink and downing it in one go. "He used to frequent the club I had! In fact, that’s where he met his wife—"

“Wife?!” Angel Dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “Freaky face is married?”

“Oh yeah,” Mimzy hummed, waving her hand around. “Under all that murder and cannibalism, he’s a total sap! Can't blame him, I mean—his wife is a doll! Me an' her used to perform together!”

"An’ how come I never heard of this? People ain't told me shit!" Angel Dust grumbled, turning to Husk behind the counter. "You knew 'bout this, whiskers?"

"Yeah. They were together back in the living. But don't even think of bringing it up in front of Alastor. He gets all heated," Husk grumbled, grabbing a towel to wipe down Mimzy’s now-empty glass. The cat then turned to grab another bottle off the shelf, a grimace on his lips. "I would know."

Angel Dust leaned forward, resting his face on his folded hands. "Well, ain't that something. Never knew he even had one of those."

Mimzy cackled, her voice a raspy melody that echoed through the smoky air of the bar as she snatched the bottle of liquor away from Husk’s paws. "Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even know how deep it goes. They go way back."

"Spill," Angel Dust grinned, curiosity getting the better of him.

Mimzy leaned in, looking both ways to make sure Alastor or his shadows weren't around before lowering her voice. "It was back in the day, at my joint. Alastor dropped by for the bootlegs, you know? But then he caught sight of her. She was singin’ and dancin’ on stage, a real heartbreaker. He couldn't resist the charm, and boom, he was struck on! Ever since then, he came around as frequently as he could. Made me so much money~"

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering as he squished his cheek against his palm, a coy smirk playing on his lips. "And you were part of this love saga?"

Mimzy shook her head, a wicked glint dancing in her eyes before she lifted the bottle to her lips and downed its contents in one swift motion, her throat working as she swallowed. "Oh, sugar, just a witness to the drama. Those two lovebirds had their own dance going on. I just spiced things up."

Angel Dust chuckled, shaking his head. "Never thought smiles had it in him."

"Again. He likes to keep his shit private. So, don't go running your mouth unless you wanna be on the receiving end of one of his… episodes," Husk interrupted, his gruff voice breaking through the conversation as he leaned over the counter and reclaimed the bottle from Mimzy with a low growl.

Angel hummed dismissively, his golden tooth catching the glimmer of the bar lights as he spoke. “Anyone could've guessed that. Where is she, anyways? I haven't seen or heard of her since day one."

"Busy," Mimzy snorted, her finger lazily tracing the rim of her glass. She leaned back in her seat, the dim glow of the bar lights casting shadows across her features. "That's where."

“Really?" Angel's brow lifted in skepticism, his boot lightly kicking against the base of Mimzy's chair. "Busy? That’s it?”

Mimzy shrugged, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Can't tell ya much. Y'know Alastor doesn't like sharin'. Secrets and shadows, that's his game."

“Aww c'mon, tits,” Angel grinned, his golden tooth glinting beneath the bar lights with each word. “You gotta know more than you let on. It'll be our secret.”

"Well," Mimzy drawled, savoring the suspense as she tapped a gloved finger against her cheek. "I guess I can tell you a lil’ something about how they met…”

Alastor found himself standing in the heart of a secluded corner of town.

A desolate, dimly lit street stretched out before him, raindrops rhythmically tapping on the worn concrete beneath his feet.

It was something he had never imagined—searching for a speakeasy in this far-off locale. Rarely did he have time for himself. Most of his days were dedicated to caring for his mother, his job as a radio host, and any free time he had was reserved for his… hobbies. But he supposed a change of scenery wouldn't hurt.

Adjusting his glasses, he gazed up at the timeworn, ragged sign of a barbershop that read, "Chum’s Clippers."

Charming.

With a roll of his eyes, the radio host stepped into the worn-down establishment, visibly grimacing at the shop's decrepit condition. His eyes surveyed the room, settling on a young blonde woman.

Perched on the edge of the registrar counter, a cigar dangled between her cherry-red lips, the tendrils of smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals. Her legs crossed provocatively, causing the fabric of her dress to ride up her thighs, revealing more skin than what civil society would allow.

As soon as she caught sight of Alastor's silhouette, a spark of excitement lit up her features, and she greeted him with an animated wave.

"Hey there, mistah! Names Mimzy!" she chirped with a friendly lilt. Her crimson-painted nails plucked the cigarette from her lips, trailing a wisp of smoke as she gestured toward Alastor. "Whatcha here for?"

"Pleasure to meet you," Alastor smiled back and stepped closer, offering her a bow of his head, “Quite a pleasure. You see, I was just strolling through these darling streets, and wouldn't you know it? The whispers in the wind pointed me straight to you, the gal in the know when it comes to bootlegs. Care to confirm?"

‘A potential client?" Mimzy thought, her smirk hidden behind her hand as she took one last puff, the cherry of her cigar glowing brightly before she flicked it into an ashtray. 'Straight to the point.'

"Well, well, mistah," she drawled with a playful twirl of her finger through her blonde curls. "You've got a nose for sniffin' out the good stuff, huh? Well, we might have a few things tucked away for the right kind of folk. But, sugar, we don't just give 'em to anyone.”

Alastor's smile widened as he smoothly fished out his wallet, giving it a theatrical wave. "I do have a penchant for fine libations, my dear. And I assure you, I'm just looking for a little taste of the local flavor, nothing more."

Mimzy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she perked up, eagerly hopping off the counter. The click of her heels echoed against the worn floor as she approached the tall man.

"You're in luck, then! Follow me, and we'll talk business in the back," she said, gesturing toward a concealed door at the back of the barbershop.

Alastor followed her through a narrow passage, which unveiled another door leading to the very speakeasy he’d heard talk of. The atmosphere changed instantly, lively jazz music filled the air, and the dimly lit space was alive with laughter and clinking glasses.

Mimzy guided Alastor to a private booth tucked away in a corner, where a polished bottle of bootleg whiskey awaited their arrival.

"Here's to unexpected encounters, mistah," she beamed, the words dripping with charm as she poured a generous measure into his glass. Alastor raised his glass in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"To unexpected encounters," he echoed before taking a deep sip.

The whiskey was bitter and strong, yet there was a subtle sweetness that danced on his tongue, leaving behind a tantalizing warmth. It had been increasingly difficult to find such fine brews ever since the prohibition hit, making each sip all the more precious.

Seating himself comfortably, Alastor swirled the glass in his hand, mesmerized by the way the golden liquid caught the flickering candlelight. Beside him, Mimzy continued her lively chatter, her words accompanied by the persistent clinking of ice in their glasses as she refilled his drink, hoping to stack his bill higher with each pour.

As the room hummed with the soft, easy notes of a piano and the clinking of glasses, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as an announcer's voice sliced through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the enchanting Dolly!"

Mimzy's excitement bubbled up even more, and she leaned in toward Alastor. "That's my sister! Well— not by blood, but you know, me and her are real, real close. One of my best performers here at the bar!"

"Is that so?" Alastor hummed, his eyes now alight with curiosity as he shifted his focus toward the stage.

In that moment, you stepped onto the platform, grabbing a hold of the standing microphone. With a subtle flick of your wrist, you directed attention to the dark-haired pianist, his fingers poised above the keys. A nod from you and the jazz ensemble sprung to life, setting the stage for your performance. As the spotlight enveloped you in a warm glow, a hushed silence fell over the speakeasy.

Folks, here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red hot hoochie-coocher She was the roughest, toughest frail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale

The lyrics flowed easily through Alastor's mind, carried by the smooth, buttery tones of your voice that filled the air. The radio host found himself utterly hypnotized, his gaze never tearing from your form.

He could stare for hours, unabashed by any sense of shame—though, truth be told, he didn't possess much of that quality to begin with.

She messed around with a bloke named Smokey She loved him though he was kokey He took her down to Chinatown And he showed her how to kick the gong around

As Mimzy began clapping excitedly and waving her arms to beckon you over, Alastor's attention shifted. The final notes of the song echoed in the room, snapping him back to reality. In the haze of your performance, he hadn't even realized that the song had come to an end.

“What a gal!” Mimzy cackled, joyously wrapping her arms around you as you approached.

Alastor took a moment to study you with keen interest.

The dim lighting of the speakeasy lent a soft, ethereal glow to your figure as you moved, casting long shadows across the floor. A slender dress, shimmering with golden sequins, hugged your figure, shimmers and glitters catching the light. The dress boasted a daring low neckline, while its swaying boxed skirt gracefully fell just above your knees, accentuating your every movement. Complementing the ensemble were black kitten heels, their clicks and clacks adding a subtle rhythm to every step you took. Your hair, styled into a sleek bob, framed your demure features perfectly. Adorning your head was a headpiece adorned with golden yellow feathers and dark lace.

"Dollface, I want ya to meet Alastor!" Mimzy exclaimed, pulling you along and positioning you in front of him. “He’s new!”

With a wave of your hands and a warm smile, you tilted your head up to meet Alastor's gaze. The man standing before you was tall and slim, boasting broad shoulders. His white button-up clung perfectly to his frame, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms adorned with scars, cuts, and prominent veins.

‘Must be a hunter or a butcher,’ you noted heatedly.

Short, side-swept brunette hair framed his face, adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance, while rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose lent him an air of intelligence. As he smiled, a chill crept down your spine, and an odd sinking sensation settled in your stomach.

There was an unsettling nature to him, a subtle aura that left you uncertain of whether your reaction stemmed from the eerie quality of his smile or if it was simply a flustered response to his strikingly handsome features.

“Pleasure to meet you, cher,” Alastor purred, turning on the charm. He delicately took your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. In a subtle move, the radio host let his fingers linger over your skin, subtly checking for any sign of a ring. Noticing the absence, he filed the information away with a sly smile.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, sir,” you smiled, tucking your face behind your hand. Alastor observed with delight as a subtle blush painted your cheeks, a tacit acknowledgment that his presence had left an impression.

"Al here knows his way around a glass of whiskey like nobody else in these parts! Ain't that right, Al?" Mimzy chattered, her voice bubbling with familiarity as if she had known him for years and hadn't just met him one song and ten drinks ago.

Alastor chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent your stomach doing flips. "

"Well, I do have a certain fondness for…" The radio host paused, his sharp, gaze raking up and down your form, his words trailing off. "…finer things in life."

A silence lingered in the air, and Mimzy, always attuned to the mood of a room, shot a knowing look between the two of you.

"Well, don't cha?" Mimzy exclaimed, her hands clapping with excitement. "If that's the case, then I'm sure Dolly would love to show you around here!"

"Is that so?" Alastor, maintaining that devilish smile, turned his attention back to you. "Well, what do you say, cher?" he questioned.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you met his gaze with a coy smile. "I'd be delighted to show you around. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye."

Mimzy clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Now, why don't you two enjoy the rest of the night? I'll be right here waiting."

“Shall we?” Alastor offered his hand, gesturing to the dance floor.

With a small nod, you graciously accepted Alastor's outstretched hand, leading the way to the lively dance floor where the band played an upbeat tune. Around you, couples twirled in a dizzying dance, with heels tapping, shoes stomping, and skirts gracefully gliding and twirling. Alastor wasted no time, pulling you in and molding your form against his.

Looks were indeed deceiving, as despite his lean appearance, Alastor had no issue effortlessly tossing and spinning you round and round, lifting you as if you were as weightless as a feather. Each spin and dip was executed with skill, his footwork was a blur and soon enough, you found yourself willingly surrendering to the rhythm of his lead.

This man could fucking dance.

As the music gradually slowed, Alastor guided you to the side, providing a moment to catch your breath after the energetic routine.

"Thank you for the dance, cher! You are quite quick on your feet," Alastor chuckled, his voice low, blending with the fading echoes of the music.

"You're not too bad yourself," you managed between breaths, a raspy laugh escaping your lips. "Nobody's ever been able to keep up with me," you continued, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting your dress. "I think I was the one who had to keep up with you."

After ensuring you were presentable, you lifted a hand to fix Alastor's slightly damp locks, adjusting his glasses and tie. Alastor froze, a foreign sensation enveloping him. Despite his typical aversion to physical contact, there was an absence of the usual recoil in disdain this time.

"Looks like we're both a bit of a mess, aren't we?" you chuckled, a wry smile playing on your lips as you gracefully brushed away a speck of dust from his shirt.

Alastor blinked and eventually relaxed, allowing you to proceed without any resistance. "Quite."

While you continued to fix him up, Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment. He felt as though coils had entwined themselves around his heart. Slowly constricting, they didn't just tighten but twisted, sharp edges digging into muscle, squeezing his emotions into a thick syrup that spilled beyond the confines of his ribs, seeping out in a haunting shade of crimson through the cracks in his chest.

As the seconds passed, he paid no mind to your touch, shifting his focus to instead dissect you with his eyes. He scrutinized the subtle reactions playing across your face—the delicate twitches of your brows, the soft pout of your blood-red lips, and the scrunches of your nose.

What were you doing to him?

"There you go!" you announced, a note of satisfaction in your voice as you finished your task, your hand coming to rest briefly on his chest before retreating. "Ready to head back?"

Snapping out of his obsessive trance, Alastor emitted a soft hum, offering his arm to you. You gracefully accepted, intertwining your arm with his. The energetic atmosphere from the dance gradually subsided as you and Alastor made your way back to the private booth. Mimzy's mischievous grin awaited you as she rejoined your company.

"Looks like you two had quite the time!" she exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye.

Alastor quickly composed himself, nodding with a grin. "Indeed! It was quite a delightful dance."

Just as Alastor turned toward you, the insistent dings of a nearby clock echoed through the room. His expression shifted, a fleeting shadow of disappointment and ire crossing his face. The hours had danced away quicker than he had anticipated.

Undoubtedly, the night was still young for you, given that speakeasies often extended their festivities until the early hours of the morning.

However, as much as Alastor would adore the idea of continuing to enjoy your company, the weight of responsibilities at home tugged at him. He had his elderly mother waiting, relying on his care for her well-being, as well as an upcoming morning shift at the radio station.

"It's later than I realized, my dear," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of regret. "I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. Duty calls, and the dawn awaits for my return."

Something twisted and snapped in Alastor's gut as he observed the unmistakable disappointment etched across your features, evident in the downturn of your blood-red lips. His fingers itched with an impulse to claw your mouth back into a smile, to dig his nails into your skin and carve your lips into a grotesque display of happiness, all in a desperate attempt to restore the radiance of your joy.

Meanwhile, Mimzy sighed in disappointment, yet Alastor discerned that beneath the theatrics, she was indifferent to it all, evident in her thinly veiled disinterest.

"Aww… That's too bad, sugar! The night's just gettin' started!" Mimzy exclaimed, shaking her head with a pout.

"But I get it! Some folks got places to be," Mimzy waved it off. There was a sudden twinkle in her eye as she pulled out a tab from her dress pocket. "Anyways, 'bout those drinks you had, they weren't exactly on the house, sooo..."

Alastor chuckled and pulled out his wallet. "Of course, my dear! I apologize, it must not have crossed my mind!"

He settled the bill and threw in a generous tip, for both you and Mimzy. His job as a radio host was quite the money-spinner, affording him the pleasure of treating others to the finer things in life. Mimzy practically glowed with satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she snatched the tab. Swift and efficient, she flipped through the bills, before pocketing the money.

"Thank you, love!" Mimzy chirped, already moving away from the table as she waved him off. "You're welcome anytime!"

“I’m sure I am,” Alastor responded flatly, almost mockingly, with a roll of his eyes, pulling a laugh from you. As Mimzy made her way off backstage, both you and Alastor were left alone.

“It's a shame you have to leave so soon. I've got more songs up my sleeve for later. I would have loved for you to stay and catch the performance,” you sighed, turning back to him.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Songs, you say? Well, cher, that does sound like a delightful experience. Perhaps I can catch your next show some other time."

You smiled, appreciating his enthusiasm. "I'd love that. I perform here regularly, and your company would be more than welcome anytime."

Alastor's gaze intensified, fixing onto you with a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer despite yourself. His eyes, pools of darkness, held an unexplainable intensity. As his lips curled up into a grin, there was a hint of something more primal than human lurking behind his charming facade. A shiver traced its way down your spine, leaving behind a lingering sensation that unsettled you to your core.

"I'll definitely make it a point to come by," he finally said.

Scrambling for a response, the only sound that reached your ears was the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat as your blood rushed through your veins.

"Y-You too! Don't let the night slip away too quickly," you stammered.

With a nod, Alastor bid you a final farewell, weaving through the dimly lit space towards the exit.

Yes, he shall see you very soon.

Cher - Louisiana Creole term meaning "darling," "sweetie" or "honey."

#sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor

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nyxwoodstone · 2 months

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Televangelism | Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Simon offers Johnny a place to stay the night after a deployment, and Johnny gladly obliges. Much to his surprise, there's more to Simon Riley's home life than he previously thought.

TLDR: Soap doesn't know that Simon has a wife...he finds out when he goes to his Lt's house. :)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, female reader, pregnant!reader, Simon and reader already have a toddler..., maybe a little OOC Ghost but allow it, no smut all plot, still MDNI I swear to God, idk like minor swearing but if you're from the COD fandom I feel like you should know that, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: if you saw this previously posted to another account, no you didn't :) I don't really know what to call this type of fic, it is a Ghost x Reader, but it's got quite a bit of self-reflection and characterization from Soap. very little beta, but msg me if there's any horrendous spelling or grammar issues. i'm not American, hence the spelling differences. let's just ignore the fact that Ghost inviting Johnny to sleep at his house is more than a little too friendly for special forces guys, let's just ignore that plz!!!!!

Dictionary: SO - superior officer Civvies - civilian clothing NOD's - them night vision goggle thingo's Padre - colloquial name for Bristish Army Chaplains

-------------------------------------------------------

It was done.

Another successful operation. A difficult operation.

The entire squad had returned with just minor scrapes and cuts, and more shit to compartmentalise. Not that there was much compartmentalisation these days, the missions just rolled into each other. Sometimes there was a week break in between, sometimes a few months. Never enough time for Soap regain his footing in civilian life. Never enough time to get past the 'disruption' phase of reintegration that the chaplains were always talking about.

Every time he flew back to base, he'd get the same bleeding rundown from a different Padre. Every. Time.

"Now, there are five stages of reintegration after deployment, Sergeant."

"I know that."

"Humour me."

He'd fight back the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, he'd just do it. The chaplain would continue.

"Pre-entry, you've done that already, psych evals and such. You know the drill. Then, reunion, you'll see your family again-"

Shit. He needed to call his sister.

"-and take some time for yourself. Next is disruption, you'll realise not everything is the same as when you left it, people will have new routines, new hobbies, it's normal to feel resentful during this stage-"

And they'd go on. Tell him about communication, then normalcy. But he never got that far. He'd go home to his apartment, visit his mother, go to coffee with his sister (she worried about him, always did), and then he would be off on his next operation. He'd get a visit, or a call, and he'd be off, with little word to family. There was never enough time. Soap wondered why the task force needed the same spiel every time they returned, it wasn’t as if this was new. It was old. This runaround was old now: United Kingdom, to some forsaken country, to back home, with more memories and less connections. It was what he loved. But it was also what he despised.

"Johnny."

Most of the squad had dispersed, each finishing psych evals and heading off to the on-base housing, their cars, or the mess hall. He didn't actually know if the mess was open at this time of night, he supposed it was only the wee hours of the morning, but God-knew. Johnny had just finished his packing, and was heading towards the unremarkable block of small apartments on the far side of the base. It was a fair hike, but he'd do it. There wasn't another choice, but his flight wasn't until tomorrow, and he staunchly refused to stay awake all night. He'd sleep tonight, then go to debrief, then go the fuck home.

"Johnny."

It was Ghost, in civvies, hands in his jacket pockets. Mask gone. Johnny supposed that was just the way it ought to be, he couldn't wear it everywhere, and wearing it in civvies would certainly give any onlookers, soldiers or not, reason to be curious. Attention was not what men in their position needed. Still, seeing his face was…almost unsettling.

"Lt.?"

*************************************

Simon hung up the phone and tucked it in his back pocket. He felt God-awful calling at this time of night, but he had to do it. He'd sworn to, every time he got back to base, he had to call. Johnny was staring out at the quiet base, the parade grounds just a few hundred metres away, still lit up in the night.

"Johnny."

He'd never really thought about where Johnny must go after operations, he didn't even assume anything, once they were back on the ground, once they were out of the shit, it wasn't any of business, or any of his concern.

"You're allowed to like the men you work with, love." His wife's voice rang in the back of his mind.

He did…like them. They were good lads. Got the job done. Stitched each other up. Didn't leave each other behind. But liking them outside of work? Their job was far too dangerous to make close attachments like that. In his younger days, when he wasn't in the special forces, he'd made…’friends’ wasn't the right word for it. He'd made…acquaintances with some of the soldiers on his unit, they'd go out for drinks, egg each other on in the pub, take each other home after a long night out. But special forces were another world. Here, everything mattered. Every little thing mattered. And perhaps he was just older now, he'd matured more. Back then, he hadn't had anything to lose. Now, though-now he had everything to lose. A family, a home - a life.

But despite all of that, he had grown to appreciate Johnny. He was a good man, in the shit, and out of it.

They'd talked a few times about their lives outside of the army. Nothing important, nothing below surface level. Soap had a mother who had health problems, and a sister who worked in a hospital (he hadn't told Simon what she did, or even told him her name), and who worried about him constantly. Johnny joked that she would end up a patient one day if she kept stressing so much. Simon had told him that he lived far enough from the base that he wasn't constantly thinking about work, he'd told him that he played football as a kid; that was it. Not a lick more.

Johnny gave up far more information willingly than Simon ever could. But they got along. That was enough.

The Scot stood across from him, still staring out at nothing.

"Johnny."

Soap turned his head.

"Lt.?"

"Going home?"

“Sleeping on base tonight, sir, then got a flight tomorrow night.”

On base? After that operation? Simon sighed inwardly and observed the bent hunch of his subordinate's shoulders. He knew that feeling. Finishing a mission alive, but with more red in his ledger. That was all good and well, but the final fucking straw was those damned prison cages that the military called bedrooms. It took a moment to debate, no longer.

"Mine’s 15 minutes from the airport.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised at the Lieutenant’s offer.

“It’s alright, sir, I’ll survive here.”

“After that shit? You need a real bed, Johnny.”

The sergeant ran a hand over his face and dropped his shoulders.

“Y-yeah, alright, Lt. If that’s alright with you.”

“Let’s go,” Ghost turned on his heel and began towards the car park, taking out his phone to shoot off a quick text.

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

****************************************************************************************

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

You groggily shot back a text.

'Get home safe, love you."

Simon had been due back for a few days now, but you'd been trying to get used to the unpredictability of his work schedule.

This was nothing new, though. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you got married to him. He had sat you down when you had first gotten serious, and showed you his will.

That had been an aggressive wake-up call. You knew how dangerous his job was. No one on the planet Earth was foolish enough to think that special forces meant 'safety.' You knew he could die any time he went away. But the long-term reality of that fact didn't set in until you sat beside him and scanned your eyes over that document. You didn't feel connected to your body. It was as if you were peering in on some other person's life, quietly staring through the looking glass to see some insane woman who was desperately in love with a man whose life meant very little up against the interests of international security. To your credit, you hadn't cried when he showed you. How badly you had wanted to. But you didn't. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists. He could die at any moment. So you had better make the most of every second you had with him.

You'd told him as much and he had accused you of not taking his job seriously. A method of self-preservation you recognized from your years of being with him. You had told him he wasn't going to push you away so easily. He had left in a huff and came back the next day with an apology on his lips, and a ring in his hand.

There was no pomp about it, just simple, and practical. So very Simon Riley.

Simon had never been a particularly romantic man, and God, was he difficult to read. But he loved you. He did. And you adored him. And you'd made it this far, a few years of marriage, one kid in, and one on the way; you'd done it. You would keep doing it until the day you dropped cold. So would he, he'd told you so hundreds of times.

No, he was not romantic, but he showed you in other ways. He would rub your back when you were tired, he would open doors for you, or kiss you gently when you needed it. Simon Riley was a man of few words, but frequent action. You loved him for it.

The first time you'd met him, you'd nearly gone weak in the knees. Cliché. He teased you for it endlessly, you never should have admitted that to him. But how were you to help yourself, he was a handsome, well-muscled man with a scowl that you found endearing. You still found that deep scowl endearing today, and on more than one occasion, you had gently pinched his cheek when he pulled that face. He would always chuckle and bat your hand away, biting the inside of his mouth so there was no looser skin for you to pinch again.

Simon Riley was, in your (biassed) opinion, the most handsome, most incredible, most loving man to ever live. And he was yours. Whenever he came shopping with you, or took you out somewhere, it was impossible to escape the stares that other women gave him. Part of you despised it, part of you basked in it. You'd lean in to whisper something in his ear, or pat him gently on the chest, anything to mark him as yours. See this man, he's mine. He'd swear other men did the same to you, but you didn't believe him. He certainly believed himself though, placing a hand on the small of your back or tucking a piece of hair behind your ear whenever he thought he saw eyes on you. It was sweet.

You two had this little…thing. This cocoon for just you two. The comfort and safety that flowed between the both of you had been years in the making, and had taken many, many arguments and discussions to solidify. And you had argued, sometimes into the night hours, going back and forth about trust, and patience, and understanding. You had often had to fight for his agreement, or for his trust, but you had never had to fight for his love. That had come without question, but you'd had to fight for him to show it to you, for him to allow himself one good thing in life. He was different now, all those years of being with you, and working on himself, and all the absolute hell that he had been through. He was different, and you loved the man he was, and the man he had become. No one at his job knew how gentle he could be, the softness he was capable of. No one.

Although, you supposed that was about to change. He was bringing 'one of the guys' to your house, to stay. You had told him before that you had absolutely no problem with him bringing his friends - he wasn't a fan of you calling them that - over. If they needed somewhere to stay, you were more than willing to house them, they were strong men facing down the worst of the world's threats, they deserved somewhere to feel safe, if only for one night. He'd told you he might - although you'd always suspected that he wouldn’t - allow one of his squad mates into his home, and you'd encouraged him to do so if it was necessary. Tonight was the night.

Simon had called you as soon as he could, like he always did.

"I've landed, love, I'll be heading home soon."

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Hungry?"

"Just ate here."

"Alright, I'll be in bed, please wake me up."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

He sounded exhausted on the phone, nothing out of the ordinary though, he was always tired when he came home. You were remiss to admit to yourself that you were tired too. You ran a hand over your stomach. It had swelled up in the time that Simon had been gone. What a difference just a few weeks made. You'd had to attend your scheduled scan alone, and had the photos in the drawer next to your bed, ready to show Simon when he got home.

This baby had been something of a surprise. Not an enormous one, though. Simon and yourself had been significantly less careful in the months leading up to when you found out, and you'd talked about it: another kid, the whole thing. He had been apprehensive to say the least, so you had waited without resentment. He needed time, and God knew, you needed time, so you had both taken time. It had taken a year or so of discussions, he was terrified to become his father. He would never be his father, never. He was nothing like him, nothing. And he had come to his own decision. Being a father would be new, terrifying, different, but he put an ounce of faith in himself, and-

- And then you were late.

You wished you could be like those women in movies who have no idea, and have a whole revelation about being pregnant. But you were not stupid, you were practical, it was one of the things Simon often told you that he loved about you. So practicality it was. You were sure you were pregnant. Three positive pregnancy tests later, and that sealed the deal.

Then you'd burst into tears in your bathroom.

God, who were you to think you could do this? He was due to leave for a three-week operation in two days. You'd be alone in your first few weeks, with a young toddler as well, who's needs were more important than your own.

You didn't hear Simon come home from his run, you'd hardly heard the jagged tone to his voice when he pushed the door open. What a sight it must have been for him. You, curled into the bathroom wall, crying hysterically and hugging yourself. He did well to hide his panic, the soldier in him must have taken over for a few seconds. He scanned the bathroom floor, then checked you over for injuries, asking what was wrong the whole time. Then he'd scanned the bathroom counter and found the three tests lined up. He knew what they were, but bless him, he didn't know if they were negative or positive, the lines meant nothing to him.

"You're pregnant?"

You'd barely managed a nod and to his absolute credit, he did not clam up. He did not shut his mouth, or grit his teeth, or sink back onto his heels. He had reassured you, pulled you into his lap on the floor and talked you out of your hysterics. He'd waited patiently until you could talk. And you had been fine. You loved him, he loved you, and you both loved this baby. You would be fine. It had never been so hard to say goodbye to him as he left for his next mission. You'd never been so panicked whilst he had been away. You had to call your friend to come and stay with you for the time he was away, so she could help you stay out of your thoughts and help with the little toddler who was always asking where her Daddy was.

But all of that panic always subsided when he came home, when he lay beside you and breathed quietly as he slept. Everything was better when he was there. And he would be in an hour or two, so you allowed yourself to get some rest until you heard his tires in the drive.

**************************************************************************************************************

Every few seconds, the car was forced into the dull yellow shine of the street lights. Soap wanted to ask how much longer they would be travelling, but for lack of better words than ‘are we there yet,’ he remained silent, watching identical rows of darkened townhouses amble by. It had been a long drive though, long enough that Johnny had glanced at the clock on the car's electronic display once or twice, just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind.

Suburbia was not quite what Soap had imagined when he thought of his lieutenant's home, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he thought Ghost might live. Far from base was all the information he had to guess from. Everyone has to stay somewhere, right? Guiltily, John realised he hadn’t much considered that Simon did in fact, live a civilian life. For weeks or months at a time. The task force wasn’t on duty 24/7, but Ghost, as a normal person? Someone you might see crossing the street? Carrying groceries? It hasn’t crossed his mind.

Strange.

Strange to think of such a deadly man in such a domestic sphere.

They were the same though, he supposed. Just as deadly as each other. Just as domestic, too.

The low rumble of a flight path ahead served to calm Soap, so used to noise as he winded down. Silence was deafening, silence was dangerous. Deep down, although he struggled to admit it, the long string of silence that met him in his own home terrified him. The emptiness, the void that greeted him when he first entered his flat, before the click of his fingers on the light switch, before he turned on the industrial fan beside his couch and before the kettle started to whistle. The silence would grip him around the neck, trying to pull him into his thoughts.

Close-knit housing soon dropped off into plots of land, with sparser houses and longer driveways. The expected pricing of these blocks didn’t escape the sergeant.

Another hour or so later, when the modern street lights had long since faded out into antiquated street lamps every hundred metres, the car began to slow.

“We’re here.” Ghost ripped the quiet in two with the gruff edge of his voice, turning off onto a lined driveway. In the dim light, the house stood modestly. Perfectly normal. Far enough away from other houses to be private, but close enough to be watchful of the neighbours. How fitting.

The ignition rumbled to a stop as Ghost turned the key and exited the car.

Boots hitting the stone, Soap immediately felt at odds with this house. It wasn’t his. It was Ghost’s, a man he knew very little about. It wasn't enemy territory, perhaps this was worse: friendly territory. Too friendly territory. A peaceful space, one that he shouldn't be encroaching on.

He followed said man to the door, crunching quietly up the drive and swinging his bag over his shoulder, a more comfortable hold for his exhausted muscles.

Ghost grunted quietly as he unlocked and pushed the door open, swearing and muttering something about getting it fixed.

“Boots off.” He spoke rather quietly and Soap responded immediately, shrugging out of his boots and sitting them next to a few others at the door. His first sign that something was…amiss, was that there were a few pairs of shoes far too small for Simon, stacked neatly on a wooden shelf next to the door.

He was greeted with a long hallway as he followed Simon through the quiet house. His second sign that something was amiss, was that this house smelled, to put it kindly, feminine. It did not smell like an empty house, nor one that was inhabited by a lone man. Unless of course, Simon Riley had a penchant for vanilla-scented candles. Soap suspected he did not.

A few photographs and decorations adorned the walls but they were impossible to make out in the dark. Soap’s fingers twitched towards his head a split second before he was pulled back to reality and realised that there were no NOD's to help him out here. A stupid instinctual move that he found himself doing more and more these days.

Compartmentalisation, his ass.

Ghost pushed a door to his right open, it creaked quietly in the silent house.

“Spare room’s in here, bathrooms to the left-“

“Thanks, Lt.”

“Take a shower, but keep it down, the missus’ll be asleep.”

And as if he hadn’t just flash-banged Soap, Ghost left, turning on his heel and heading further into the house.

Next Part

#ghost x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #Simon Riley #Simon Ghost Riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #idk how tags work

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komelrebi-san · 6 months

Text

gem ♡ boy band ver.

will be performing in a band in talent show and it gave me ideas

feat.: guitarist! childe, drummer! itto, bassist! diluc, keyboardist! kaveh, vocalist! venti synopsis: Hoyo Entertainment recently debuted a boy band! and you are their pretty little stage-styling manager. the catch? they can't seem to keep their hands off you...

a/n: i got carried away oops

tw: MDNI!!, characters slightly ooc, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap kiddos!!), semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, dacryphilia, p->v penetration, slight breeding, semi-clothed sex, edging/orgasm denial, hand fetish, praise kink, riding, marking (hickies), oral f!/m! receiving, slight manhandling, size kink, tummy bulge, tell me if there's more!

don't like, don't read.

guitarist! childe

always laughing on stage, bright cobalt eyes twinkling as he played

the kind to vibe with his members on stage, looking over at them now and then with a wide grin on his face

the cheeky smile he sends to the audience, the kind of smile where dimples appear at the corner of his lips, paired along with a charismatic wink, makes the audience go crazy

but who cares about the audience when he knows that you're backstage, watching?

always makes sure to throw his head back at back at the end of the song when he strums the last chord

he knows you can see his adam apple bob in his throat, he knows you can see how the light hits his jaw line, he knows you can see the sweat dripping down the side of his face, he knows you can see him pant and his hair stick to his forehead

he knows he's hot, and he knows you get antsy when you hear the fans scream

he's definitely the kind to stare at you intently when you're brushing highlighter onto his face, or using a blue eyeliner that matched his big eyes

'mhm? you're blushing~' he remarks, raising a hand to push away yours that's holding the eyeliner pen before cupping your cheek

insists that you kiss him before you go on stage, for good luck purposes only!

(not just that though, your lips are so soft, of course he'd wanna kiss them)

'ajax, you're gonna smudge your lip- mmh!' and he plants his lips firmly on yours, long slender fingers brushing against your waist

he laughs when he sees your red face, turning to walk on stage but not forgetting to plant another kiss on your cheek

oh, it's so cute, he thinks. he does it every time but you never fail to please him with your flushed cheeks

he knows you stare at his hands - dextrous fingers, prominent knuckles and veins, he knows you practically drool over them when he plays guitar

and you make the prettiest sounds when his fingers work their way into your panties

'wait- ajax- not here-' and he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, relishing the whimper that bubbled up your throat

'not here, mhm? that's not what your pretty little cunt says, princess. you're dripping wet, i can just slip my fingers right in.'

you're quite sure that you saw stars when his fingers reach a spot inside you that you'll never be able to reach with your own fingers

he chuckles when you break off the heated kiss, a loud moan tumbling out of your pretty lips when he curled his fingers inside you

'no no no, we can't have that, mhm? people are gonna hear.' childe leans in to whisper in your ear, raising his other hand to cover your mouth as you whined.

'unless...that's what you're into. you want them to hear, do you? you want them to hear how good i'm making you feel? naughty girl.'

he laughs breathily when you moan again, the sound muffled by his hand, lewd squelching resonating in the dressing room when he scissors his fingers in your cunt

'tell you what, if you are good and stay quiet, i'll let you cum. how's that?' and he grins when you nod feverishly, bucking your hips into his hand.

he knows you can't stay quiet, he knew, but maybe he'd play nice today, since you're so desperate for his touch, mhm?

he hears venti call for him, so he curls his fingers in a 'come here' motion, pushing his finger pads against that spot inside you that made your legs quiver

with a muffled cry, you gush around his fingers, juices dribbling down your thighs as your walls clamped tight around his fingers

'good girl.' he says, licking your juices clean from his fingers, grinning when you groan at the sight. 'wish me luck, mhm? maybe i'll treat you later.'

drummer! itto

the kinda guy that laughs while throwing his head back as he plays, especially when one of his band members pull off something sick

twirls his drumstick, it looks so cool fr fr

his arms!

there's this once when you told him being able to play drums is cool, so he tried to teach you

made you sit in the drum stool and sat in a chair behind you, wrapping his arms around your figure to take your hands in his own, guiding your hands holding the drumsticks to hit the different drums

back against his firm chest, veins gliding over knuckles when he squeezed your hands gently

oof his hands completely covered your own bc yours were so much smaller than his

you can see the muscles flexing in his arm when he plays, oof he's so strong

and he knows it, he wears tank tops all the time for a reason, bc tank tops meant that ppl can see his arms, good god

in between songs, he runs a hand through his hair and takes a drink of water from his bottle - but you're right there, backstage, watching their performance

so instead, he gulps the water because he knows you see his adams apple bobble up and down

he pours some of the water on his head (under the excuse of the heat) because he knows you can see the water wet his shirt (sticking to his muscles) and lifts his shirt to dry the sweat running down his face

he sees you staring, really - he sees you staring when he twirls his drumstick and pass it from finger to finger, knuckle to knuckle; he sees you staring when he stretches after a performance

'Sorry about my hair, it must give you a lot of trouble, huh?' He says as you stood in front of him, trying your best to curl the hair that fell beside his face

the way his voice was quiet and slightly husky, the way his large hands were dangerously low on your hips, the way he leaned closer to you whilst pulling you into him - everything about him made you melt

you give him a rather nervous smile before leaving him to change into his outfit, but wait - he pulls you back into him

the way he's manhandling you is so hot, ngl

partially, itto really wants to just prove his strength and manliness to you, to prove that he's the best because he knew his band members want you too (who wouldn't, mhm???)

your back was against the wall, his hands hooked under your knees holding you up while his hips rutted into you

'fuck, look at you, taking my big fat cock so well.' he groans. his cock tip was probably kissing your cervix because he was so big. he gripped your blush thighs tight, groaning when your cunt sucks him back in

'shit, you're so tight, doll.' he pants, laughing at your terrible attempt at trying to form a sentence, only incoherent babbles exit your mouth. 'i bet none of the others fuck you like this, mhm?'

you can barely think as he works you impossibly close to your climax, eyes rolled to the back of your head

'fu- i- i'm gonna cum.' he pants, lifting you slightly so that his cock head pressed against your g-spot every time, loud cries ripped from your throat at feeling the knot in your tummy threatening to unravel

he possibly got even harder at seeing your tummy bulge

'yeah? you want me to fill you up? you gonna take my cum like a good girl?' you couldn't answer him, drool running down the corner of your lips, tongue lolling out, way too fucked out to think or respond. but he knew your answer when you whined loudly, walls fluttering around him

he thinks you look pretty, even prettier than usual - barely able to walk, his cum running down your thighs

bassist! diluc

he's the quiet one

but bc of the kind of aura he has, bro's popularity skyrocketed

actually not the type to wear rings and shit, he likes stuff simple

but! the fans went wild when he started wearing them at your suggestion

upon noticing his popularity dramatically increase, kazuha started including more bass riffs in the songs

actually has a good singing voice, but only shines when he does adlibs for venti's vocals

he looks so good on stage, sheesh

long red hair usually pulled back into a ponytail with small braids here and there, bangs curled to frame his face perfectly, rings adorning his long fingers (very much at your genius suggestion, big thank you)

like childe, he interacts with his members on stage

doesn't just open up to everyone, but feels really close to his band members

he's not as outgoing about it, he only subtly shows his trust in his companions

he gives everyone a reassuring nod before lowering his head again to look at his fingers strumming the strings, or pressing down on the fingerboard

bobs his head slightly as he plucks the strings

redid his hair once in the middle of a concert, but he did it by fixing his hair while biting on his hairtie

ooof that was so hot

gentle in his approaches, generally prioritises you and your needs over everything

always brings an extra bottle of water to the dressing room - oh, one of them is for you

gives you a small but sincere smile as you lean closer, gently dabbing eyeshadow/doing eyeliner

the kind to lean closer to you, tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear before stroking your cheek

'thank you,' he whispers, leaning in to press the lightest peck to your cheek, before making his way to the stage, not forgetting to give you a small smile - a smile that he reserved only for you

oof i'm whipped

he rlly loves it when you do his hair, bc you're so gentle with him

catches your eyes in the mirror as you worked away on his hair, curling iron in one hand, hairbrush in the other, bobby pins held in your pursed lips and clips on your sweater sleeve

your touch feels so nice, oop

oh, you look so cute, he thinks. you look so cute when you're all focused on him, and not focused on childe's/venti's shenanigans

but - you look even cuter when you're on your knees in front of him, pouty lips wrapped around his dick, struggling to take all of him in your mouth

'you look so pretty like this.' he says, cupping your jaw in one of hands

quiet for the most part, but when you struggle take more of him inside your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his shaft and raise a hand to fondle his balls, he loses it

a gutteral groan rumbled from his chest, throwing his head back, reaching to hook his hand on the back of your head, he pushed your head down slightly as he tangles his fingers in your hair

'you're doing so- ah- so good.' he pants, tugging your hair slightly as he bucked his hips, smiling slightly when you gag as his tip hits the back of your throat, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you whimpered

'you look so pretty, good god.' he groans, rutting his hips into your mouth as he cums down your throat

keyboardist! kaveh

pretty!

his hair is so soft!

literally doesn't give you any trouble when you try to style it

tie it up into a ponytail, half-up, braid it - anything works and anything looks pretty on him, and he has zero objections in you trying out new stuff

does the thing where he drums the desk or his thigh or the arms of the chair, his deft fingers playing his keyboard part, tapping away

at first it was really annoying, geez

but it slowly became comforting, calming, even

almost like a kind of silent noise at the back of your mind, soothing you as you do his makeup

big eyes peer up at you, batting his lashes innocently when you are not working away at his eye makeup

and when you are, a soft smile dances on the curves of his lips, feeling the brush against his eyelids or along the corner of his eyes

he's so gentle, so sweet with you, you could practically see all his affection towards you pour out of his eyes

your heart aches when he's around you because his attention is all on you

but at the same time, he wants, needs, craves your attention so bad at the best of times

quite affectionate with you too

ruffles your hair, pats your cheek, swings an arm around your shoulders - you name it

my gosh, have you seen his music scores?

any and all space is filled with doodles of you - and they look so accurate!

he's always focused on every little detail on your face, every tiny perfect imperfection, he can't get enough of you because you're so pretty that it hurts

it's only fair that he captures your beauty perfectly, since you make him look so pretty when he goes on stage

clingy! he's basically half hugging you when he peers up at you, taking in how you were frowning slightly as you worked away at his face, tracing his cheekbone with a dab of highlighter

takes advantage of every single chance he has to be alone with you, and that's how you ended up being pulled onto his lap as his bandmates filed out of the dressing room, heading onto the stage first

'ka- kaveh, you have to go on stage-' you manage to stutter, feeling him grind his bulge into your aching cunt

'shh, you want this too, no?' he whispers, leaning in to press openmouthed kisses to your collarbone

but it was obvious you were needy - small hand fisting and clutching his shirt tight, humping your hips against him to match his rhythm, quiet whimpers leaving your throat when you feel his erection against your barely clothed cunt

'you're so cute.' he says breathily, tugging you closer to him whilst moulding his lips with yours

oh, his lips are so soft, and he tasted so sweet - like strawberry and peach blossoms and all kinds of other nice things, you can never get enough - he tasted just as sweet as the way he treated you

and when he finally slips inside you, both of you groaned loudly, not even caring about other people hearing

you felt so full - his long-fingered hands on your hips, helping you move up and down on his cock

'i can feel myself here.' he pants, caressing the bulge in your tummy with his warm palm. 'shit- your gonna kill me with your clenching- god- just- just relax, yeah? i've gotchu.'

just like he knew all the small details on your face, he also knew exactly how to work his way around your body

'shh shh, you're doing so good for me, so good.' he praises, leaning in to suck on your neck, pretty red and purple marks blooming across your soft skin.

'i'm- nngh- i'm close.' you manage to make out, hands on his shoulder to support yourself.

'i know, princess. me too. cum with me, yeah?' he smiles, pulling you to him to cradle your head in his neck, voice cracking when he feels your walls clamp down on him again

he brought a hand down to swipe across your clit, feeling you quiver in his touch

with a sob, you cum around him, white strings of both your juices dripping out of your cunt as he pulled out

'good girl.' he says, leaning in to press another sweet kiss to your lips.

vocalist! venti

cheeky little shit

straightup just blatantly stares at you in the mirror when you're doing his hair

peeks under your skirt you're bent over, grabbing tools and getting ready to do his makeup (oh, how he wished he can bury his head between your legs)

always always always makes you dye his hair

under the excuse that the other styling team members never gets the turquoise colour quite right

'they can't mix the same colour like you can.' he complains, whining about you rushing off to do kaveh's hair instead of paying attention to him

no, that's a lie, because it literally has nothing to do with hair colours whatsoever

he just thinks that his hair should be only for you to touch and stroke

of course, he's exclusively yours, and only yours

the fans love him - he's lively, he hypes up the concert, he interacts with the fans while singing, leaning over the stage to highfive and take selfies with them

but he's yours, and only yours

stopped doing his braids by himself - must be you that does it!

whines that he can't do it as well as you do, but actually just really enjoys your touch

'ehehe, is this the tint that you use for your cheeks?' he asks, leaning in until you were nose-to-nose, while you are dusting his cheeks with the pretty blush

you don't reply, opting on leaning back to continue doing his makeup

he knew you were only trying your best to convince yourself, because you were staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hands shaking slightly

'you always make me look so good on stage, i was wondering how you do that...is it because you use the same things personally? ehehe, i knew it~' he laughs, teal coloured eyes twinkling in feign innocence as he grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him again

'hey, what flavour is your lip balm today?' he asks, batting his lashes, the rather mischievous glint doesn't leave his eyes as he leans in

but he doesn't wait for you to answer, this little shit guy literally just leans in to sneak a kiss by pressing his lips to yours, relishing the muffled 'mnhm!' of surprise

oh, you are so cute

the fans call him cute, but only if they knew, really, that you are the cutest

you're so sweet - you smell sweet, you and so sweet towards him, and you taste so sweet

your lips taste so sweet (oh, they are strawberry today) - but your cunt tastes even sweeter

he's obsessed with your taste - nose nudging at your clit, tongue eagerly prodding at your entrance, finally delving into your hole when he's had enough of slurping at your arousal

'you taste so sweet.' he groans, the vibrations against your folds drawing another whimper from you

'ven- venti-' you pant, but your voice disappears when he moves his mouth to suck on your clit, 2 dainty fingers slipping into your hole

'fuck- i can do this for hours.' he's almost whining, though really you are the one at his mercy. he was on his knees while you sat on the desk, desperately bucking your hips into his face as he worked his way around your folds

it was so lewd, you think. the loud slurps, your juices and drool dribbling down venti's chin, his whimpers and whines as he buried his face into your crotch as angelic as ever

who, amongst the countless number of fans, would think that their idol who had the most beautiful voice, singing songs that praised innocent, sincere love - would be here, your plush thighs opened wide, muffled whines leaving his mouth as he begged to taste you more?

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spirit-lanterns · 7 months

Text

THIRST COMMENTS

synopsis: (celebrity! AU) reacting to thirst comments with your celebrity girlfriend. (part 1/2) part 2 here.

featuring: kafka, himeko, serval, yukong, topaz

rating: 18+ suggestive (men and minors dni)

warnings: celebrity! fem reader, no smut but very suggestive, mentions of strap ons, mentions of tit-sucking, jealousy, possessiveness, secret relationships, teasing, sugar mommy relationship (topaz), se.xual innuendos, dirty talk, mentions of mommy, milf, legal age gap relationship (yukong), may be ooc.

art credits: act-age

KAFKA

“Anonymous said: I will let Kafka break my back like a glow stick.”

Kafka’s eyes widened slightly and she let out an amused chuckle, staring at the camera with a subtle, yet flirtatious grin. “My, my…I had no idea my fans were quite the masochists.” She hums into the mic, trailing a seductive finger across her lips and whispering in a lower tone. “Perhaps I should star in an 18+ BDSM movie at some point. What do you think, darling?”

Kafka gave you a teasing nudge and you laughed as you continued scrolling through Twitter for more thirst comments. The two of you have been invited to read thirst comments on the set of one of those giant social media platforms, but the crew had no idea that you and Kafka were actually dating behind closed doors. They had just invited you both since you were frequent co-stars for various films, yet they didn’t anticipate the amount of tension you two would have while being filmed without any scripts.

“Only if I get to star as the main girl.” You reply teasingly, Kafka giving you a light flick on the forehead as you laughed and read the next comment. “Okay, okay, here. Here’s another thirst comment for you,” you say jovially, handing Kafka your phone.

“Hmm, I’ve been getting too many of these recently.” She chuckles, taking your phone and reading the next thirst comment out loud.

“@/itsmeanobody said: I know she’s strapped and I’m not talking about the gun.”

Kafka let out a breathy laugh and covered her mouth with her hands, clearly flattered by the subtle innuendo. “Oh, dear…”

“I can confirm, she is very strapped.” You smile at the camera, giving it a playful wink and watching as the director’s face slowly morphed into one of shock. Kafka squeezed your thigh under the table to hush you with your words, causing you to gasp under her grip. “Shhhh, careful dear. You don’t want to tease the fans too much…” She grins and reads the next comment, eyes widening slightly as she reads it out loud.

“Speaking of the fans. This next comment sure is interesting. Anonymous said: "When Kafka came on screen, so did I.”

Your secret girlfriend bites her lip at the comment and can’t help but let a few laughs escape her throat. “You naughty, naughty fans…” Kafka purrs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer against her. “I didn’t expect my fanbase to be so dirty.”

“Well, have you seen the ten thousand TikTok edits of you in Flash and Furious (Parody of Fast and Furious)? I’ve seen more content on you than anything else from the movie.”

“Awe, come on,” Kafka pouts, giving your cheek a little squeeze and giving a snide smile to the camera. “Can you blame me? I was cast in such a sexy role.”

“I think I was sexier.”

“Yeah, you were.”

Kafka grins lazily and sits back upright, the tension so unbearably strong, all the people on set were blushing and sweating under the stage lights. You and Kafka didn’t mind, though. As celebrities, you knew the tension between you was more than enough to have fans buzzing, and despite actually dating in real life, you wanted to keep the buzz going.

“Mm, one last thirst comment before we move on to your turn, dear.” Kafka says as her eyes trail down to your phone. “Anonymous said: I want Kafka to mess up my insides with that big strap she hides in the back.”

After that very bold comment, Kafka sucked in a breath and watched as you frowned slightly in a bit of jealousy. Though you were aware that fans often thirsted for both you and Kafka, you couldn’t help but grow a bit jealous as fans wanted so desperately to sleep with your girlfriend.

“Actually, that big strap is just for m—”

Kafka quickly covered your mouth.

“Haha, we’ll be right back!”

After your accidental slip up, the camera was cut and Kafka turned to you with a knowing smile. “Darling, are you jealous?” She chuckles with a sly grin. “About four comments in and this one is the one that gets you all riled up?”

“It’s true though, that strap is mine and mine only.” You whisper into her ear, giggling a little before playfully shoving her. “What, like you wouldn’t get jealous when it’s my turn.”

“I happen to be very good at concealing my emotions though, dear.” Kafka replies in a sultry tone. “Besides, you’re the only girl who’s bed I would willingly climb in.” She grins and lowers her voice to a husky whisper. “And the only girl who’s insides I’d ruin with that ‘big strap’ of mine.”

Your cheeks heat up at her words and you feel a jolt of arousal pulse at your core.

“Ugh…stop trying to turn me on, we're still in the middle of filming.” You mumble.

“Sorry, sorry.” Kafka replies before resting her chin on her hands. “Why don’t you begin reading your thirst comments, darling. I promise, I won’t even get jealous.”

She laughs and gives you a flirtatious wink, causing you to roll your eyes and signal the director that you were ready to continue filming. “Sure, sure. I bet your face would turn all green from envy.”

“We’ll just see about that.” Kafka smirks. “Go on, let’s continue shall we?”

“Oh, sure.” You smile, playing along as you knew Kafka would eventually fall prey to her jealousy. “This thirst comment says…”

And you watch with joy as Kafka’s hand twitches slightly at the start, making you smile with amusement as your girlfriend was not as good at concealing her emotions as she said.

HIMEKO

“Anonymous said: If Himeko’s breasts are feeling a bit heavy and in pain, I’d gladly suck the pain away.”

After reading the first thirst comment, Himeko’s face flushed bright red with embarrassment. Her hand instinctively shot out for yours under the table, as she tried her best to remain calm in front of all the cameras. “O-Oh…Oh my…” she laughs a bit nervously, unsure of what to do with the raw desire of some of her fans. “That is uh, well…thank you for the offer, anonymous commenter. Your generosity is quite admirable.”

You chuckled softly at Himeko’s attempts to remain calm and polite, before cupping her hand under the table and giving it a comforting squeeze. “To be fair, Himeko does have a nice chest.”

“Hey—”

Himeko narrowed her eyes at you before instantly smiling and jabbing at your sides. To the public, you were just a pair of co-stars who had “intimate” moments with each other that seemed to spice up your careers. But behind closed doors, you and Himeko were closer than ever, as you had secretly gotten together after the filming of your latest movie.

“But it’s true, Himeko has a very nice figure. It’s nice to admire it once in a while.”

“Darling, that's called being a pervert.”

“No, it’s called appreciating your beauty.”

You smiled and winked at her, causing Himeko’s face to flush as red as her hair. Your tension was a lot more…romantic than some of the other celebrities in the industry, and whenever you and Himeko got together, you always made her laugh.

“This next comment is from another anonymous user. Anonymous said: "Everyone repeat after me, Mommy Himeko.”

Himeko raised a brow at this, confused by this certain comment. “…Darling, what do they mean by… ‘Mommy Himeko?’ I don’t have children yet.”

You burst out laughing at her reaction, Himeko’s obliviousness to the comment clearly showing her age. “Himeko, they’re calling you mommy because you’re very…mother material. In a hot way.” You clarified, Himeko only growing more confused at this. “In a hot way? Isn’t that ince—”

“No no no—!”

You took a brief intermission pause and cut the cameras. After a good two minutes of explaining to Himeko what being called “mommy” meant, the cameras were turned back on, as you and Himeko sat back in your seats.

“And we’re back!” You exclaim jovially, your girlfriend Himeko just hiding her face on the table as steam poured out of her ears. Too embarrassed after realizing what being “mommy material” was. “Sorry about the cut, I had to teach old grandma Himeko what being a Mommy meant.”

“I’m not…old.” Himeko grumbles against the table. “Let’s just read the next thirst comment already.”

You chuckle and slide Himeko your phone for her to read, the redhead hesitantly picking up the device and reading the first comment that caught her eye. “@/sinsmockingbird said: Ahhhh the need to suck on Himeko’s titties is so strongggg”

“…Again with the tit-sucking.” You chuckle behind your hand, Himeko’s face burning even brighter than before as she groaned. “I— how do people say these things on the internet…” Himeko stutters, her eyes unable to look at the cameras and choosing to stare at the floor. “I am just…shocked at how bold people can be.”

“Yeah, the internet can be pretty bold at times.” You laugh softly, running a comforting hand through your girlfriend’s soft locks. “Do you wanna do one more thirst comment before it’s my turn?”

“Ah…I suppose.” Himeko says with an awkward expression, mustering up the courage to read another comment. “It can’t be that bad after this, right?”

No. She severely underestimated how down bad her fanbase actually was.

“Anonymous said: I would totally have a threesome with (Reader) and Himeko. They can punish me whenever.”

After reading that final comment out loud, Himeko couldn’t help but let her face slowly fall as she reread the comment multiple times.

“…Wow. I didn’t expect that comment to be in there.” You laughed softly, a little surprised yourself as you had no idea Himeko’s fans would also be lusting after you. “That must mean we’re a pretty hot couple, eh Himeko?”

You nudged her playfully, expecting her to nudge you back like you always did for your playful banters, but Himeko said nothing. Just staring at the thirst comment in silence as her eyes kept trailing over the words like it was a paragraph.

“…Himeko?”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry.” She smiles softly and looks up at the camera, flashing her signature smile like nothing was wrong. “Thank you for the flattering comment, anon.”

You felt shivers go down your spine as an aura of uneasiness swept across your body. Normally Himeko would be embarrassed or not understand what the comment was implying, yet this time she was being eerily calm and it was starting to spook you a bit.

“H-Himeko? Ah—!”

You quickly closed your mouth as Himeko trailed a hand down to your hips and gave it a possessive squeeze. Her face was still neutral to appease to the cameras as she slowly turned to you with a smile. “…I believe it’s your turn now, dear.” She says in a calm tone, her hand still holding you roughly which was very unlike Himeko’s usual personality.

“Wh— I…okay…” was Himeko jealous? One look at her eyes and you instantly could tell, she was going to wreck you later on the car ride home.

“Well, go on. Let’s read the first thirst comment together, shall we?” Himeko hums, sliding the phone over to you and ensnaring your fate.

“…Yes ma’am.” You say in a softer tone, shakily picking up the phone to read your thirst comments, and praying for your legs later tonight.

SERVAL

“@/lindseynguyen said: I want Serval to play me like how she plays her guitar. Rough and hard.”

Serval wheezes after reading that and hides her face into the table, laughing like a lawnmower gone bad as she struggles to keep herself from dying. “I ca— what the heck…” she’s close to tears and you have to hit her on the back to stop herself from choking. “Serval…get it together girl.”

“I can’t—” she’s laughing so much and has a bashful blush spreading across her face. The cameras capturing the radiant smile of famous singer; Serval Landau, who could capture the hearts of millions just by existing. “Just— holy sh*t. My fans are so bold.”

She flashes a wink at the camera and grins. “Don’t worry Lindsey, I’ll play my guitar extra hard for you in my next concert. Have a fun time.”

She bursts out into giggles again and pulls you closer to stabilize herself. The two of you are just a bubbling mess as you couldn’t stop yourselves from giggling like a bunch of school girls.

“Okay okay, next comment…” you ushered playfully, smacking Serval on the arm and showing her the next thirst comment. Your girlfriend takes the phone and lets her eyes scan over the comment, bracing herself for what’s to come.

“Anonymous said: Me if I was the guitar 🤰”

Serval’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but choke a bit.

“…If that’s the case. I got a lot of guitars pregnant in my time.”

She smiles at you flirtatiously and you can’t help but give Serval the death glare. She grins like the mischievous woman that she was and gives your thigh a teasing squeeze from underneath the table. “You’re a weirdo.” You say through giggles, knowing exactly what Serval was talking about as she stares at you.

“Oh, I know.” She giggles back. “But you’d let this weirdo get you preg—”

You playfully kick her shin under the table and Serval winces mid sentence. “AH—!”

The cameras cut for a brief intermission and a few minutes later you were back to filming. With Serval rubbing her shin and making a pathetic “sad” face from your “abuse.”

“You’re so mean…” Serval pouts, resting her face on your shoulder. “Can you kiss it all better?”

“You’re a grown adult, Serval.” You laugh, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“Yeah, but you could be my mo—”

“Next thirst comment!”

You smiled at the cameras and pulled Serval closer so she could react to the next Twitter comment. Her face immediately lying against yours as she got comfortable beside you.

“Anonymous said: Not a waiter, but I would take her tip.”

Both you and Serval absolutely lose it at this one, the singer sucking in air through her teeth and trembling as she tries so hard not to scream. “Oh god…” Serval is smiling so hard her lips hurt. “Well uh, that’s…quite the compliment.”

“Just an FYI for all you Serval fans,” you chuckle, leaning in closer to whisper at the camera. “Serval doesn’t have the tip—”

“HEY—!”

You laugh as your girlfriend gets offended by that and moves to pull you back from the camera. “Hush now, there are people watching!” You roll your eyes and hold the next thirst comment in front of her for her to read. “What, the video is explicit enough anyways. Just read the next comment so it can be my turn!” You were excited to see what the comments would be about you, so you ushered Serval to hurry up and read the last comment.

“Okay okay!” The singer exclaims, taking the phone and reading the next thirst comment, which ended up being the most downbad and horny comment Serval had ever seen.

“@/itsmeanobody said: Her strap is purple and sparkly. Was on it last night 🤭”

Serval’s face grew flushed and you couldn’t help but raise a brow at the mention of her strap. Though you weren’t jealous by any means, the words spilled out of your mouth faster than you could control.

“Well actually, Serval’s favorite strap is hot pink with ridges instead of spark—”

Your girlfriend stared at you with wide eyes and you suddenly realized what you were saying. Both you, your girlfriend, and all the producers in the studio were all blushing red and laughing nervously before cutting the cameras. “Oh sh*t.” You laughed, Serval blushing red before smiling bashfully and giving your head a small smack. “You dumbass…” she laughs, pulling you closer for a brief hug.

“You’re gonna regret saying that later…”

Your eyes widened at her darkened tone yet Serval resumed her playful and relaxed nature, glancing at the director and making small talk with them as if it were nothing. “Could we cut that part out? We could just resume where we left off and continue onto her turn, yeah?”

The director nodded and gave a thumbs up, the cameras clicking back on as Serval ran her fingers down your back. “Let’s hurry up and get this video done with, hm? Go on, read your thirst comments.” She speaks in a gravelly tone, causing you to swallow nervously as you pick up the phone to begin reading your own comments.

You knew what was waiting for you the moment you got home.

YUKONG

“Anonymous said: At this rate, No Nut November is gonna turn into Nonstop Nut November.”

Yukong raised a brow at this comment and glanced over at you with a confused expression. “Uhm…what is ‘No Nut November?’” Yukong asked with genuine confusion. She was one of the older actresses within the acting industry, so it was common sense that Yukong wouldn’t know a thing about modern terms and slang.

“Uh…it’s like…” you chewed your bottom lip and tried to think of a way to explain it to your older girlfriend. “Uh, perhaps we should move on?”

“No, no no no.” Yukong frowned and stared at you with that intimidating, motherly look that made you feel like a child being scolded by your mother. “What is No Nut November. I want to know.”

You winced and made a hand gesture for the cameras to stop filming.

“Cut!”

There was a brief intermission pause and after a few moments, the cameras resumed to Yukong sitting in her seat with a shocked expression on her face. Her eyes wide with newfound understanding for the younger generation, as she looked like she had just discovered the meaning of the universe.

“…Yukong?”

“Why do younger people call masturbation ‘nutting.’” She sighs, rubbing her temple in dismay. “That— it doesn’t have anything to do with nuts?!”

“Let’s…Let’s just move on to the next comment.” You laugh nervously, rubbing a comforting hand against your lover’s back.

“@/chucapybara said: When Yukong is done with me, I’m not the only one with granny knees by morning ✌️”

Your girlfriend looks almost offended by that and seems to gloss over the sexual innuendo written in that sentence. “Granny knees?! I am not that old…!”

“Well…” you stifle a chuckle and look away, Yukong glaring at you briefly before glancing at the cameras. “Oh please, not you too…”

“Awe, but there’s nothing wrong with being older, Yukong…” you giggle softly, teasing your partner by running a hand over her thigh. “You know I love the age difference…”

Yukong tenses up at your purr and she can’t help but grow excited with the way you were stroking her thigh. Sure Yukong was one of the older people within the acting industry, but hooking up with you was one of the best decisions she has ever made in her life, even if you were several years younger than her.

“I…suppose you are right.” Yukong sighs, a small smile breaching her lips. “Let’s move on then, shall we?”

She makes a move to read over the next comment, but it only leaves her more confused than ever.

“Anonymous said: MILF MILF MILF YUKONG IS SUCH A MILF THAT CAN TAKE CARE OF ME AND RUIN ME, MOMMY I'M ON MY KNEES PRAYING THAT THE LORD FORGIVE MY SINS.”

Immediately after reading that, Yukong turns to you with the utmost expression of concern. The poor woman was still trying to comprehend what she had just read and seemed genuinely worried for the well-being of her fans. “Dear, what is a milf?”

A look of discomfort spread across your face as you sucked in a bunch of cold air between your teeth. You weren’t sure if you should tell Yukong what a milf was, and was starting to regret accepting the invite to be on this show.

“Uhhh…they’re saying that you’re very attractive.” You say with a bit of hesitance, barely lying through your teeth in order to not tell her the true definition.

“Ah, really?” Yukong smiled at the flattering compliment. “I see then…”

She leans forward and grins innocently. “You’re a milf then, dear. A very nice milf.”

You choked on your spit and the cameras cut for a moment. Once you regained your senses, the recordings were flipped back on and you continued on with the video. “Okay…one last comment and let’s switch over to my turn, sounds good?”

Yukong nodded in agreement.

“Okay, here’s another comment for you, Yukong.”

“@/the-voxington-tavern said: I want Yukong to breed me. I want her to be feral and just break me. I want her to just rut her strap into me. I want her to be feral.”

Now this…this comment was one that Yukong fully understood. Her cheeks going hot at the way this commenter was so straightforward, and unable to speak for the first few moments. “Ah…my younger fans surely are enthusiastic…” Yukong chuckles, fanning her pink cheeks with her hand. “And very…descriptive with the way they describe their wants.”

You could tell Yukong was struggling to keep her composure, yet you were in the same boat as you couldn’t help but feel jealous that someone wanted your Yukong as desperately as you did. You knew Yukong was yours and yours alone, but you couldn’t stop yourself as you leaned in closer to whisper something into Yukong’s ear that had her perking up with delight.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one you rut your strap into every night, right?” you murmur quietly, a smile curling up on your lips.

The older woman shivers at your words and you see a glint of ferocity appear in her eyes. Though you were just trying to tease her, it appears the teasing worked a bit too well, as your girlfriend was beginning to grow excited the more the video went on. She couldn’t wait for the filming to be over, and it was evident in the way she stared at you hungrily, waiting for you to finish your round of thirst comments so she could devour you when the cameras were cut.

Perhaps after reading your round of thirst comments, her feelings would escalate. After all, not only was she impatient, but maybe she’d even grow a bit jealous…?

TOPAZ

“@/servalisms said: when I die, bury me in Topaz’s thighs.”

Topaz smirked at this and stood up from her seat, lifting her leg onto the table and giving it a confident smack. “I got your coffin right here, baby.”

Everyone on set, including you burst out into laughter, causing Topaz to chuckle before sitting back down. “I’m glad we can appreciate my thighs, though. I’ve been going to the gym to workout on my legs ever since I got that role for Triassic Park (Parody of Jurassic Park)”

“Mm, yeah. That movie was a pain to film,” you sighed, leaning your head on Topaz’s shoulder as she wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer. “Fun fact about the production of the film: Topaz was not expecting to do so many athletic stunts, so she had to work extra hard on an athletic build while filming on set. The first time we met, she was doing squats next to a raptor costume.”

“Heyyyy, at least it all paid off in the end. Now look, everyone is admiring my beautiful physique.” Topaz hums, giving you an arrogant smile. “Look, there’s even more comments about my thighs…”

“Anonymous said: Is it too hard to understand that I just want my head crushed between her thighs? 😔”

Topaz just smirks smugly at this and gives the camera a naughty look like she expected this to happen. “Oh? My fans want me to crush them between my thighs? Won’t that hurt?”

“If it hurts, it would be a good kind of hurt.” You say with a smile. “I’m sure everyone’s preferred death would be getting suffocated by you, Topaz.”

“Oh, everyone is just a masochist nowadays aren’t they?” She chuckles, “If that’s the case, I’d gladly crush any fan’s head. So long as they pay a proper price…”

There’s a mischievous glint in Topaz’s eyes that tells you she’s not even joking. The determination in her eyes making it obvious that she’d do anything for an extra income of cash.

“Hm, so you’d make me pay if I wanted to get my head crushed by you?” You ask in a joking tone, gauging her reaction from your words.

“Pfft. Of course not.” Topaz smirks, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’re the only one who gets my services free, babe.”

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, Topaz chuckling at the way you tensed up at her words and flush at the way she started squeezing your hand. “Anywhoooo I believe we should move on to the next comment, hm?” She grins before scrolling up to the next comment.

“Anonymous said: TOPAZ 😩 I WANT TO BE HER CHAIR!”

“Woahhh there.” Topaz chuckles, ears going a bit pink due to embarrassment. “Is that an offer for me to sit on your face…?” She grins at the camera, pulling you a bit tighter against her figure. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but unless you’re paying me some good money, there’s only one chair I’m sitting on tonight.”

She ruffles your hair at the implications and laughs at the way the producers all flush with embarrassment. Topaz surely was one of the bolder celebrities out there, and she didn’t hesitate to break the filters if she wanted to even if it might cause public outrage.

“Topaz…” you mumble under your breath, getting a little nervous with how blunt Topaz was being.

“What, it’s true.” She chuckles. “But, it’s interesting to know I have so many people willing to become my chair. Perhaps I should ask if any of our other co-stars are interested in it too.”

“I know I am.” You mumble under your breath, Topaz catching the words before smiling a little at the thought. “Oh, I know…”

She lets out a small, amused laugh before opening up the last comment to read. “@/qqinggue said: TOPAZ BE MY SUGAR MOMMY????”

“Hey that’s my sugar mom— MMPF!” Topaz quickly covered your mouth and began laughing at the comment, trying to keep your relationship a secret despite how bold you two could get on camera. “Ahhh, a Qingque fan, eh?” Topaz chuckles, still keeping your mouth muffled as she threw a sleazy grin at the cameras. “You sure you don’t want Qingque to be your sugar mommy instead?”

Topaz continues laughing to cover up your muffled talking before moving in to whisper in your ear. “Don’t throw a fuss. You know damn well we have to keep that part of our relationship a secret.” She chuckles, rubbing a comforting finger across your temple before turning back to the camera.

“Well, that’s all the thirst comments for me! We should move on to (Reader) now, hm?” She smirks and side glances at you like nothing was wrong. “Be a good girl now. Hurry up and finish filming so we can go home.”

Your eyes widened before nodding enthusiastically, eager to comply with Topaz’s requests to begin your round of thirst comments.

Who knows, maybe Topaz will get a little jealous her sugar baby is receiving all this attention…?

#kafka smut #kafka x reader #himeko smut #himeko x reader #serval smut #serval x reader #yukong smut #yukong x reader #celebrity au #hsr smut #hsr x reader #star rail smut #star rail x reader #star rail women x reader #star rail women smut

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ghostarii · 10 months

Text

GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #blade honkai #honkai smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr blade #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x reader smut #minors & ageless blogs do not interact.#hsr blade smut #hsr ren

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funbonded · 1 year

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F U N B O N D E D

' Oh! There's one we haven't talked about yet. 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍! There are many ways to CHOP A HEAD OFF ! Of course, and if the blade is sharp enough, it's fairly quick and painless. That being said if the blade isn't sharp enough...Well poor Mary Queen of Scots’

Indie. highly sel. mutuals only . 18+ 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲'𝐬 gifted by Savbear

#† GO BACK TO YOUR STAGE | ooc #❌ IT WAS JUST A MOUSE | selfpromo #fnaf rp #horror rp #five nights at freddy's rp #video game rp #indie rp #funtime freddy rp #tw: flashing #tw: gifs

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7ken3 · 2 months

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tw. MINORS DNI, fem/afab! reader, quite the buildup n plot, reader found out she has a thing for choking, bit of voyeurism, breast play, possibly ooc gallagher, oral (fem receiving), scratching, implied impact play, smut grows into fluff but with tiny bit of angst, protected sex, no proofreading cuz all done in one sitting teehee

notes. the things i want gallagher to do to me after that trailblazer quest... like the new update just made me go full on feral thoughts for him

—;;

Gallagher reminds me of that neighbour that has been living beside you for years, that neighbour who he, kinda unfortunate for you, has seen everything, from your past lover storming out of your house, to your coos echoing in your house directed to your pet, to you walking out to pick up your order, and yada yada, you get it.

He has seen it all, heard it all.

And what he has heard from you ranges on a lot of contexts... let's say your laughter, your complaints, your cries, and also your cries — of pleasure.

What shocked you the most after living beside him, acknowledging each other's presence for more than half a decade, was the thought of him popping up in your mind while you were going at it. At first, you thought:

"Hey... this is... wrong! I shouldn't be thinking about my neighbour like that..."

But once he appears, then disappears, and when you thought that'd be final, there's the image again, but with him pressing you up against the wall, a hand carrying your leg while the other hand presses gently around your throat- Woah! Around... my throat?

It was all too good, all too... exciting, yet it's still bad.

Maybe just this once... it wouldn't hurt, right?

And just when Gallagher thought that this be the last time he'll hear your moans and begs through the wall separating your houses, your rooms, he finds himself in the same position again like the other night, his back leaning against the wall with a hand cupping his length as he strokes himself. He doesn't know why and not precisely when did he begin becoming aroused to the thought of you engulfed around his cock. Becoming so... accustomed to whatever this is.

He doesn't know when had he begin to start imagining your body bouncing on his member, or have you whine and cry as he pounds himself into you while having you spread open with your hands gripping the sheets above your head, telling him to don't stop.

He blames you that's for sure, and he blames himself too, mostly, for being attracted to you in the first place. At some point in time he wasn't sure if all this was just lust on your part, since this new stage where he finds your frequent moans and cries arousing was just a bonus point on his perspective.

Heck, it has come to a point where he has to double check in the morning when all strings of control broke loose from your offer one evening.

"You wanna try my dessert? It's my special and just... thought of sharing them with you!" You chimed, hands both clasping on the fence. It only takes for him to lean further in like he always does, for you to hitch a breath, for him to stare into those beautiful, glossy orbs of yours, and for two sentences to be exchanged:

"Why not, y/n? Bring them over later so we can enjoy them while we chat."

"Sure!"

God none of you knew that the moment after he opens the gates for you, closes the door behind him, and after you've placed your dessert on the counter, that it would be this... quiet.

The two of you stared at each other, being a meter apart at the moment feels... daunting enough for the both of you. What if he steps closer? Would he scare you off and ruin the vibe? Or what if you stepped closer and close the distance, just to go along with your fantasies and fulfil your subconscious longing that has grown over time for him.

Then your bodies clashed, as if both minds were on the same wavelength about the same thing, your hands fumbled across your clothes, the two of you not sure where to begin. He was yearning and you were craving for each other's touch.

The room now fills with pants, your hands slid up to his chest and to his stubbled jaw, his hands squeezes your waist before venturing down to grope your ass. You swear that the further your bodies press against each other it might soon become one.

"Gallag-" your hand cradles his neck, "-gher", as your right leg lifts up, your lips molding together with his before he hoists you up to wrap your legs around him. It was all too fast, all too fast that you're both in his bedroom, clothes messily and not even completely torn off each other. He gazes dreamily at you, admiring your body under the warm evening light, how the sunset orange hue washed over your body, eccentuating the curves and dents of your perked mounds.

Was this even reality?

Now that you're beneath him and how he has his clothed member pressed against your clothed sex. A moan slips off your lips as his calloused hands graze past your belly and up to grab your tits. He squeezes and jiggles them, playing and toying your bud until you're a squirming mess beow. Too much, this feeling you've thought of countless times begins to feel too much!

You arched your back in response, and he toys them further, rolling his thumbs on your buds before coming down to kiss you. He never thought he'll hear your moans this clearly in his ears, especially when he goes further down to suckle on your nipple while the other hand ventures further down, tracing patterns on your stomach before going lower and lower, until he decides to flick his tongue at your swollen bud due to how wet you've become. At this point he couldn't care how messily you're gripping his hair, he lowers his head down to the wet spot between your legs.

"How long have you been waiting for this?" He asks, chuckling at the sight.

You waste no time in replying to his question, "So long. So, so long, Gallagher."

"Ya know, y/n... I... nevermind." He whispers towards the end, not wanting to dwell on a possibility that might never happen.

What was he to you anyway? He was merely a neighbour, a friend, nothing more.

Even though the chemistry is strong, what type of chemistry is this? Based on lust? Based on cravings?

It isn't love, right?

"What is it?" Carefully, as if he might pull away, you try to move your hands to cup his face, only for him to press his face firmly onto your sex, your hands now carefully pinned by your sides. You buck your hips when you felt his wet, warm tongue pressing against your entrance. "Please- just- just-"

He retracts and hums before poking at your entrance again. The slight sensation leaves you whining before he releases your hands to hold onto your hip, the other pushing the fabric aside for him to swallow you whole in his mouth. He licks, sucks, nibble the side of your thighs. You taste even better than he had imagined, and he becomes more eager at each beg and cry he gets to pull out of your panting wet lips. He pauses for a moment, perhaps fearing he might go mindless into eating your wet pussy out.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he pauses, hoping that he wouldn't make you uncomfortable, "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable-"

"Gallagher." This time not caring to be gentle, you pull his face up, all he can do is to blink at you, wondering if he has ruined the mood, wondering the reason behind the firm tone of your voice. "I..."

Your pause only leaves him more nervous than he anticipated, he doesn't show it, yet his mind is running around the places right now. You? You what?

Watching as you grow hesitant, his voice now soft, asks out to you. "You...?"

"I want you."

His heart stops. I... want you?

"Y/n, really... Are you sure?"

"Yes, I want you. I need you."

Immediately he buries himself into the taste of your pussy, licking and sucking any liquid off your entrance. Your moans grow from begs and gasps to cries of gibberish, cries of how good he's making you feel.

The two of you went on and on, condom after condom, scratches after scratches. Hours went by, and rounds after rounds were done. By the time the two of you come for the umpteenth time, his bedsheets now become a mess as the both of you lay there, panting, heaving. The stings on your bodies now barely felt as a fog of satisfaction clouds your minds.

"I want you."

The words echo in his mind again, guess he might need to check again with you in the morning if you ever decide to stay over for the night tonight.

Though, he's now sure he doesn't have to when he realizes he has fallen all over again for you in the dark of his room tonight, turning his head at your call to find you gazing up at him, as if the stars were now a part of your irises. Your arms now loosely wrapped around his waist, your laid body snuggled much closer to his seated figure as a soft murmur slips out, now becoming a memento of tonight.

"Stay, Gallagher."

—;;

#gallagher x reader #gallagher honkai star rail #gallagher hsr #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #gallagher smut #written works;

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fanficriter · 3 months

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Dating Lucifer Morningstar

Warnings - None!

Notes - I need this man biblically 🤤🤤 Might be a bit OOC

Not proof read :3

Gender Neutral Reader

——————————————————————————

- First off, he is quite literally THE bf

- Literally the most perfect man

- Aside from the random depressive episodes he gets

- If you make it a point to have a good relationship with Charlie, you may as well be planning the wedding already

- She’s so happy her dad finally found his forever person :(

- Would call you sooooo many pet names

- Darling, sweetie, angel, HUN 🤤

- And my personal favourite… ‘duckling’

- Oh my god i need him

- Definitely a gift giver

- MAKES YOU RUBBER DUCKS 😭

- Is a bit embarrassed of his little duck obsession

- But if you show your acceptance, we’ll… he’d probably cry

- But he’d be so greatful

- If you ask questions, or show INTEREST in his ducks

- Bros on his knees sobbing, wondering how he managed to score such a person

- Always stares at you with pure adoration in his eyes JESUS I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

- “What? Do i have something on my face?”

- “No, no…. Just keep doin what you’re doin hun…”

- Likes to twirl you around

- Just randomly

- Little twirl :3

- Mans is definitely on the spectrum

- Will literally STIM over how much he loves you

- Am i self inserting?

- You are on his mind 24/7

- If you go out for a bit he gets like… EXTREMELY sad

- Makes ducks to get his mind off of your absence

- In the early stages of your relationship, he was NERVY

- Shaking in his boots bc HOWWWW did he manage to bag you?????

- Would stutter over his words a lot

- Would also do stupid shit to impress you

- “Luci, dear… what are you wearing?”

- Frog blinks in his ‘hip’ outfit (its a crop top and booty shorts)

- “A-are you not into it….?”

- He also just LOVES kissing you

- You sitting on his lap while he peppers your face with kisses OH MY GODDDDD

- Also just giving you little pecks on the lips like all the time :(

- Cuddles galore with this guy

- You’re making food? He’s hugging your waist from behind

- Your sitting at a desk doing some work? His arms are wrapped you

- You’re standing around for plot convenience? So is he! You have so much in common he just wants to squeeze you!!!!

- He loves you to heaven and back, and would do ANYTHING in his power to keep you safe and healthy

——————————————————————————

I wrote this at 3am on a whim soz if it’s not the best!!!

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fanfic #i need him so bad

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bountycancelled · 5 months

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something more than friends

(lucy gray baird x reader)

tip me on kofi if you feel so inclined

requested: yep, I hope you like it anon♡

content: a little bit of angst but mainly fluff, men (derogatory), kinda lovesick!lucy gray, jealous lucy gray (we love to see it), pretty intense description of kissing but no smut.

warnings: a very brief mention of drinking, internalised homophobia but it doesn't last long, gay stuff (duh), lowercase intended I know boo I'm annoying.

a/n: I haven't read the book yet so idk much about the covey so their appearance may ooc but that's solely due to my lack of knowledge on them

lucy gray baird never faltered when she sang.

there were very few things that could get under her skin when she was on that stage, strumming her guitar and twirling in her skirt as the district folk stomped along to the beat.

sure, sometimes drunkards and the occasional hung up ex would try to cause a scene, attempting to gain her attention from below, but she would simply roll her eyes, waiting for someone to take care of them so that she could go back to doing what she did best. performing.

so what exactly had happened to make the lucy gray baird, forget a line in a song?

she was quick to remedy her mistake, carrying the tune in such a way that most patrons didn't even notice her mess up. but ironically enough, the very cause of her brain fog noticed. you.

you gave her a worried look, but she brushed it off, willing herself to continue playing as if nothing was wrong. and technically, nothing was wrong. you were there, in the far back of the crowd, wearing a white dress with a drink in your hand. and Lucy Gray didn't mean to be cliché, but you really did look like an angel, something divine that she had the honour of setting her eyes on.

but obviously, she wasn't the only one who thought that.

you were speaking to some man. which was fine, you were always the most gorgeous girl in the room in her eyes and she knew that she wasn't the only one who appreciated your beauty, you were always needing to awkwardly laugh at men's advances and brush them off as best as you could, but you weren't doing that tonight.

you were laughing, a genuine laugh, leaning in to hear his voice over the music, over her singing. she wanted to jump off of the stage and break her guitar over that assholes face, and she couldn't explain why.

she had always known that one day, you'd settle down with a kind man who cared for you (not nearly as much as she did, but that was okay) and then she would see you less and less. but knowing didn't make the taste in her mouth any more bitter.

the first time you told her about a crush that you had, on a boy named Tom, she spent the whole night convincing you that he just wasn't right for you. you believed her of course, rejecting him swiftly the next week when he asked you to go on a walk with him, walking instead with lucy gray, hand in hand.

but then, she did it every time you spoke about a boy, and you started to believe her less and less. 'I think you're just jealous lucy gray, and you don't anybody taking my attention away from you.'

you were right, she was jealous, and the thought of you, with a man, it disgusted her to her core. which is why she took off as soon as her set ended, not even staying for the applause as she searched for you outside.

there you were, and thankfully, you were alone, no undeserving man in sight.

she ran up to you, her brown eyes seemingly sparkling even in the darkened night. "how'd you enjoy the show, darlin'?"

her heart jumped when you smiled at her, your eyes crinkling in joy as you took both of her hand in yours, squeezing them affectionately. "you have the voice of an angel, lucy gray. and I envy the lucky fella who's gonna marry you, and have to serenade them whenever they want."

lucy gray rolled her eyes in a good natured fashion, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach when you mentioned her getting married. "I already serenade you, sweet thing. and im not gonna let some wedding band stop me."

you laughed airily, leading her by the hand towards the lake, where you spent most nights together. you sat down at the edge, laying your head in her lap when she sat beside you. her hand went to your hair, and she fought the urge to by giddy at the sight of your head in her lap, you were just... perfect.

"who was that guy that you were talking to back then? when I was singing, I mean." she asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

you thought back to about an hour prior, picturing every person that you had been with throughout the evening as you tried to recall who she was asking about in particular. "oh! that was matthew, his dad and my dad go way back, but the two of us never really shared their closeness for whatever reason. but after speaking to him tonight I'm a bit upset that I never tried to grow a friendship with him earlier."

she nodded, her cherry glossed lips pressing into a thin line. "he doesn't just wanna be friends with you though, I could see it." you scoffed playfully, raising a brow at her curiously. "you were all the way up on stage, in the middle of your favourite song to perform, and somehow, you could tell that much from so far away?"

she opened her mouth to defend herself, but after realising just how insane the notion sounded when you phrased it in that way, she quickly closed it again. "I'm not gonna let any man take me away from you, lucy gray, believe me when I say that I can't live without you."

your words sent a fury of butterflies in her stomach, and she swore that felt dizzy as you picked your head up, moving your face so close to hers that your noses were almost touching. she wanted to kiss you. god, what the hell was wrong with her? how could she be thinking of you in this way?

despite her inner conflict, she made no moves to create some distance between your faces, selfishly wanting to stay like this for as long as you'd let her. "I wish we could get married." she sighed, her eyes widening at her own words. "I meant- not like, I didn't mean- not in, like, a husband and wife typa way-"

you cut her off with trying to, with a tilt of your head making her suck in a sharp breath. "you don't wanna do husband and wife things with me?" you asked, and she could swear that your voice had a certain tone about it, one that made her cheeks feel blazing and her breaths shallow.

she shook her head, her usually fierce tone reduced to a meek almost whisper. "we can't do those stuff together."

you were too close for comfort. she could feel the tip of your nose against hers and if you leaned in any further, she was sure that she would combust. "who cares if we can't? the more important question is, do you want to?"

inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. she had forgotten how to breath. this wasn't right, she knew that, so why were her lips on yours in a flash, her hands in your hair, around your waist, holding your hands, touching any part of you that she could reach as the two of you kissed? in public, no less?

she couldn't find it in her mind to stop, not when your soft, sweet lips moved in tandem with hers as if you were molded to fit each other. when you pulled away, with lucy gray chasing your lips with an involuntary whine, you held her by the shoulders, a look of concern on your face.

that was when she felt it. the guilt knawing at her stomach, and the tears thar flowed down her face. was she crying because of how overwhelming her feelings were for you? maybe it was because she knew that you would have to hide... whatever had just happened between the two of you.

you leaned your forehead against hers, you sweet voice easing her fear. "I love you." she nodded, not being able to say it back just yet, but she could only hope that you knew. she moved to kiss you again, being startled out of her mind by a girlish scream in the distance.

it was maude ivory, eyes wide and hand slapped over her mouth in shock, with an equally suprised tam amber standing next to her. lucy gray felt sick to her stomach.

"I knew it." tam Amber said with a shrug, moving to sit next to the two fo you as she stared out at the moonlit lake. "no one looks at their friend like how lucy gray looks at you."

"can I be the flower girl? and the maid of honour? and the priest?" maude ivory rambled, laying half in lucy grays lap and half in yours. you simply laughed, explaining that her dream wasn't exactly possible but flower girl was certainly doable as lucy gray watched, tears threatening to fall from her eyes once again. only this time, they were of relief.

the joy she felt in her chest, at the thought that you could be... together in front of the covey was the best gift she could possibly be given. you and her, together. not just as best friends. although it was hard to wrap her head around it, she knew that it was exactly what she wanted and she had it on good authority that you wanted it too.

#tbosas #the hunger games #lucy gray fluff #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray my beloved #lucy gray angst #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games headcanon #tbosas x reader #tbosas x you #wlw #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray baird x you #coriolanus x reader

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ultr6violnce · 5 months

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⋆·˚ ♱ dating euro hc's

nsfw & sfw ♱ ⋆·˚

note ; this is only based on rory's portrayal , this is nothing ab the real euronymous.

SFW ♱.

he will definitely ties ur shoes for u. he thinks it's a little embarrassing especially when ur in the den n' the whole circles watching as he gets down on one knee and ties up the laces on ur boots. he goes a little red when they all start mocking him for being so 'head over heels' but how could he not be head over heels for his beautiful angel? he eventually tells them to fuck off and helps u off of ur feet and leaves the den with you.

when you go out to bars etc n' it gets to the time of leaving it'll most likely be early hours of the morning by the time u leave n' knowing oslo it would probably be raining or some sort of shitty weather so to spare you the shivering n' whining of being freezing cold he lets you wear his leather jackets , letting himself suffer all so his beautiful girl is nice n' warm. also he just thinks you look absolutely beautiful when ur practically swimming in his jackets , although he'd never admit it.

he loves having you do his corpse paint before a show. he'll have you sat on his lap in the bathroom , hands on ur waist , thumbs rubbing over ur waist as u drag the brush gently over his skin. trying to hold back from doing anything further as he stares up at you watching as ur face contorts into one of concentration as you makesure not to mess up on his face paint so it's all perfect for him to look good whilst he's up on that stage performing.

i kinda thinks it's a little ooc for him but it's cute so bare w me. but i feel like he'd comfort you after a fight. especially if it got physical or he said something that went to far. you'd probably storm off to the bedroom , tears soaking ur soft cheeks n' after so many minutes of pacing he'd slowly (and very shamefully) walk to the bedroom and he'd sit next to you , not saying anything for a while before apologising profusely. his eyes would be all big n' desperate as tears threatened to spill from them before he'd eventually just put his arm around you then his other under your legs and he'd lift you into his embrace and just comfort you as you cried.

also a little ooc for him but anyways , he would bring you like flower bouquets for ur birthday or just when he's feeling like it. obviously he'd make sure he's alone when buying them not wanting his friends to know how affectionate he is when he's with you and he'd always get u ur favourites n' just show up unannounced at ur apartment and give you them. at first you thought it was strange , he never seemed like the affectionate type and in all honesty he was the complete opposite but there was something about you that just brough out that affectionate side to him.

since you'd most likely be smaller than him , if he ever went to give you a kiss and was just too much of a lazy ass to lean down to ur level he'd put his hands to ur waist n' would let you stand on his feet so ur more at his height. all that just for a little kiss.

NSFW ♱.

starting off strong. he cums so much when he fucks u. like oh my god. that man will cum BUCKETS. he will literally drain every single drop of cum from his balls inside you , once he pulls out he'd like give ur ass a really harsh slap , enough to leave a bit sting n' would just watch it all ooze out before fucking it back inside you with his fingers.

he'd always tease you , especially when he fingers u. he'd always makesure he'd have his rings on so when he fingers you the cold metal of his rings graze against ur walls as his fingers curl inside u and plunge inside you deeply.

he defo has a wax play kink. like js hear me OUTTT like he'd be fucking u n' after a while you'd feel this hot liquid pouring down ur ass cheek n' he'd just be pouring little trickles of wax over ur sensitive skin as his cock just pounds into u deeper.

kinda a hot take but um he loves cockwarming!! sorry not sorry. like he'd makesure you were sat on his cock nice n' perfectly , making sure you didn't move , slapping ur ass if u made one wrong move even though if you even moved an inch he'd cum straight inside ya.

he's also a big fan of public sex. like that man will fuck you anywhere , anytime. literally name any place and he'll be pounding you in it. e.g: supermarket bathroom (maybe even an aisle if he's feeling it) , storage closet at the studio they'd go to sometimes to practice , he'd even fuck you infront of the public eye. like say you'd be sat out somewhere where quite a few people were and he'd just have you shamelessly bouncing on his cock , not making it obvious but also obvious enough that it catches a few eyes.

he's so loud. no matter what you're doing to him or what he's doing to you. he's loud. which only really became a thing when he started dating you. you were just so good he can't keep that running mouth shut. he could literally be tongue deep in ur pussy and he'd be a moaning mess. like no matter what he's doing he will be moaning , groaning n' whimpering like a bitchhh.

a/n: finally came up w some stuff , it's not the best but i haven't written a full thing like this in what feels like forever so y'knoww i had to cuz i js love spoiling u guys so much!! plus I've been up all night watching PLL and i can't sleep so I've just been coming up with ideas and the boom this was created so i hope u enjoy angels. love u all smm!! :3

#rory culkin #i ❤️ rory culkin #smut #r!euronymous #lords of chaos #rory culkin x reader #rory culkin smut

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cocobirde · 5 months

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𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 | JOHN DORY

request. @Striped_Scheme on wattpad Requesting a JD x Reader where they've been dating since BroZone days but he kinda just left her with no goodbye and tries to reconcile and convince them to come help and save Floyd lol ("Technically we never really broke up"☝🤓) word count. 2.2k warnings. the word fuck lol. timeline. pre-trolls trilogy, pre-trolls band together. song. baby it's cold outside with some slight alterations (tell me he wouldnt. i DAREEE you.) a/n. honestly. idea was good, but my writing was not it so apologies but love u... thanks for reading lolz... probably rushed... (i do that alot in my writing how to not rush help me) no doubt ooc characters, characters will always be ooc.

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"He's gone? What do you mean gone?"

Floyd could sense your distress. Panicked voice squeaking and your eyes darting all over the small backstage area for your boyfriend, on how exactly he could've left without you catching him.

You were in front of the stage, courtesy of being the partner of a band member, which was amazing but also granted limited viewing if they went too far back. From what you did see, the expressions were a solemn mixture of embarrassment, anger, disappointment.

You barely paid attention to the fans, who were also attempting to go in the same direction as you. Getting caught up in them took a whole lot of convincing the security.

But still, you were just at the door, and you heard him through it. Where had he gone? Was he okay? He fell from a very tall place in front of a crowd of fans, which was probably more damaging to him compared to actually getting injured—but not for you.

You watched him stumble backstage, stumble.

Baby Branch hid behind Floyd, wrapping the little leaf-sewn vest around his body, looking from his older brother to you, worried.

Where's the rest of the band?

"He just left. Everyone did. The band's..." Floyd paused, sighing, "BroZone's over."

You stood confused, your brows furrowing at his words. Over? How could they be over? This was just the start of their world tour. The band couldn't just break up over one failure.

"Over?"

They weren't that fragile, were they?

You loved all the brothers; they were like your own family, but your worries were set on only one of them for the time being.

"Did J at least say where he was going?"

Floyd nodded his head but remained unsure of what your thoughts would be on his answer. He glanced down at baby Branch, who was huddled around his leg.

"He was upset, really upset," he explained. "Said he was going to go hiking to the Neverglades... alone."

The change in your face told him everything, and he was quick to extend his hands in front of him. "But John Dory always says crazy things like that, and he never goes through with them. I'm sure he probably just went up to The Point."

That did seem like a logical explanation, and it was. Floyd may not have been the oldest, but he always had reason and logic behind his smart words.

"You're right." You were still stressed, no doubt, but that calmed your fears down. "Are you guys gonna be okay?"

Floyd spared another guilty glance at Branch and nodded, offering a soft smile and urging you to go look for your lover.

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The troll tree was huge, and even with its large size, it was hard to find any area that wasn't already occupied. Trolls made sure to take advantage of all their space; it was their home, and they made the most of it.

But even with every taken, there was one place that was free from everyone else.

A special spot reserved for you and your lover.

The Point.

Little knew about the spot, and those who did ensured it remained private.

Hidden in the leaves was a branch sticking out high enough to conceal the ugly Bergen town that surrounded them and gave them access to the beautiful night sky.

You and John Dory liked to go there a lot. Whether it be dates or to blow off steam (not like that for the weirdos), if he'd go anywhere after an accident like today, he'd go there.

He was very athletic and made a show of it whenever you'd go together, carrying you up. Bridal style or pulling you up with his strong locks—the point was, you had trouble going up on your own.

It took a while—a hard struggle—but it'd be worth it to see your boy up there and cheer him up.

They couldn't just break up; they just needed their leader to see that.

"John Dory?"

You called upon reaching the top, pushing the heavy leaves out of your way, careful not to slip off the branch.

"Baby, are you here?" Your voice was soft; you didn't want to alarm him. He could be really sensitive sometimes.

That thought brought a faint smile to your face. A smile fell upon the realization that he wasn't up here. If not up here, where could he have gone?

Home?

Knowing JD, you doubted it. If this was as serious as Floyd had put it, as serious as he looked, he wouldn't have just gone home.

And so your search ensued.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You spent days looking for him. Not a spot in the tree was untouched or unsearched by you. Somehow, the troll had just disappeared. No signs. No letters. No goodbyes.

He left you alone to suffer. Wondering where he'd gone, if he was okay, and if you guys were okay.

It was a coincidence, truly.

How on the day you reminisce when he left you without even a word explaining his sudden disappearance all those years ago was the same day you'd find John Dory on your doorstep.

"Come on, baby, could you let me in?"

"Baby?" you scoffed, remaining with your back slammed against the door in exasperation. "You lost the right to call me that a very long time ago."

One moment you were having a nice day, reading a nice book by your fireplace, enjoying the pitter-patter of rain outside, and the thunder struck, shaking you in the best way possible.

And the next...

"It's cooold..."

He whined, banging on the door desperately.

You couldn't bear to look at him; the second you already spent doing so when you opened the door was enough. He had a face that you'd never forget.

How'd he even find you?

"Go. Away." you growled.

"But it's cold outside."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the door handle as he shook it. JD used little effort to push at the door; by the weight of it, he could tell you were against it. Not that it mattered.

He was strong; he could easily open it if he wanted to.

"You simply must go."

"Baby, it's cold outside."

If John Dory thinks a little singing is enough to serenade you, he is more of an idiot than you are already aware he is. You weren't a teenager helplessly in love with a silly musician from next door, you were grown.

Mature.

His tricks weren't going to work on you.

"The answer is no."

"But baby, it's cold outside."

He put more pressure, pushing, and you cursed for the lack of a lock on your door.

Trolls don't do locks! They don't have anything to worry about!

Except ex-boyfriend's trying to come in and ruin your life all over again.

"The welcome has been-."

"You should feel so lucky I dropped in."

You rolled your eyes, sarcasm dripping with your words, "So nice and warm."

He pushed the door, slipping a leg in to stop it from shutting completely, peeking a crack. You groaned and peered through it at him.

Sharp glares were directed at him, and gosh, if only looks could kill, he would've dropped dead right now.

He looked stupid.

Stupid puppy eyes with his stupid goggles and a stupid pout on his stupid face. He was soaked from head to toe, the rain falling on him more and more every second he stood outside.

My, did he look pathetic?

BANG!

He shrieked, desperation on his face and voice, jumping at the loud crash of thunder, lighting up the dark sky.

He turned back to you, singing rapidly.

"Look out the window at that storm!"

"Ugh, okay! Come in!"

His face lit up, the door swinging open, and he rushed in, soaking your carpet with rain as you shut the door behind him, slamming it hard enough that the whole house shook with force.

He glanced at you in surprise, getting a glare in return.

JD opened his mouth to speak, obviously nothing nice with the smug look on his face, and you were quick to shut him down.

"Don't."

He clamped his mouth shut, smirking and holding his hands up in defense. "I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Stay."

You urged with a pointed finger, walking off to your bathroom in search of a towel.

"Yes, your majesty."

You hated him with every fiber of your being, but you weren't cruel. He might've been, but you weren't. Any troll would do the same as you; offer him some refuge from the storm outside.

Returning with a towel, you didn't bother passing it to him, tossing it and smacking him right in the face.

Maybe you were a little cruel.

He reacted with a huff, taking it and wrapping it around himself, not bothering to dry himself like ordered, but more like a shelter from the cold.

"Is that how you treat your boyfriend after all these years?"

John Dory tutted, shaking his head in disappointment as he took a single step in your direction.

"Boyfriend?" you scoffed.

"I mean, technically, we never broke up."

Oh, you wanted to punch his little ugly face so bad.

"You disappearing without saying anything was us "technically" breaking up." You did air quotations with another roll of your eyes, speaking before he did, exasperated.

"Why are you even here, John Dory?"

He stayed silent for a few moments, pondering what exactly to say. What could he say? He knew it was stupid of him to even come in the first place. He knew you'd be angry, upset, but not like this.

You didn't look the slightest bit happy to see him.

His smugness dropped along with his shoulders, and he took a breath.

"I need your help."

He looked dead serious. So serious.

You shook your head, your lips curling up in disbelief. "You need my help. Right." your arms crossed, "You leave, disappear off to who knows where, say nothing, suddenly come back after 20 years, and you decide you want my help?"

A short and dry laugh left you.

John Dory really was unbelievable.

"I knew you wouldn't want to see me..."

"I don't want to see you." You cut him off with a grimace, ready to say more-

He had that same desperate look.

Honestly, it brought you back. It brought you back to all those years ago, when both of you were young.

John Dory was always a terrible boyfriend, cocky and arrogant, bossy, too busy with BroZone to give you the time you needed. It hurt you. You loved him so much, and he didn't seem to always reciprocate those feelings. And each time you guys would argue and break up, he would be the first to return with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

"Leave me alone, John. You can't just come back and expect me to accept you. That's not how life works! If you wanna be in a relationship, you have to commit-..."

"Can you please just listen?"

He stared at you with a small pout, furrowed brows, eyes pleading into yours for you to give him a second chance. His stupid, loving eyes knew exactly how you worked. How exactly to work you.

The only difference right now was that he came empty-handed.

Nevertheless, it effectively shut you up.

"I fucked up all those years ago, I know. I fucked up leaving you. That's the biggest mistake I've ever made. I should've said goodbye, apologized, invited you to come with me- I should've done something!" He ranted, "But I didn't. And I just left..."

John Dory expected you to say something. One of your snarky remarks and cut him off, tell him he's wrong or right, and degrade him on what a terrible person he is because he is well aware of it.

But he's trying.

"Baby, you of all trolls know how terrible I am at apologies," he sighed.

And you didn't bother to correct him on your name; looking at him up and down, eyes still narrowed. You were still angry, you'd probably be angry for a very long time, but for the moment... you'd put it aside.

"What do you need help with?"

His face lit up, beaming at you at your acceptance, not denying him completely, not shunning the troll out, and kicking him back into the rain. You were hearing him out.

You noticed the look and huffed, "Just because I'm asking does not mean I'm going to say yes."

"Floyd's been kidnapped."

Your expression softened, and your mouth fell open in a quiet gasp.

"Kidnapped?"

"I got a letter from him saying he got kidnapped by popstars Velvet and Veneer." He went on and explained the story about how he went to see him and help him escape, only to fail: "-The only way to free him is by singing the perfect family harmony."

You loved Floyd to this day. It'd been years since you'd last talked to him, heard of him at all, but the same amount of affection you felt for the troll remained.

"I need to get the band back together. And... I really can't do it on my own. I'm not sure if they want to see me any more than you did-."

You cut him off a lot.

"I'll help," he grinned. "But not for you. For Floyd. Don't think I've forgiven you yet."

"Yet?"

"Shut up."

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#trolls band together #brozone #trolls #trolls x reader #john dory x reader #jd x reader #brozone x reader #hes soo ugughhh #cocowrites🖊#what other tags do i put #trolls john dory #trolls brozone #trolls jd

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