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#damned if you do and dammed if you don’t

gl1tteryzebra · 2 months

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UGH bimbo!reader and rafe is literally my favorite pairing 😋😋 her not understanding why she can’t wear her slutty little outfits out and why she can’t makeout with rafe in front of old people at the country club!!! she’s just not socially aware and that’s not her fault!!!!!

this altered my brain chemistry, thx my luv 🥴

he could be mean, so mean.

here you were, dressed in the cutest lil matching set— pink lace billowing around your thighs with each step, bows and bling to finish the look —and what did he do?

compliment you? no. fall off his seat at the sight of you? definitely not…he dragged you down the winding halls of the club, gaze occasionally flicking over his shoulder as though you were being hunted, cursing all the way.

when he hauled a random door open you stumbled away from him, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. “rafe! what’re you—“

he tugged his jacket off with a furious huff, practically catapulting the stiff material at you. “c’mon, put this shit on.”

“what? why? I don’t wanna.”

he sighed, palms rubbing over his face in exasperation. “just listen for once would you? this is for your own good, kid.”

you stilled, eyes blinking slowly as they followed his gaze down to your outfit. “you think I look bad?”

“no—for fucks sake, that not the point.”

“what is then? you’re being mean.” the dam was overflowing now, leaking over the slopes of your cheeks in a steady stream. he sighed again, although this time the remnants of his previous anger slowly dissipated, transforming into a soft pity he only reserved for you.

“look ‘m sorry, al’ight, but you can’t be wondering around here lookin’ like that.”

“i thought you said you liked it.” you whispered with a sniff, plucking at the flimsy material of your skirt.

he chuckled at that, brushing away your tears. “yeahhh well that was at kelce’s, baby, see the difference?”

your head tilted in confusion, shaking it slowly like a puppy ensure of a command. he removed his jacket from your grasp, slipping it over your shoulders and shushing your meek protests. “these old farts ‘re gonna get the wrong idea, kay? so put the damn jacket on and smile f’me.”

“ok, if you say so...” you did smile then, stretching up onto your toes in order to reach his lips – but he stopped you again, strong paws forcing you back to the ground.

"nah nah nah, none of that either."

"but–" you wheedled, a pathetic whiny noise.

"none of that cooey shit here, I'm serious. you don’t wanna embarrass me, do you?"

"no..." you cast your dejected gaze to the floor, "what about later? can I kiss you later?"

with a small scoff, he zipped up the jacket, a burly arm securing you to his side.“course you can, kid. you can all you want.”

you giggled, nuzzling into his side and he smiled, tapping your chin. “that’s my girl.”

sincerely ~ 🦓༝༚༝༚

#rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #divider by @fairytopea

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moonstruckme · 7 months

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Hiiiii!!!! So, if you wanna write something, can you do poly marauders find out reader sleeps with like an almost concerning amount of plushies??? I literally sleep on a few plushies so I think it would be cute lol

Hi sweetheart, thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’ve been pouting all evening, ever since the boys had decided to watch a new comedy film over one of your chickflicks. You’re ganging up on me, you’d complained, and James felt a twinge of guilt but Sirius had only laughed. You’re damn right we are, sweetheart, because we watched that one just last week! You’d gone silent after that, but you’ve seemed vaguely sulky ever since, even when James brought you popcorn and tried to snuggle up with you under the blanket.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you say abruptly, standing and gathering your blanket about you.

“Already?” James asks. “The movie’s only got like, twenty more minutes in it.”

“That’s okay,” you yawn, stooping to give him a hug and kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dovey,” Remus says as you kiss him too, then Sirius. “Sleep well.”

James watches you go, unease growing like a fungus in his chest as you go into your room instead of one of theirs, the door shutting definitively behind you.

“Prongs, hey.” He turns to find Remus looking at him, his brows scrunching just softly upwards. “Don’t worry about it, love, she’s alright.”

“I know it’s silly,” he says, casting another glance down the hall, “but she just seemed so put out. And then she went to her own room.”

“She doesn’t always want to sleep in ours.” Sirius shrugs. “Disappointing, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

It’s true; you only sleep in one of your boyfriends’ rooms maybe half of the time, but this has always been a point of confusion for James. He and the other boys shuffle between rooms every night, and when you join them you seem to enjoy it as much as the rest of them do. Plus, it’s no secret that you love cuddles above all else, so why deprive yourself of them on such a regular basis?

James stands. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“Suit yourself,” Sirius says, and Remus only nods, attention going back to the film.

James sees blue light coming from underneath your door as he approaches, confirming his suspicion that you weren’t really tired enough to sleep when you’d left. He knocks softly. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

You don’t reply, and he hesitates briefly before cracking the door. For a moment, he wonders if you’re in here at all. He certainly can’t find you. The entire room is awash in blue light, your laptop screen on full brightness as the intro to the movie you’d wanted to watch earlier plays silently. Where you should be on your bed is instead half a million stuffed animals. Piles of them, from your headboard to the end of the bed, with little faces lit by the screen like they’re watching the movie, too.

James draws closer, noticing your headphones plugged into the laptop, and follows the chord until he finds you, nestled so deeply in plushies that only your face is visible. He takes a second to relish the sight before waving a hand in front of the screen to get your attention. You startle, the movement sending a plushie tumbling off the bed and onto the floor. You lunge for it, disrupting even more of the toys, and James has to dam the avalanche with both hands, passing you the fallen stuffed animal—A penguin, he thinks to himself. How cute—while you take off your headphones.

“Fuck, you scared me,” you say breathlessly, and James guffaws, hysterical laugher bubbling out of his chest. “What?”

“Just,” he marvels, shaking his head, “it’s surprising to hear that kind of language coming from someone absolutely buried in cuteness right now.”

You sink further into the pile, and if the lighting weren’t so blue at the moment, he suspects your face would appear redder.

“Jamie,” you say, quietly, hurriedly. “Jamie, don’t tell. Please?”

He’s just starting to wonder whether he’s even capable of keeping a secret as good as this when two pairs of footsteps start down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Sirius’ voice calls, a second before Remus flicks on the light and both boys go silent. James giggles, bringing his hand to his mouth in an attempt to smother the sound. Your face is indeed as flushed as he’d imagined, and you burrow further into your squishy fortress as if you could disappear into it entirely.

“Baby,” Sirius says, sounding positively delighted, “where have you been hiding all of this?”

“I haven’t been hiding them.” Your voice is muffled by stuffing. “They just stay in my closet during the day. So my room doesn’t look cluttered.”

“But why?” Sirius makes his way over to you, picking up a fox by your head. “This little guy is so charming. You’d deprive us of him?”

Despite Sirius’ honey-coated tone, you know what he’s about, and your eyes narrow defensively.

“Dove,” Remus says slowly, fighting to keep his expression under control as his eyes glitter with amusement. “This is the most adorable thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t look inclined to make a response, so James speaks again.

“Is this why you don’t always want to sleep with us?” he asks, doing his best to gentle the teasing in his voice. “Because these guys are welcome in my room anytime if it means I get to be with you too.”

You make your eyes big and sad in that way James swears you have to practice in the mirror. “Really? You don’t think it’s embarrassing?”

James is finally free to unleash the full capacity of his smile. “Of course not, angel.”

“Well, maybe, like, a dozen of them,” Sirius says. “With more than one person, I think they’d all end up falling off the bed.”

You look horrified. “I feel so guilty when that happens.”

Remus makes a sound that’s half laugh, half coo. “Darling, you’re going to kill me with all this.” He gives you a look so syrupy sweet James feels his heart go all soft and mushy. “Please come finish the movie with us so I can give you a proper cuddle?”

“And bring some of your friends,” Sirius adds as you start to extricate yourself from the jumble on your bed. “Fuck, I’m never gonna get over this.”

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2-dsimp · 11 days

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I remember hearing from bird owners on the internet never to pet a bird's wings and back due to it arousing the bird, so many bird owners say to just pet their heads.

So, if someone where to "accidentally" brush past a certain Harpy's wings and lower back, or to playfully mess with the feathers a bit, how would said harpy react?

Love to mess with others and want to rile up Lynx a bit heh

Cw: Fem! Reader, NSFW🔞 creampie, knotting, praise, Lynx being a horny birb, overestimation, cum inflation, breeding, exhibition, use of public toilet stall, possessive/obsessive tendencies. Slight degradation.

Synopsis: You decided it would be a good idea to figuratively and literally ruffle the harpy’s feathers and you ended up getting more of a reaction than you bargained for.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:

"My muse~ you know how I can’t bear to resist you on a daily basis.”

The harpy scolded, his voice low and husky with desire. Using his clawed hands to cover your lips in order for your explicit sounds not to escape the bathroom stall y’all were currently boxed inside of.

“So Why would you do that when I was just about to be handed my Grammy?"

The singer could feel himself getting closer, his own pleasure building up inside of him as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. He struggled to hold on, gritting his teeth as he tried to savor the five minutes. That he so desperately asked for, just to momentarily hold off on accepting his trophy for having the best selling album.

Using the excuse that he needed to use the bathroom to get rid of his cold feet. When in reality the moment you ruffled his sensitive feathers. Lynx damned near almost snatched you up and fucked you on stage. But thinking about his managers pleas on not causing havoc. The birdman instead hustled you into the nearest bathroom stall.

“You must’ve done this on purpose. Did you really want me to give you my knot that badly baby?"

He panted, relishing in the harsh wet smacks of his balls against your plump ass. His long lashes fluttered shut as he humped you frantically knowing that time was running out. Twitching sporadically as his fleshy pointed cock. Kept spurting out copious amounts of clear precum which continually fattened you up.

"Fuck! You’re sucha bad girl, getting me all worked up. I can feel your juices splashing on my knot, such a dirty chicky you are~”

The Harpy no doubt felt his impending orgasm threatening to burst from his leaking dick. like a pressurized dam, his family jewels throbbing to unload his hot jizz inside of you. As he felt you squirting on his meaty rod that was hitting all your weak spots.

"Imma stuff you up with so much cum, that your gonna leave a snail trail wherever you go. That way people will know that you’re taken."

Lynx trilled melodically, his tail feathers swishing as his plumaged fluffed up from the sensation of your cunt clenched down on his length that was bullying its way against your womb.

“You’d like that right? My pretty mate? Of course you would!”

He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck biting and licking at the sweat dripping from your skin. Not even taking not of how you were crying fat tears of overstimulation from being stuffed to the brim with his growing knot lodged inside your clammy walls. His shaft still fucking itself into your weeping quim as he prepared to let go. Since it was almost time for him to get back stage and accept his reward ceremony.

“Don’t worry I’ll take care of you more later on, so for now just open up that cute womb of yours so I can flood it with my hatchlings yeah?”

With a bodily shudder racking through him he pressed his body flush against you. His wings hugging you within a protective cocoon. Whilst he released his hot harpy sperm deep inside of you, filling you up completely with his seed. He let out a breathy, guttural keen of exhilaration as he continued to ride his high inside of you, his knot still expanding in depth within your pussy as he proceeded to ground himself empty completely inside of you.

"Mmm, you feel s-so good, my muse… You think I can squeeze in one more load inside of your pretty pussy?"

Lynx drawled out , his voice scratchy and needy as he slowed down his movements. The Harpy stayed inside of you, his cock still twitching as he enjoyed the feeling of being buried deep inside of you. From hearing your small moans in response his penis already returned to half mast eager to fuck another batch of his baby batter inside you.

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andvenuscried · 2 months

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modern!anakin skywalker as your professor + age gap

lowkey daddy professor!anakin x bimbo!reader

description box; anakin is your professor and your boyfriend. that blurs the lines between his job and you being his student sometimes — but he can’t ever deny his sweet girl a request, and this time you want him to give his honest opinion on the essay you’ve written for an assignment he gave his students, including you.

warnings; nsfw warning, blow job, MINOR BLOGS DNI!!, age gap, smut under the cut!

HE’S TAKING TOO LONG to read it. he’s rereading the same lines, again and again, and he’s frowning.

“you don’t like it.”

you hate the way your quivers, like you’re weak and… and dependant. oh, but you are. you depend on his every word and action like he’s your lifeline.

“no — no, sweetheart, i do, it’s just…” and then, anakin sighs and sets aside his glasses, looking into your eyes directly with his startlingly piercing, frost-coloured eyes.

he’s struggling to find words that won’t bruise your ego too badly. anakin never lies to you, but he can’t find it in him to give you a brutally honest review.

anakin sits on the couch as you pace nervously in front of him, the table in front of him filled with documents, his laptop and… that damned essay.

“it’s just what?” you inquire, and your voice is already breaking, “you hate my essay! i can hear it!”

and then, all the dams break; you’re turning away from him and all the tears start flooding and the overthinking starts to claw its way into your soul.

“you’re… you’re gonna give me an F! you’re going to fail me, i’m going to fail this class — you, you hate my essay…” you’re falling into complete despair.

anakin winces, this is exactly the reaction he had wanted to prevent.

“oh, c’mere, sweet girl, i don’t hate your essay. it’s just a little, er… childish wording, but that’s nothing to worry about — ‘m not gonna fail you, all right?”

you sniffle, and for a moment, your tears stop. “y-you’re not?”

anakin winces again — he may be your boyfriend and he may love you, but he’s also your professor and has to keep a certain neutrality towards the work you offer to him as his student. but he can’t deny it, being so close to you, it’s been blurring the lines of professionalism. you’re such a sweet, little thing — so pretty and so young, so soft and so kind-hearted. he couldn’t ever say no to any of your requests.

and maybe you’ve learned to use that against him somehow. he’s given you way too many A’s and B’s that you did not deserve because as much as he loves you as a person, you are a bad writer. you’re not hopeless; there is definitely a good basic idea and core in every one of your essays, just the execution… somehow fails to be amazing every time. and he’s not exaggerating.

“yeah… yeah, i’ll give you a C, m’kay, kid? it’s not a bad essay, pretty, it just needs a little polishing.” he comforts you, caging your, in comparison to him, small frame in his warm, trained arms.

but this time, you frown. “a C? you… you’ve never given me a C before.”

it’s always been A’s and B’s.

anakin struggles to find the right words again, “well, this time your performance was a tiny bit… lacking… but just a little, darling, no need to cry — aw, sweetheart, don’t cry…”

“l-l-lacking? i’m… lacking?” you wail as you push away his arms and pace to the kitchen, this time sobbing violently.

when he reaches you, your eyes are all puffy and red, and he panics.

“no, you’re not lacking!” he protests, think, anakin, think, “i’ll… i’ll give you an A, m’kay? so stop crying, please, you’re too pretty to be crying like that over a grade.”

your sobbing stops slowly, and a relieved smile makes its way onto your lips. “r-really? thank you so much, ani! love you so much!”

you squeal and jump into his arms, and it’s like the rainbows have started showing after the storm. anakin laughs at your excitement but mentally slaps himself — he’d sworn himself he wouldn’t give you good grades without you earning them anymore, but it appears he really just can’t say no to his little darling.

“i’ll make it up to you, i promise!” you swear to him, covering his handsome face with kisses, and he grins cheekily.

“oh really? how’re you gonna do that, little lady?” he chuckles good-naturedly.

and you think, you think real hard. and you jump down, out of his embrace, and you thank him in the only way you know.

you lead him to the couch and settle between his legs, and you unbuckle his belt.

“oh, like that? i didn’t mean that—” anakin stops whatever he was going to say when you take him whole. whole.

a choked, throaty moan escapes his lips and almost automatically, his big hands reach for your hand; his hand almost covers the whole back of your head, and his fingers are getting tangled in your soft hair, and he bucks up into your soft lips.

“fuck,” he groans and he closes his eyes, and he looks so breathtaking, so handsome, like a greek god, “god, what did i do to deserve you… such a beautiful, obedient girl… must’ve saved a country in my past life to deserve you.”

he feels your lips curling up at his praise and he looks down, and it’s a sight to behold. big, innocent doe eyes looking up at him like he’s a god you’re worshipping, nothing but pure admiration and love shining in those eyes.

“my god, you’re so adorable,” he praises you, eyes closed and brows furrowed so prettily, moaning when you begin to deepthroat him, your pretty head going up and down, up and down, “so, so, so pretty…”

and then, his chiselled abs tenses, his thighs quiver slightly, and you know he’s close.

“c’mon,” he whispers, “swallow.”

and you obey, like his good little girl.

if he’s getting thanked this dedicatedly by a student, surely he can make exceptions from time to time.

he doesn’t get paid enough anyway.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #obsessive anakin #star wars #star wars anakin

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tootiecakes234 · 4 months

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Katsuki Comfort

This…. This is exactly why you tried to stay off of social media. Nothing good ever came from it.

Being a pro hero, you and Katsuki’s names were constantly in headlines.

Most of the times on the news, it’s for the great things the both of you do and it’s separate depending on the missions you both go on.

But online is another story. Apparently the general public didn’t think the two of you belonged together. All over fan pages and popular accounts saying how they thought he would look better with Uravity or Deku.

They either said they looked better with him,and seriously what the fuck does that even mean?? Or that he seems to have better chemistry with them.

Seeing it once or twice wouldn’t have killed you, but you’d fallen into a rabbit hole… and now you were spiraling and at some point you started to agree with them.

Maybe someone that looked and acted like you wasn’t good enough for Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight. Maybe you just didn’t measure.

You weren’t even in the top 20 hero’s like the other two were. So why in the hell was he settling for you? Why is with you if-

“Hey y/n. I’m home. Where the hell are you?”, you heard Katsuki shout from the front door.

You quickly shut your laptop and tossed you phone on the bed. The next thing you know he’s bursting through your room door with a frown on his face.

“What the hell is your problem?”, he asked

“What are you talking about?? You just walked in here. Why do you think I have a problem.”

“Cause usually your ass is like an excited puppy, rushing my ass at the front door and today…. Nothin. So answer my damn question would ya?”

“I’m not a fucking dog Katsuki. I don’t have to be waiting for you and wagging my tail because you came home to me.” You snapped back at him and you immediately regretted it. You were taking your insecurities out on him but they were too much and you were hurting too bad.

When you looked up at him Kats mouth was set in a stern line and he’d crossed his arms. He looked like an unmovable wall. His eyes were locked on you like he was waiting for you to say something else.

But you couldn’t. There was already a lump in your throat and you knew if you started talking, the tears would 100% start flowing.

“You gonna stop acting like damn child and use your fucking words? I got all day to sit here.” There was no malice in his voice. No irritation.

“It’s nothing.” It came out as a murmur as you were getting up and making a swift exit for the bathroom. You didn’t want to be around him right now. Didn’t wanna say anymore hurtful things.

You almost made it too, but of course that freakishly inhuman speed of his caught you off guard yet again.

His hand wrapped around your wrist and spun you back to him.

“Can you please let go of me?” Now it was a whisper. A whisper and the first tear falling.

“ I’ll let you go after you tell me what’s got you this upset. You pissed at me about something? Your period about to start?? What the hell is it?” Asking again but the time his other hand was tilting your chin up to look at him.

The time your eyes made contact with him the dam holding back those tears broke and babe it was not a pretty cry. It was an ugly, blubbering, gross cry.

This isn’t the first breakdown Katsuki has seen you have and he’s gotten pretty good at handling them with you. So he wraps you up is his strong arms and just holds you. He tucks your head under his chin and gently sways back and forth like he’s coddling a small child. His hand is rubbing up and down your back.

Everyone knows Dynamite and a lot of people know the attitude on Bakugo.

But you were the only one who knew how patient and loving Katsuki is. The way he cares for you…. Even when you feel like you don’t deserve it.

Eventually the sobs calm.

“M sorry. I- I d-didn’t mean to get upset with you. I- I just- Are you sure you’re happy with me Katsuki…..am I really enough for you?” You were mumbling into his chest but you were sure he’d heard you with the way his breathing slowed and his arms tightened around you.

“Oh…. Now I get it. You’re not pissed and it’s not your period. You’ve just completely lost your damn mind…”

“I’m not crazy. I’m being serious!” You tried to pull away from. Retreat back into yourself but the man was stubborn and had arms made of steal apparently.

“Look woman I love you. Is that not enough?”

“Well people don’t care about that. You are a top 3 hero. You’re smart and talented and hot. You should be with someone…. Idk… more than me I guess. I’m just scared one day you’re gonna realize you could do a lot better than settling for me.” You said all that with your ear pressed to his chest and the loud thump of his heart in your ear.

“Look, I’m gonna say this once so make sure your ears are open woman.” He pushed you back from him so he could peer into your eyes when he spoke. “I don’t give af what anyone else thinks. You already know that. I love you. You’re a nutcase and you grind my fucking gears to no end, but there ain’t anybody else in the fucking world id be willing to put up with. I don’t like people! And I love you. That’s all you need to know. So cut this I could do better bullshit out…. Doesn’t get any better than you.”

He kept eye contact the entire time. Even when the silent tears started spilling over. He just took his thumb and wiped them away.

“You know what I hate though”

“What?” You sniffled

“I really fucking hate the way you make me say sappy ass shit like this. It’s fuckin embarrassing.” It sounded like he was exasperated but that goofy ass grin was still etched on his face.

A watery smile started pulling at your lips. Your boyfriend was the sweetest jerk.

“ ‘sides. I already got a ring. So ain’t no turning back.”he threw that in there like he was talking about the freakin weather!

He bent down and placed a kiss on your wet lips.

“What ring??!?? You bought a ring!?!”

“Yea so stop your damn “you could do better bullshit”. You’re stuck with me.” And he started walking away towards to bathroom. “And uh- it’d be awesome if ya said yes” as he shut the door to the bathroom closed.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You went to the bed and flung yourself on it.

He was gonna propose to you….. he already bought a RING!!!!

You were gonna be Mrs. Bakugo!

I guess you were still giggling to yourself and laying down on your back when he came out of them bathroom.

“Yea I’m convinced you’ve actually lost your mind. Sitting there smiling and laughing like a psycho.”

Before you could get up, his damp form was hovering over you.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I gotta thing for crazy chicks.” He has the biggest, sexiest smirk on his face.

“Oh yea… well you’re in luck hot stuff.”

*Ummmmmm… this is sooooo long. But I wanna do a smutty part 2. Cuz he’s nice now but Kats does not take well to you down playing how amazing you are.

Katsuki Masterlist

#imagine #bakugou x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou drabble #drabble #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki #bakugo headcanons #fluff #katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo

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blkkizzat · 4 months

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꒰ა 𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 ໒꒱

a/n: IDK if this will be a series yet but I really wanted to turn the tables on the JJK men and write a drabble on what it would be like returning that alpha feral energy to them lmfao. for now this a one off! I may do more in the future. cw: trueform!Sukuna, canonverse, y/n being feral, dirty talk, fantasizing, intrusive thoughts and, of course, objectifying Sukuna's thighs. crack drabble lol wc: 925 Black fem coded but no descriptors.

You were with Sukuna in his throne room. The one task you were given was to stand next to him, look pretty and be silent while he handled business with the various cursed and sorcerer associates who requested an audience with him.

You fidgeted as you stood to his left, never good at remaining still.

Uruame stood to his right, stoic as ever.

But you did try your best to behave, eyes roaming around the room to find any source of focus.

There.

Your eyes widened before slightly narrowing as you honed in on your target, now perfectly entranced by–

Sukuna’s thighs.

You loved Sukuna’s entire body, but most of all you loved his thighs. No love couldn’t even really quantify your affections –you were obsessed.

Man spread out on his throne, a thick muscular thigh was exposed from Sukuna’s robes as he lounged back looking uninterested in whatever the curses in front of him were speaking of.

Unconsciously you chew your lower lip, letting your mind wander. You easily get lost in your thoughts of Sukuna's thighs.

Your mouth watered at the way the well-defined muscles beneath his skin created a sculpted landscape. It was a feast for your eyes and you didn’t fail to notice each subtle flex of movement they made.

Even the thigh still clothed in the fabric of his robe clung to the Herculean contours of the sinewy curves beneath them, rippling beneath the fabric in a way that made moisture pool in your panties.

The wide breadth of his thighs flaunted his sheer physical prowess, a testament to being The King of Curses.

It would feel oh, so good to relish the way his muscles flexed beneath you. Your hips would spread open near to the point of straining as you imagine vigorously riding his thigh.

Unintentionally you were turning yourself on more than you even realized.

Your thoughts spiral further to picture Sukuna making you get on your knees after. He would look down on you with the most devious grin as he commanded your tongue to clean up the sizable mess your filthy lil’ cunt made on his thigh.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of tracing the prominent vein on his inner thigh all the way up until you reached—-

A small whimper escaped you.

Shit.

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped to you, raising a hand to silence his cursed subjects speaking.

“What is it, Y/N?”

Sukuna was annoyed you couldn’t even manage to stay still for a few hours as he had long sensed your restlessness. However, the current level of distress he read on your features had him curious as to what changed.

“It’s nothing, my King.”

Sukuna was unmoved.

“I don't ask questions twice, Y/N.”

“Um, but it’s really nothing much at all… I-I, well…It’s just that uh, I was thinking…”

“Spit it the fuck out woman I don’t have all da—

“—you thicc as fuck Kuna!”

Utter silence.

A pin could drop and it would sound like the acoustics of a concert stadium.

Silence in general has always made you feel awkward and this was really awkward.

Sukuna wasn’t saying anything, likely processing your statement and the fact you interrupted him to make it.

More nervous than ever you couldn’t help what proceeded to spill forth, a dam of words broken as you attempted to explain yourself further.

“I-I mean your thighs daddy, you too thicc! You got the yams, thunder thighs, them wupples, hamhocks, you a real thighrannosaurus rex ,a thunty king even– y-you just thicc as fuck! Like damn daddy, ya know!?”

The reality of what you were saying didn’t hit you until you had finished and you slapped your hands over your mouth, your eyes wider than saucers.

You had been unable to be able to control the word vomit you’ve been oppressing.

Although you did have to admit in finally confessing your obsession you felt like a sinner absolved and a weight lifted from you.

No lies were told though, so who could really blame you?

Sukuna was still silent. His expression unreadable.

The curses in front of Sukuna are frozen. Worried that a single move would cause his ire to explode at them reducing them to mere molecules for even witnessing whatever had just occurred.

Uruame’s face, oddly the most expressive one of the bunch, was clearly questioning what in the ever loving fuck was wrong with you. But more than anything Uruame was puzzled as to why you were still even being allowed to take breaths.

More silence followed.

Yet after what seemed like a millennia to everyone else in the room, Sukuna finally spoke. His tone was calm, yet icier than the frozen temperatures outside his palace.

“You know how easily I can kill you, right Y/N?”

You nearly had to bite your own tongue off as your intrusive thoughts had zero regard for your own life and threatened to bubble up out of your throat again.

Honestly? If we're being real, you wanted nothing more than to drop to your knees and stick your head up his robes.

You would gladly die if it was from his massive thighs suffocating you, busting your skull like a tiny grape.

But then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy riding Sukuna’s thighs anymore and you didn’t want an afterlife where you couldn’t access Sukuna’s thighs.

Reluctantly, yet obediently, you gulped them down, swallowing any more embarrassment you could bring to The Curse King at this moment.

“Yes of course, dadd– my King.”

“Then stand there and shut the fuck up brat.”

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: when writing this I thought, what would @ryomens-vixen do? and here we are. lol. next up: still working on lactation kink yakuza!toji fic, ceo!gojo and nerd!geto fics.

tags: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @halobuns @honeeslust

Reblog to objectify Sukuna's yams but comments and likes are always appreciated!

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xoxo-greed · 5 months

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idk this might be kinda too specific but like imagine the twst mc isn’t a prefect but a magic user aswell and they’re just some normal student in nrc but they keep using magic excessively and their magic pen is like so so dark and their housewarden s/o is like ‘you should stop’ and yhe mc is like ‘no’ so then the housewarden like fucks them for the whole day so they can stop using magic for the time being

—> minors dni. hardcore smut ig ? all chars aged up, all of them being absolutely meanies.

an - lets give this guy an applause 🗣️‼️ I was running out of ideas and you saved me 🫶 I don’t have a bunch of time, so instead I’ll do Leona only since he seems like the right call. Its pretty long, sorry I couldn’t do more </3 ily tho ! buybyeee and enjoy !

———————————————————————

Pent up frustration that didn’t let him sleep, the fact that you look so tired and miserable because of your magic pisses him off. To him, he’s the one thats supposed to take care of you, for some reason he cares about you more than any other. Then he has an idea.

After a long day, Ruggie walks up to you, poking your shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Hey, Y/N! Leona wants you to go to the botanical garden with him.” He tells you, you raise an eyebrow “What for? He always tells me to leave when I go with him.” Ruggie shrugs. “I don’t know, but I think its something serious.” Upon those words, you decided to take care of it.

You leave to the botanical garden, where you find the hidden space Leona always resides in. In which, when you enter, he instantly jumps on you, pressing you onto the ground. “What the hell do you think your doing?” He says harshly. You’re stunned ‘Why is he acting like this?’ You never see him like this. You frown “If this is about the magic thing, forget about it.” You say, turning around, about to crawl away, when you feel him put his hand on your head, instantly pressing your head down onto the grass. “Le-Leona, what are you doing?!” You yell, startled as he covers your mouth. He looks down at you with an angry expression.

“I’m going to fuck some sense into you, thats what.”

——————————————

Your clothes on the floor, his hands spreading your legs open. Everything was so.. exciting.. He had ripped of your clothes and his clothes alongside that. The pool of warmth that was in the pit of your stomach had now traveled down to your legs, Leona’s precum covering your wet lips, tongue lapping over them.

Everything felt so warm, your juices soon covering his mouth, and then helping his rock hard cock slip into you, all your thoughts getting fucked out when his first thrust registers into your body, legs bent onto his shoulders and claws holding your thighs open.

“fuck— how are you- god damn it your so tight” he groans out, long hair stuck onto his sweaty face. He missed this, YOU missed this, the feeling of his hips rutting into yours, the way you’d feel full with his cock, as if you’d just eaten a full course of food. It was too fucking good, too good. Its like the both of you became two wild animals in heat, you couldn’t say much about him though, he was technically one with the way he was acting.

“Leo- Leona- Ngh.. stop it.. I have to.. give me my pen b-“ Your cut of by your own moan, the feeling of your pens cold magical stone pressing onto your clit, bundle of nerves causing your back to arch and a dam to open inside of you as Leona releases his own batch.

Your legs felt like as if they’d been liquified.. a little.. too.. liquified?

“leona..”

“Yeah?”

“You put a spell on me didn’t you?”

“Sure did, bunny.” He responds, kissing your forehead and covering your naked body with his blanket, leaving you to rest inside his room.

All the black ink was gone by the time he came back.

#twisted wonderland #leona x reader #leona x y/n #leona kingscholar #smut #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut

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bluejutdae · 2 months

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you prolly already know who it is but im requesting a little for whenever you feel up to it lovely <3 with either felix or seungmin maybe, hard thought or blurb or whatever. just. a lil something of them being a bit jealous and getting touchy/riled up? hehe

I know I said I don’t take request and I don’t but this is no simple request, this is for my sweet moot, and I do make the rules here, so 😌

Drawing you in my dreams (Close to you - KSM) | Seungmin x you

warnings: nsfw

Best friend Seungmin who spends most of his free time with you, watching movies, going out shopping or buying you dinner. Who insists you’re not going to pay, who stomps like an annoyed puppy when you tried anyway.

Best friend Seungmin who starts to hide you wallet just before you go out, so you can’t pay even when you try to. The first time you think you’re just distracted, the second time you start to worry. On what's probably the 10th time, you catch him dropping you wallet on your couch and you don’t have it in you to confront him cause he’s so damn much endearing.

Best friend Seungmin who insists on being your plus one on a family member wedding you don’t want to go to, who casually slips his arms around your waist and drags you closer to him whenever someone comes to talk to you. Who dotes on you and who is uncharacteristically sweet anytime an older relative jabs at you for not being married yet, who compliments at you and looks at you like you hang the moon. What a fantastic actor, uh?

He’s a terrible actor, he can’t act for shit. He thinks he’s being way too much obvious and tries to reign it in but it’s impossible, it’s like a dam broke and now all he was keeping barricaded has no chance but to flow out.

Best friend Seungmin who insists on giving you a piggy ride from the car to your apartment, 'cause your feet must hurt and 'cause you must be tired and 'cause it’s fun.

He’s terrified by the thought of letting you go. He wants today to never stop, he wants his arm to be draped over you everyday of his life.

Best friend Seungmin who lets you convince him to being dragged on the dance floor, a drink too much on the bloodstream, air too stuffy and hot. Who thinks you look a bit too much sexy in your clothes and with a thin layer of sweat clinging to your neck and upper chest.

Best friend Seungmin who takes a step back to watch you dance, lost in the music, beautiful as always. You body calling to him like a siren call.

He’s lost at sea, swinging side by side in a sea of bodies, moving like the tide is dragging him, but it doesn’t matter to him. Not then you’re his siren, calling to him. And what was that about sirens and singing to men, calling them to certain death? If that’s what death looks like, he’s going down head first. Heart first.

Best friend Seungmin who freezes instantly when a pair of stranger hands places themselves on your hips, the body of another man getting close (too close) to you. Who watches as words are said into your ear, the music loud but the pumping of his blood louder in his ears. A cold shiver down his spine, hands fisted tight.

Best friend Seungmin who closes the distance between you two and puts his hands on the strangers’, grabs them and pries them away from your skin. Best friend Seungmin who stares down at him, the coldest stare you’ve ever seen him give to someone and your breath hitches.

He can accept you paying for lunch, he can get over the fact that you never seem to realize his hyungs often make fun of him for being so smitten for you, but he’s not gonna stand and let someone touch you right on front of him.

Best friend Seungmin who, as soon as the other guy leaves, softly grabs your chin between two fingers and looks into your eyes, intense and serious, with a small frown between his eyebrows. Best friend Seungmin who shakes his head and puts his forehead on yours, who would like to scream but he only manages to say “don’t do this to me”.

Best friend Seungmin who stays still when you put your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the short hair on his neck, a little damp from sweat. Who’s ready to hear you say you’re just friend and want nothing more.

Best friend Seungmin who feels fireworks in his chest when you kiss him, his rapid heartbeats like celebratory drums, strong and constant.

This is what he has wanted since he met you: your lips on his, your permission to call you ‘his’. He already does that in his mind, but he wants to do that out loud, too. To call you ‘his’ in front of friends and families. He has wanted and wanted and wanted so much, now that he’s finally kissing you he can’t really believe it.

Best friend Seungmin who kisses you like a starving man but in a second he’s pulling away, pupils blown back and spit slick lips. And again he says “don’t do this to me”. What he can’t say is: don’t kiss me if it doesn’t mean something to you, too. Don’t make me fall even deeper for you if you’re gonna rip my heart from my chest just after. Don’t make me hope even more. Don’t break my heart. Don’t wrap your fingers behind my neck, don’t drag me down onto your lips if you’re not gonna want to do that for the rest of your life.

Best friend Seungmin who grabs your hand and almost drags you out of the bar, into the cold night, not a word spoken, and pushes you into a corner alley, pushes you on the cold wall and, again, puts his forehead on yours.

“Don’t kiss me if you don’t mean it.”

Best friend Seungmin whose heart threatens to jump out of his chest when you tell him you mean it, that you want him just like he wants you, that you want more, more, more, so much more…

Best friend Seungmin who looks at you with determination and call you ‘his’, out loud this time: the first time but not the last.

Boyfriend Seungmin who holds your hand like it’s made of glass, like it’s made of diamond, delicate but strong at the same time; who calls a taxi and gives your address, who cradles your face in his free hand and looks at you like you’re the most beautiful creature in the whole universe, kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your chin and your nose, your temple, your forehead, your lips. Soft little kisses to imprint his love into your skin.

Boyfriend Seungmin who undresses you slowly, kissing every inch of skin he’s uncovering, a starving man in front of a buffet, kisses and little bites and kitten licks all over your body; hands roaming, his heart beating fast and strong, celebrating. If he has to put his face in the crook of your neck for a moment, to hide his slightly wet eyes and take a deep breath, then that’s between him and god. But maybe breathing so close to where your scent is so strong wasn’t the best idea to collect himself.

Boyfriend Seungmin who’s so hard for you, and he shows it by grinding his hips against yours. He undresses fast and he’s on you not even a second later.

Boyfriend Seungmin who shakes his head and laughs quietly when you insist he doesn’t have to eat you out. “And deprive myself from something I’ve dreamt for years?”. Who places a kiss on your hip bone. “Something I’ve imagined countless times?” Who places a kiss on one of your knees, another kiss on the other knee, and pries your legs open, watches where you’re wet for him. “Something I’ve touched myself to just the thought of?”. Who looks at you, laid open there, for him to devour, and finally gets his mouth on you, moaning the moment his tongue touches your wet folds. Who wraps his big hand around your thighs, his strong hands leaving imprints on your skin and you revels in it, in the idea of being marked by your boyfriend, and he keeps eating you out, tongue and lips and then his fingers too, pushing and pulling and sucking and licking and it’s so perfect, so good you can only scream his name over and over again while you cum.

Boyfriend Seungmin who raises his head only when you grab his hair and push his face away from where you’re too sensitive, too raw to let him keep going, so he winks at you (he winks, and for a moment you think he’s a madman), and then he licks his lips, uses his thumb to gather more of the wetness around his mouth and pops it into his mouth and he moans at the taste of you, like he wasn’t buried in your sweet cunt just three seconds ago (you’re convinced he’s a madman).

Boyfriend Seungmin who covers you with his body and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on your tongue, and can’t help it but grab a handful of your tits and play with them, enthralled by the way they jiggle under his hand. Curious on how it’d feel under his tongue, he laps at your nipple and latches into it, using his teeth carefully, just to hear your breath hitch and all the other sweet noises you make.

Boyfriend Seungmin who pushes inside you and for a moment -an infinite moment- time stops, the world stops spinning on its axis and start spinning the other way.

This is the reason wars are fought, this is the reason wars are won. This moment here, finally being able to be one with the one you love, with the other half of your soul, this moment right here is the best thing he’s ever felt. But that’s too much to say, so he just mutters a quiet

“You feel so good, taking me so well. Like you were made for me”.

Boyfriend Seungmin who fucks you like his life depends on it, focused on making you feel good, on feeling good himself, on enjoying this moment. Who repeats ‘mine, mine, all mine, just mine, only mine’ over and over again and again and again because in this moment, too much is not enough. You’re his and he’s yours, and he tells you that, shows you that. Bites down to leave the imprint of his teeth and sucks on the skin, drawing blood and then soothing the pain with his tongue, kitten licks and soft kisses almost like an apology.

Boyfriend Seungmin who holds you close to him, your head under his chin, his hands cradling the back of your head and his lips on your temple, leaving kisses and words of love.

Boyfriend Seungmin who whispers how much he loves you, how perfect you are, how happy you make him, how he’s never letting you go, how he’s gonna marry you, have a family with you because he knows, he might be young and maybe he doesn’t know everything about the world, about love maybe even, but he knows this: you’re the love of his life, and he has no intention of ever letting you go.

(Husband Seungmin, years later, who holds your hand and watches, happy, the ring on your finger shining under the sun, the material, public symbol of your love. He loves to look at it, but he loves the private symbols even more: the home you share, your bed filled with laughter and happy memories, the kitchen table where you have breakfast together most mornings, where you laugh and share food, the wall filled with photos of you and him, always together, always happy, always in love… )

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #bluejutdae #skz #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #Thiana writes Seungmin #bluejutdae asks: Seungmin

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minimoxha · 1 month

Text

You’re mine. (Drabble.)

summary: (I can’t remember who requested this im working through my inbox!) When you and your sugar daddy, Sakuna get into an argument over you and your ‘infidelity’ you just can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. that calls for punishment.

Pairing: young, Sugar daddy!Sakuna, Sugarbaby!Reader.

“All you do is use my money and you think I won’t fuck you?” Sakuna moans, giving rough thrusts into your hips. He had been talking like this for a while. Repeating how useless you were, how he hated gold diggers like you, the whole nine yards over an argument where the both of you (mostly you) just couldn’t seem to find the wrong in your argument. It started off with you saying how you were still fucking other people because he doesn’t own you. From there, a lot of the moment was just smoke that ended or well is ending in him taking *his pussy like he’s never fucked before.

This was currently your second time cumming and not your last. “Kuna’ ‘m so sorry. Stop- please-“ You moaned, trying your best to move away from the man but he grabbed your hips every time and pulled you back to getting split on his cock. “Please-“ ‘Kuna was too dam focused on the rutting of his hips to even pay attention to your useless moaning like a fucking slut.

“You get a fucking allowance, an apartment, a car, a damn mutt, and you still aren’t- ngh- grateful for what I fucking do for you?” He asks, which is more of a moaning shout as he thrusts again and again into your cunt. Other than his curses, you could hear and feel your juices getting blended around in your pussy. “You’re fucking other dudes as if my cock doesn’t satisfy you enough!”

“Maybe you don’t- oh fuck baby more.” You moaned, trying to get more of his thrusts, the overstimulated feeling now changed with pleasure as yet another orgasm was ripping through your core. Until he pulled out…

Dazed, you turned to look at the demon; eyes as big as saucers. “Wh-Why’d you stop?” Sakuna stared at you with an unreadable face. Instead of answering your lust driven question he grabbed you by your hair, forcing you off the bed and to your knees. You wince in pain.

“You think you can just disrespect me in my own fucking home? Then you won’t cum again until you realize that you’re mine for the rest of fucking eternity.” He screamed as he dragged you into your designated ‘play room’ with a rough hand. “I’ll show you and that fucker you fucked who the fuck i am, bitch.”

not proofread.

Hi! i hope you just enjoyed and if you did you can request more in my asks. I answer all of them and love to have more ideas for what to write. Make sure to eat two meals and drink water!

#fanfic #xreader #minimoxha #black!reader #anime #jjk sakuna #sakuna ryomen #sakuna x reader #sakunasmut #sakunaryomenxreader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen smut #jujusu kaisen #jujusu

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rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐬

Your hero was determined to save the day, but you were about to discover something more precious than his priceless smile.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑��𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ღ Nurse!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ღ 999

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ღ Fluff, literal tooth rotting fluff, period fic, sick fic, hurt/comfort

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ღ Look, I fell in love with Nurse!Bucky and it seems a lot of you did too.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ღ Stuff We Did by Michael Giacchino

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ღ @the-slumberparty Week 3 Artistic Liberty Challenge — Masterlist

𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 ღ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒍𝒍.

𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been a few weeks since you were discharged, and by some miracle, it had been a few weeks since your favourite nurse had slipped you a piece of paper with his phone number. You still couldn’t believe it. The two of you hit it off so well when he took you out for coffee on one of his days off, that, naturally, you gathered up what courage you had and asked him out. It was how you had ended up being Bucky’s girlfriend.

Life wasn’t always going to be so kind, however.

It was like being run over by a truck, and then a train, and just to make matters even better, your period was the final touch.

You could hear rain pattering against the window and you felt a rush of gratitude to your past self for having the brilliant idea to gather blankets the night before.

Then, the realisation dawned on you that today was the day - Bucky had today off and he was planning to take you out for a surprise, and you groaned aloud. You reached for your phone and snatched it from your bedside cupboard, the screen lighting up to show a cute selfie you had coerced Bucky into taking, on your first date.

Bucky’s number dialled and you shuffled back into the covers, burrowing into self-pity while your stomach cramped and everything ached. You didn’t want to disappoint Bucky, but you didn’t think you could even stand long enough to prepare any damn food, let alone cope with the ‘surprise’.

“Hey, baby girl!”

It was an effort to stem the tears and choke back a sob. “Hey, Buck,” you replied. “I, uh–I’m sorry, I can’t do today-”

“What’s wrong, are you alright?”

You could hear the concern in his voice and you pictured him frowning, a deep furrow between his brows. “I’m sick again, a-and I got my period and-” The dam broke. Your sobs were quiet and muffled behind your hand but you could hear Bucky on the line moving around.

“Hey, you’re alright, baby, hang on-” There was a clatter and a distant muffled curse. “Are you at your place?”

Nodding automatically, you realised he couldn’t see. “Yeah, I am, please you don’t need-”

“Nuh-uh, stop that.” There were more clattering sounds and then you heard the rustle of a coat. “I need to make a couple stops first, and then I am going to come and take care of my girl, whether she wants me to, or not.”

Sniffling and hiccuping, you didn’t answer. “You sit tight, baby. Can you get up for me and have some water?” You attempted to move but a rippling pain tore through your stomach and hips, all the way up to your shoulders and down to your toes. Your cry of pain was enough to make Bucky speak louder into the phone, “Okay, no, you stay there, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Can you time me, baby girl? It’ll distract you, and if I am late, every minute is a tub of ice-cream I owe you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, hoping that the gratitude you felt could be heard in your small voice.

“Atta girl, I’ll see you soon.” The line clicked and you opened the timer, doing as he had said.

Twenty-seven minutes later, there was a shuffling sound at your front door, then a quiet knock. “It’s me, baby girl, can you open the door? Or should I get Wanda?” You pulled your phone closer and messaged: Wanda has the key, she’s WFH today.

Footsteps sounded and then voices sounded out your door - your neighbour, Wanda, was a close friend and the two of you had keys to one another’s apartments, in the likely event that either of you forgot your keys. “Give her my love, Bucky,” Wanda said and you heard a set of footsteps retreating, while the lock on your front door unlocked with a quiet click.

“Hey, baby, I’m here.” The door creaked closed and then you could hear Bucky walking around your apartment. “Where are ya, sweetheart?” Bags rustled in his hands and then his head appeared around your doorway, finding you at last amongst your burrito of blankets. “There you are.”

Bucky padded softly into your room and you watched with glassy eyes as he placed down a bag from Target and CVS on the end of your bed, and a brown paper bag on your bedside cupboard. “How’s my girl?”

“I look and feel horrible-”

“You are never not beautiful, even when you’re hurting.” Bucky knelt down so he could look into your face. “Baby, I am a nurse, remember? Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

You were silent for a moment and Bucky brushed his thumb over your cheek, over the tear tracks. “I feel crappy and everything hurts, and my tummy aches.”

“Well, I have a couple things,” Bucky began, shuffling over to grab the Target bag. “This lil’ fella,” he pulled free a teddy, the material soft and fluffy and in your favourite colour. You stared in shock at the bear. “I knew he was perfect for you.”

Bucky offered you the bear, and you held him to your chest, tears falling down your cheeks. “And I brought some pain relief–I didn’t know what you preferred so I just bought the lot, and some pads, tampons, that sorta thing–and a hot water bottle, and some soup,” he gestured to the paper bag.

“Thank you,” you whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. Bucky smiled.

“How about a warm bath, and then we have a movie marathon?” You nodded and Bucky helped you to the shower.

Bucky had kept himself occupied by changing your sheets, being sure to pile the blankets back on, and you couldn’t ignore how your heart fluttered at the sight of him concentrating on making your safe space comfortable. When he looked up to find you in the doorway, he smiled.

And dammit all, you fell in love.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #navy and roo's sleepover #rookthorne's works #Knight

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lovekipani · 2 months

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Part 2 - Alastor Smut - Alastor's Perspective

Alastor Fucks You Part 2 - Alternate Perspective

If you haven't read the reader's POV of this, you can do so here.

My partner and I collaborated on this story from Alastor's perspective to mirror my previous version written from the reader's perspective. So if you are curious what was going on in Alastor's mind when he was fucking, here's our one-shot of just what that might be. Enjoy.

Plot: Alastor wants you... bad. But not just as a one-night stand. He wants to make a deal to keep you as his personal toy. And the kicker is...you want it just as bad.

It’s 2 am, and I’m hungry for restless, mortal souls that struggle to sleep. Souls that are particularly…vulnerable…to what I have to offer.

But, I rarely get to venture into the living world these days…where TV and digital technology have taken over (fuck you Vox), weakening my access to souls – a link dependent on powers of old…the power of voice. The power of frequency. Instead, I roam Hell, claiming souls in bondage in exchange for what I can offer them…what they need and crave.

Since I expired and ended up here, in hell 90 years ago, I have been known by many names, but legend knows me as Alastor. The Radio Demon.

It seems like it’s going to be just another night in Hell. I sit in my den, dimly lit with the soft glow of demon fire, the sound of 20s jazz crackling in the background as I raise my glass of whiskey to my lips…the cold thick liquor burning as it slides down my throat.

I am tense and restless. It’s nothing new. As much as I lord over the souls in Hell, nothing down here can satiate my hunger…my shadow’s hunger…for the flesh of a mortal soul, and it has been too long since I have had my fill. My power, invisible yet pervasive, emanates like waves. But like water crashing against a dam, my powers are confined within the walls of Hell unless the perfect, damned soul tunes in.

I drift off in my thoughts. Maybe I’ll go over to Charlie’s hotel and fuck with Husk. Grouchy old fuck is so easy to rile up, and he’s the best bartender in town. I straighten my red pinstriped jacket, and fix my red and black hair – after all, a gentleman, even a Demonic one, must not be seen in public unkempt.

I open the door to step out, when suddenly I feel a shift in the air. Something I have not felt for so long, yet so unmistakably familiar. The shadows in me stir, knowing that this could mean. My stag ears straighten, scanning the airwaves. I don’t so much see her, but sense her – a sensation at once faint, but all the while so vivid that it paints a picture in my mind. I close my eyes as I feel a grin spread across my face, baring my razor sharp teeth. The tentacles of my shadow rippling under the silk fabric of my jacket. They are hungry.

I see her now, still faintly, standing alone in her dark apartment, leaning against a side table with a cold drink in one hand, her other hand fiddling with the dial on an old wooden radio – most likely a family heirloom. Her grandmother’s, maybe. I can see her frustration as she turns the dial back and forth, trying to find the right frequency.

She is a vision. Thick long blonde hair that reaches the top of a perfect ass held in low rise jeans that fit just right. The low cut V-neck tee hugging her hour-glass figure, barely containing her breasts. But there is more to her than her looks…something deeper inside. Sure, it takes a damned soul to connect with me, but there is something more. Something darker. A hidden truth. Something deliciously sinful.

Finally, she finds the frequency, my frequency. She visibly relaxes and closes her eyes as she listen to the old 20s sounds. Little does she know that she has just sealed her own fate.

“Good girl,” I whisper.

My entire body vibrates as the old radio connects with my energy, and the vision becomes clearer, and the portal, invisible to mortal eyes, that has been closed to me for so long finally opens.

I straighten my body, holding one hand against the small of my back, the other holding my staff, topped with an old radio microphone. I draw in a deep breath. I can practically smell her perfume – a familiar scent from a French fashion house – mixed with the sweetness of her skin.

I gather myself, holding my shadow in check. “Patience, Alastor,” I say to myself.

Taking one last deep breath, pulling my shoulders back and letting my frame take on its full size, I concentrate my thoughts and my powers for my long-awaited return to broadcast radio.

“It’s show time,” I mutter to myself, an evil grin spreading across my face, knowing what is to come. My body tensing, I project my energy, my thoughts, and my voice through the air, and right into her ear.

I slip into the shadows. A Demon watching his prey.

“It’s my pleasure to introduce you…"

Alllaasstor... I breathe into her ear.

I watch as her eyes snap open and she looks frantically around the room, trying to locate the source of my unexpected voice. I chuckle again…I fucking love this part. I can see her body tense with confusion.

Strange…usually what I see is fear.

I hear her whisper under her breath…”Alastor.” I watch as she leans back, taking another sip of her drink, trying to relax.

Who is this woman? It’s time that I find out.

With a simple thought, the lights flicker, and I watch with sadistic glee as her eyes widen and her body straightens. “What the fuck was that?” she says out loud to herself.

Another simple thought, and I plunge the room into darkness. I watch her in darkness, and her confusion brings on an arousal that I have long missed. I can feel my cock harden in my tailored pants, growing and aching for what is to come.

“Lets have some fun,” I say to myself, as I turn the room a sinister, crimson red. I watch as she closes her eyes, visibly shaking her head, trying to wake herself from what she believes to be a dream.

I step out of the shadow and stand directly in front of her as she opens her eyes, my eyes menacing and fixed on hers as I grin wide and bare my razor-sharp teeth.

Her body stiffens with fear as a growl rumbles in my throat, that primal hunger growing. I can feel her fear and I feed off it, my frame growing as I tower over her, my cock hardening into a steel rod as a sensual gasp escapes her soft lips. Her face flushes red and my heightened senses smell not fear…but desire. Her whole body emanates the scent of a woman in heat.

I release my shadow that I have held in check. The tentacles of my inner monster reaches out, wrapping themselves around her ankles and snaking up her legs and thighs, around her waist, gripping and squeezing her tits through her clothes, and wrapping around her throat as I lift her into the air. I pull her head back, exposing her neck as I step closer, my prey held in mid air.

I step forward, pressing her back against the counter, and lean my face close against her neck, taking her scent in like a feral beast. I bring my face close against hers, not touching, but close enough for her to feel my heat, as I growl into her ear, “mmm…you smell delicious.”

My shadow pulls her back further, arching her back to expose her breasts to me. I can feel her heat and wetness as my shadowy tendrils, like phantom hands, press and explore between her legs. Instead of recoiling in fear like many have in the distant past, her hips roll and seek me out.

Yes…that’s the deep, dark truth that I sensed earlier. This dark, sex-crazed soul that I will both set free, and claim as my own fuck toy.

As my demonic shadow holds her aloft, I grip her hip with one hand, my claws digging into her soft flesh, while the other runs down her cheek. I love the feeling of her body under my claws... so sensitive, soft...vulnerable. My shadow spreads her legs as I pull her hard against me, the shaft of my hard cock pressing against her slit through her jeans. I can feel the moist heat burning through her jeans.

I lean forward, the tip of my tongue licking softly from her collarbone up to her ear. “What a darling specimen you are, my dear,” I purr into her ear as I grind against her cunt, my cock desperate for release.

I press my weight over her, the underside of my shaft covering her slit, with the tip of my cock against her naval. I watch her face flush and contort with desperate desire and lock my eyes with hers.

“Allasstor…” she breathes hotly. I set my demonic desires free as I tighten my hold on her body.

“You have such a lovely voice…maybe I should broadcast your screams tonight for all of hell to hear while I fuck that needy little cunt,” I growl as my shadowy hand grips her hot pussy through her jeans, pressing hard against her clit. I feel her tense and whimper, and I tighten my grip on her tits, my shadow splitting into thin fingers, slipping inside the collar of her t-shirt and inside her bra, teasing her nipples, rolling them into hardness.

“Or maybe it’s your screams they’ll hear, Radio Demon?” she moans into my ear as I claim her body.

“Oooo, I love that demonic little mouth of yours. I’d like it even more if it were wrapped around my cock. Or maybe I’ll just bend you over this counter and fuck that delightful little pussy instead?” I growl as grip and massage her ass. As much as I want to fuck this cock-sucking slut’s throat, my shaft longs to be buried inside her cunt, and to fill her to the brim.

I flip her over with ease, her tits pressed against the countertop as I press my cock against her ass. I wonder what her tight little asshole would feel like? I press my chest against her back, and I feel her hand slide back, reaching to free my cock.

“Be careful, girl. I’m the monster you were warned about.”

“You’re the monster I want,” she moaned back.

With one hand holding her down by the back of her neck, I rip her jeans and panties off in one violent motion, leaving them in tatters on the ground. I can smell her cunt, and can see her pussy dripping with desire. I flip her onto her back, my claws gripping the collar of her t-shirt as I tear her t-shirt and bra in two, her tits spilling out, topped with perfect, hard nipples.

I lick my lips, as I command my shadow to tease her cunt, the tendrils stroke lightly up and down her pussy lips, gently prying them open, exploring every wet fold, learning the contours of what I am about to devour.

“Perfect…”, I growl deep as I begin to devour my little demon whore. My mouth starting at her neck, tasting her skin and biting, marking her. My clawed hands paw her breasts, squeezing them hard until she whimpers in delicious pain, my clawed fingers pinching her nipples as I twist and pull at them. My hands grip her thighs and spread them wide as I kiss down her abdomen, down her mound and breathe in her cunt, my fingers spreading her pussy lips and exposing her swollen, needy clit as my tongue lashes the sensitive bud, licking the length of her slit as my shadowy fingers teased and rimmed her tight asshole. I suck hard on her clit and feel her press her pussy into my mouth, a loud moan filling the room.

I rise from between her legs as I watch her breathe heavily, her eyes heavy-lidded, pleading for more. I rip my shirt off and hold her gaze as I unbuckle my pants, and I watch with pleasure and satisfaction as I watch her gaze drop between my legs as my demon cock springs free, thick-veined and ridged, dripping and glistening with precum. I slide the length of my cock up slowly her slit, starting at the junction between her cunt and her anus, making sure she feels and acknowledge every inch that is about to fill her.

“Let’s give the listeners a show they’ll never forget…” the little slut purrs as she grinds her pussy against my shaft.

Pushing her ankles above her head, I slam into her in a single deep stroke, my pelvic bone crashing against her clit that makes her groan in both pain and pleasure. I can feel her cunt stretch to accommodate me while drenching me in her juices that run down my balls. There is no elegance or tenderness, just a demonic beast claiming his prize as I drive my full length into her over and over, pulling back until just the tip of my cock is inside her before I slam fully back into her, and grinding my pelvis against her clit.

“Al…Alastor…of fuuuckk…” she moans and whimpers as I claim her sweet little cunt.

I pin her hands above her head as my body keeps her legs folded up above her head, as I fuck her relentlessly, watching her face as her eyes roll back with pleasure, and moans turn into whimpers.

I can feel her pussy clenching and tightening around my cock, massaging me inside her. I remain inside her and enjoy her ministrations, as I whisper into her ear.

“That’s a good girl…I know what you are. Now enjoy getting fucked in ways you have only dreamed of…”

I feel her cunt tighten and gush with wetness in response, as though she has been awaiting permission for her true self to be liberated. I slide one hand under her ass, running a finger between her ass-cheeks, feeling her cream dripping over her asshole, as I tickle it with the tip of my clawed finger.

“Yess…such a perfect little demon whore…such a needy little cunt…You’re mine. All mine…” I growled.

“Yes…I am yours…” she gasps as her orgasm builds. I watch her face as I continue to fuck her, as she fades from the world, sinking deeper into a world of pure pleasure and ecstasy.

I can feel her pussy swelling and getting tighter as she nears her climax. Her orgasm will be my claiming of her soul.

“Is it a deal?” I ask as I seek her complete submission. My cock swells in anticipation, filling her and stretching her even further.

“Yes! Yes! Alastor!!! Yes!!!” she screams as her body is wracked by a seemingly endless orgasm, relinquishing all control to me, as her cum gushes like a fountain, soaking my thighs and leaving puddles on the floor.

Her submission triggers my release, as I growl deep and bury myself deep inside her, my balls tightening, and my cock pumping thick seed deep into her hungry, eager pussy, filling her. My cum spills out as I slide out my still-twitching cock. Needing to empty myself completely, I stroke my cock as she watches me, and finish over her body, covering her belly and breasts, howling into the night.

As I catch my breath, and slowly release my grip on my newly claimed prize, I see that she has slipped into a deep sleep. My mark glowed a faint red on her mound…the mark of the Radio Demon.

I wrap my arms tight around my prize’s exhausted body, as I summon my shadow. Darkness falls around us and in a moment, we are back in hell, in my office.

I sit in my velvet armchair and watch her as she sleeps in my dimly lit room. My eyes glide over her naked form, watching her breasts swell with each breath. I can feel my arousal returning again, my cock starting to rise.

For how long she slept, I don’t know. Time has no meaning in Hell. Afterall, Hell is forever. At last she stirs, and opens her eyes, and I see her blink away the sleep, and watch her gaze drop from my face, down my body, to the erect cock that has been waiting for her.

“Welcome to Hell, Darling. Your deal starts now, and my listeners will want more,” I say with a smile as I approach her. She rolls onto her back, opens her legs, and wraps her ankles around my waist, pulling me down against her. Her tongue searches out my mouth, and my tongue dances with hers, tasting her.

“Best not to disappoint them then,” she moaned as I sink deep into her.

Want more?

Check out the Master List here.

#blurbs #blurb #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader smut

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darkworkcourier · 1 year

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You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕

Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD

(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)

Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.

---

“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.

Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.

“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”

“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.

Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.

The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.

“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”

“Real walk in the park,” he replies.

“Literally,” you say brightly.

His grunt isn’t very amused.

The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.

For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.

Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.

You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.

Of course, he points it out.

“Got lost, did we?”

You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”

“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”

“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.

You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.

Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.

“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”

“You can just say ‘yes’.”

You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.

The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.

That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.

Nada.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“What’s shit?”

“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.

He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”

“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.

Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”

“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.

“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.

It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.

To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.

“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.

“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.

“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”

“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.

Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.

Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.

Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”

You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.

Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.

Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.

“You good?”

You nod.

“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.

You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”

“Good enough.”

He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.

“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.

“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.

“How do I what?”

“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.

“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.

You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.

You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.

“Sh-shit,” you say.

“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”

“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.

He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.

“S’it locked?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”

Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.

Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.

Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.

Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.

“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”

You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.

“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.

“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”

You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.

Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.

But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.

“Need help?” Ghost asks.

You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.

He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).

He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”

You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.

You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.

This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.

The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.

Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.

And Ghost is—

Fuck.

If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.

“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.

You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.

He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.

If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.

“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.

“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”

You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.

With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.

“Turn around,” he says.

You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.

“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”

“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.

“Ever?”

“Affirmative.”

You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.

He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.

But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.

You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”

You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.

“You ever do this in survival training?”

You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”

He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”

You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”

“Hypothermia prevention.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.

You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.

He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.

“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.

“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.

As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.

“What does?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“What sounds better?”

He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.

Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.

At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.

But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.

Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.

So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”

Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”

“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”

Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.

“What’s this one?”

You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”

Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”

His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”

“When?”

“2012.”

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”

You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.

Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.

“Appendectomy?” he guesses.

You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”

“How did you ever survive?”

“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.

You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.

His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”

You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.

You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”

He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.

You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”

Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.

“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.

You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.

“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”

And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.

His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.

If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.

Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.

You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.

He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.

Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.

His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”

“Oh. Easy fix.”

Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”

“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.

Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.

You feel him look at you. “Can I?”

No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.

But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.

He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.

His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.

“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.

You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”

“Please what?”

You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”

“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.

The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.

“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.

Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.

You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.

Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.

And you are not one to ignore a command.

You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.

You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.

“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.

He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.

And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.

You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.

It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.

Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.

He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”

You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”

“You can, yeah.”

“What about the—”

It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.

You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.

“You can look,” he says.

It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.

Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.

He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.

“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.

He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”

You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.

Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”

“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.

“Sounds good when you say it.”

You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.

Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.

“That’s what you call it?”

Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.

“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.

Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.

He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.

Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”

The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.

You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.

“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.

There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.

His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.

“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”

“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”

In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”

And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.

You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.

Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.

You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.

“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”

You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”

He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. “My job kind of gets in the way.”

“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”

You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.

---

Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”

“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”

“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”

“Rog’. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir.”

An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.

“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”

His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”

You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #prompt fill #VERY big prompt fill oh god i'm so sorry #i've spent most of the day on this!!#and it's not edited yet because it's 10pm now and i'm very tired #did i have cody in mind as the model for the reader? yes. do i kinda ship her and ghost now? YEAH

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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This one’s for all my burnt out bitches; I see you and me too 😭 (this is super self-indulgent and I might be projecting a bit here and I apologize)

You were always told to muscle through it. From a young age, the phrase “grin and bear it” was seared into your mind. And you did. You bore the weight of the world with outward facing grace, whether it was balancing school and multiple jobs or holding it together for the sake of others, you did it with minimal complaint. It’s no different now that you’re with the 141. You’d do whatever was asked of you with no qualms, you’d bear the weight simply because it was your Captain or your Lieutenant that asked you to. You’d do anything for them, for your team, even if it meant swallowing your own tears after a mission gone sideways just to ease the ache of others. You’d do it.

Someone told you once that the thing they appreciated the most about you was your ability to keep it together for the sake of others. You’ve been riding that compliment for years.

And while it was certainly appreciated among your team, there was one who despised it. The rage would build in his stomach when you’d accept a task, knowing damn well you’re overwhelmed with everything else you’ve taken on. His jaw would clench when he’d see you willingly take over for others, molars threatening to crack under the pressure.

It needs to get done anyway, sir, what’s one more item on the list?

You ignored your body’s cry for a reprieve, you ignored your mind’s plea for a single moment of nothing, you ignored the squeeze in your chest that longed for a chance to catch your breath. I can do this for them. I don’t need a moment. I can’t stop because if I do, I might not be able to start back up again.

You were sat in your room, leg bouncing under your desk as you typed away report after report, empty styrofoam cups littered along your desk, you chased your coffee with more coffee, just one more and then I can finish this. A knock on your door couldn’t even force your eyes away from your computer but still you invited them in,

“We need to talk.”

Fuck, how you hated that phrase. It plunged your stomach to your heels, but you took a deep breath, saved your document, and turned to face a very pissed off Ghost.

“What about, sir?”

And then he saw it, he truly saw it. The dark rings under your eyes, the empty coffee cups strewn about your desk, the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands as you picked at lint on your shirt.

“This needs to stop.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know what you’re doing, and you need to fucking stop.”

Why was it so terrifying to be seen? Shouldn’t it have been a relief? But the accusation forced a lump to form in your throat and made your heart rate pick up speed,

“I don’t-”

“Don’t argue, shut the fuck up and listen.”

You’ve heard your Lieutenant snap at people, but he’s never directed it at you. It was terrifying and it invited the tears you’ve long since buried to come forth and join the fray,

“The last thing I need is for you to fall over, half dead, because you don’t know how to stop.” His words were harsh but you knew him. You knew how to read between the lines. He cares, he sees how hard you struggle, and it kills him.

“I just wa-” You bit your lip to try to keep it from quivering, a last ditch effort to keep your tears at bay,

“I know.” He walked in and stood in front of you, “I need you well. And you’re no good to us buried in a grave of your own making.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and that was it. That simple touch is what broke the dam. Without realizing you slumped forward, head pressed into his abdomen as the tears started to fall.

“It’s alright. I get it, I do.” His voice was low, his rich tenor soothing you as his hand moved to rub soothing circles into your back. Your own came up and balled the hem of his shirt into your fists, the fabric wrinkling instantly in your white knuckle grip. His self-proclaimed cold heart ached in his chest,

“Just breathe, sergeant, I’ve got you.”

#ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod one shot

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pepperonidk · 9 days

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roads diverged || h.js

pairing: joshua hong x reader warnings: super self-indulgent. some crying, life decisions, joshua is my comfort member word count: 759 summary: life is full of diverging roads, but it's okay as long as joshua's walking beside you

a/n: i'm definitely projecting lol. instead of crying for 3 hours, i decided to cry for 1 hour and write this for 2 hours :) problem solved

main masterlist

It’s not that you’re particularly a neat freak, but you’re pretty sure you read somewhere that cleaning your living space can help clear your mind.

It isn’t until you’re on your knees on the bathroom tile at 2 am, scrubbing between tiles with a pink toothbrush and a dream that you finally question the scientific validity of that Buzzfeed article. You let out a huff and pull the rubber gloves off your hands and throw them down onto the floor.

“Damn,” you hear a hoarse voice call from the bathroom door. “What did those gloves do to you?”

“Shua,” his name comes out as if you’re surprised at the shakiness in your own voice. Once he hears it too, his smirk falls into a frown and his eyebrows come together in concern. In the next instant, he’s on his knees beside you, pulling you into his arms.

“What’s wrong angel?” he whispers against your hair, rubbing his arms soothingly down your back.

His question is all it takes for the dam to break and not long after, the sleeve of Joshua’s light blue pajama shirt is soaked with tears. He shushes you as he pulls you tighter against him, and he wishes he could lift whatever burden was weighing you down.

It takes a minute before you can finally give him an answer. “Do you remember that really weird thing I asked you about a few weeks ago?” you managed to get out between hiccups.

He pulls away and shifts his hands down to hold yours. “Yeah,” he nods. “When you were reading that Robert Frost poem and you asked what happens if you don’t like the road less traveled and you want to go back and take the other one?”

You nod back at him, pulling your lip between your teeth to fight back the tears. “Yeah… that.”

“What about it?” he asks quietly, prodding you to continue.

“I think I’m going to quit my job,” you answered, unable to fight the second wave of tears.

“Oh, honey,” he began, his hands instinctively coming up to your face to wipe away the streams of tears. “What brought this on? I thought you liked your job.”

“I do,” you answer. “Well, I did. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, dropping your head into your hands. “It’s just not… I just feel like I’m stuck, you know? Like what if I missed out on something better because I’m afraid of leaving something that’s familiar?”

Joshua hums thoughtfully, choosing his words before he continues. “That’s something I wish I knew the answer to,” he sighs and lifts your chin to look at him. He hates seeing you sad, but even more so knowing that this isn’t a problem he can fix for you. “But just think, honey, if you didn’t walk down this path, we wouldn’t have met.”

You nod and break out a small smile that mirrors his. “Yeah,” you agree. “That is pretty great.”

“See?” he continues. “I think you know, no matter which path you take, it’ll be lined with good things and bad things, and that’s okay.”

“I know, I know,” you affirm. “But I like it better when you tell me.”

Joshua lets out a chuckle before standing and holding his hand out to you. “I’ll keep telling you if you finally come to bed with me,” he offers and you take it, gathering your cleaning supplies into your free arm and setting them onto the counter.

Once you’ve both finally settled into bed, Joshua shuts off the lamp on the bedside table and pulls you flush against his chest. His fingers trace circles up and down your arms as you listen to the steadiness of his heartbeat.

“As I promised,” he began. “There’s gonna be lots of diverging paths, you know? Lots of different ways to go. And they won’t always be as scenic as the ones before, or as neatly paved, or as—”

You playfully swat at his chest and smile at the rumble of laughter in his chest. “I get it,” you prod.

“My point is,” he drags out the last syllable, tilting his neck down to smile at you before yawning. “No matter which path you end up taking, I’ll be walking right next to you, holding your hand.” True to his word, he pulls your free hand into his before bringing it up to press a light kiss against your palm. “And every step is going to take us exactly where we need to go.”

taglist: @yksthings @iamxelia @coveyland @xuimhao

#caratwritersclub #seventeenweeklyarticle #joshua hong #joshua hong x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen fluff #joshua hong fluff #joshua fluff #seventeen × reader #seventeen angst #seventeen imagine #ioshua honq imagine #svt ioshua #seventeen joshua fluff #hong jisoo #hong jisoo x reader

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belovedmusings · 6 months

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When the curtains call time.

Choso Kamo x Reader x Suguru Geto

Explicit Smut 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part three of the ‘Two + One’ story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and upon meeting his new bandmate, Suguru Geto (the frontman and bassist of the band), you realize that you share a forbidden attraction to one another. Neither of you can stop thinking about the other despite you being happy with Choso. Tonight, you’re at the band’s show, and Suguru becomes bolder than he’s ever been before. Will the night end with your loyalty intact?

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, Choso is a sweetheart, Suguru is irresistible, reader is addressed without the use of “y/n” for immersion, minimal gendered language though you’re referred to as “girlfriend” once, mild, brief unwanted touches (from random stranger), protective Choso, protective Suguru, love bite, temptation

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: Is It a Crime (Sade), Billie Bossa Nova (Billie Eilish), THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND (Bad Omens)

A/N: Suguru…oh, Suguru… (this chapter doesn’t have any hardcore smut but the nature of this story is mature so I’m still tagging it 18+)

Read below cut:

The next time that you see Suguru, it’s backstage at the venue that Curse Manipulator is playing. Choso was required to be there early for rehearsal, and seeing as you were going to the show later on, you figured you would just go along with him instead of taking separate cars, especially since afterwards the band is planning to stay for the after party hosted by the venue owner.

You’re dressed appropriately for a concert and party, but are wearing one of Choso’s zip-up hoodies to downplay the outfit for casualty’s sake while rehearsal is going on.

Though it’s been three weeks since you last saw Suguru, naturally he’s been on your mind everyday since. It’s been the same story—you’ll think about him, let your thoughts run wild, and have to take care of your frustration either alone or with Choso. You have new material to work with. His hot breath on your lips, the smell of his cologne, the feeling of him pressed up against you…it’s all delicious aid to your personal torture.

As such, you’re excited and nervous to see him again. Your dynamic with him is so strange; you two are aware of your mutual attraction, but equally as aware of how forbidden it is. You keep up formalities with each other but you feel like the both of you are constantly on the edge, just waiting for a single sign, for someone to make a move so that the dam holding you back can break.

That thought scares you.

You don’t want to hurt Choso. That is the last thing you would ever aim to do. He’s the love of your life.

Suguru is just different. He causes you to waver as if your resolve is non-existent around him. You love Choso and you want Suguru. It’s not like you’d ever trade your boyfriend for him. You just. You want him too. You want your cake and to eat it too, you suppose. Which is a very dumb and immature line of thinking, you’re painfully aware of, but it’s just how you rationalize things.

When you walk into the dressing room the band is using, you are not prepared for the sight that greets you.

Suguru sits on the leather couch, legs spread wide, arms out on either side of him, absolutely no shirt on his body. Your mind doesn’t know what to register first. His shape, his tattoos, his piercings. He’s fit—like, really fit. You knew his biceps were thick from the t-shirt he wore last time you saw him, but he also has a really built chest, pecs sculpted and muscular, and his abs are well-defined—they look as decadent as a damn chocolate bar.

His nipples are pierced as you had suspected last time, little silver bars running through each bud. You wonder if he’s sensitive there, if it hurt, if he liked that, if he likes getting touched there—

His tattoos undulate over his creamy, smooth skin, contrasting beautifully with it, flowers and dragons and pretty calligraphy in both English and Japanese, a few touches of blue amongst the black—

This is your own personal, very heavenly hell. Or a hellish heaven. You can’t decide. All of that information hits you at once and you’re reeling from it as you and Choso enter the room. It’s a miracle you’re still standing.

You think that you deserve a whole fucking reward for not collapsing on the spot.

“Hey,” Suguru greets, completely unashamed of his position. God, he’s taking up the entire room with his presence. It’s stifling, you can’t breathe.

“Hi,” Choso greets, unfazed and oblivious to your inner turmoil as he lets go of your hand to remove his guitar case from his shoulder and rest it against the wall. “Are the others here?”

“Yeah, Larue and Miguel just went to get snacks but they should be back soon,” Suguru answers. Only then do you notice the other two aren’t in the room. Damn. The bassist turns his gaze onto you and smiles. “It’s nice to see you again.”

You wish the ground would swallow you up right now. How can you be around him when he’s like this?

You have to dig really deep to summon the willpower to keep a level demeanor.

“Yeah, nice to see you,” you respond as evenly as you can, hurriedly walking to an empty chair and sitting in it. You feel better being off your feet.

Choso comes behind you and lays an arm around your shoulder.

“Baby, I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quick. Will you be okay for a few?”

You look up at him.

No, don’t leave me here alone. I can’t trust myself.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you force a smile on your face. You can’t protest without giving yourself away.

“Okay,” he responds, planting a kiss on your temple before padding to the door and exiting. The door clicks shut, and just like that, it becomes hot as an inferno in the room.

Suguru is up and out of his seat, moving over to you and kneeling—kneeling—in front of you.

“Hey,” he smiles with his lidded eyes, peeking up at you as they glimmer, a slyness to his expression. “I missed you.”

There’s no way he just said that to you. You swallow thickly, a strained smile on your lips, trying for nonchalant. “We’ve met twice.”

“You don’t feel the same way?”

His right hand, decorated with his usual rings, touches your left, sending shockwaves through your system. You’ve dreamt about him on his knees in front of you and it feels like reality is collapsing now that it’s coming true. Your desires are fighting with your rationality.

“It’s that neither of us should feel this way,” you say, deciding to just be honest. You need to have this conversation with him before you two fuck the band and your relationship up.

“I know,” he sighs, fingers gently brushing over your knuckles. Sparks scatter up your skin from where he’s touching you. “I don’t know what it is. I know it’s unwise. But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You breathe in slowly. You have to say what you need to say. “Choso is my boyfriend. We can’t do anything about this. He loves being in this band and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Suguru nods earnestly, grabbing your fingers and pulling your hand towards himself. He holds your eyes as he presses his lips to your first knuckle, kissing it.

Your heart does a flip. The metal and soft skin make for an intoxicating combination.

“I know. And I like him. He fits the band perfectly and I think we can be a huge success with him,” Suguru tells you, kissing the next knuckle. Heat pulses from his mouth to between your legs, and you desperately try to maintain control. “I don’t want to hurt him, either. I know that he’s a good guy, and given getting to know him more, we could become really good friends.”

His words and actions are saying different things.

“Then why…why are you doing this?” You ask him breathlessly as he pecks another knuckle.

“I can’t stop,” he answers honestly. “I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I want you. And it’s difficult to even want to try stopping when I know you want me too.”

You take another deep breath. You need to tell him the brutal truth. “I won’t leave him for you. I love him.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I know that. I wouldn’t ask you to.”

That throws you for a loop. “Okay…well, I’m also not going to cheat on him with you.”

“I also don’t want that.”

“…you don’t?” Is he playing mind games? Or is he just as confounded by this attraction as you are?

He nods distractedly, turning your hand over and pushing your sleeve up. His lips brush over the inner part of your wrist and it’s so sensitive it has you gasping involuntarily.

Then, he flicks his tongue out and licks right over your vein, the stud in the center of it running right along the outline of it.

“Suguru,” you can’t stop yourself from exhaling, nerves alight with pleasure. You swear you see his pupils dilate at the sound and as if possessed by desire, he does it again, holding your eyes, and you give him a strained moan, caught in your throat, nails of your free hand digging into the armrest beneath it. He kisses the spot, closing his lips around it and sucking.

“Oh my god,” you hiss, taking your unoccupied hand and threading it in his loose hair, watching his mouth work over your wrist like a vampire in need of sustenance.

His mouth feels like paradise. The metal of the rings on his lips, the stud scraping against your thin flesh, the wet heat, the lewd sounds coming from his mouth that could easily be him devouring something else entirely—

His free hand snakes up the inside of your bare thigh and starts rubbing circles over it. Your mouth falls open, disbelief and bliss taking you in a chokehold. It’s almost painful how fast blood rushes downward, wetness pooling at your core.

You cannot be doing this right now. Any longer and he’ll have his hand where you need him yet can’t have him.

“Suguru,” you yank your sanity back like it’s your soul trying to leave your body. “Suguru, stop.”

At the firm tone, it’s like his own common sense returns to him. He exhales shakily and detaches himself from you, standing up. You both look at your wrist, which now bores a deep purple splotch.

Sweet merciful god, he gave you a fucking hickey.

“Fuck,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. His lips are swollen, nose a little red too. Your eyes can’t help but travel down to the front of his black pants, which bear a very noticeable bulge. How hasn’t his mere presence killed you yet? He seriously got hard just from doing that to you? “I’m sorry. I…that was my fault. I know you love him. I won’t ask you to cheat. I don’t want you to. Just…”

He shakes his head, seemingly flustered and surprised with himself. His expression is muddled.

“I…I’m gonna get some air,” he decides, and you nod, not even knowing what to say. You’re barely processing what just happened. He looks torn between wanting to ravish you again and wanting to get the hell out of dodge.

He makes the mature decision for once and finds the shirt he must have come in, putting it on and leaving without another word.

You stare at the space he just occupied.

What the fuck?

Your eyes flit to the love bite he left on your wrist. It throbs, feeling exposed in the cool air.

What the fuck?

There’s physical evidence now. You let him mark you. You let another man put a hickey on your body behind your boyfriend’s back.

You feel sick to your stomach, yet a small part of you is pleased to bear Suguru’s mark. In such an intimate place, too. You hadn’t even known you were so sensitive there.

If Choso sees that, you have no clue what you’re going to do. This damn hoodie is staying on. You pull the sleeve back up past your knuckles and hide it away.

You then put your head in your hand and sigh heavily.

Things have just gone from bad to worse.

—-

You sort of zone-out through the rehearsal. You’re just sitting at a bar stool near the front, watching your boyfriend play and sing along with the band’s music while the light and sound engineers mess with settings, testing out their equipment and getting volumes right to ensure the best sound possible. The music starts and stops, starts and stops, so it isn’t the full experience yet. You know that will come later when the show begins.

You’re honestly just troubled to all hell about what Suguru did to you before Choso had returned from the bathroom. You didn’t hate it. You still don’t.

You hate that he couldn’t keep going, rather.

His eyes gravitate toward you every now and then, and you can feel them burning holes into you like the end of a cigarette. Choso’s gaze in contrast is just steadily warm like that of a hearth, and it makes you feel all the more shitty about yourself.

Who are you to let Suguru command your thoughts like this? He’s not the man you love. You want to fuck him, and that’s it. It’s just some stupid, basic human instinct that’s making you act like a mindless beast in heat. You might have a primal side, but damn it, you also have a conscience and you will not let the instinctual side of you win.

When rehearsal ends, barely to your knowledge, you return to the dressing room with the band once Choso calls to you.

“Okay,” Suguru begins once everyone is inside. “Things are looking great for tonight. We have about an hour, and Ijichi was kind enough to get us some pizza, so why don't we eat up?”

Larue hoots in agreement and Miguel claps, the two going right for the boxes lined up along a fold-out table at the corner of the room.

You met Ijichi, their manager, shortly before rehearsal. He’s a polite and slightly scatter-brained man, but he seems genuine, so you took a liking to him instantly.

“You’re welcome to the food too,” Suguru tells you, “Have some.”

Truth be told, you’re not that hungry. Being around Suguru makes you nervous enough to curb your appetite, but you don’t like to refuse hospitality, either.

“Okay,” you smile, tugging Choso along. He goes willingly, following you to the table like a puppy. You can feel Suguru’s eyes on the back of your head and you want to turn around and look, but doing so will just draw attention to him. You can’t do that.

You grab a slice of cheese while Choso grabs a pepperoni, and the two of you sit together on the leather sofa as everyone starts eating. Suguru is the last to sit with his slices, two stacked on top of each other, and you watch him fold them as he raises them to his mouth, taking a bite.

Fuck. How is the way he eats attractive, too?

Choso has his free arm around you and you think that it’s the only thing keeping you intact.

How you manage to make it through the conversation you can’t remember is a mystery to you.

Ijichi comes in a bit laterand informs you all that it’s fifteen minutes until the show starts, and with that, you help Larue clear away all of the food so that the other members can start fixing their appearances to go on.

“Baby,” Choso says, putting a hand on your shoulder as you drop napkins into the trash bin. You look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna step outside for a second? We’re going to change clothes. I don’t know if you really want to see…the others.”

Oh.

A very helpful image of what Suguru might look like in just briefs robs you of clarity and it makes your heart jump into your throat.

If you saw that now you might leave the venue in a stretcher.

“You’re right,” you say with a laugh, “Let me know when I can come back in.”

He gives you a small smile and pecks your lips before letting you walk out of the room. You pass Suguru, his arm brushing against yours as he moves to remove his shirt again.

“Sorry,” he laughs breathily, those damn honey-colored eyes once again telling you an entirely different story.

“No, uh, my bad,” you manage before reaching the door and exiting.

As soon as you’re standing in the hall, you put your head in your hands and breathe in deeply, trying to center yourself as much as possible.

You will lose your mind soon. It’s impossible not to around Suguru. He has to know how insanely hot he is, right? And he’s so damn confident—except for when you’d told him to stop.

Right then, he had looked unsure, even shocked with himself. You’ve never seen that look on his face. He was flustered. You managed to fluster him.

You groan under your breath, shaking your head. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. You can’t have him.

All you have to do is get through the night and go home with Choso. And then promptly never subject yourself to Suguru Geto ever again.

The door clicks and opens slowly, Choso poking his head out just in time for you to straighten up.

“You can come back now. Help me with my makeup?”

You nod, following him back into the room. You force yourself not to look around. You can’t look at Suguru. You can’t.

Choso sits at one of the vanity tables, watching you grab the bag you had forgotten on your chair earlier to place it on the countertop.

“I want the lines going up and down my eyes,” he says, “with the arrows. And purple eyeshadow, too.”

The last time he’d done that had been with the old band. It’s one of your favorite styles on him.

“I love that look.”

“I know,” he grins softly. “That’s why I want it.”

You can’t suppress the quiet, fond laugh it makes you give him, and you’re reaching for the small makeup bag inside.

You get to work, your boyfriend obediently closing his eyes as you brush the shadow on his lids gently, blending it in so that it’s darkest around his eyes and then fades nicely into his skin tone. Once the shadow is done, you move on to the liner, taking the pencil and positioning it in your hand.

“Look up for me,” you tell him, and he does as told, letting you rim his water lines with black. “Okay. Now close your eyes and keep ‘em closed.”

He effortlessly obeys, and you carefully stretch the lid of his right eye to line above his eyelashes, doing the same to his left eye. You use your shadow brush to blend it.

“Okay,” you smile, admiring your work as he looks up at you with his mocha-brown eyes. “Pretty.”

You take pride in the way his eyes widen and a blush paints over the center of his face, Choso becoming completely flustered.

“Ready for the line art?” You ask, acting unfazed. He nods, and you cup his cheek for a moment before switching the pencil for a liquid eyeliner marker. “Okay, hold still, babe.”

He nods, letting you draw the first line down from the center of his eye, past the tattoo, sharpening out at the edge. You thicken the beginning of the line, then repeat the process on the other eye, blowing a gentle stream of air over his face to dry it quicker.

“Wow. You’re really good.”

You jump at the sound of Suguru behind you, and you’re suddenly really thankful he didn’t do that while you were drawing on Choso’s face. You might’ve poked him in the eye or at least fucked up your work. Your reaction has both him and Choso laughing in response.

“Sorry,” Suguru chuckles as you look at him, clutching your chest. Oh god. He has heavy liner around his eyes, too, only there’s no color and it’s less smoked-out than Choso’s. “Guess I caught you ‘in the zone’.”

Choso rubs your arm. “She’s talented, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Suguru agrees readily. “I wish I hadn’t already done my own. I bet you could make me look cool, too.”

You already look perfect, you want to tell him, but by the grace of some merciful god, you don’t let that slip past your lips.

“I think you did a good job,” you respond, laughing breathlessly. He grins, shrugging.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Can I keep watching? I find it fascinating.”

That’s a rhetorical question. Like you could ever say ‘no’ to him when he asks like that—it would be rude.

“Sure,” you agree, and turn back to Choso. Just focus on him, focus on your boyfriend. “I’ll do the top now, Chos’.”

“All right,” he replies, closing his eyes again, and it allows you to draw continuations of the lines below his eyes straight upwards, through his brows, ending in the middle of his forehead. You blow to dry them quickly, then start working on the arrows.

Luckily, it seems like focusing on the makeup really helps to keep Suguru from invading your mind for the moment, though you’re very aware of his eyes watching you work.

You finish soon enough, and Choso turns to look in the mirror, smiling at the finished product.

“It looks perfect. Thank you, baby.”

He kisses your arm since it’s closest, and you return his expression.

“Of course.”

“Awesome,” Suguru adds, “He’s going to make quite the debut with the band looking like that. You might have competition.”

You raise your brows slightly at this. You hadn’t thought about what kind of response Choso was going to get from the audience tonight, but that makes a lot of sense. He is a living, breathing angel, with a heart of gold to match. He will have tons of fans.

Choso’s arm winds around you and he pulls you in, resting the side of his face to your body.

“None of them will have a chance,” he says, looking up to meet your eyes. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

The earnest nature of that statement has you blushing. You weren’t expecting that at all, but you know that it’s true.

Suguru sucks in a breath and it’s then that you look at him just in time to see him concealing his true facial expression, fixing a smile on his features.

“That’s a good mindset to have in this industry,” he says. Only you seem to be able to see the turmoil behind his eyes. He claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention.

“Are we ready?”

“Yup!”

“Born ready.”

Choso stands beside you, nodding to him in affirmation.

“All right, let’s get ready to go on.”

The walk to the door that leads backstage is short, and you stop with Choso after the others go in.

“You’re going to do amazing,” you tell your boyfriend, leaning up and planting a kiss on his lips. “I’ll be watching from the closest bar stool to your left, just like I was for rehearsal.”

He nods, touching your arm. “Thanks for always supporting me like this.”

“Of course,” you laugh incredulously. “Always.”

He smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go on.”

With an encouraging pat to his arm, you see him off, and make your way to the house of the venue.

You find your seat just before the lights dim, and soon after, the show starts.

You watched the rehearsal, but in its full glory, the real show has your heart pounding with excitement.

It’s a full house and the energy from the crowd is instantly electric as the first notes start playing and Suguru begins to sing. You watch him with complete disregard for the audience as he looks right over at you, lush voice caressing the air. He smiles and you feel your face flush—that man clearly has massive stage charisma, because as soon as he does it, the entire audience’s screams get louder.

He lets his eyes wave over the crowd and you take the freedom it grants you to look over to his right, where Choso stands and plays. He’s looking out at the back of the house, and you hum fondly. He’s always done that—looking over the people instead of at them helps to ground his nerves. But he must feel your eyes on him because he quickly looks over to you, and as soon as they connect with yours, you feel yourself smiling back. He perks up instantly, and puts more effort into his performance. It warms your heart. Your love has such a tangible effect on him, it makes you feel all sorts of special and needed.

The chorus of the song hits and Suguru is using his normally smooth voice to belt, and Choso backs him up, closing his eyes to sing, allowing you to look at Suguru again.

Oh, man. He’s majestic up there, all long hair, tattoos partially displayed underneath his black tank top, outlining his muscles perfectly. Even the belt he’s wearing hugs his body just right and accentuates the tiny sliver of skin above his waistline, beneath the bunched up fabric of his shirt every time he turns or raises the bass enough for you to see it.

To top it all off he keeps looking at you.

So now, you’re in some type of personal purgatory where your attention keeps switching between Suguru and Choso, the two having an entirely unbeknownst-to-them stand-off for you.

This carries on for half the concert until something else forces your eyes away from the stage as a whole. It’s during a small break, where Suguru is addressing the audience, talking about the music they’ve done so far.

A hand slinks around your waist, and suddenly the smell of hard liquor fills your nostrils. You turn to look, face breaths away from that of a man you’ve never met before.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he grins loosely at you, “You here all alone?”

His grip on you tightens.

Oh hell no. This can’t be happening.

“No, I’m not.”

He chuckles lowly. “I don’t see anyone with you. Why don’t we get out of here?”

“Absolutely not,” you bite back, putting your hand on his chest and pushing. He barely budges.

“Oh, feisty. I like that.”

“Get off of me, or I swear to g—”

“What’s this over there? You, at the bar stools?”

You freeze as you hear the entire room go quiet, looking over at the stage to see Suguru and Choso watching you worriedly.

“Just talking!” The man answers loudly to Suguru, right in your ear, and you grimace, pushing at him.

“Is your presence welcome?” Suguru asks, voice full of condescension. His eyes reserve pools of hot anger that he keeps strictly strained and controlled in the tight, patronizing smile he wears.

You shake your head immediately, and for that, the man beside you growls and grabs your waist with his free hand, trying to pull you into him.

“Hmm. Now that just won’t do.”

Choso hurriedly pulls the loop of his guitar over his head and Suguru takes it for him, the crowd moving as Choso jumps off of the stage.

“Get away from her,” Choso’s voice is dripping with venom. It makes your heart race—you’ve never seen him like this before. Granted, he’s never had the opportunity to get so protective before, but holy shit. Add that to his menacing build and dark-rimmed eyes and you have the makings of a man straight out of a novel.

It scares the man beside you enough to make him let go, finally, backing away.

“Hey man, I was just—”

“That’s my girlfriend,” Choso states coldly, sidling up beside you and placing his arm in its rightful place around your shoulders. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her.”

“Curse Manipulator doesn’t tolerate harassment,” Suguru says into his microphone. “Everyone, what do we do to someone like that?”

“Boo!” Someone shouts, and the rest follow suit. Choso holds you close to him, hand rubbing up and down your arm comfortingly, trying to hold you steady.

“Security? Please get him out of here.” Suguru calls, and within moments, two tall and sturdy people you’d seen around the venue before the concert show up and lead the man by his arms out of the house, away from you. The ‘booing’ turns into cheers as he’s dealt with, yet Choso keeps his attention on you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you huff, “Kind of embarrassed now. That was a lot of attention.”

“Yeah, I think Suguru was just as pissed as I was. Just spoke up before thinking,” Choso laughs softly, “Do you want to go backstage? You can watch in the wings if that makes you feel better.”

You take a breath and nod. You don’t want to be in the audience any longer, now that everyone’s attention had just been directed towards you.

“Come on,” He says, and leads you to the door beside the stage, taking you back there with him as Suguru smooths things out through the microphone.

“Well, that takes care of that. We’re not gonna let that guy ruin our night,” he says, “We’re only halfway through, after all. We have a brand-new song, exclusive and never-before heard coming up! It’ll be on our new album.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, you let out a breath.

“Thanks for getting him away from me,” you tell Choso as you walk up the steps.

“Of course,” he shakes his head. “I will always protect you.”

A surge of emotion overtakes you as you remember the downright ludicrous look in his eyes as he walked towards the man harassing you. You grab the back of his neck and kiss him, hearing him gasp in surprise. The kiss is passionate yet chaste, and when you pull away he looks slightly dazed.

“That was honestly hot,” you tell him, and he smiles bashfully. You want to continue kissing him but before you can, you hear the audience cheering after Suguru said something, and remember where you are. “Go on. I’ll be back here. Don’t wanna keep the fans waiting.”

He grins and places a kiss on your cheek before heading back towards the stage.

You watch him go, looking a little past him as Suguru tilts his head back to make eye contact with you. He quirks a brow as if to ask ‘are you okay?’ and you nod, feeling warm all over again. He smiles in relief, and just like that, he begins to introduce the next song.

Now alone with your thoughts, you sigh freely. That guy had been a nuisance more than anything, but it had shown you indirectly that both Suguru and Choso have a protective streak inside of them that you brought out.

How can you possibly stay sane with a realization like that?

---

A/N: the way you're just dancing around each other...and it'll only get crazier, too

please don't repost/translate, but feel free to reblog & share!

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