#fic: it's you I find like a ghost in my mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thecreelhouse · 5 hours

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pray, but heaven won’t let you back

Paring: vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Summary: Since the night Steve lost control, he’s been pushing away, afraid to hurt you again. You’ll do anything to convince him you still trust him, even giving into the bloodlust he’s tried to avoid. || fic inspired by this post.

WC: 3k

CW/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, language, vampire nonsense/lore, blood play & blood sucking/feeding (nothing gory but still be cautious if you’re squeamish), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, lots of fluff and aftercare at the end

this is a modern vampire AU! can (kinda) be read as a standalone, but it’s a follow up to love’s the death of peace of mind and the bitter and the sweet.

A/N: i will never get sick of vampire!steve, so here’s another lil fic based off this post i saw earlier lmao. song title & lyrics are from worship - ari abdul. enjoy babes <3

pretty when you say my name like that / feel your lips trace down my neck / darlin', don't say nothin', just breathe pretty when you're looking up like that / pray but Heaven won't let you back / good on your knees

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It took one close call to push both you and Steve to question if you were right for one another. One slip up, where his lust for your blood called to him louder than usual; louder than your moans he earned through a skilled tongue you never grew tired of.

It took one close call for Steve to become rigid, self discipline at its height in your relationship.

It took one close call to set your desire in stone; you wanted Steve to turn you, wanted to join him in an eternity of a life you once believed wasn’t real.

Blood play wasn’t foreign before that night, but it was always controlled, always with moderation and care. Now that Steve lost control, even only for a minute, he didn’t trust himself with you. He began growing distant, physically and emotionally, and it was burrowing under your skin, deeper and deeper as time carried on.

Steve still loved you, and though you could tell because of his avoidant behavior, it hurt. It was for your sake, your safety, and he made that clear; yet you were becoming lonely and agitated without his touch.

Even beyond lust, you just wanted him to hold you, and you wanted to hold him. You missed the way he’d play pretend, acting irritated when you’d kiss him one too many times on the cheek in a day. You longed for the way either of you would roll over in your sleep, searching for the other subconsciously. You felt like a stranger to him, a ghost in the walls of the home you shared with him.

Maybe you were foolish to believe this love could last; this all started with a Halloween party hookup, after all. Just another pathetic mortal that fell prey to a vampire’s charm.

You’re getting ready to go out with some friends when something breaks Steve, just enough for him to see he’s losing you, letting you slip through his fingers that once held you tightly with possession and protection.

Sitting at the vanity, the warmth of the lights lining mirror feels good on your skin. It’s not that you avoid the daylight for Steve’s sake; the lore of vampires burning up in the sunlight was nothing more than a myth. The sun does, however, irritate the fuck out of most vampires, still too bright, but bothersome in a sensory overload sort of way more than threatening. But since the night Steve lost control, and you began losing him, you rarely left bed these days.

You deserved to feel the warmth, any warmth, after receiving a cold shoulder from Steve for awhile now. You’ve lost track of the days he began to back away, but it’s far too long despite the specifics.

While you’re fixing your makeup, wrapped in a long, silky, dusty rose robe, Steve walks in; he’s surprised to find you not only up and out of bed, but all dolled up, too.

“H- hey, love.” He goes to lean against the doorframe, but miscalculates how close he is to the frame, falling into it instead. You stifle a laugh, watching his figure fumble in your peripheral vision as you dust blush along your cheeks.

“Hi.”

He holds his breath while crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for a follow up with an expectant smile; it falls flat when you continue to ignore him.

“So… going somewhere?”

You still won’t look at him, another response multitasked as you work on your eye makeup. “Uh-huh.”

Steve’s eyes catch on the deep red, silky dress you have waiting for a night out, hung up on the door by its hanger. “Th- you’re going out in that?” He remembers gifting it to you for the holidays, joking he could never let you out of his sight if you wore it in public; he trusted you, but surely not any men around you.

Now, you’re planning on wearing it for the first time while out with your friends, and not him. Jealousy bubbles up within him.

“Your observational skills are great, Steve.” Your response is so harsh; even you feel bad for giving the frost right back to him.

“Thought you’d save it for one of our date nights,” He grumbles, like a child. You finally glance over at him, eyes narrowing as they meet his.

“What, do I need your permission to wear it?”

“No, don’t twist my words.”

“Steve, this is the most you’ve talked to me in weeks.” You leave the vanity to change into your dress. With a quick tug of the tie of your robe, it slinks to the floor. Your back is to him, missing the way his jaw slacks to the floor at the sight of your lingerie set: a red, lacy set that hugs your curves deliciously; another gift from him, one without reason. “What, are you jealous? I’m done moping around and waiting for your attention.”

Steve loved showering you in gifts, especially in his favorite color— how typical of a vampire to love the color red; though you tried insisting you needed nothing more but him, he couldn’t help himself from spoiling you.

A groan slips out of him as two things push to the front of his mind:

He’s painfully aroused, tenting in his tight pants, in need of relief.

That, and the bloodlust he’s been fighting since that close call is back, full force.

One minute, you’re reaching for the dress to change into, the next, he’s shoving you against the nearest wall. You gasp as he pins your arms above your head with one large hand easily holding both of your wrists.

“Steve—“

“Might wanna text your friends, let ‘em know you’re running late.” He rolls his hips into yours roughly, earning the first pleasing sound from you tonight; you whimper and pout as his other hand grabs you by the chin, grip hard. “Oh, princess, am I throwing your night off?”

You can’t bring yourself to answer while his hand leaves your face, wasting no time to grope your chest with a cruel touch. You arch into his grip and mewl, eyes fluttering shut as he kicks your legs apart before slotting a leg against your core. Instinctively, you grind onto his thigh, heat already sticky through the lacy fabric you wear.

“Might not make it there at all, huh?” He’s mocking you, taunting you, and you’re infuriated. You’re pissed he’s pulling this after weeks of being distant, and you’re really pissed at yourself for instantly melting under his touch.

Pushing through the haze of desire, you glare at him. “Steve, enough.”

“Oh, c’mon, since when are you not into—“

“I said enough.”

You’re trying to steady your breaths as you hold a cold stare with him; his features falter, hands releasing you before stepping back.

“I’m sorry,” Any and all confidence is thrown out the window as he shrinks under your vexed gaze. “I- I— I’ve just— fuck. I fucked up, alright?”

You’re nowhere near as strong as him, yet when you push him back with your hand on his chest, he stumbles back. You push him again, and again, and once more, until the backs of his legs hit the bed, throwing his balance off. He falls back onto the mattress, panting lightly as his stare is fixated on you above him.

“You can’t do this shit, Steve. You can’t touch me when you want then leave me alone like nothing matters. I told you I’m not afraid of you, I trust you.”

“Yeah, and I cracked any trust by losing control—“

“Steve, this is who you are!” You reach out, cradling his head in your hands on either side of his face. He can’t resist leaning into your touch, guilt playing up on his features. “I’ve accepted that from the start. I’ve accepted the risk since the first night together. What I didn’t accept or agree to was being treated like a total stranger by the one I love most.”

“I know. I know. I just wanted to keep you safe. All I want is for you to be safe, and happy. All I want is for you to feel loved, and I hurt you instead. I’m sorry.” He sounds so pained, nuzzling into your palm while he grabs your arm, pushing your hand against his face harder.

Aside from the last few weeks, there have never been moments where you felt shoved away, or less than Steve. And now, it’s only happening because he thought it would protect you. Just the honest admission alone shows you he meant well, even if he hurt you. It wasn’t intentional, just like the night he lost control. He knows he hurt you, but it was never intentional.

You can tell Steve is fighting the instinctual hunger for your blood; his eyes are dark with desire, but teetering on the edge of falling into that deep red shade that could only signal trouble. His grip on your arm shakes as he restrains himself from overpowering you again.

You try to keep him with you, asking softly, “Make it up to me?”

“H- how? I’ll do anything, anything you want, love.” His breaths run shallow as you straddle his lap, hands snaking around to the back of his head; you gently push his face towards your neck, but he leans back. “I— okay, anything but— honey, I can’t.”

“You want to.”

“Doesn’t m- mean I should.” Steve is so conflicted; he wants this, he needs you. You want him, you need him, too. But it’s a risk with the odds against him.

“I’m giving you the green light, Steve.” You kiss his forehead, then his cheek, leading to his lips. Before you kiss them, you murmur, “I trust you.”

He closes the gap with a frantic kiss, one arm slinking around your hips to your back, the other exploring your body clumsily. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, fangs scraping along the skin. You yelp, and Steve stops.

“Love, we— this is—“ His gaze sinks deeper into that shade of red you once knew as a signal for danger, but you trust him. You know him. You know he’d never take it too far, not to a level where you couldn’t handle it. “You’re not— I’m not ready to turn you yet—“

“I didn’t expect that. I wouldn’t complain, but I promise that’s not what I’m asking for right now.” You roll your hips onto his bulge, strained under the tight fabric of his pants still. “I’m just asking you to trust me. Trust me, to trust you.”

Steve searches your gaze for any doubt, any signs of faltering or second guessing; there’s only certainty and adoration. You nod softly, encouraging him once more.

In a flash, you’re thrown to the pillows at the top of the bed, landing on them with a surprised laugh. Steve crawls above you, with a warm smile of his own, despite the red in his gaze.

“You’ll stop me if—“

“Yes, yeah, just—“

He cuts you off with a rough kiss, fangs poking at your lips before he kisses along your jawline, trailing to your neck. When he reaches the crook of your neck, he sucks softly, earning airy moans from you while you grab him by his shirt. He laughs breathily into your skin, tickling you.

“Starting to think you like this more than I do,” He teases after pulling off your neck, spit with a hint of red dripping from the corner of his mouth. You nod with a dazed giggle, a sound he’s missed so, so dearly since pushing away. “I’m so sorry, love.” He ducks into your neck again, murmuring in between kisses, “You’re my everything.”

Stealing the spotlight from your answer, he tests the waters by sinking his fangs into your neck, ever so slightly. You gasp, arching up into him.

“Sensitive little thing,” He teases, kitten licking at the few drops of blood on your skin. He delves back in, sinking his fangs a little deeper. A sharp, pained gasp leaves your lips, and it’s almost enough to make him stop, but it dissolves into a satisfied moan. “What’d you think was gonna happen tonight? You’d find someone else?”

Here comes the possessive attitude you always crave.

“N- no, don’t want anyone else but you.”

He’s lapping at the blood now, sucking intermittently as it flows out. He’s in such a heady daze, beginning to whimper into your skin.

“S’what I thought, princess.” He sucks stronger this time, groaning into you as he feeds. “Fuck, y’taste so goddamn good, love.”

You’re reaching the dizzy, intoxicating thrill achieved only when Steve takes you like this. The only sensation that has ever come close is when he chokes you, plays with your air and blood flows, but it’s never the same as when he feeds off your blood.

Giggly and growing lightheaded, the pain has become full pleasure to you at this point. “You ever cum from sucking blood?” The question is silly, to you, but not to Steve. He lets out a guttural moan, mouth still on your skin. The teamwork of his fangs in your neck, his lips sucking blood out, and his tongue soothing over the wounds make you whine and writhe underneath him.

“Every time y’let me drink yours— f- fuck—“

You didn’t even notice his pants were finally down, halfway, at least; he’s fisting his cock, precum spilling onto you from his rosy, swollen tip while he continues to work at your neck. The noises he makes are pornographic at this point. You reach around to hold him, hand to the back of his head, cradling him close.

“Touch yourself, love.”

Obeying, your other hand slides down between the two of you, fingers finally meeting your clit. You lazily rub in circles, eyes fluttering shut with a blissed out smile. “Steve…”

“This turns you on just as much as it does for me, huh?” You always gonna be fucked out every time I drink from you?”

You nod, head in the clouds; the two of your hands continue to bump against one another every so often, setting off little grunts and whimpers. “Uh-huh…”

“Imagine h- how wrecked you’ll be when I…” His hips stutter as he continues jerking off. “… when I turn you. Might like sucking blood more than y’like sucking my cock.”

You gasp at his words, nodding wildly as he pulls back, looking down at you with devotion and desire.

“You doin’ okay, love?” Steve asks, shuddering, close to his high. “Can I- I- m’so close…”

You hum with a dopey smile, “Here,” is all you can manage to say as you pull your bra down, exposing your chest. Steve only lasts a second longer before he finally reaches his high, spilling onto your tits as he moans lowly, echoing against the walls. The sight of him coming undone above you, the feeling of his spend against your skin, the intoxication of losing blood, it’s all more than enough to follow him with your own climax.

Moaning for only a moment, Steve pushes forward, crashing his lips into yours, melding together with the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue. When he pulls back, you’re left panting sleepily, fucked out despite only getting off from your own touch and his fangs in your neck.

“Love, you know it’ll be hard to turn you knowing I’d have to give this up, right?” You reach up to him, gently touching his face. He takes your hand in his, kissing the back of your knuckles softly.

“S’okay, we can wait a lil’ longer.” You watch the shade of red in his eyes settle into the calm, muted red they usually are. Before you can praise him for being successful in holding himself under control, he kisses you quickly.

“Stay here, gonna get some stuff to clean up,” He does exactly that, returning with towels to clean off with and a first aid kit. He hands over a water bottle to you, careful not to make you spill it as he runs his tongue softly along the wounds, healing them with ease as he’s done plenty of times before. The first aid kit is kind of useless by now, but he still properly cleans around the newly healed wounds.

When Steve finishes, he gently lifts your head up toward his, searching for any signs of distress. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sleepy.”

He nods, “No tingling or weird feelings like last time, right?”

“Right,” You smile, curling up next to him with a content sigh. “Can we take a bubble bath?”

“You’re half asleep,” Shaking his head, he chuckles, “I don’t want you to drown.”

“Says the guy who just stabbed my neck with his teeth.”

“Yeah, you’re fine. The sass is back.” Then he remembers, you had plans. “Hey, did you get to tell your friends you weren’t coming? Sorry for stealing your night, love.”

“I didn’t have plans, just was hoping that’d get your attention finally,” You snuggle even closer, resting your head on his chest. Meanwhile, he scoffs out a laugh as he finds out you tricked him. He couldn’t even be mad, though, because it worked. Breaking his thoughts, you mutter, “You did it, y’know.”

Steve’s brows furrow, “What’d I do?” He’s lost, assuming you’re babbling sleepily.

“Your eyes changed back. You didn’t lose control.” You’re falling into slumber fast. “I meant it when I said I trust you, Steve.”

He kisses the top of your head, arms holding you close. “I trust you, love. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

You’re down for the count, only able to murmur back, “Love you, Steve.” He watches as your breaths fall low and steady, finding safety and comfort while the two of you are back where you belong— in each other’s arms.

Steve’s nowhere near ready to turn you, but when the time comes, he’s certain it’s part of both of your futures, intertwined into one. He knows now the two of you are meant to spend eternity together.

Until then, he’ll cherish this complicated love between human and vampire; he’ll cherish you as you are now, before that becomes a mere memory once he brings you over to his side of life.

Eyes growing heavy, Steve whispers to you, now fast asleep, “I love you, too. ‘Til the end of time.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #vampire!steve harrington #my fics #pray but heaven won’t let you back

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somefanchick · 18 hours

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-Riddle Me This-

(This story is from Riddle's perspective anytime the events of book two. I only know information from the English server story and events so sorry if anything is terribly out of character. This fic is platonic and is cannon for my Yuu-sona, but I do just call them Yuu in the story. Hope you enjoy! Ps. There is a little bit of cussing. I do not own the picture <3)

I couldn’t help but feel guilty. My overblot was the first of many, and they've had to deal with all of them. It was infuriating that I had started a trend of trouble that was pilled onto Yuu’s lists of tasks. Of course it wasn’t completely my doing. However the more it happened, the more something in the back of my mind said I needed to make it up to them.

Trey asked me to deliver a caramel apple tart to them so I was doing just that. Normally he would ask Ace and Deuce, but they had to feed the flamingos. He then looked at Carter, but I insisted on doing it myself. I had noticed that Yuu seemed distant during lunch. They were staring into the distance, clearly not looking at anything or listening to their group of friends as they slowly spooned some soup into their mouth.

I rang the doorbell only to be met with silence. I knew that they had to be in their dorm because that’s where they always are when they weren’t doing a task for the headmaster or going to class. I admired how determined they were to improve their living accommodations with their own blood, sweat, and tears. They seemed insulted when Trey had previously offered his help in the endeavor, so I had never asked myself, but I knew Ace and Deuce had found some way to help them without them refusing or being hateful about the assistance.

I rang the doorbell once again, only to be met with silence once more. My gut told me to try the doorknob, so I did. The door opened with barely any resistance.

“Yuu? It’s Riddle,” My voice came out weak and uncertain, I was shaken by the easy entry, “I brought a tart.”

I looked in the living room to find Grim asleep on the couch, a small fire lit in the fireplace. Yuu was still nowhere to be seen.

“Why hello,” I jumped when the ghost started speaking out of nowhere, “You’re Housewarden Rosehearts right?”

“Yes,” I composed myself quickly, “I came to drop this off on behalf of my vice-warden. Where is Yuu?”

Another ghost made his way over, “I’d put the tart in the kitchen, Yuu isn’t exactly in the mood to see visitors right now.”

My gut twisted, "Are they okay? Where are they?”

The smallest ghost made his own appearance, “We don’t know. They kicked us out of their room. They've been there since class ended today.”

“They kicked Grim out too,” The first ghost crossed his spectral limbs, “That’s how we know they're in a bad mood, not just napping.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I made up my mind. I had to trust my gut.

I left the ghosts and placed the tart in the refrigerator in the kitchen. The fridge was pretty empty, only leaving some juice that I knew Ace had brought last time they had a movie night and some cans of Tuna hidden from Grim on the highest shelf. I was able to place the tart on a shelf alone.

I then made my way up to her room. It was oddly quiet with Grim and the ghosts staying downstairs. I could see that Yuu was in the middle of remodeling some of the smaller rooms, airing them out and leaving their dorm as the only one closed.

“Yuu,” My gut was pushing past my manners, something told me that this was more important, “It’s Riddle.”

“Didn’t the ghosts tell you to leave me alone?” Their voice was a weak hiss, “I can’t do it right now.”

“Do ‘it’?” I was confused, “Yuu what is going on?”

“Just leave me alone,” Yuu was a bit louder, then they mumbled something I couldn’t hear even though I was right behind her door.

“Can I come in?” I put my hand on the handle, “I need you to talk to me.”

“Why won’t you go away!?” They screamed suddenly and my body stiffened.

I opened the door.

They sat on the floor like it was the center of the storm. Windows had the curtains drawn so the room was as dark as it could be in the middle of the day. The room had clothes scattered rabidly, uniforms and other pieces of clothing that I recognized from school events scattered among the bed sheets that had been pulled from the bed erratically where they hung off the bed. I could tell that Yuu's room was normally clean but they had managed to tear everything onto the ground and wreck the place as if they were a hurricane. Something in my heart hurt when I realized the destruction reminded me of the Heartslabyul garden after my overblot.

“Go away,” They was mumbling but now I could hear them, “It isn’t real. I have to wake up.”

“‘Isn’t real’?” I approached with caution, “Yuu what are you talking about?”

“This!” They gestured all around themselves without really thinking, “It’s not real. It can’t be real. People don’t-” They were struggling to breathe, but they weren’t crying, “People don’t care about me like this. That’s not how it works. This is all just some stupid dream. I can’t get attached. I can’t. I can’t-”

They was having a panic attack. I had not had one since I was a kid and they were never properly dealt with, so I had no idea what was appropriate. It also confused me because what they were saying didn’t make sense. “‘People don't care about me like this.’” “‘This is all just some stupid dream.’” “‘It’s not real.’”

Yuu, while somewhat blunt and egotistical, was one of the most beloved people in the school. It had become rare that people would mess with them for the sole fear of the repercussions from them or those that cared about them. They helped so many people through difficult times. They were smart, cunning, ruthless, caring, fierce, and loyal beyond most people at this school. Why wouldn’t people care about them?

“Yuu,” I tried to mimic Trey’s comforting tactics as I had seen him do with me, other students, and his siblings on the rare occasion that I saw them. I kneeled down to reach their level and tried to get them to focus on me without touching them, “I’m going to need you to name five things you can see.”

They froze for a moment and I was afraid I had somehow made it worse. But they looked me in the eye with some confusion before slowly glancing around the room.

“I see you,” They let out a breath, “I see my camera on the mantle, Grim’s bed, the cleaning supplies in the hallway, and the mess I made.”

I smiled, “I will help clean that up. Now I need you to name four things you can feel.”

I saw their vision focus, as if their brain and eyes were realigning, “The wooden floor. The carpet. My clothes. Warm air.”

I nodded, “That’s it. What are three things you can hear?”

Their breathing slowed to a normal pace, “My breath,” they paused to listen, “That one branch outside my window banging against the building. And you.”

“Good job,” I watched as they stopped hunching over and moved to sit criss-cross, “Two things you can smell.”

They inhaled deeply, “Dust and cleaning supplies.”

I took a deep breath of my own, “And one thing you taste.”

“Toothpaste aftertaste,” They were grounded, “I haven’t eaten today.”

“I brought a tart from Trey,” I held out a finger, “Normally I wouldn’t approve of eating dessert for breakfast, but this is a special case.”

They laughed dryly, “Thanks Riddle. What kind of tart is it?”

“Caramel apple,” I shrugged, “He wanted to try a new recipe.”

“Nice,” They looked around at the mess, “Damn. I can’t believe I did this. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I motioned to the clothes on the mirror, “You had to deal with my overblot. It’s only fair.”

“Merlin,” I could almost hear them grit their teeth as they rose to their feet, “I can’t believe-”

I rushed to stand so I could keep them from tumbling back to the floor, “Don’t rush yourself. I don’t want you passing out.”

“I’m so sorry,” They pulled themself off of me and sat on the bed, “I just- No. There's no excuse. I need to stop being stupid.”

“You weren’t being stupid,” I stood in front of them, “This kind of stuff is normal. You’re under a lot of stress and you don’t really have an outlet. Trust me. I get it.”

“You don’t,” they laid back on the bed, “I’m not from here. I’m from another world that is so different from this,” They let out another dry laugh, “People here are as bad as me, ego-wise. You all seem to care about me. Isn’t that insane?” They sat up, “I went from only two people in the world caring if I dropped dead, to dozens of people seeming to genuinely give a shit about my existence. Isn’t that insane?” I could see their eyes glossing over, like the panic and dread was settling back in, “I mean, I’m the same person. Why would people care about me now when I used to be so desperate to have a single person even acknowledge my existence without hating me? There’s no way it’s real right? I have to be in some kind of coma or something and this is some fever dream where people don’t hate me for existing. Right? Why would anyone like me? Let alone do things for me. I don’t-”

“Yuu,” I had to stop her from spiraling back, “This isn’t a dream,” I found myself trusting my gut once again and taking her hands in mine, “This is real. I don’t know what it was like in your world, but we care about you,” I let go of their hands, “I know Ace would have moved out of Heartslabyul if he wasn’t able to escape here with you and Deuce. And,” I looked down, “I probably wouldn’t have lived through my overblot without you.”

That seemed to bring them back again, “It’s real. All of it.”

“Yeah,” I sat down on the other side of the bed, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying sorry for?” Yuu stood, this time their legs supported them, “I’m the one who made a fool of myself. You-”

“Have made more than a fool of myself,” I smiled, “I overblotted. I was the first domino in the series of troubles you’ve had to face. And then I embarrass myself by forgetting you are human.”

“Excuse me?” They turned to look at me as I stood back up.

I made my way forward, “I forget you are human sometimes. You seem so ethereal. You work hard but it looks so easy for you. You handle our issues with ease, even though it has to take such a toll on you. And I’m sorry for that. You have your own issues and I think all of us forget that.”

They stopped looking at me, “Can we go eat now?”

“Yeah,” I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

They stood and made their way out of the room. I followed behind, watching for any sign of further distress or panic. No one in the house seemed to notice Yuu had emerged from their room. They opened the fridge, retrieved the tart, and then moved to get the proper silverware for the food.

That’s when I really got a look at them. Her clothes hung off her body awkwardly, as if they was far too small for the pajamas. Their hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while. Their eyes had bags and their legs shook slightly.

“I didn’t see any other food in the fridge,” I spoke softly as they began to cut the tart, “Do you need to go grocery shopping? I could go-”

“No I’m fine,” They spoke bluntly as they placed a slice of tart in front of me and began to get their own slice, “Crowley doesn’t give me food money until the end of this week. I don’t have enough to go shopping right now. Just enough for school lunches. And some tuna so I can get Grim to help out.”

“Yuu.”

They gave me my silverware and put the remaining tart in the fridge before sitting to eat their own slice, “Don’t lecture me on starving myself. That’s not what this is.”

They kept going without my prompt, “Look. I’m not used to this. It’s not so surprising that I think it’s some kind of fever dream. I’ve gone 18 years with only a few people caring if I lived or died. Now all of a sudden I come to a whole new world where that person is gone, but almost a dozen people seem to genuinely think I’m worth caring about. It's an emotional whiplash. I know I’m going to regret this but I’ve got to just get it out. I’m a horrible person. I’m not some saint like you seem to think. I’m an egotistical asshole who is a know-it-all and who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. I’m ungrateful and spoiled. I’m just an adult who has no idea what to do and then I got sucked here and I am more confused than ever. I guess it all just bubbled over.”

“Yuu,” I took a bite of my tart and swallowed before speaking again, “If that is what you think of yourself then I think it wasn’t just your environment that changed.”

“What?” Yuu stopped eating and looked up at me, “I don’t change.”

I looked at them, “Could have fooled me.”

We ate the rest of the food in silence. Yuu was far from healed, but some part of me knew that what I had seen was sacred. It was an unspoken rule. No one else gets to know what I have seen and heard today. At least, not unless Yuu was the one telling them. I made a mental note to send Ace and Deuce here to spend some time with our magicless prefect with a large bag of healthy and nourishing foods.

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #riddle x reader #platonic fic #highkey inspired by PEGGY's song 'Alice'#twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #hurt/comfort

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redjayson · 4 months

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Luo Binghe doesn’t mean to reach out to Shen Qingqiu. It’s a combination of instinct, the force of habit, and sheer agonized longing that causes him to do it anyway. His physical body is safely ensconced in his rooms at Huan Hua Palace, where he has recently been accepted as a visiting disciple, but his mind— His mind is on Qing Jing Peak. He doesn’t even realize it isn’t one of his own dreams at first.

or: while at Huan Hua, Luo Binghe keeps sharing dreams with his shizun, and it doesn't take long to notice that there is something very, very wrong with Shizun's dreamscape

this is my fic for Fandom Trumps Hate 2023! It got...rather longer than I had expected, so part two will be going up in a few days.

#my fic #fic: it's you I find like a ghost in my mind #julia writes #fandom trumps hate #fth 2023 #svsss #this is the fic that was marked as [redacted]#while I was keeping track of word counts for nanowrimo #believe it or not I actually started this in march #but then completely rewrote the already existent 2.5k during november #and then it became a MONSTROSITY

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.

It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.

She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.

Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.

Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.

Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?

Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.

Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.

" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.

The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.

Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.

Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.

Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.

"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"

"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."

"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.

She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.

Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.

They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)

Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"

Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."

"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.

"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."

Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."

Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.

Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.

Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?

Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.

Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.

She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.

She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.

"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"What did he look like?"

"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"

"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.

Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.

He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.

Then he simply never left.

Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.

Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.

Bruce already saw him as a second father.

He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.

Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"

At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."

She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"

"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."

What?

"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.

For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.

"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.

"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."

"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."

"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."

Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.

He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.

Oh, how he misses them.

Ding Dong

The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.

Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.

He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.

Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."

"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"

"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."

Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."

Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."

"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"

"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"

"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.

"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"

"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"

"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"

"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."

"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"

"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"

"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"

"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."

"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."

Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."

"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."

Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.

"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.

Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.

Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.

"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."

"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.

"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."

The coms explode into chaos.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Alfred/Thomas/Martha #spirit halloween #In which Martha thought her lovers were making shit up about their epic battle against the Time Lord #Clockwork is Merlin because he likes messing with humans #Danny is tried of his adoptive dad trying to set him up #arranged marriage #Clockwork hords choas like a dragon and motherhens like a bear #Alfred is just tired

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gaysindistress · 2 months

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The two times Simon almost killed Price and the one time Price almost killed Simon

First off yall blew up this post and I’m actually speechless 🥺 I’ve also hit 1,000 followers (SKDJJWDJJEJW) and will be working on the surprise fic shortly. I was working on some birthday posts and wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly so might be a bit before it comes out.

Simon’s masterlist

1. When Simon was injured

Price called you to let you know that Simon was injured during an op and he would be fine but you should come get him from the base. Simon never lets you go to base and you knew if he was conscious, he would have an absolute fit and get a cab home. He’s a very private person and after what happened to his family, he’s not about to let you get anywhere close to work if he can help it.

You obviously know this but it’s Price who called you, not Simon. Price ends the call with ‘see ya soon, Mrs. Riley’ which simultaneously breaks your heart because you’re not his wife but also warms it. It also doesn’t give you a choice; you’ll be there whether you drive yourself or Price brings you.

The captain doesn’t tell anyone that you’re coming or who you are when you get there. He meets you at the entrance and escorts you in. Like a father might, he keeps you close to him as the two of you make your way across the base and to the clinic where Simon is resting. He wouldn’t let them send him off base to a hospital so they did what they could and he’s, of course, being difficult still.

The moment the others see you, their eyes widen because who is this? Why are you with Price? Why have they never seen you before? Are you his daughter? His niece? His controversially younger girlfriend? Who are you and why are you here of all places? You definitely scare the shit out of them let’s be real. You pull up looking like this and you’re with their captain.

You have an aura of unwavering confidence and a resting bitch face that rivals Ghost’s. They don’t get the chance to pester you because Price is quickly shoving you into the room where Ghost is at and giving them all the death stare.

Simon does a double take when he sees you with wide eyes but doesn’t make any other indication that he knows you. The poor nurse who’s filling out his release paperwork is petrified and he looks like he’s about to pass out. You narrow your eyes at Simon because clearly he’s been his usual asshole self and that’s why this nurse is about to pass out.

You give the nurse a small smile as you tell him your name and that you’re who’s going to be taking care of Simon. The man’s knees almost give out from relief and he word vomits all of the information you’ll need while handing you the paperwork in a shaking hand. You thank him and wait for him to leave before you finally look at Simon.

He’s got his mask on like you expected but you can still read his eyes. He’s pissed.

All you say is “You were shot.”

He nods once.

“I’m your emergency contact.”

He nods once again.

“You don’t get to be mad that I’m here. If anyone gets to be upset and act like a child, it’s me. I’m the one who had to find out from your captain that you got hurt so badly that you’re being put on temporary medical leave for 6 weeks.“

He doesn’t nod this time. He just stares. Eventually he sighs and looks at the ground.

“‘M sorry.”

You sigh as well and give him the hug he’s craving but won’t ask for. You press a kiss to the top of his masked head and rub his back.

“It’s alright, my love.” You murmur into his sweaty mask. “Let’s go home, yeah? The dogs have been driving me mental.”

Although it’s covered, you feel him smile. You feel it in the way his body relaxes under your touch and his arms tighten around your waist.

“Let’s go home.” He agrees.

The others are absolutely gobsmacked when they see you walk out with Ghost. He’s the same as he always is; guarded and on defense but there’s a softness in his eyes when he glances at you talking to Price. They have half a mind to ask about you but one sharp glance from Ghost keeps their mouth shut. Whoever you are, you’re the single most important person in the world to him and they’d be complete fools to even breath in your direction.

2. When Simon was home

Let’s just say that Simon was in a compromising position when Price called him to meet at the base in an hour.

Usually you’re the one in the restraints that are always on your bed butttttt you managed to convince him to switch places. Tonight he’s bound by the leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His eyes are squeezed shut and his head is buried into the pillow behind him. You’ve been teasing and edging this poor man for close to an hour. Kitten licks and light squeezes are all you’ve given him as you worship his strong body. Each scar on his body has been caressed, licked, and kissed by you. Every inch of him has been loved and adored by you…

expect for his cock.

You’ve been purposely ignoring it until you finally take him into your mouth. His release is fast approaching as you bob your head up and down. He’s moaning and whimpering. Then his work phone rings. The stupid phone he only uses when he’s working goes off and he’s never been so angry in his entire life. You pull off of him and he lets out the loudest groan known to man. You giggle at him as you fish it from the night stand and press it to his ear as you place yourself in his lap.

“Price the fucking king could be dead and that still wouldn’t be a good enough reason to call me right now.”

3. And the one time that Price almost killed Simon.

Ever since Price called you to base, he’s been keeping in touch with you. He’ll text you and call you every now and then to make sure you’re okay. Obviously you are; Simon is your…partner and you can handle yourself but he still likes to check in on you. He feels responsible for Simon as he’s his captain but also for you since you’re his whole world.

Moving on… the first deployment that Simon went on was rough. You were anxious as you usually were but this time was worse. He was hurt. He had been shot and even though he’d healed just fine, you couldn’t help but worry about him. On the other hand, Simon’s nightmares had made a comeback and he’d been waking up in cold sweats. One time you swore you saw Ghost rather than your adoring man. You’d told Price about it and made he swear to not say a damn word to Simon. He agreed but kept a watchful eye on his Lieutenant.

On the second night of their deployment, Price had gotten a rather short and strange text from you that read “keep him safe please.” It felt like a given that he did but something about this felt wrong. He called you and it took until the last ring for you to pick up. You were sobbing, hyperventilating, and wheezing into the phone when you answered. He couldn’t get a single coherent word out of you for the first 10 minutes but when he did, he saw red.

Apparently Simon had lost his mind and decided that it would be better if you weren’t together. You’d told Price that he told you some bullshit lie about how he wasn’t feeling it anymore and you should go find someone better. The captain was more pissed off that his Lieutenant had lied and immediately found him the moment you’d stopped crying.

“Riley!” Price shouts across from the landing strip. That sends alarm bells off in Simon’s head. It was Ghost or Lieutenant, never his name.

Price stalks over to him and grabs him by the front of his vest, not caring that everyone can see what’s going on. “You call and apologize to her right now, ya hear me? It’s unacceptable for you to lie to her like that and I should have your balls for it. You fix it before she does go off and find herself a better man.”

Simon can’t argue with him. He knows that what he did was wrong and Price is well within his right to act on his threat. Hell Simon was about to do it himself if it meant he could rewind time and take back what he said.

However he is still Lieutenant Ghost in this moment. He narrows his dark eyes at Price and slowly takes his hand off of his vest. Nothing but lethal silence fills the space between the two men. Bystanders are growing increasingly desperate for action, practically yipping like starving hyenas for a scrap.

“You have 30 seconds to get out of my sight.”

Price steps away and Simon disappears into the darkness. The hyenas howl in hunger around them, chattering about the unfairness of it all.

Simon calls you the moment he’s locked away in his room. He spends the next hour apologizing profusely to you and damn near begging you to wait for him. It’ll be a few weeks until he’s back but please…just wait for him.

#simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x female reader #ghost imagine #ghost call of duty #call of duty #call of duty imagine #ghost cod #cod x reader

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vivalabunbun · 2 months

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As We Are, We Will Be

Summary: A nonsensical question is proposed in one singular moment between a stoic and stoic face in one singular universe.

Word Count: 9k (It was supposed to be short and sweet-)

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem! Reader, Smut, NSFW, Fluff, a lot of fluff, slight angst, soulmate au, slow fic, established relationship, married life, Soft! Alhaitham, attempts at comedy, mentions of aging, slightly jealous! Alhaitham, mutual pinning, soft sex, vanilla, safe sex (wrap it up), riding (cowgirl), fingering, slow sex, making love, really bad expatiations of scientific theories and math, just two nerds in love.

Authors Note: Happy belated birthday and Valentine's Day to my favorite dendro nerd. A continuation of this piece, one I hold dear. A thought experiment based on nothing more than the feverish delirium of love.

It was just for a moment.

A mere pasting instance in the contentious momentum of time when a glimmer caught your eyes in the muddled chatter of a crowd, a silver shimmer like starlight.

Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source.

A late morning on a Saturday, the markets and stalls were lively with families replenishing a week's worth of groceries. Bodies veering and easing through the bustle of the busty streets.

The wide breadth of life that moved all around you. Like a collection of small dots within the vastness of a universe.

But amid the vast collection of blurry faces were the flicker of silvery locks refracting the late morning light. Originating from a pair, an elderly lady and an elderly man, their aged hands intertwined.

Time had made her marks upon them, and gravity had pulled down on their wrinkled faces. Yet, the ends of their lips were pointed toward the sky. The corners of their eyes wrinkled as their gazes held each other's faces.

From their view, do they not see the starlight hue of their hair? Instead, do they still see the vibrancy and youth of their locks which age had stolen from them?

The image of each other reflected in their irises, was it from a time before the hands of gravity pulled on their creased skin and bowed bones? Would you ever be able to find out?

“I wasn’t aware you had a hobby of people-watching.” A baritone voice ghosts over your ear.

Jolting your head to your right, you come face to face with the interruption. Or perhaps, your mind finally registered Alhaitham’s presence just off to the side of you. His arms were weighted down with various bags.

Oh, that’s right, the markets and stalls were lively on the weekend with families restocking groceries for the upcoming week. You and Alhaitham were no different.

Glancing up at his ashen trestles and then scanning back at the starlight locks of the elderly couple, and then back to your husband.

“Hmm, not quite. Just noting the fact your hair is the same color as an old man’s, Haitham.” You catch the subtle twitch of his brow.

“Is that so? I hope you are aware you’re not immune to the inevitably of aging, wife,” Alhaitham returns your jest.

“Well, with your hair color and grumpiness, I’d say you’re already halfway there.”

“I needn’t expound on your equivalent levels of grumpiness, it won’t be long before your locks share the same ashen hue.”

“I guess that’s why we get along then, dear husband.”

“That’s one theory,” he huffs, a simple tone lacking any bite.

You pan your face back toward the crowd, partly because it’s getting harder to hold the neutral position of your lips, partly because your curiosity aches for an untold conclusion.

However, when your gaze returned to the ever-bustling sea of people, the pair of starlight hues were nowhere to be found. It was regrettable, but expected, the elderly couple were nothing more than a pair of strangers in a crowd full of unfamiliar faces.

They were just a brief scene that disappeared into the moving tides of people.

Leaving you with your unresolved musings.

“Is there anything else we need for the week?”

Alhaitham’s voice reels your consciousness back, swiftly you check the crinkled slip of parchment within your hand. Scanning down the list of written items, all with a neat little line crossed through their immaculately penned letters.

“It looks like we got everything we need.” You tuck the list into your pocket.

“Then it’s best we get home before our groceries are spoiled by the heat.” Alhaitham readjusts the bags in his hands.

A hum takes its place as your response. Pivoting your body in the direction of your shared home. From the corner of your field of view, his strides were paced to coincide with your shorter steps.

Studying the numerous bags occupying his hands, you can’t help but think it’s quite convenient to have someone as robust as your husband. Maybe it's these weekly grocery runs that are the secret behind his physique.

Discreetly, your hand slowly slips between the gap of his arm and body, linking your elbows together. So that your frame and his could withstand the push and pull of the crowd’s contentious momentum.

The neutrality of your lips had long slipped away, softened by the familiarity of his warmth. Even as your eyes were pointed on the path ahead, you had an inkling that a similar occurrence was mirrored on his lips as well.

An inquiry your curiosity didn’t need to peek to resolve.

That ache for an untold conclusion morphed into a new musing by the afternoon.

The silver shimmer from that elderly couple’s hair truly was like starlight. Perhaps that’s the correlation that steered your thoughts down this winding path of pondering.

Everyone, from those taking their first stumbling steps of youth to the slowed cane-assisted tramps in their golden years, is technically billions of years old. Or more accurately, the atoms and minerals in everyone are billions of years old.

The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood were all forged in the hearts of bygone stars. When those bright beacons burned out they exploded in one last finale, expelling those materials across interstellar space. Stardust that found its way here.

Here within you, and here within the slow breaths of the man in front of you.

After being around for billions of years, does stardust ever get exhausted?

That would be a sensible explanation for why Alhaitham had snuck away amidst hanging up freshly washed laundry.

His tall frame stretched the expanse of the couch as his starlight lashes were shut, shamelessly relishing in a nap under the streams of sunlight trickled in from the window.

Squatting down you observe the guiltless expression plastered over his resting face, still deep in the trenches of sleep, a small huff passes through your lips. Well, this morning you did have him carry all the groceries from the market back home.

Your husband does deserve this little nap.

Trailing your eyes down his neck you note the lack of a pillow, then as your gaze travels further you note the absence of a blanket as well. Internally, your mind tsks at this forgetful habit of his.

Although his body and yours still have youth coursing through your veins, it doesn’t mean they’ll remain as impervious as they are now later down the line, especially if preventative measures aren’t taken.

Like having a pillow to support one’s neck, or a blanket to prevent chills from plaguing the body.

Standing back to full height, you retrieved the missing artifacts, returning with a plush pillow and light comforter.

Even when his head was momentarily lifted to make space for the pillow, and when the spare comforter was draped over him, Alhaitham didn’t stir one bit. At times you can’t determine if he’s a light sleeper or if his stubbornness refuses to leave the plain of dreams.

It’s a true wonder of life how Alhaitham’s able to sleep so soundly at night given his extensive naps.

The vivid sunlight illuminated patterns upon his cheeks and trestles, causing the ashen strands to dazzle in their refraction of the afternoon light. A sight your eyes just couldn’t help but be enraptured by.

Maybe you could blame the warmth of the sunlight, or maybe the serenity of this quiet Saturday afternoon, or perhaps even these fickle inquiries about his naps for the yawn that left your lips. Now might be the prime time for some research.

Lifting up the comforter just enough for an opportunity to slip through, your body settles in the space right against his. It’s crowded on the couch, the cushions unprepared for two bodies to occupy its entirety, the open edge looming against your back.

Even after all the shuffling and pressing against his dozing frame, your husband didn’t budge a bit.

Leaden lashes still shut and lips set in that all too familiar line, chest rhythmically rising and falling in time with yours. The very image of unperturbedness under the blessing of sleep.

“You really are like an old man.”

At that mere jab, the corners of his lips tugged down while his eyes remained closed. A quick slip that confirmed your earlier suspicions.

“Who knew you were so talented in acting, Haitham,” you snicker.

A muscular arm soon enveloped your form, further pressing you against his chest as if to silence any more sardonic quips from entering his ears.

It was quite the challenge to stifle those giggles before they could erupt from your lips. Peeking up, there’s an ever-so-subtle lift at the corners of his mouth. An express which yours mirrored.

Studying the details of the lips just a breath away, a new musing worms its way into your thoughts:

When the hands of gravity and time start to pull down on his skin and yours the same, leaving wrinkles and creases in their wake, will the edges of his lips still curl like this?

Would yours mirror the same?

A second yawn sneaks past your lips as your lashes grow heavier with each fluttering blink. Claiming a corner of the pillow to lay your head upon, the seconds between each subsequent blink grew longer and longer until your lids were too heavy to lift.

Perhaps the stardust in your bones was exhausted, craving a short rest in his warmth.

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

There’s something against your back and your legs are tangled in something, sensations which gradually alert your dozing sense back from the fog of slumber.

At first, you only had the strength to peek open one lid, then promptly shut it. But in the nothingness behind your eyelids, something was halting your limps from stretching the weariness out from themselves.

You tried again, this time fluttering both sets of lashes apart ever so slightly. There’s a dry film coating your throat and mouth, feeling the impressions of the couch cushions and bundled comforter imprinted into your skin.

What time was it?

Blinking away the haze of sleep just enough to notice how the golden rays of a star were missing. A gray overlay was plastered over the living room despite the ticking clock hands displaying that it was late afternoon.

Peering back through the window behind, observing the congregating insipid clouds blocking out the azure sky.

A sure sign of rain despite the morning forecast. Rain… wasn’t there something left unfinished on the clotheslines outside? The groggy recollection of responsibilities creeps into the forefront of your mind.

The reign of your weary limbs slowly returns, and your legs languidly attempt to stretch out from the reveal they were caught in. However, their movements only caused a pair of longer limbs to ensnarl them further.

Alhaitham’s legs promptly caught yours, stifling any prospect of escape.

Your displeased whine was responded with a disgruntled groan by the man keeping your body locked against his.

Wasn’t your back looming just about the edge of the couch when you fell asleep? So why are you in this position now?

Your body wedged between the plush backing of the couch and his solid frame, the comforter swaddling you also didn’t aid in your immobility. Brawny arm draped over your waist, halting your feeble squirms at freedom.

“The laundry,” you mumble.

“Later.” A blunt interjection from a groggy voice.

“It’s going to rain.”

“Less than a 30% chance.”

“Haitham…”

Your husband simply burrows his head deeper into the leveled pillow, likely an attempt to leverage the cushy material to block out your grievances. His ashen lashes still stubbornly shut, much to your displeasure.

“Alhaitham.”

No fluctuations in your volume nor tone, but it was enough for one teal eye to peek out from under ashen lashes. Trailing up to a subtle frown to the furrow between your brow, then finally meeting your unamused stare.

“Laundry,” you try again.

A silent stare down, one stone face gazing upon an equally stoic face, like an immovable object pressed against an equally immovable object.

Which one will defend their title of most stubborn today?

His chest expands with a deep breath, grasp enclosing around your waist before his teal gaze shamelessly vanishes behind closed lashes. Robust frame pinning you further to the back of the couch as he continues to ignore your huffy floundering.

“Release me, don’t you dare-”

Your grievance was soon muffled by a gentle hand pressing your cheek into his palatial chest. A move that stupefies the irksomeness bubbling within until it falls defeated into placidness.

“Whether it be now or later, they’ll be clean regardless, it’s quite comfortable right here.” The resonance of his voice vibrates in his chest.

You respond with a humbled grunt. In terms of strength you’d always lose to your feeble husband, wouldn’t you?

There’s no point in peering up, for the pleased satisfaction of his resting face would bring a sour taste to your tongue. Thus, you merely adjust your limbs, coiling your arms around to his back and pulling his form closer.

It’s crowded on the couch, it’ll be troublesome if Alhaitham were to slip off the edge if his back were to stray any further.

At this distance, entangled so closely together, the soft beats of his heart in time with yours like a rhythmic lullaby beckons the heavy to return to your eyelids.

The gentle drumming of his heartbeat coaxes out a final sigh from you, lashes descending down as your vision dims back into the realm of slumber.

Slow breaths and heartbeats homogenize into a tender duet, tranquil enough to distract from the sporadic pattering against the glass and gradually increase in consistency.

A less than 30% chance of rain doesn’t mean that there’s a greater than 70% chance of no rain. It’s merely a statistical probability of 0.01 units of more precipitation at a given area in the given forecast area in the time period specified.

Known as the precipitation probability, calculated based on two factors:

The forecaster's certainty that precipitation will form or move into the area X The areal coverage of precipitation that is expected, then multiplied by 100.

Thus, if the forecaster were 90% certain that 30% of the forecast area would receive rain, then the forecast displayed on screens would read as a 27% chance of rain.

A crucial bit of information that seemed to have slipped his mind midst a quiet afternoon.

A troublesome miscalculation Alhaitham tsks at internally as he wrings out the pillowcase into a sink before tossing it back into the washing machine. Button-down shirts and blouses, wrinkled from the process of twisting out as much rainwater as possible, sat in damp piles awaiting their turn to be rewashed.

As he measures out the detergent he can hear the rattles and clanks of the pot and pans from the kitchen. A late dinner in preparation, a task which was supposed to be his this week.

When he woke up to the pattering of rain drumming against the window panes, the afternoon long gone, it stirred an ever-so-sinking pit of dread. Second only to the unamused stare of his wife as she replicated an overconfident statement:

“Less than a 30% chance, Alhaitham?”

How unfortunate it all was, that the area where this quaint house resides was part of that 30% of the forecasted area.

Teal eyes watch the bedsheets whirl and fumble as they spin in the wash, contemplating the circumstance and further action.

There is only one spare bedding set in the closet, so it’d be wise to allow you to have it for tonight as all the sheets and covers get rewashed and dried.

Your bed is about the same size as his, so two bodies wouldn’t have an issue fitting. At this rate, the two of you just slept in whichever bed was the most convenient.

However, given the current state of things, Alhaitham wonders if he should prepare himself to brave tonight on his bare mattress with a flimsy spare blanket and pillow.

He might as well return to the couch for tonight if that was the case.

The accumulation of all the years of science, mathematics, and research, Alhaitham wonders if there was ever a bright mind who came up with a formula to calculate how displeased one’s wife is.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it be?

More specifics needed to be gathered, something the man couldn’t do in the refugee of the laundry room. Thus, Alhaitham must brave a journey into the kitchen. His slipper-clad footsteps are slow and methodical as the kitchen appears from around the corner of the hallway.

Sights honed in on your back as you stood by the stove, a rich aroma wafting through the air.

Sleep still dusted your hair, evident in the few unruly strands sticking up erratically on your head, you made no attempt at fixing it. One hand is too occupied with stirring the pot on the stove, and the other set upon your hip.

Your stance wasn’t exactly tipping the scales in his favor.

Cautiously, Alhaitham made his way to you. Stopping just a few paces as your eyes peer over your shoulder, stoic gaze halting him in place just a few paces away. The faded imprint of the crumpled blankets and couch cushions on your cheek.

His hand twitches with the urge to run his thumb along the impressions, but rationally warns him of the consequences.

“The laundry?” No discernable tone in your voice.

“Everything has been collected and wrung out, I’ll rewash everything tomorrow.” It’s best to answer your questions this time.

“Hmm, they were out in the rain for quite a while now. They were dripping out onto the floor when you brought them in.”

“I’ve mopped away any rain and mud tracked between the back door and laundry room.” Teal eyes quickly checked the aforementioned area to ensure they were pristine before returning to you.

“Hmm.” You turn back towards the stove.

The soft ticks of the clock accompany the waning drums of raindrops against the glass, the kitchen hood whirring as a ladle continues to stir in a pot. A quiet lull engulfed the home. Treading on the side of caution, Alhaitham inhales deeply.

Without opening the box, one will never be able to confirm to fate of Schrödinger's cat.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Hmm? Well, it’s raining tonight, what better to eat on a rainy night than some Sabz Meat Stew, no?”

He’s careful to not sigh too audibly, lest he goes to bed with a stomach half-full of instant noodles and that miffed stare of yours.

Alhaitham decides to hold his tongue as teal eyes continue to watch you add more spices to the pot. Studying how nicely the apron is tied around your waist.

But it wouldn’t be wise of him to stand so close when the fabric of his shirt was still damp with rainwater transferred to him by the soaked laundry and sky.

His chain of thought was interrupted by the chimes of your phone on the countertop, catching your eyes as well as his to peek at the over. A certain name is displayed across the screen. It’s as if the hands of fate wanted to throw more salt into his face.

Bahram (Manager)

It’s a Saturday night, for what reason would an employer need to contact an employee so late?

Alhaitham’s focus shifts to your gaze which is still honed in on the screen. A bitter tinge crawls up the tip of his tongue, threatening to spoil his appetite. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind settling down in his bare bed with just a spare comforter without dinner tonight.

“Can you reject the call for me? He can wait until Monday to get me to resolve whatever he messed up,” you scoff before rolling your eyes back to the stove.

Swiftly he swipes to decline the call, let your voicemail remind Bahram of the concept of ‘off time’. The phone whirs again right after the first rejection, but he simply swipes decline again.

Pushing the device away with a bit too much satisfaction in his veins.

Glancing back at your frame, he lets out a sigh as he relents. Resting his head into the crook of your neck, careful to leave a bit of distance between your bodies and to not hamper your shoulder’s movement.

“Hm?” You hum expectantly.

“It was my oversight tonight.” A string of words a bit unfamiliar on his tongue, but stubbornness hasn’t been in his favor tonight.

“And?”

“I’ll be more cautious regarding naps.”

“Hmph.”

The lull returns, him resting his head on your shoulder and you continuing to watch over the stew. Teal eyes on you and your eyes on the stove. Until your shoulders raise with a deep inhale.

“Go get changed out of that wet shirt then set the table, this bastardized version of ‘soup’ will be ready in 20 minutes.” You reach for a skillet just off to the side.

He hums this time, the liberation from treading in suffocating lull tugs at the end of his lips. He surmises that laying his head against you for a few moments more won’t be so consequential.

The patter of raindrops still splattered against the glass panes of the window, drops which warped and blurred the scenery beyond the glass. Not that there’s any scenery to look at, not with the dreary clouds crowding the sky.

A heavy sigh huffs through your nose, curling onto your side as you adjust your pillow.

A filling dinner, a warm shower, and soft comforters. Factors that should contribute to a restful night’s sleep, or at the very least make your eyelids weary with the weight of lethargy.

Yes, perhaps those components should’ve granted you entry into the reprieve of a dream.

If it wasn’t for the fact you’ve intruded into the domain of slumber twice already today.

And the tempter who lured you to do so currently has his arm wrapped around your waist.

Alhaitham’s chest rises and falls against your back, soundly asleep without an ounce of guilt over the predicament he’s partly responsible for.

Lifting your head off the flattened pillow, your body twists around to fluff the stale stuffing back up before settling back to your position.

His body rested against yours just as it would any other night. But there’s a weight at the corners of your lips, one only grew heavier as your ears witnessed each content exhale resounding from the man who seemingly stole your sleep.

If you were crueler, you would’ve exiled Alhaitham to the couch or his barren mattress.

However, he’d probably sleep just fine regardless.

Canting your head up, you flip your pillow to the other side once more.

Your rolls and rhythm were abruptly interrupted by the clasp of two harsh hands pulling your hips into his, the contours of his rigor now digging into the plush of your ass. Forcing a stunned gasp up your throat.

“It seems like my wife has quite a bit of energy.” His timbre deeper from grogginess.

Ah, all the twisting and turning you did just to adjust the troublesome pillow must've disturbed him.

The softness of your ass cradled against his pelvis through the thin material of a button-down, an item borrowed from his closet that you’ve designated as sleepwear, and his sweatpants.

‘Serves him right.’

Your attempts to twist out from his iron-clad hold only ground your ass more against the stiffness, earning a grumble from his lips.

“Oh? And who’s fault is it?” You retort, still protesting in his hold.

Snaking one hand downwards Alhaitham presses against your lower stomach to arch your ass further into him. Leaning his face closer to yours.

“Do you want me to take responsibility?” His whisper ghosts over the shell of your ear.

You could feel the pads of his fingertips tracing under the loose button-down.

“Shouldn’t you resolve the issues you’ve caused?” A huff leaves you.

The outline of his shape pressed along your skin, the plushness of your bottom contrasting against the rigidity.

“I can say the same to you.”

The pads of his fingers trail up your heated skin, crawling along your torso, feathering touches alighting your senses like sparks. Massaging the tired yet restless muscles. You sigh in contentment.

The billowing button-down dragged up by his vascular hand, unveiling your skin to the cool sheets. Wandering touches slow as they rest in the valley of your breasts. His fingers enclose around one mount, gently twisting the defenseless nipple.

“H-hey! Hmph-“ Barely catching a moan before it fled past sealed lips.

“Hm?” His lips are now right next to your ears. “Surely you foresaw this, I’m just helping my wife with all her excess energy.”

His forgotten hand made its presence known as it kneaded your hips, cunning touches breaching under the feeble defenses of your panties. Effortlessly brushing them to the side, long fingers encroaching closer to their destination.

Your thighs react, squeezing together to prevent him from venturing further. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, for his fingertips already dipped into an all too familiar sap.

“See, you seem quite eager,” he taunts.

Stubbornly, your body attempts to buckle away from his influence. Face firmly pointed away from his lest he peeks at your heated cheeks.

Alhaitham abandons the perch on your breast, two large hands attempting to tame the bucks and rolls of your hips. He releases a slow sigh into the crook of your neck.

“Are you not feeling it tonight?” His hands remain where they were, but the strength missing.

At the lack of resistance, your hips seem to have lost interest in their writhing, staying within his yielding hold. Internally, you chiding your body for being so straightforward. The only thing blocking an answer from exiting your throat was that fickle ego of yours.

“Won’t you allow me to make up for my blunders today, wife?” He soothes his hand along your leg.

With that stubborn ego of yours still biting down on your tongue, you simply nod your head. Feeling the heat of your cheeks reflected to you by the pillow.

Permitting your thighs to give into the tow of his grasp. Allowing the grip of one large hand to pull your bent leg open, exposing your vulnerable cunt. Shielded from the view of the raindrops by a mere blanket.

The hand snaked under your waist took swift advantage of the oppurtunity. Sliding one firm finger down to part the fold of your slit as his warm hand cups your greed.

Alhaitham continued with the caresses of his fingers. Your lashes and lips pressed tightly shut, your leg still held in his tender hold. His slow breaths brush ghosting your skin.

He spreads the slick along your slit, the tips of his fingers ever so often knocking against the bud at the very top. Teal eyes catch the sudden jolts of your body every time it happens.

He moves his fingers downwards, slowly parting the now soft folds of your core. Feeling the subtle puckers of your entrance as his touch traced closer, more wetness dribbling out from the honeypot.

The tip of his finger now encircles the fluttering hole. Your hip subtly bucked into his hand, as if to lure him in a soundless plea.

Breaths getting deeper as your eyes follow his touch, the warm pad of his index finger twirling against your clit. Stoking a burgeoning fire with each slow circle. Your placid sighs fill the lull.

His middle finger ventures past the entrance of your satin walls welcomed with a lewd squelch. Curling his finger against slick walls to test the give, he wonders if this hidden oasis is etched into his shape yet.

Diligently, his digit continues to sink in and out of your weeping hole, making your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. The squelches increased in volume as trickles of nectar began pooling on the sheets. Walls clamping around a lonely finger, it wasn’t enough to quell that mounting heat within.

A second deft finger joined in, sliding past a hungry entrance. A tangled dance amongst gummy walls as they curled and stretched the space. The lewd squelches resounding in your ear, a whimper trapped in your throat. The heel of his warm palm now pressed flat against the soft mound of your cunt, every movement of his hand resulting in a grind against your clit.

Each grind causes a hot flash to shock throughout your body, starting from your curled toes to the very top of your head. The jostling of your hips and legs gradually expels the blanket off the bed.

“Mmph!” A whine from a sudden surge of bliss when his thick fingers curled against a spongy patch deep within.

“T-there! More there!”

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being.

He gladly obliges. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls. Ensuring to grind against that spongey patch.

Your body twitches and flails in reaction. Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations.

Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

Piqued by the sweet tune, Alhaitham watches the scrunch in your trembling brows. He repeats his actions, another mewl leaves your lips as your head leans further into his shoulder.

The mellow pace of his fingers suddenly amps up, retreating out only to clap back in as his palm presses into the twitching bud.

“Ah! Haitham.”

A pressure mounting up, a sirens call beckoning you closer and closer to a hazardous cliff’s edge. The only foundation for your sanity is thousand-count fabric, thus you twist the silk fibers as tremors overtake your body.

Walls clamping down to trap his thick digits inside as it spasms. Muscles tensing and quivering as your back arches away from his chest, parted lips with nothing choking past them.

Three thick fingers sink deeper into your pussy without a hint of resistance, as a reward he makes sure to roll your overstimulated clit in firm circles with his palms. Judging from the violent tremors in your legs, it seemed you were almost there.

Just at the cusp of rapture when your hand tangles into his ashen-locks, canting your head back so that your panting lips could capture his. Alhaitham returns to gesture with just as much fervor in his kiss, swallowing down your sweet mewls for himself.

With a singular gasp, the siren’s call had beckoned your sanity to drown in the murky depths. It’s as if you lost control of your body to the possession of pleasure.

Eyes rolled back and lips broke away as breathy moans escaped the prison of your throat, a haze heavy over your thoughts, pride long lost amongst the gale of an orgasm.

The beckoning depths of euphoria welcome your descent.

Your limp frame rests against him. A light layer of sweat coating your panting chest, blurred vision merging and blending the details of the ceiling above the bed.

Alhaitham coaxes the contractions of your core, riding out the waves of their squeezes and sucks against his fingers. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Entranced by the glimmering string of nectar stretching between his fingers and your oasis.

Trailing back up to your face, he notes the return of your hazy irises from their ogle of the bedroom ceiling.

“Better?” Teal gaze watching the pants of your chest as they steady.

‘No, not at all’, a statement just at the tip of your tongue, but your lips were busy attempting to grasp deep breaths. The surplus of vigor festering into unquenchable desire. To be closer, deeper, more. You needed more.

Where words fail, action must take its place. Even before your mind finishes up the scheme brewing within, your lips catch him off guard, plush lips embracing his in a tender waltz.

Your body rolls back so that your breast can press against his chest through the thin fabric of his stolen shirt.

At the tender caress of your kiss, teal eyes disappear behind ashen lashes, the clasp of his grip loosening. Allowing you the mobility to finally pull your body on top of his, lips never once parting until you were finally settled atop his broad body.

A certain stiffness makes its reintroduction against your roused clit.

Breaking the seal of the kiss as a line of salvia stretches between your tongues, arms pushing against his firm chest to prop your body up as you gaze down at him.

“Still have too much energy?” Haughty eyes peer into yours, yet you can see the ardor oh so thinly concealed behind the brilliant teal.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you the eager one?” You hum, rolling your hips against the rigidness trapped behind the prison of sweatpants.

“Hmm.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Large hands feel down along the plumpness of your ass as they drag a flimsy bit of fabric down your thighs. Daintier hands pull down the hem of sweatpants and briefs.

A fair exchange. Him helping you out of those ruined panties, and you freeing him from a compressed prison of cloth. Discarded and forgotten along the floorboards as the fog of passion obscured them from further consideration.

His vascular hands slide down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs plant themselves on either side of his body. Alhaitham coaxes the hem of his stolen button-down just above your midriff. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your clit, glistening with temptation.

Lowering your hips a breathy sigh leaves his lips and yours as the ridges of his cock drag against your slick folds. A few slow rolls starting from his leaking tip sliding down, thick veins skimming against your swollen clit. Precum mixing with arousal in a sinful concoction along his length.

Perhaps he should convince you to participate in more naps if he knew it’d make you this excitable.

“Oh,” you hum aloud, pausing your hips as you reach over to the bedside table.

Pulling open the drawer and rustling about a box followed by the crinkling of foil. Holding up the corner of the packet to your lip, tearing the foil while your gaze held his. Taking your time in dragging the condom out from its package. Easing it down his length while your fingers traced along, feeling each twitch and shudder.

“You sure do know how to test my patience.”

“Hmm?” You feign innocence.

A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Alhaitham helps position his engorged tip at your dripping entrance. Your hand guides him while raising your hips.

Other hand pressing his chest down for support as your thighs sink back down, a shameful squelch accompanying heavy breaths as your walls welcome his cock’s fat head.

Weeping pussy engulfing his girth in bit by bit until you clit kisses his pelvis. Sending jolts of searing pleasure that caused your satin walls to twitch and tighten.

Releasing a breathy sigh as you gather your senses.

Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge before dropping back down. Earning low grunts and sighs each time your satin walls swallowed his girth. The rhythm of your hips is paced and controlled despite how Alhaitham’s fingers dug into your skin.

A whine living your drooling lips with each slap of his skin against your clit. Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. The bedframe creaks with each calculated movement, back and forth, back and forth the wood sings along.

Your head was light, intoxicated by a feverish potion of lust and desire. Feeling him reach the deepest depths, fat tip grinding against those spots which made your legs falter momentarily each time.

Utilizing the strength of both your arms now to support yourself. However, the jolts of pleasure that shot up your spine with each roll of your hips were too maddening to stop.

His calloused fingers massage circles into your hips. Squeezing the plush flesh to ground his sanity, watching your lewd face as you shamelessly bounced on him for your pleasure. Observing the subtle ripples with each slap of your hips and the jumps of your perky breast.

The ghostly touches of your fingers skim across his lips, prompting his eyes to connect with yours. Lush and glossy lips parted with your deep pants as your lust-hazed eyes peer down at him, unspoken plea inscribed within them. Who is he to not fulfill your desires?

Lurching his upper body up, he answers your plea, capturing your lips with his. Swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, deepening the kiss. A messy and feverish tangle as if to replace the air in your lungs with his.

Mewls and whimpers muffled by his skin, your hands moving to perch themselves on his broad shoulders. Your quivering legs grew limp as the strength of his hands took over. Barely processing the sweet nothings whispered as your core relishes in the fullness. Like an ache that’s been finally satisfied.

He wondered if tonight’s excessive vigor was fraying his control, or if your body was just this addictive.

By now any notion of decency and integrity has long left you, your hand clawing into his shoulders, marking him with the scars of rapture. A harsh thrust of his hips recoils through you, a wanton moan reverbing off the walls as it forces your tangled lips to part.

Tongue unable to produce anything other than strained moans, your head nods into his broad shoulder as your hips ground against his. The wet squelch announces the reciprocation of your walls.

The intervals of those unrelenting rams increasing between the tender thrusts, half-lidded eyes trained on the shivers of your body. Cock sliding against satin ridges of your wall. Grunts and pants reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.

“Is this not enough?” You could feel the mirth in his whisper.

Closer, deeper, more. You want more. Walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming heat within you. Hips floundering in harmony with breathy mewls.

Pressing libidinous kisses along his throat feeling the vibrations of his grunts and pants, a deep chuckle was soon felt against your lips.

“Good grief you are a greedy little thing aren’t you.”

A deafening slam of skin resounds through the heavy air, swiftly followed by another and another. A new tempo in this waltz of passion takes over like a wave sweeping both of you out to a sea of indulgence.

Possessed by the desperation of chasing a white light, your hand rakes deeper into his toned arms. Seizing anything to prevent your mind from abandoning your sinful body as his girth twitches within your velvety folds.

Sanity like a foolish sailor who’s beckoned by the lure of a siren’s voice, uncaring of the rocks which will sink them to the very bottom of the bemused tides. Keening against your husband shamelessly, a shameless wife on the cusp of her second fall into ecstasy.

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into the spark that lit your nerves alight. Toes arched into the air and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent babbles resounding through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his dick with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling against his girth eager to quell your aching greed. It was too much.

His fingers claw into your soft hips, pressing your cunt flush against his hips with a sloppy slap of skin. The bulbous tip prodding against that weakness deep within you. Bruising grip holding your body in place as his lips crash back into yours.

Swallowing down his breathless groans with your sweet mewls and praddles.

A heat is spilled into the rubber, making your greedy walls quiver amidst the aftershocks of ecstasy. Alhaitham’s hips twitch with each subsequent rip of his orgasm, thrusting his length further into your crowded cavity with each one. The filthiness of it all prolongs your sinful depravity.

Chest expanding with pants, your lopsided shirt falling further down your shoulder. Your eyes return from seeing blinding white, exhaustion drenching each fiber of your body.

Limp figure crumbling against your husband as his back lays back on the creaking headboard. Even before your worn mind could conjure a coherent thought, your hands caress his starlight tresses.

As his own breath evades him Alhaitham releases one hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your smoldering skin, guiding your lips back to his.

Basking in the warmth forged between your bodies, between drumming heartbeats and breathless lungs.

Two bodies lay under silken sheets, skin freshly wiped clean of sweat as the crisp breeze brushed against the curtains gradually erasing the sinful haze. The cool air aids your rising and falling chest to pace itself.

Muscles and bones heavy with fatigue, yet your eyes couldn’t bring themselves to retire behind shut lids. Not when those dreary clouds have finally retreated.

The moon hangs high in the sky, finally free from the shroud of rain clouds, she sits among the twinkling dots. Twinkling dots were in actuality brilliant stars, some even larger and brighter than the beloved sun.

Glimmering lustrously as they traverse through the contentious vacuum of space and past other nameless stars. A scene from a late-morning market trip wanders its way back from the depths of your memory, bringing its musings with it.

“Something on your mind?” A timbre voice beckons your conscious mind back from its trek.

Teal eyes set upon yours as your heads rest on plush pillows, just a breath away from one another.

“Hm, just senseless musings.” Your gaze shifts away from the window.

In a changed world with millions of hands will your hands and his find each other to make two pairs of hands?

In a different time with a million pairs of legs, will your steps and his steps still coincide in time with each other

In a new life with a sea of new faces, will a stoic face and another stoic face spot each other in the crowd?

What is the likelihood of those odds?

“If you keep letting your thoughts fester, it’ll only bring trouble upon yourself in the morning from sleep deprivation.” He shifts his position, supporting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at your face.

You sigh because he spoke exactly what those whispers of rationale were urging you, but the scoffs of pride had deemed these rampant inquiries ‘childish’. However, it’s a bit hard to avoid his eyes now.

“I was just musing about the soulmates concept again,” you confess.

Alhaitham hums in curiosity.

“Do you…” You take a deep breath, forcing the hard-to-vocalize question from your tongue. “Do you think we’ll only be together in this life?”

He’s silent. Just the muted chorus of Summer crickets rejoicing over the conclusion of a rainstorm resounding through the space.

“In a different time, a different universe, or the next life, do you think we’ll be soulmates again?” You muster together the courage to peer up at his face.

“I don’t recall ever reading an article or paper related to this topic, so it’ll be convoluted to get an answer.” He brings his other hand to his face, signifying his musings.

Right, there isn’t even a definitive answer for what happens after life passes, an afterlife, a cycle, or nothing, no one knows. Was this the only universe where life exists or are there infinitely many far out there in the stars? Does anyone know?

Your hand pulls your blanket up to your face, partially to cover the growing shame creeping up your face. That haughty voice within was right, these baseless questions are silly and childish. Perhaps even too morbid to bring up so unprompted on this weekend night.

What were you expecting Alhaitham to even do? Did you want him to give you an answer? What can he even do? A question you can’t even begin to understand, why would you even expect him to have some solution prepared?

What to do now? Can you just take back your previous words from his memory, so he’ll just forget what you said? Maybe just ask him to quell any more mindless musings from plaguing you tonight by placing his lips on your forehead? So that you could finally drift into the realm of slumber.

However, is that temporary solution enough? Enough to stifle the contentions and riddles clattering together into a clamorous ruckus in your head? Could sleep even spare you from their tumult?

“The Membrane Multiverse Theory or reincarnation, hm, do you have any personal theories you’d like to share?” The sensation of his fingers grasping yours brings you back to reality.

Glancing at him with a quirk in your brow, you wait for him to continue.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll be the first to publish something for this topic.” His thumb runs along your knuckles.

“So, is there a speculation or possible rationale you feel particular to?” Teal eyes reconnect with yours.

“Well…” You sigh, relishing in the warmth of his hand as you concoct a half-baked theory.

“There’s stardust from stars that had burst billions of years ago, that have somehow ended up on this planet. Subsequently, every being on earth has the atoms of stars in them. So, naturally by the law of conservation, the earth is where the atoms of the human body will return.”

“Based on the law that atoms cannot be created or destroyed?” He drones.

“Yes, they all had to come from something before them. The carbon in muscles, the calcium in bones, and the iron in blood. The atoms that make up you and I might become part of something else, or even of different people too.”

“Hm, that sounds probable.”

“But, then this brings up a whole new host of questions, such as, if the new people our atoms become a part of are even ‘us’? Will they ever meet? What if you become a tree and I a rock? What if the atoms of you end up on one side of Teyvat and I on the other end?”

You peer into his irises, but you were just searching for an answer that isn’t there.

For his beryl irises were impassive. But it was the impassive foundation you needed to ground your rambling thoughts and nonsensical musings into the desolate truth of it all.

The warmth of his hand slips away.

“Never mind, I suppose it’s the most logical to conclude that we’re just soulmates in this instance of time, in this universe, and only here.” Your hand closes over the empty space he left.

Maybe it’s wise to dismiss it as silly rambling and then withdraw from his indecipherable eyes. Is it too late to put this plan into motion now?

The weight of a muscular arm is draped over your waist, hand pulling you closer unlike your ploy to escape.

“But I have a few theories I haven’t shared yet.” He glances out toward the bedroom window.

“While the theory of reincarnation currently doesn’t have any solid scientific backing, in some way, the law of conservation of mass does give a bit of merit to that notion.” Alhaitham draws circles into the small of your back.

You hum in response.

“The atoms that created us will return to the earth after us and become a part of something or someone else’s molecular structure. A tree or a rock, a human or a beast, it’s all probable. However…” Beryl eyes return to meet yours.

“What’s stopping them from repeating the same molecular structures as right now?” He asks.

Maybe it was his turn to peer into your eyes to search for an answer, an answer currently brewing and forging between your united gazes.

“What’s stopping these atoms from returning to these exact molecular structures in the future? In a different time, the atoms of us now could one day in the far future come together again and make ‘us’ once more. Maybe just you, maybe just me, or maybe both at the same time.”

He frees his other hand from the duty of supporting his head, broad body settling down into the bed and blankets, allowing his face to move closer to your level upon his pillow.

“What’s the likelihood of those odds? Me and you again?” You ask.

Alhaitham pauses. All the bright minds of science, mathematics, and physics, have yet to come up with a formula to calculate such a thing.

What would be the factors plugged into the equation? And how accurate would it even be?

The ashen-haired man wasn’t sure, but there was at least a statistical observation that would provide some basis.

“A true 0% chance is an absolute impossibility, just as nothing can be proven absolutely 100%. Since we don't know the absolutes of time, existence, or physics. So, there’ll always be a non-zero chance.” Feeling the drums of your heartbeat against his chest.

“Then, when they do, I think I’ll spend my life pondering what could fit into the spaces between my fingers like this.” He slips his hand into the gaps of yours, intertwining them.

Then finally, he saw the smile he’d been yearning for rising on your lush lips. The ends of your eyes crinkle as it make its way to your irises as well. Your grip mirrors his as you nestle your face closer to his.

“You won’t get tired of this stoic face?” You taunt.

“Will you get tired of mine?” He counters.

Your shoulders quiver with stifled giggles.

“No, no I won’t,” you promise him.

“Then I won’t,” he promises back.

His larger hand brings yours closer to himself, all the while your attentive eyes watch failing to keep the curl of your lips under control.

“Any thoughts on the Membrane Multiverse Theory? How will your astute mind surmise the possibility of us laying like this somewhere else in the stars?” Honeyed-voice mimicking awe as your face inches closer.

“I believe I’ve shared enough, I’d much rather hear what your brilliant postulate is.” His tone casted with mirth, but the bite missing from teal eyes.

Letting a soft hum, your mind rifling through all the paragraphs and journals your hands had ever thumbed through.

The soft rhythm of his breaths kept time. Stringing the words together on your tongue, you hope this monologue of yours will provide some amusement for him.

“If universes are randomly put into 2 boxes of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, then on average the number of universes in each box would be the same. For every universe I’m not with you, there’ll be equally as many where I am with you.”

A coin toss, perhaps it was all just a coin toss after all. Whether or not the Akasha paired a stoic face with another stoic face, for the gaps of your fingers to fit his so perfectly.

It could have all been a coin toss, for one half to stumble upon the other half cruelly parted from them by the hands of unseen gods.

“Something akin to a bijection existing between both sets of universes?” He cross-examines.

“Maybe… If we were to assign one type ‘yes’ to a positive integer, and the other type ‘no’ to a negative integer, then perhaps we can construct a bijection from the positive and negative integers.” Your brow furrows in contemplation.

“If we submit this theory do you think the Akademiya would publish it?”

“Not likely, bijections are usually made between sets of elements like numbers, not sure if bijections can be applied to something like whole universes. I’m just hypothesising nonsense,” you sigh.

“But they did publish the nonsense known as The Lifespan of Love,” he interjects.

“Hm, then maybe there’s a non-zero chance they’ll publish our nonsense too.” You stifle a scoff.

“Hm,” Alhaitham hums in amused agreement.

His free hand pulls the covers further up over your frame then smoothing out the wrinkles. Observing the growing delays between your slowing blinks.

“Only you and I would turn pillow talk into an academic deliberation.” You couldn’t hold back the giggle any longer.

He sighs in agreement, nestling his head closer to yours on the plush pillows, teal gaze never once leaving yours.

“It’ll make any romantic keel over and die from how dry it is, wouldn’t it, Haitham?”

“I say let them.”

Scoffing and shaking your head at his crude declaration as a yawn slips past your lips, a conclusion to this nonsensical academic deliberation.

With one hand still intertwined in the tender grasp of another you pull Alhaitham closer. So that the spaces of your body could lay against the spaces of his.

The warmth of his skin mingling with the warmth of yours, pressed against one another. You drawing mindless shapes into his back, his hand tracing senseless ruins into yours.

Perhaps, an illogical attempt to echt memories into the stardust in your bodies.

So he and you could imprint the memory of each other into the very fibers of your beings. Then maybe someday when these atoms return to these exact molecular structures, they’ll remember this too.

The law of conservation of mass, the probabilities upon probabilities, and bijections used in an inconsequential pseudo-academic ramblings to no one but an audience of silent stars.

Alhaitham’s certain no academic publisher would spare a glance at them.

But this nonsensical instance in the continuum of time, feeling the rhythm of your heart on the other side of his chest next to his own, is his most precious epiphany.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

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tacticaldiary · 10 months

Note

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

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soullumii · 6 months

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sleepyhead | gale dekarios x afab!reader

(18+!!!) afab!reader. second person pov. literally just smut: oral (f receiving), piv, dirty talk, consensual somnophilia. gale lives to please as always

my first gale fic... this man has taken over my entire life.

2k words

Gale’s lips press against yours in the dark, gentle and coaxing. A push and pull. You blink blearily awake from slumber as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleep shift. His brown hair falls over the two of you like a curtain, shielding you from the terrors of the darkness.

“Mm hello,” you purr against his lips. “What time is it?” You ask when he pulls back. He looks a bit wild, pupils blown wide, his eyes practically look black even in the dim candlelight. He’s breathing heavily, his gaze traveling over you, heated, like the air surrounding fire. He doesn’t answer.

“Gale?” you repeat, warmth pooling in your belly at the pure desperation on his face. At the want curling in his eyes like a flame.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rough, as though he’s parched. “Though I cannot stop thinking about you. I must…” he trails off, mind moving faster than his mouth can.

One thing you love about Gale is his ability to talk for seemingly hours on end with such eloquence and poetry. But when he’s like this…already hard against your thigh, slowly rutting his hips in circles, captured within pleasure, the words seem to leave him. You love it just as much, if not more.

He leans in and runs his nose along your throat, breath ghosting over your skin. His teeth graze you, and his tongue follows, licking a stripe up your throat. You moan shakily, cunt clenching around nothing.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, though it’s more breath than substance. Your brain is already beginning to short circuit, especially when the hand on your waist travels down to your thigh, fingertips pressing into the muscle there.

“You just looked so beautiful on the battlefield today… I tried to contain myself because we had so much to do, but… fuck,” he breathes this against your neck, desperate. He hardly ever uses such vulgar language. “I need you, love.”

“So you really weren’t lying when you told me you were turned on by my fighting,” you say, surprised.

“I am a lot of things, darling, but a liar is not one of them.”

The sound of his inhale as he leans down to kiss you again sends more molten pleasure swirling through you.

His hips press against yours, grinding against your clothed cunt in a steady rhythm. You moan into his mouth, your hands reaching up to clench at his sleep shirt stretched over his broad back.

You’re still sleepy as his hand drifts to the hem of your shift. He slowly pulls it up your thighs, up over your breasts, revealing your undergarments. He paws at your waistband like a cat begging for food. You lift your hips so he can pull them down over your ass. He undoes the ties to your bralette and slides it off your shoulders.

Gale kisses his way down your body, stopping to close his warm mouth over a nipple while his dexterous hand squeezes and tugs at the other. You moan lightly, pleasure easing through you. He hums appreciatively against your skin, and the vibrations travel pleasantly through you.

“Gale…” you half murmur half moan as he moves his mouth to your other nipple. “I can hardly stay awake…” You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. The gentle chirping of the crickets outside your tent doesn’t help.

“Of course,” he says, leaning back. “We can stop.”

“No—no wait,” you stop him with a hand curled around his wrist. “You can keep going while I’m sleeping, I don’t mind.”

His eyes darken, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. “Really? Are you quite sure?”

You nod with a sleepy smile and settle back comfortably. “Mhm.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Your eyes flutter shut, your breathing slowing as you succumb to your exhaustion. Your limbs feel heavy, even as Gale continues his way down your body.

“You’re so gorgeous, so perfect,” he whispers into your skin. His fingers curl into your thighs before he slowly pulls them apart, baring yourself to him.

He runs his hands appreciatively up and down your thighs, squeezing and kneading before hooking them over his shoulders.

Gale presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh before retreating. You feel his lips again a second later, just between your thigh and cunt, mere centimeters from where you’re wet and aching for him.

And then you feel his warm breath puffing against your core, and your body squirms impatiently. You peek an eye open to watch him.

He looks so handsome as he glances up at you, eyes soft, mouth twitched into a smirk. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I am,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “Just wanted to admire the view one last time.”

He chuckles lowly, “Sweet dreams, darling.”

He doesn’t move for a while, and you find yourself drifting off in the stillness. Your breathing slows, your mind growing quiet as sleep takes over you.

---

The moment your breaths even out as your hands fall slack against your sides, Gale presses his face between your thighs. He uses the flat of his tongue to lick a long, hot stripe through your folds. You taste delicious on his tongue, and gods you’re so wet. You’re soaking his beard, and he’s hardly been between your thighs for longer than ten seconds.

He doesn’t care. You keep releasing cute little moans in your sleep as he takes you apart brick by brick. Or rather… lick by lick.

His hands grip your waist, keeping you close. Your hips buck involuntarily to meet his mouth, grinding against his face. Even in your sleep you’re seeking out pleasure from him.

God forbid he won’t deliver.

He pulls back one of his hands to slide a finger into you. It goes easily. He adds another without any resistance. You’re so incredibly wet. He wants to remain between your thighs forever. Your sweet, slick arousal runs down his hand to his wrist, and he bends his head to lick it off.

His hips rut against the floor of his tent, the act of eating you out so arousing to him he has to seek his own pleasure to mitigate the pain. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather see you cum over and over again before he ever does.

He slowly thrusts his fingers into you while mouthing at your clit, delighting in your shaky breaths and wanton moans. You look gorgeous, brows screwed together, sweat beading on your temple. You’re going to wake up soon, and damnit he’ll make sure it’s while you’re cumming.

---

Warmth kindles between your thighs, pleasure and arousal pooling deep in your belly, tingling in your toes and rising through you.

Sleep drifts away from you, hanging onto the recesses of your mind, but ultimately not strong enough against the building pleasure you feel.

You chase the feeling, the promise of sweet release. Your surroundings slowly begin to materialize around you. The feeling of your bedroll clenched between your fingers, the undeniable feeling of a mouth between your legs, the sound of low, rumbling, appreciative moans that vibrate through you.

Even the sound of your own cries are registering in your mind.

The melting pleasure collapses into one pinpoint. A supernova explodes within you as your clit is sucked diligently while the two, long fingers buried inside you hook to press against your g-spot.

Your back bows, eyes flying open as you cum against Gale’s warm and inviting mouth with a cry of his name. He guides you through it with gentle laps of his tongue through your folds. He mumbles words of encouragement, but they’re lost against your skin.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Gale.”

“Mm.” You can practically feel his pride radiating off of him from making you come.

He continues to lick you through it until you’re coming again, hands fisted in his hair as his lips suck once more on your clit, his fingers fucking into you. Your legs quiver atop his shoulders, your mind utterly fucked into emptiness.

When it’s all too much you push him away, breathing heavily, contented tears in your eyes.

“Holy shit,” you huff, trying to catch your breath. “Maybe you should wake me up like that more often.”

His eyes sparkle excitedly. “If that is what you wish, I’d be glad to.”

“You are such a giver. You really should let me take care of you sometimes.”

He shrugs. “I like giving. It brings me great pleasure to reside between your thighs for as long as you can stand.”

You sigh at his fanciful words, but you appreciate his adoration all the same. He crawls forward as you lean up to kiss him, the taste of yourself on his tongue rekindling the fire in your gut. His hand winds its way into your hair, the other squeezes your hip.

“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “Now.”

He groans, fingers flexing in your hair. Your body jolts with arousal at the sweet tug.

“Say no more,” Gale says. “Your wish is my command.”

He takes off his trousers then rolls you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling your ass up and backwards, and his knee comes between your thighs to press them apart.

He guides the head of his cock through your slick folds and your hips squirm in anticipation.

He leans across your back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “I wish you could see yourself on the battlefield. The way you look with someone else’s blood on your armor… The flush on your cheeks… The way you breathe… You’re so capable, so strong. I cannot help but stare.”

He eases his cock inside you and the two of you moan in tandem at the delightful feeling. Him, at your warmth. You, at the undeniable feeling of being filled.

He bites lightly at your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Sometimes I wish I could take you right there. In front of all of our friends and dead foes.”

You clench around him at his words, and he groans, hips snapping forward. You jolt against the bedroll, elbows digging into the feather down material.

“Gale,” you whimper.

He hums, “Yes. You’d be saying my name just. Like. That.” He delivers those three last words with hard thrusts, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the tent.

He builds up the pace, fucking into you steadily. Your cheek squishes against your pillow as he fills you, your mind still sleepy but undeniably consumed by lust and love.

“What do you think? Would you like that, love? Would you like to be fucked in front of all our companions?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please, Gale. Need you—“

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs. His hand skates across your stomach as his warm fingers settle over your clit. “As much as I’d love to indulge the fantasy, I’m not sure I’d want them to watch.”

He begins to circle your clit with reverence, in time with his thrusts as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“I want you all to myself,” he grits.

You cry out, melting against him, knees buckling as you reach your release. It rips through you, hard and fast. Unrelenting. A wildfire raging through your nerves.

Gale chases after his own climax, thrusts growing sloppy and deeper, moans and praises spilling from his lips before he finally cums inside you, hips twitching.

Your body trembles as the aftershocks roll through you.

You collapse onto the bedroll, breathing heavily, and Gale pulls you into him. You both lie on your sides, him softening inside you. He buries kisses into your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Are you all right?” he asks you, his thumb brushing comfortingly along your rib cage.

“So good,” you respond, brain blissfully empty, as if the tadpole never existed. You already feel sleep crawling across your mind again, pulling you under. You yawn and grin happily, like a cat that’s gotten its warm milk.

“Going back to bed already?” he teases, leaning up to press a kiss to your cheek. “I wear you out that much?”

“Mhmm…”

“All right. Go to sleep darling. I’ll clean you up.”

You’re already halfway asleep when you feel his tongue dip into you once more, licking his cum out from inside you—

Oh well. You can catch up on sleep tomorrow.

#gale x reader #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #baldurs gate gale #gale bg3 #gale dekarios smut #bg3

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thegnomelord · 4 months

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Ok, so I loved your dragon reader/ dragon price fic. The detailed courting rituals got me thinking about how different members of TF 141 react to a s/o who has different courting rituals than them.

The one rolling around in my mind rn is Gaz (which I'm pretty sure is a harpy or bird hybrid of some kind) with a dragon reader.

So Gaz tries to court reader through a more fancy version of pebbling. But, instead of giving cool rocks and sticks, it's gemstones and weapons. Yknow, expensive/fancy things that Gaz thinks the reader might want to add to his hoard.

Btw do you have an anon list? If so, is 👑 anon available?

I don't have an anon list yet but you're welcome to be 👑anon!

It's cool to think how they'd try to court you. I hc that werewolves, and Johnny by extension, are really straightforward. Like sitting way too close, hands roaming over your body, trying to lick into your mouth and going "Hey wanna make more of us?"

Ghost, the poor thing, is completely fucked bc he was human before becoming a wraith, how the Hell is he supposed to know? Que him going through Wikipedia articles and watching documentaries of your species courting and mating (having to rub one out imaging you and him in that position ofc) and just stumbling through the whole courting thing.

CW:NSFW

But Gaz? Oooh Gaz—

Safe to say he's fallen ass over tits for you.

It's the way you take care of them, of him, of the monstrous strength used to defend them turning velvet soft when Gaz needs emotional support that has his harpy hindmind demanding to lock you down before a competitor snatches you away.

Only problem — you're not a harpy. And Gaz has no idea how courtship works, as when he asks Price about it (under the guise of just being curious) the old fart just gives him an amused look and tells him to figure it out.

Though harpies and dragons are two different species, he figures there must be some similarities, so he figures to listen to the old fairy tales about your kind and looks for the shiniest thing he can find, because Harpies court by giving gifts and dragons like to hoard and both of them like shiny stuff right?

You're confused like Hell when one day you wake up to find a silver ring with a shiny amethyst sitting on your windowsill. You know for a fact it's not yours as the instinct to catalogue every item in your hoard is as old as the draconic blood running through your veins and you'd remember if you had it.

When you make sure it's not stolen and no owner can be found, (because who'd wear that type of ring in a military base?) you decide to keep it, failing to notice how the way Gaz's pupils get bigger when you put the ring in your pocket.

It is a nice ring, the shine of the gemstone tickling your brain in a pleasant way. The military doesn't allow dragons to have large hoards, most of the items you've gathered over the decades and centuries safely hidden in vaults, but it feels good to have a small hoard in your den.

You expect this to be a one off event. But. No. Every few weeks you find a new thing on your windowsill, from gems to guns to additions to weapons you've expressed you'd like to get. Each new thing leaves you scratching your head, annoyance growing bit by bit as there's never enough scent on the items to track the culprit down and it's not like you can turn the base upside down looking for them (again).

You're unsure how to feel; it's obvious someone is trying to court you, but it definitely can't be Price because no dragon would go about it like this. But you have to admit it's nice to be desired, regardless how odd the method may be.

Then you notice how Gaz has started acting. . . different. He'll ruffle his feathers and flutter his wings more than usual when you two are alone, purposely stretch more often to make your eyes naturally draw to him, sticking to your side as he talks about everything and anything under the sun.

You're also not a fool. You can figure out it's a harpy's way of trying to show off, but without any open hostility you can only assume he's trying to court you. And you let him, you like his presence and the sound of his voice, the way he gives you a lopsided smile and the way his dark feathers shine like onyx gems when the light hits them juuust right and the way he flushes and stutters when your tail wraps around his leg.

Then one late evening when you're doing paperwork you catch sight of something behind your window in the corner of your eye. Like a flash you're opening the window, your clawed hand gripping Gaz's hand before he can scatter.

Gaz's wings spread out wide, a surprised squawk leaving him as he looks into your slitted eyes. "Uh-, I, eh- Hi?" He says, gulping, his newest gift, a very shiny ruby, held in his hand. But what draws your eye are his dark feathers.

You let out an amused snort, "Hello." You purr, leaning in so your faces are close, enjoying the way he flushes from the proximity. "So you're the little thief that's been visiting me."

Gaz's feather puff up to make his silhouette twice as big, his eyes narrowing, a hurt and angry look spreading across his features. "I'm no thief!" He says, insulted that you'd suggest he can't get you gifts on his own. "I-"

"You are," You hum, reaching out your other hand to hold his jaw, and even with his anger he feels his mind croon at how softly you touch him. "You're in the process of stealing my heart."

"Oh." Is the most intelligent thing he can come up with, his pupils blowing wide like he'd just seen the shiniest thing in his life. "Oh."

"Yes," You shrug and pull your hand back to yank one of your scales out of your shoulder, giving it to him as you take the ruby. "Keep this safe for me, yeah?" You hum and then you let him go, going back to your work while he's left dumbstruck, clutching the scale close to his chest.

When it finally settles in his head that you'd just given him a gift, that you'd reciprocated, and given him a shiny gift, oh he's treating that scale like it's the most precious thing in his world. He keeps it close to him, cooing to it in the privacy of his room, keeping it on his pillow so he can fall asleep with your scent in his nose.

He also doubles down on the gifts, but now he's very open about it, to the point you'll have him randomly come into your office to give you something shiny or another weapon, preening so prettily when you praise the thing he's brought back, nuzzling into your neck and fluffing up his feathers. His heart swoons when you show him the small hoard you've made with all the things he's brought you, and you end up spending the entire evening with him cuddled up to you, chirping happily.

"Hey, can I see that scale I gave you?" You ask after a couple of weeks, curious to see how he's treated it.

"Uh, sure." Gaz can swear his heart's beating like a war drum as he watches you inspect your scale, checking for scratches or cracks.

But you find none, it's still as shiny as the day you'd given it to him. Maybe even shinier.

You smile and before he can do anything you pull him close to you by a hand on his hip. "Very well done, little thief." You hum, kissing him. Gaz melts against you, not even your lips able to muffle the happy chirps and croons that escape his chest.

You spend the next few months getting familiar with each other's bodies, lazy evenings spent with your clawed hands preening his wings, Gaz steadily melting into the bed with every brush of your fingers. Kyle taking a few extra minutes in the morning to rub his face between your wing, chirping and crooning.

Harpy mating season comes around and you're caught off guard when you come to your room to find your covers and pillows and entire wardrobe on the ground, turned into a makeshift nest with a very naked, and very horny, Gaz sitting in the middle of it.

His eyes are hazy but he knows you're there the second your scent hits his nose, the most desperate sound you've ever heard leaving his lips, bruised from how hard he'd been biting them to reign his noises in, to keep them only for you.

"Mate-" Kyle whines, shuffles in the nest that has the pretty gems he'd gifted you strewn amongst the fabric, "-need you, please- I-"

One more needy sound is all it takes to have you tumbling naked into the nest in record time, deep guttural purrs answering his pleased coos. He presses flush against you, seeking out your mouth, whole body burning up and his thighs shaking, his cock rock hard.

"I got you, pretty thief." You rumble, pulling him into your lap, his wings spreading out and feathers puffing up, as if he needs to make himself look even more desirable. "What do you need Kyle?"

"Need you," Kyle whines, pawing at your own erection, desperate fingers shaking as he strokes you, "Please- hurts, I need- mate."

You shush him with sweet kisses, your hand sliding down to very carefully stretch him open while avoiding injuring him with your claws, your mind purring at how willingly he opens up for you, wings and limbs shaking as he whimpers against your lips, his mind steadily leaking from his cock.

"You're alright," You calm him when you pull your fingers out, positioning him so your cock head rests against his entrance, not missing how Kyle preens at your strength. "Going to breed you right, gonna take care of you."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Kyle moans are loud as you steadily push your cock into him, his walls clamping down on every inch of your length. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank- mate." His claws dig into your shoulders, clutching you tight as you bottom out in him, his hole clenching you in sync with his ragged breathing.

"I'm here," You hum, barely able to think, "Just relax, let me take care of you." You say, feeling him relax into you, and with deep purrs and lots of praise you begin to fuck him, moving him like a fleshlight on your cock, letting him moan and groan and scream his heart out uncaring who hears it, your ancient blood singing at the thought of his noises being a testament to your abilities as a mate.

Then the tight heat and the scent and just Kyle has your mind forgetting how to think, your body moving on it's own to show Kyle he'd picked a good mate.

#cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #x reader #Gnome's Spittballs #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod mlm #cod modern warfare #monster cod au #cod smut #cod x male reader

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little-diable · 2 months

Text

Not a Ghost - Dean Winchester (smut)

I feel like my Dean fics are always just pwp, but I always try to weave in some plot points, promise. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: For the past ten years, Dean had been forced to accept that she was dead – dead because John hadn't been able to rescue her in time. But what happens when he stumbles upon her in a bar? Not a ghost, but alive and breathing.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, reunion, John is a dick as always

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.3k words)

“You’re staring, it’s getting creepy man,” Sam murmured his words as he gulped down another sip of his beer, eyes following his brother’s line of sight. Dean didn’t reply, eyes fixated on a woman standing a few feet away. The bar was crowded, packed with people neither Sam nor Dean wanted to interact with, and yet Dean’s eyes had been following her around ever since they had stepped into the bar almost an hour ago. “Dean, c’mon man.”

Sam’s hand met his brother’s arm, hoping to finally gain his attention, but Dean barely reacted. The older Winchester brother had his eyebrows furrowed, hand wrapped around the beer bottle he had barely drank from. It wasn’t the first time Sam had caught his brother admiring a woman, god, Dean was famous for loving “frisky women” after all, and yet this was something new, something Sam couldn’t understand.

“Excuse me.” Dean rose to his feet, leaving his confused brother behind without explaining a thing to him. Sam could only watch Dean move through the crowd, coming to a halt in front of the woman whose face Sam hadn’t seen just yet. It was too loud for Sam to pick up on the words Dean spoke, words that forced the woman to slowly turn towards him.

“What the fuck?” With the words rolling off Sam’s tongue, he jumped to his feet, full of confusion, not understanding what was going on. But before Sam could reach the two, she had tugged on Dean’s hand, pulling the man out into the cold.

“How is this possible?” Dean’s words dripped with confusion, arms crossed in front of his chest as if he was trying to protect himself from her. It was too dark for (y/n) to pick up on the tears welling up in his piercingly green eyes, overwhelmed by the sadness washing through him, the sadness he had tried to swallow for the past decade.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t supposed to be breathing, wasn’t supposed to be alive.

“How is what possible? You have the fucking nerve to speak to me again after ten fucking years of silence? You packed up and left, Dean!” Her angry words left Dean choking, taking a step back as if she had pushed him. For a second neither of them spoke, engulfed in silence and the sound of Sam slowly stepping closer. The taller brother kept his distance, yet he found himself just as overwhelmed by his emotions, unsure how to react.

“What are you talking about? You are supposed to be dead, I mourned you for ten years, and now I find you here, alive.” Dean’s words dripped with anger, but Sam could clearly pick up on the sadness that thumped through his brother’s veins. This was fucked up, another level of fucked up.

“Dead? Dean, why should I be dead?” No longer was (y/n) close to screaming, she took a step closer to Dean who struggled to keep standing still, body begging him to move away from her. If Sam hadn’t been with him, he would have been sure that this was just his mind fucking with him, hallucinating the woman he had once been engaged to, the woman he had mourned for a decade. But as much as Dean wanted to speak up, to explain what was going on, he couldn’t, too choked up.

(Y/n)’s now glassy eyes flickered to Sam’s, desperate for an explanation as she watched the taller brother take another step closer to interfere. He kept his voice calm as he spoke up, eyes flickering between Dean, who kept staring at her, and (y/n), “It was a Tuesday evening, dad came home after his hunt with you and told us that you died that day, that he had burned your body because there wasn’t any time to lose. He explained every detail, how you had been torn to shreds, how he had tried to save you, but was too hurt himself to react quick enough. I stitched him up that evening, he looked horrible, littered with scars, so there was no doubt, he must have told the truth.”

The gasp that left (y/n) was almost louder than the sob that tried to leave Dean, reminded of the day that haunted him every single night. Tears dripped down both their cheeks, eyes now unable to break contact.

“He, uhm,” she had to clear her throat, trying to wipe away her tears with her sleeves. “That day he told me that you no longer wanted the engagement, but didn’t know how to tell me and that you left that night with Sam. I was so angry, so I also packed up and left, I couldn’t stay. John was with me for a few weeks.” Both brothers could still remember how they had packed their things, how Dean had been driven on by the need to disappear from the house that reminded him of (y/n), and how Sam knew that he couldn’t stay away from Dean, not knowing if he’d try to hurt himself. They hadn’t tried to get in touch with John for a while, guided by the anger of him not being able to save (y/n).

“I will kill him.” Goosebumps rose on Sam’s skin at the tone of Dean’s voice, an unfamiliar tone, full of hatred. But Sam couldn’t blame Dean for his anger, he had been right there, watching his brother suffer for years on end, trying to drown his hurt in alcohol and one-night stands, addicted to hunts and the distraction they offered. Before Sam could even try to speak up, (y/n) had slung her arms around Dean’s waist, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

……

“It’s alright, Dean, I won’t let you leave. I promise.” Her voice echoed through the apartment, eyes set on Dean’s face. Sam had made his way back to the motel he and Dean were staying in, while Dean had driven (y/n) and himself back to her place. Neither of them could stop touching one another, still not believing that they were reunited after all these years.

“I don’t know what to believe if I’m being honest, sweetheart. Deep down I always knew he was fucked up, but this? All for what?” Only now did Dean pick up on the hesitation tugging on her features. He rose to his feet with a huff, hand combing through his hair as he growled a raspy “Unbelievable”.

“In those few weeks, he stayed with me, he tried to convince me that he was the better choice, that you had nothing on him. Of course, I didn’t give in, I guess that’s why he eventually left. And I haven’t heard from him since.” She didn’t dare meet his angry gaze, fumbling with her shaking fingers. (Y/n) tried to stop herself from crying once again, knowing that as much as she had struggled the past years, Dean has had it much worse, mourning the person he had wanted to marry.

“I should have known, he was always fascinated by you, some weird obsession I should have paid more attention to. I am sorry, sweetheart, so sorry.” Dean’s hand found her chin, forcing her to lift her gaze. She didn’t get a chance to reply, words stuck in her throat as Dean kissed her breathlessly. The moan clawing through her urged Dean on, pressing her against the kitchen island.

(Y/n)’s fingers found their way to his hair, tugging on his roots with as much strength that forced a growl out of Dean. They couldn’t part, didn’t want to break the kiss, it had been too long since they had gotten the chance to communicate their emotions in a raw way like this. But as much as they wanted to keep on kissing one another, they were also desperate for more, for Dean to bury himself deep inside of her.

“How do you want me?” (Y/n)’s hazy eyes found his piercing green ones, tongue running along her lower lip. She pondered over his words, not once in the past ten years had she believed that she’d get another chance to be loved by Dean Winchester, and now she didn’t know what she wanted. Too many things she needed, too many choices he offered her. His fingers worked on her shirt, tugging it over her head, groaning as his eyes found her chest. Within seconds he had ripped her bra from her frame, lips finding her hardening nipples.

“Fast, rough, fuck, I don’t care. I just need you inside of me.” She had ached for that familiar stretch, had ached for the feeling of his cock filling her, something she had thought of for all these years. Dean hummed, letting the sound vibrate on her skin as he palmed her breasts, while he nudged his hardening cock against her clothed cunt. Curses ripped through (y/n), head rolling back to let go of another heavy moan.

Without another warning, Dean pulled away, turned her around and pressed her front down against the cold surface of her kitchen island. With quick fingers he had pushed her jeans and panties down her legs before she heard him unzip his jeans, before she heard him fumble with a condom wrapper, knowing that as much as he wanted to feel every part of her, they couldn’t risk anything, not now at least.

“I’ll give you fast and rough, baby, but after that I’ll take my sweet time with you.” Dean had pushed into her before she could reply, forcing a deep moan out of the both of them. Both their bodies needed to adjust to one another, even though she was dripping for him, folds covered in her arousal, her cunt still struggled to take all of him. Deep breaths left them both, minds torn between the sweet sensation and the overwhelming wave of emotions clashing through them.

“Move, please. Fuck me like you would have done all these years.” The growl leaving Dean made her breath hitch in her chest, fingers reaching for the edge of the kitchen island to hold on. He pulled out of her only to thrust into her with more force, set on leaving bruises on her hips with the ferocious pace he was about to build.

(Y/n)’s walls clenched around him, fluttering with every thrust that had her seeing stars. No other man had ever fucked her like Dean. Dean, the one she had always loved. Dean, the man she had wanted to grow old with. Dean, the man who had mourned a woman who had waited for his return for all these years. If there was one thing (y/n) was determined about, it was making things right, making up for all these lost years.

Their bodies met with every thrust, allowing Dean to fuck her deep, hard, fast. It was perfect, cheesy almost with their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. Dean’s fingertips were buried in the flesh of her hips, set on leaving bruises that matched those the kitchen island would leave behind. He was focused on marking her up, claiming her like he had done over a decade ago.

“Jesus, sweetheart, you feel so good. I dreamt of this almost every night.” Dean’s raspy voice left her groaning, eyes squeezed shut to try and hold on. She didn’t want to cum just yet, didn’t want to let go when Dean fucked her this ruthlessly. (Y/n) was too choked up to reply, wanted to tell him how she had always dreamt of him, of the way he touched her, but she couldn’t, she could only moan for him.

“You’re still so fucking tight, squeezing me just right. You’re close, aren’t you, baby?” An almost silent “Yes” managed to leave (y/n), coaxing a chuckle out of Dean as he let his fingers find her clit, rubbing her bundle to push her over the edge. She loudly moaned for him, giving into the call of her arising high with her eyes squeezed shut, walls clamping down on his cock.

Dean kept fucking her, forcing his cock deeper into her with every thrust. Moans kept clawing through the both of them as (y/n) came on his cock, allowing Dean to fuck her through her high in search of his own. He kept thrusting into her, head rolling back as his cock twitched, about to fill the condom. The curses leaving Dean made her walls flutter once again, knowing that he’d fuck her all through the night.

With a huff, Dean pulled out of her, throwing away the condom as she slowly turned around, facing him. He moved back towards (y/n) with a smile glued to his lips, hands cupping her warm cheeks to pull her in for a slow kiss.

“You’re still wearing it.” (Y/n) murmured the words as she reached for his hand, looking at the ring she had pushed onto his finger as he had asked her to marry him, wanting Dean to also wear a ring. Tears welled up in (y/n)’s eyes, thinking of all these years they had lost, years they could have spent together rather than apart.

“Of course I do, I couldn’t take it off, I didn’t even try to.” (Y/n) gave him a soft push back, redressed herself quickly before disappearing in another room – only to reappear seconds later. His green eyes found the ring he had bought her over ten years ago, unable to bite down his smile as she came to a halt in front of him, eyes finding his.

“If you will still have me, I’d like to start wearing it again.” A choked sound left Dean, lips finding hers as he took the ring from her, pushing it back onto the finger it had once rested on all too comfortably.

“I’ll always have you, sweetheart.”

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester imagine #Supernatural smut

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 4 months

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Hiiiii could you do a fic where reader is pregnant for the first time? I need more soft!young president coriolanus so so bad

Soft as Snow || Young President!Coriolanus snow x reader

A/n: thank you for this request anon!! I need more soft coryo too 🥹

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of death

Wc: 860

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the opulent sun room of the presidential mansion that you call your home, you sat in a plush chair with a bowl of fresh lychee perched carefully on your pregnant belly. The brightly lit room, adorned with decadent furnishings, seemed to reflect the weight of the world you carried not only as the First Lady but also as a soon-to-be-mother.

The door cracked open and Coriolanus entered with an air of authority that seemed to dissipate as he laid eyes on you, his precious wife. Coryo gestured the servants to leave the two of you alone as his steely gaze softened, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips as he approached.

"May I?" he gestured toward the empty space on the chair beside you. You nodded with an eager smile and he took a seat, his eyes fixed on your protruding belly which was covered by the softness of your silk dress. Gently, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "How are you feeling, my love?"

His voice, usually reserved and commanding to people outside of his inner circle, held a tenderness and softness that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his question.

"I'm well, Coryo. Our baby seems to be quite content by these lychees," You chuckle as your rub your stomach. Coryo smiles, lychees were a rare fruit to come by this time of year but he made sure that you were fed only the most juiciest, ripe, lychees.

"I'm glad," he hums. His hand finds its way to your belly, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of your dress, ghosting over your skin underneath. "It's a remarkable thing, life," he mused, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—awe, anticipation, and a hint of vulnerability.

You watch him knowing where his mind was at. The thought of his mother dying during birth along with his baby sister. You knew that he was scared. Scared that maybe you would have the same fate as his late mother. But you assured Coryo, that times have changed and that you would be alright.

The weight of his responsibilities seemed to momentarily fade as he focused on you and the life growing inside you. Your fingers dipped into the fruit bowl, a lychee in between your fingers as you bring it to your lips, Coriolanus watching with fascination. The atmosphere hung in a delicate balance, as if time itself had slowed down to savour this tranquil interlude.

"Have you thought about names," he asked, breaking the silence. You chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the room, "I have actually. Vicky," you watch Snow's features contort into a mixture of emotions.

"Vicky. like my mothers-" "Yes, like your mother's name." You interrupt him as your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes. "I love it. Vicky Snow," He says with a smile on his face.

As you continued to share the bowl of fruit, the conversation drifted from politics to dreams, hopes and the shared future that awaited your family. Coriolanus, a man known for his strategic mind and politics, revealed a more vulnerable side, a side reserved for you, his wife carrying his child.

Time slipped away, and the room glowered in the soft hues of twilight. Coriolanus stood, his eyes lingering on you with an affectionate gaze. "I've got state matters to deal with, my dear. Just know, you and our child are always on my mind."

Days turned into weeks, and the swell of your belly grew more pronounced. The Capitol buzzed with excitement over the impending arrival of the newest member of the Snow legacy. Coriolanus, ever the stoic leader, became a pillar of support, attending to your needs with a grace that contradicted his ruthless reputation.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Capitol, he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting protectively on your belly. The lights of the city below shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused to witness the union of power and vulnerability.

As the days dwindled down to the eagerly anticipated arrival, Coriolanus stood by your side, a beacon of strength. The birthing room, stark and sterile, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol. Yet, in that space, you found an intimacy that transcended the political stage.

The first cry of your newborn filled the room, and Coriolanus held the tiny bundle in his arms with a reverence that bordered on awe. His usually composed demeanor crumbled, replaced by the unfiltered joy of fatherhood.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mother," He whispers, his eyes never leaving the small face nestled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you for gifting me a gift beyond measure," Coryo looks at you as you couldn't help but let a teardrop roll down your cheek as you gazed at the future you had brought into the word.

You couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty that had blossomed in the heart of the Capitol's calculated power.

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stylesispunk · 22 days

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"You're always on my mind"

Joel Miller x f!reader.

summary: You are Joel's reason to live and he is yours.

word count: 3k

warnings: some fluff and heavy angst.

a/n: I'm still on my writing break, but I couldn't take this one out of my head, so you have it here. I don't want to go into details because it would spoil the whole fic, but this is pretty much based on a movie, and by the name and the song, you may get the idea which one is it. Reblogs and comments are appreciated, so please come here and tell me your thoughts. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Finding such beautiful things in a world like this was not an easy thing to do. In a world like this, there was no spare room for distractions but survival.

In a tarnished world, you were a rose blooming from frozen ground, when neither the coldness of the cryptic winter could end your sweetness.

You were there even when your heart broke at the sight of him, defeated and lost without his Sarah; without the tiny baby he raised, he died in his arms that night of September.

You were there when he became cold, and Machiavellian, a distant ghost of the sweet man with the gleamy brown eyes that smiled at you without a warning, was just off and gone.

And you were broken for him, anxious and afraid of him letting his life go away because the pain of tightening his chest might have been stronger than his love for you.

He was hurting you by hurting himself, and he knew it. He knew he was hurting you; he was aware of the pain he was causing just by looking at your somber gaze, lost in state. Yet he couldn't care or see beyond his own pain. He had lost his daughter and his baby, and he was losing you as you slipped through his fingers.

He had tried to end his life, but he failed. He was going to leave you behind, and he didn’t think about it. He had decided he was going to die and find solace in the thought that he would be reunited with his daughter in a peaceful world while leaving you in a tarnished reality full of monsters and nightmares. Alone with your fears and pain suffocating your lungs. Alone, just by yourself, as if he wasn't the only reason you had to survive.

After the bullet rubbed the skin of his temple, you became silent. You weren’t able to look at the scar marked on his skin, let alone look at his eyes.

And Joel’s heart was constricted against his ribs. Once he failed, he woke up from his trance, and he became aware that he hadn’t been looking after you as he should, but you were silent and you were on his mind.

You weren’t talking, but he knew you were broken because of him.

One day, you were coughing, and Joel's heart contracted against his ribs, and his breath stopped as he listened to your complaints.

"You're sick," he said, looking at you, pacing angrily at him mostly.

Silence.

"You should drink water or

"Or one of those things is going to come after us, I know," you replied without giving a look.

“Do you want to get yourself?"

"Killed? Yes, maybe I do want that." Your voice was motionless, as your eyes kept staring at the flames from the fire flying away to the sky.

"Don't you ever say that; you hear me?"

Silence, defeating silence.

"Answer when I talk to you, please.” He looked for a glimpse of the spark that used to adorn your gaze. Joel's voice trembled with emotion as he stepped closer to you.

"You can't give up," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned away from him, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the walls of your makeshift shelter.

“You were going to give up,” you whispered once you weren’t facing him.

Joel's heart sank at your words, the weight of them heavy in the air between you. He reached out a hand, hesitating, before gently resting it on your shoulder.

"I... I know," he admitted, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I was lost. I was so consumed by my own pain that I couldn't see beyond it. But seeing you... seeing how much I've hurt you... it's woken me up."

You felt his touch, gentle over your skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him. The wounds were still raw, and the pain was too fresh.

"I'm sorry," Joel whispered, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I promise to do better. To be better."

Silence hung heavy between you, but it wasn't the suffocating silence of before. It was a silence tinged with possibility and the hope of redemption.

Slowly, tentatively, you turned to face him, searching his eyes for any sign of sincerity.

"You tried to kill yourself, Joel!" You called out "You are in pain, but I am too! Sarah was mine too; maybe not by blood, but she was my daughter too." You sobbed, not being able to contain the tears from spilling. "You were going to leave me alone. Here and-"

He cut you off by pressing his lips against you, expressing all the love he held on his chest and on his whole body for you.

"I love you; I love you; I love you," he murmured against your lips, recomforting, "I'm sorry."

As Joel's lips met yours, a flood of emotions washed over you: love, sorrow, forgiveness, and hope. His kiss was a silent confession, a promise to be there for you, to fight alongside you, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Tears mingled with the warmth of his embrace as you melted into his arms, feeling the weight of the world begin to lift from your shoulders. In that moment, you realized that, despite the pain and the struggles, there was still beauty to be found in the love you shared.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with emotion. "I forgive you."

Joel pressed his forehead against yours, holding your face in his palms with such a delicate touch. "We keep each other alive," he murmured.

"We keep each other alive," you echoed softly, the weight of his words sinking in.

He kept the promise. He would live for you, and you would live for him; you were each other's reason to stay alive in a mad world.

With time, he let his guard down. Settling in a place like Jackson, in a world like this, it seemed like a dream and a nightmare at the same time. There were people laughing, wearing nice clothes, and sleeping under a safe roof, and yes, it was nice, but Joel didn't want the conformity to ruin his careful routine.

But he couldn't help it. It was impossible to resist his sights in the mornings when the first rays of sunshine peeked through the window, directly at you on your side of the bed. He was astonished by you, by the effortless beauty of your creases and your ends, by your peaceful demeanor, next to the warmth he would provide.

While his achy bones and silver hair reminded him that he was getting old, you looked the same, as if time and pain never took their toll on you.

"You always do that," you murmured, your voice drained from sleep.

"Do what?" was his question, smiling.

"Staring," you blinked your eyes open, trying to wash your sleep away. "It's creepy"

"I love watching you sleep, so I can remember what you thought the day was."

You chuckled; the sound resonated in Joel's ears.

"Sorry if it creeps you out," Joel said, his smile softening. "I just... I can't help it. You're beautiful, even when you're asleep."

You rolled your eyes playfully, reaching out to tousle his hair affectionately. "You're such a sap, Joel."

He laughed, leaning into your touch. "Maybe I am. But I mean it. You're the reason I’m alive.”

Your smile dropped. “Don’t say that.”

Joel's expression softened, realizing he may have touched a sensitive nerve. He gently took your hand in his, his eyes searching yours with sincerity.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you," he said softly. "But it's true. You've been my anchor through the storm, the light in the darkness. Without you, I don't know where I'd be."

A tiny smile graced your lips as you looked at him, studying his face, the creases on his forehead, and the silver hair growing. Time had hurt Joel, but it made him look beautiful to your eyes, and you felt a sadness within your body.

“What do you want to do today?” Joel asked, smiling at you.

You took a moment to compose yourself, letting Joel's words sink in before responding. Despite the weight of his declaration, you knew his love for you was genuine, and it filled you with warmth.

"I don't know," you replied, returning his smile. "Maybe we could take a walk around the town? It's been a while since we've explored together."

Joel nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "That sounds like a great idea. It'll be nice to spend some time outside, away from these walls.”

Joel didn't like how people ignored him. His protective instincts kicked in as he noticed the way some people in the town seemed to ignore your presence. He tightened his grip on your hand in a gesture of solidarity and support. Even though he knew that you were the only one who could see him, he couldn't bear to see you being overlooked and dismissed by others.

“You seemed tense,” you joked, nudging his neck with your nose as you walked.

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your attempt to lighten the mood, grateful for your ability to find humor even in difficult situations.

“Yeah, well, I hate how people look at me as if I were," he replied, his voice tinged with warmth as he squeezed your hand gently.

“You know why,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before turning his attention back to the path ahead.

Just then, Tommy noticed Joel walking and approached him with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Brother! Where are you off to?" Tommy called out, his voice breaking through the silent atmosphere in Joel’s little world.

Joel glanced at Tommy, offering a small smile in return. "Just taking a walk," he replied, gesturing the way.

Tommy's smile widened as he nodded, noticing Joel’s cheerful humor. "Nice to see you out and about.” He downed his head for a moment. “Are you okay, right?”

Joel looked at Tommy for a moment, waiting for the words to come out of his lips: “Better than ever.”

"Yeah, Tommy, I'm doing alright," Joel replied, his voice laced with false cheerfulness. "Just enjoying the day."

Tommy nodded, though a hint of skepticism flickered in his eyes. "Good to hear, Joel. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

With that, Tommy bid them farewell, leaving Joel to grapple with the weight of his secret once more. As they resumed their walk, Joel couldn't shake the feeling of isolation that gnawed at him, knowing that no matter how much he longed for connection,.

“Don’t be mad. He’s just worried,” you said, picking up on Joel’s behavior.

Joel sighed softly, grateful for your understanding and support. He knew you were right; Tommy meant well, and his concern was genuine. Yet the weight of his secret still pressed heavily on Joel's shoulders, a constant reminder of the barrier that separated him from the rest of the world.

"I know," Joel murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. "I just wish I could... I’m the big brother.”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, offering a silent gesture of comfort. Joel found solace in your presence, in the way you understood him without needing words.

"I'm lucky to have you," Joel whispered, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You smiled at him, not speaking more words, and you continued your walk together, hand in hand.

Once you were outside the walls of Jackson, you led the way. As Joel noticed the surroundings, his apprehension grew with each step. Memories of that fateful day flooded his mind—the pain, the fear, and the aftermath.

"I don't like this place," he said, his voice tinged with apprehension as he halted abruptly in his tracks.

You turned to face him, noting the five-foot gap that separated you. "Please, “you implored, your fingertips gently caressing his cheeks. His eyes closed, savoring the warmth against his skin, oblivious to the tears welling up.

"Love," he murmured, his voice trailing off.

“Please, tell me you still have that sweet love inside you," you pleaded, still tracing delicate patterns on his face.

"You know I don’t," he finally answered, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

As the warmth of your touch withdrew, he opened his eyes, meeting yours with a mixture of fear and longing. Tears shimmered in your eyes, and Joel felt his heart clench.

"It's been a year, Joel," you whispered, but he shook his head, unwilling to accept your words.

"You need to let me go," you urged gently.

"I can't. I don't want to," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached as you listened to Joel's words, knowing the depth of his pain and longing. You wished you could ease his suffering; you wished you could erase the sorrow that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. But you also knew that holding on to the past would only prolong his agony.

"Joel," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands once more.

“I can’t,” he repeated. “This is the only way I can have you,” his tears falling down his checks.

"I can't just let you go," Joel protested, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. "I was so happy that you were mine.”

Your eyes softened with understanding, yet they were also filled with a profound sadness. "I know it's hard, Joel. But holding onto me like this is only hurting you more. You deserve to find peace."

Joel's gaze faltered, torn between the desire to cling to the memory of you and the need to find a way to heal. His heart ached with the unbearable emptiness that consumed him, a void that seemed impossible to fill.

"I don't know how to live without you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering him a silent anchor amidst the storm of his emotions. "You don't have to do it alone, Joel. Let me be a part of your memories, but also let yourself live for the present."

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of your words. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded, a flicker of hope stirring within his heart.

“Close your eyes,” you told him, grabbing the same hand you had put on the wedding band the day you got married, when the world hadn’t ended.

As Joel closed his eyes, a sense of calm washed over him, knowing that whatever was to come, he was not alone. He felt the warmth of your touch and the gentle pressure of your hand in his, and he let himself be enveloped by the love and comfort you offered.

With a trembling breath, you began to speak, your voice soft yet filled with emotion. "Joel," you whispered, your words carrying the weight of a lifetime of love and memories. "I want you to know how much you meant to me and how deeply I loved you."

Tears streamed down Joel's cheeks as he listened, hanging onto every word and every syllable that passed your lips. He felt his heart ache with bittersweet longing, the pain of losing you mingling with the warmth of your love.

"You were my everything, Joel," you continued, your voice breaking with the intensity of your emotions. "And even though I'm not physically with you anymore, I will always be a part of you, guiding you and watching over you."

Joel's grip tightened around your hand, his chest constricting with a mixture of grief and gratitude. "I love you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

And then, as you finished speaking, Joel felt a shift in the air—a gentle breeze that seemed to carry your presence away. He opened his eyes, expecting to see you standing there before him, but to his dismay, you were gone.

"No," Joel whispered, his voice echoing through the empty space around him. "Don't leave me."

But there was no response, no comforting touch to reassure him. You were gone, leaving behind only the memories and an ache in Joel's heart that would never truly heal. And as he stood there, alone in the silence,.

Ever since that tragic day, when you had died while patrolling with Joel, he had been unable to escape the relentless grip of grief. It was a stupid accident, one he could have prevented if he had been faster, but he wasn't, and he was paying the price.

Right now, every moment and every breath seem to echo with your absence. He had held himself to the memories of your laughter, your touch, and your presence by his side. Everywhere he turned, he saw traces of you. You were there, and he could touch you, but now your goodness fades away with the air. He longed for the comfort of your embrace, the warmth of your smile, and the sound of your voice calling out his name.

But there was silence. He turned around, and with the heaviness in his heart and tears spilling down his checks, he walked back alone to Jackson. This time, there was no reminder of you by his side. Tears blurred Joel's vision as he trudged along the familiar path, the memories of that day replaying in his mind like a relentless nightmare.

But no amount of regret or self-blame could bring you back, and Joel knew that he would have to find a way to carry on without you by his side.

And so, with a heavy heart and tears still streaming down his cheeks, Joel resolved to carry on, to face each day with courage and determination, knowing that even though you were gone, your love would always be with him.

You were always on his mind.

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redjayson · 4 months

Text

or: while at Huan Hua, Luo Binghe keeps sharing dreams with his shizun, and it doesn't take long to notice that there is something very, very wrong with Shizun's dreamscape

YEEHAW CHAPTER 2 IS HERE

#sliding in under the wire to finish this before 2024 #I spent soooo long editing this today you guys #this fic was NOT supposed to be this long originally lmfao #but all the reviews have been lovely <3 #and I hope everyone likes the conclusion #my fic #fic: it's you I find like a ghost in my mind #fandom trumps hate #fth 2023 #julia writes #svsss

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

Text

call me little sunshine

-summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood

-simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

-warnings: mdni 18+, dark themes, slight stalker!ghost, dub con, corruption, masturbation (fem), unprotected p-in-v, fingering, creampie, dumbification kinda, size kink, dom!ghost, orgasm denial, ghost has a filthy mouth, spit play if you squint, loss of virginity, oral (fem rec), mention of alcohol, mention of scars, age gap (reader is in 20s, ghost is in 30s)

next part masterlist

a/n: this is pure smut with plot and I regret nothing, this fic contains dark themes so please be advised, also not proofread.

The air was thick, its humidity almost choking you as the sound of thick waves lapping on the beach overtook your hearing, the hot June sun welcoming you as you stepped out onto the porch. You loved being home, even if it was only for a few months, you missed the simplicity of being there, no coursework to worry about, no job weighing on your mind just cold lemonade and swimming in the ocean.

As you situate yourself on your porch, book in hand your eye is caught by the sight of a large broody man moving boxes next door, your dad hadn’t told you that anyone new was moving in, you didn’t even know the previous owners had left, shame, you really liked them, you shake him from your mind and return to your book, settling in against the soft seat cushion.

You read for a while before feeling yourself grow thirsty, moving to the kitchen of the house to find something to drink, as you look out the window above the sink you see him again, only this time he’s not wearing a shirt, it’s tucked into the band of his jeans, every sweat covered muscle gleaming in the sunlight. Your eyes linger on his form before he catches you, stopping what he was doing and giving you a polite smile, you feel your cheeks blush as you return the sentiment with a shy wave, moving out of view to set your back against the wall. Your skin was hot, you figured it had to be from the weather outside deciding to change into something a little more comfortable for the weather, returning outside in a short white dress, patterned with small bumble bees, it sat low on your chest with thin straps that tied into little knots, perfect for the warm weather.

You glance over toward your car, noticing it could use a little cleaning, grabbing a few rags and making your way over, you lean over the hood, dousing the mental in soapy water, moving around, scrubbing different spots, you stand up, legs drenched in water as you hose down the vehicle.

“You’ll have to clean mine sometime” you hear from behind you, turning your head to see him, he’s practically glowing, you have to raise a hand to the sun just to look at him, he’s close, close enough that you can make out every groove of muscle, every scar that littered his toned form, the only thing you can’t make out is the dark ink that decorated his forearm.

“My truck is pretty dirty” he says breaking your trance.

“Oh,” you laugh

“Guess that happens during a move” He gestures toward a large stack of boxes.

You stifle a laugh, “Yeah doesn’t look great”

He smiles, it’s bright and genuine, “I’m Simon” extending a large hand toward you, you smile raising your hands to show the dirty water on them as he laughs, grabbing yours, enveloping it, lightly running a thumb over the skin, the simple contact making you swallow a lump in your throat.

“Right well, I should probably go shower”

He releases your hands, looking at the wetness on his palm that had transferred, watching your dress blow slightly in the wind, threatening to give him a peek at your ass, taunting him, he clicks his tongue before returning to his own work.

The shower does little to soothe you, a growing sensation in your lower stomach as you enter your room, towel-clad body moving around to pick out comfy clothes, it was nearing nightfall, the sound of cicadas echoing outside your open window, remnants of the sunset bathing your bedroom in a warm glow, you huff a breath to yourself, resting on your bed, hips wiggling a bit trying to ease the gentle thrum between your legs, you try to distract yourself with a book but with every turn of the page you find your mind wandering to him, his broad form glowing in the sun, the gleam of his smile, his dark eyes that stared into your soul. Putting your book to the side you gently move your fingers down your body, ghosting over the hem of your panties, teasing ever so slightly before dipping below the band, gentle fingers circling over your clit. You elicit a quiet moan, not used to the sensation, you continue circling as your jaw falls slack, free hand coming to cup at your breast under your shirt, you quicken your pace, back arching off the bed as whispers of moans fall from your open lips, images of your neighbour flashing before your eyes, you imagine his fingers, rough, roaming over your skin, teasing over your sensitive bud as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten, you grip the sheets as your orgasm washes over you, whimpers of his name falling from your tongue. You lay in your bed breathless, turning over in your bed as sleep takes over your mind.

You woke early the next morning, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as the heat creeps in through your window, you rub your eyes and move to get dressed, you had to go into town and it was hot again today, you settled on a simple skirt and tank top, something that would let your skin breath as you packed your bag, bidding your Dad a good morning before getting into your car. Your errands took longer than expected, a harsh rain setting over the terrain as you pulled into your driveway, you catch a glimpse of Simon on his porch, a glass of whiskey in hand as he watched the rain fall, offering him a small smile before making your way to the door, digging through your bag to find your keys, panic setting in when you realized they were nowhere to be seen, you peer through the window, willing someone inside to appear and let you in, out of the pouring rain, but no one’s there. Defeated you turn your back against the wall, huffing a breath.

“Locked out?” you hear him call, standing in the safety of his covered entrance.

“Yeah, forgot my keys inside”

“Did you want to wait inside mine?” he offers

You think for a minute, “No that’s alright, I can handle a little rain” you laugh

“You’re gonna catch a cold” he states plainly

You mull it over in your mind, you really didn’t want to be standing in the rain, you nod and make your way over to him, you miss the way his eyes linger on your form, your clothes soaked, clinging to your skin, allowing him the perfect view of your breasts and ass.

“Here come inside”

The two of you step inside, you look around the room, it’s not heavily decorated but small trinkets litter the shelves, a couple plaques hung around the room.

“Wait here, I’ll get you some dry clothes”

You remain still in your spot, and he returns with a small stack of clothes.

“Bathrooms over there doll”

You smile before making your way, his eyes glued to your curves, watching the way your hips move as you walk away. You close the door, stripping your clothes before throwing on the ones he had given you, no doubt belonging to him considering the way they hung loosely on your body, your hair was drenched but there was nothing you could do about it. You return to him standing at the bar,

“Give me those” he says hand extending to the mess of wet clothes in your hand, taking them from you to throw them in the dryer.

“You can sit if you’d like” he points toward the couch across the room,

Smiling at him before making your way over, he follows, propping himself right next to you, you can feel the heat emanating from his body as he reaches an arm to rest behind your head.

“So you just moved in?” you try to make conversation

He takes a swig of his drink turning to face you, “About a week ago, it’s a nice spot”

You nod, “I grew up here, parents moved when I was 4”

“Mmm I didn’t see you when I moved in”

“I just got back from school, summer break”

“Ah, university?” he asks, innocently enough

“Yea, I’m studying history”

“Interesting stuff”

You nod in response,

“I’ve got some old books upstairs, unpublished works from people who’s names I can’t pronounce”

“Where’d you find them?” slight smile creeping onto your face

“Can’t remember, wanna check them out?”

You nod as he guides you up the stairs, leading you into a small study, a sizeable bookshelf sits in the corner, beside a large grey safe.

“What’s in the safe” you turn to face him, he’s leaning against the doorway pinning you under his stare.

“Nothing you need to worry about doll”

You blush at the nickname, he moves across the room picking out an old leather bound book and handing it to you, his fingers ghosting over yours, the contact sends chills up your spine.

“I haven’t read this one” you say shyly

“Well it’s yours anytime you want it” he says, fingers roaming up your bare arms, your eyes are locked on his, body frozen from the contact.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, leaning down to place his lips next to your ear, his English accent suddenly thicker, his words drenched in honey, you nod, unable to think of words. “Do you like teasing me”, you quirk your eyebrow,

“Huh?”

He smiles against your neck, his hot breath making your hairs stand on end,

“The tiny dresses, the practically see through tops, bending over right in front of me”

You’re confused, “I don’t know what you’re talking about." He bites at your neck causing a small moan to fall from your lips,

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about love”

You shake your head, “No I swear-” your words cut short at the feeling of his palms roaming under your loose top, coming to rest under the curve of your breasts, your breath hitches as you feel the pad of his thumb come to swipe over your hard nipple.

“Think you can get away with it hmm, making me hard, serving yourself up on a platter for me”

Your eyes flick to his, “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to”

He shushes you, his hands moving down to grab at the meat of your ass as he presses his body into you, the firm contact of his length pressing against your thigh making you drop the book in your hands.

“S’alright doll, I’ll give you what you need”

You clench your eyes as you feel his hand cup your sex,

“Tsk, no panties, and you tell me you aren’t teasing”

“Th- they were wet”

“Mm so are you” He strokes two fingers through your slit, grazing your clit, forcing your head to fall forward against his shoulder as your hands grip his shirt. He teases over your clit, as you try to grind yourself onto his palm, desperate for contact.

“Needy girl” he whispers, kissing at your pulse point, he slides a finger into you, groaning at the way you clench him.

“Fuck you’re tight, gonna have to work you open for me huh” He grins a sadistic grin, peering at your scrunched face. He continues fucking you with one finger, his rough palm colliding with your clit, creating the perfect mixture of contact that has you teetering on the edge. As you’re about to tip off the edge he removes his hand, earning a whine from you, whimpering at the loss of contact, the heat still burning in your lower stomach.

“Stand up for me pretty girl”

You do as he says, feeling his arms grip under your knees, easily lifting you from the ground to plant you on the desk, kissing at your collarbone as he finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. The cool air grazes your skin as goosebumps begin to form, you watch him with doe eyes as he sinks down, lips latching onto your nipple, his hand coming to toy with the other, he sucks your nipple in, biting it lightly earning a gasp from you as he moves to give the same treatment to the other. He sucks at the valley of your breasts as he moves to take off your pants, urging you to lift up a little so he can slide them off, he moves back, hands spreading your legs as he’s looking at your dripping pussy.

“Such a perfect little cunt” he says, placing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs before licking a stripe through your folds, stopping at the top to tease over your sensitive bud, you instinctively clamp your legs, he grips your thighs, spreading your legs wide allowing him to kneel directly in front of you, the sensation is too much, you’re a mess of moans and whimpers, that familiar heat boiling in your stomach as you clench around nothing, he studies your movements, detaching himself at the last second to bring you slowly back from the edge, you try to grab his head to move him back but he stands firm.

“You’ll cum when I want you to”

You whimper,

“Tell me what you want baby”

You force the words from your throat, "I want to cum”

“Use your manners”

“Please, let me cum”

He smirks, fingers pinching at your nipples, bringing his fingers back to your leaking hole, you moan at the stretch, he pumps slowly, easing you into it as he watches your face contort with pleasure before latching his lips back to your clit. He pumps his fingers into you quicker, your moans growing louder, he bites lightly at your bud at you elicit a yelp, replacing his fingers with his tongue, his thumb circling over your clit, you’re so close you could scream.

“Come on baby, cum on my tongue, taste so good” His praise dries you forward, your hands gripping his hair as your back arches, your orgasm taking over your body, a blinding white light obstructing your view as your moans fall from your open mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, moving up to kiss you harshly, “taste that baby? so sweet”

Your breath is heavy, your mind clouded from your orgasm, you feel weightless as he picks you up, laying you back against the desk.

“Wait” you manage, “I’ve never”, his smirks grows

“Aw baby, are you a virgin”

You nod sheepishly, his mind floods with a million ideas, but right now, he has to feel you. He climbs over your body stripping himself of his clothes, your eyes come into contact with his hard length, widening at the sight.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle” he coos, tip teasing at your folds, he grabs your knees, spreading you wide forcing your body against the mattress as he holds you under his weight, even if you wanted to fight back you couldn’t, body weak from his touch. He pushes in slowly, just the tip at first, watching as your eyes squeeze shut.

“Look at me, wanna watch you as my cock splits you open”

You follow his command, scared of what might happen if you didn’t, as he pushes in further, the stretch of him practically tearing you in half,

“Fuck baby not even half way and you’re squeezin me so tight”

You moan at his words as he continues to press into you inch by inch before bottoming out,

“That’s it baby, just relax”

His thrusts are shallow and slow, easing you into it as your hands cling to his shoulders, he pushes in deep as your back arches, your clit grazing against his pubic hair. He places a firm hand on your lower stomach,

“Fuck, you see that doll” You glance down at where your bodies meet, “Can practically see myself inside you”

Your body fights against the intrusion, the pain of him pressing against your cervix, you’re writhing under him but he leans down to cage you against the bed as he starts fucking into you faster. You’re breathless, careless moans slip from your mouth.

“You feel so good, don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself”

You moan in response and he laughs, “Only had my cock for a minute and already can’t talk, you cockdrunk baby,” he says, hand grabbing at your jaw to hold it open before leaning up to spit in your mouth,

“Swallow it” he orders, and you do, the remnants of his whiskey linger, burning your throat as he continues fucking you at a relentless pace, your muscles are weak as he moves back, gripping your thighs tight to your chest, holding you down with his weight.

“I’m gonna fill this little pussy, let everyone know you’re mine” he grunts

You shake your head, trying to tell him no but it comes out as mumbles,

“Shit I’m sorry love, just feels too good”

You claw at him but he persists, long strokes filling you as his balls slap against the skin of your ass,

“Squeezin me so tight, m’gonna cum”

Your attempts at refusal are useless as his balls tighten, pressing himself deep into you as the warm sensation floods your abused hole, fucking into you a few more times making sure you got every last drop before pulling out, he steps back to examine his work, pressing a finger into you,

“Gotta make sure it all stays in”

You groan at the intrusion, the contact making you twitch slightly, he moves beside you placing a kiss on your head,

“Did so well angel”

Your body is jello, limbs exhausted as he holds you tight to him, moving you to the bed across the hall. You don’t know when you fell asleep but you wake up and he’s gone, the remnants of his spend leaking from your sensitive cunt, as you try to get up, noticing the pile of clothes set next to the bed, you dress carefully, trying to maintain your balance and making your way down the stairs, noticing his broad form sat on one of the porch chairs, you creep your way to him, standing by his side.

“Better get home pretty girl, Daddy’s back,” he says nodding towards your father's car in the driveway, your throat is dry, as you walk back to your home, you feel his eyes glued to you, you feel like his prey. You step inside and are greeted by your parents asking about your day, your mind freezes,

“Are you alright honey?”

You take a minute, “Yeah just, super tired I guess, I’m gonna head upstairs” sparing them a smile before making your way to your room, you step into the shower trying to wash everything off you, the warm water soothes your body before you step out, looking at your form in the mirror, noticing a deep purple mark between your breasts, running a light hand over it. You change into pyjamas and settle into bed, your mind is tired, your body is tired, you toss and turn trying to get comfortable, cringing at the feeling of Simon's seed still spilling from you, you turn over in your bed, clenching your eyes shut hoping you were simply imagining him as once again sleep takes over your body.

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amentomensmut · 5 months

Text

Stress Relief

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader

Summary: Mike comes home from work stressed, and you decide to help him out. Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ content!, AGE GAP!! in my mind reader is 21 and Mike is 31, degrading, praise, name calling (baby, sweetheart, whore), fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, finger sucking, creampie, cum play (sorta at the end not really), also a warning for how bad i am at writing endings 😭

Note: I really hope u guys enjoy, this is my longest fic so far!! A little nervy to post for some reason. Also, please send in any writing requests or prompts if you'd like!

In the three weeks that you’d been babysitting for Mike's sister Abby, you’ve never seen Mike come home from a shift so angry before. You watch from the couch as Mike, without sparing you a glance, rips his jacket off, and walks to his bedroom. Not long after, you hear the shower begin to run.

You crinkle your eyebrows in confusion at Mike's unusual and somewhat dramatic entrance. You don’t think much of it as you wake Abby up for school, begging her to get ready faster because you already let her sleep in for too long. After getting some food in Abby’s stomach, and driving her faster than you should be to school, you decided to head back to the Schmidt household, just to make sure Mike is alright. Besides, you drove Abby to school while he was in the shower, so he might not have heard you guys leave. You should at least let him know. It’s not like you’re making an excuse to see him.

You enter the house and take your shoes and coat off at the door. It’s silent and you can’t hear the shower running anymore so you assume Mike is in his bedroom. You walk down the hallway to Mike’s bedroom door and you softly knock.

“Mike? I, um, I drove Abby to school.” You say, listening intently for a response. You’re nervous for some reason, you don’t know why. You wait for a few seconds with no answer on the other side of the door. Maybe Mike isn’t home, you think. That, or he just doesn’t want to talk to you. You turn on your heels to leave back down the hallway when you hear Mike's door open.

“Thank you. You’ve been a big help.” You hear Mike say. You turn back around to face Mike and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. He’s practically naked, save for a towel around his waist. His hair is wet and drops of water drip down his neck and chest. You won’t lie and say you don’t find Mike attractive, of course you do. But, that was a feeling you had always pushed away. Besides, the man is 10 years older than you. Mike and you, would never happen. You know that. But a girl can dream, can’t she?

“Yeah, of course. Anything I can do to lessen your load.” You say with a cheesy smile that you can’t help, and you scold yourself in your head for your pathetic answer. You keep your eyes glued to Mike's face, trying desperately not to follow the drops of water that trail down his torso. Mike lets out the ghost of a smirk at your response, and he leans on his bedroom door.

“Yeah, well, thanks again.” Mike says, like that should be the end of the conversation, but neither of you move to leave. It’s almost like Mike knows you want to keep talking to him. That you want his attention, and you can see his smirk growing bigger the longer you stand there.

“I was just-, I was wondering if you were alright? You seemed kinda stressed when you came back from work this morning.” You feel embarrassment at your desperate attempt to continue the conversation, and you cross your arms over your chest. For a split second, Mike's eyes watch the way your cleavage becomes more emphasised by your actions. He acts like it didn’t happen, and it happened so fast you question if it even did.

“It was just a stressful shift, that’s all.” Mike says, and his eyes bore into yours.

Before you can even think about it, the words leave your mouth.

“I could help, if you want. Y’know, relieve the stress.”

Mike doesn’t even look fazed by your words, but you want to be swallowed by the ground right now. The lazy smirk on Mike's face remains, and you start to fidget with your fingers nervously.

“You wanna help me to relieve some stress?” Mike asks. You timidly nod your head and Mike can’t help but softly laugh.

“You know sweetheart, I don’t bite. Relax a little.” Mike says, probably referring to the fact that you look incredibly nervous. Mike walks a little closer to you, and you’re now standing only a couple inches apart.

“I see how you look at me. You try to hide it, but you’re not very stealthy.” Mike says slowly, trying to gauge your reaction to the shift in moods. You suck in a sharp breath at Mike's words, and you curse yourself for being so obvious with your little crush.

“Sorry.” You say somewhat quietly, and Mike shakes his head.

“No, no. No need to be sorry, I find it flattering coming from a pretty girl like you.” Mike says as he tucks a stray piece of your hair behind your ears. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you feel Mike's hand cupping your cheek and rubbing soothing circles into it with his thumb.

“Tell me what’s going on up here.” Mike says softly as he moves his thumb from your cheek to your forehead. You bite the inside of your cheek. You’ve gotten this far, you might as well just tell him.

“I wanna help you relieve some stress. Wanna make you feel good.” You say, and Mike’s eyebrows raise at your bold words. He brings his hand down to your chin, holding it with his pointer finger and thumb. He brings his thumb to your lips, and you slowly open them, letting him push his thumb inside your mouth. You suck his thumb into your mouth, flicking your tongue along the underside of it and hollowing your cheeks. Mike groans and he pushes his thumb as far into your mouth as it can go.

“Jesus Christ.” Mike practically moans. You keep your eyes locked with his and after a few more seconds Mike retracts his thumb from your mouth. “You want it that bad, huh?” Mike asks teasingly, and you nod your head. “Yes.” You confirm.

Mike brings his lips down to yours in an instant, wasting no time. You gasp at his sudden actions and he takes advantage of that by entering his tongue into your mouth. You grab at his shoulders while he cups your jaw with both of his hands. He turns both of you around and begins to walk you back into his bedroom. Your hands reach his hair, softly tugging at the root and you hear him whine. Mike sucks on your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling it back before sitting you on the end of his bed. You look up at him and he takes your face in his hands.

“You wanna make me feel less stressed, baby?” Mike asks in a teasing tone as he looks down at you. His crotch is in line with your face, and you can see the outline of his dick through the towel.

“Please.” You say, and you swear your mouth starts to water at the thought of sucking Mike’s dick. The towel that was once hanging low around Mike’s waste is now on the floor. You practically moan at the sight of Mike’s hard cock. It looks like it hurts, with precome steadily dripping from the tip. You slightly smile at the fact that you were able to do that. You take the base of his cock in your hands, and you slowly stroke him up and down. You watch the way he tilts his head back, exposing his neck to you. Mike grabs your cheeks with one hand, smooshing them together so your lips purse out.

“Take it into your mouth, baby. You’re a big girl. You can do it.” Your legs clench together at his words and Mike brings the hand that was once on your face to the top of your head. You kiss the tip of Mike’s dick, licking away some of the precum. You suck the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. You hear Mike groan and push your head down farther onto him. You hold his thighs for support as you take him deeper. You moan around Mike’s dick and you feel him twitch in your mouth. You gag as he hits the back of your throat and Mike moans loudly.

“God, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Mike says as he pushes your head down as far as it can go, until your nose touches the coily hairs at the base of his cock. He guides your mouth off of him, leaving a trail of spit that connects your lips and the tip of his dick. Mike wipes away the tears that started to fall down your cheeks and he guides you back onto the bed. He kisses you deeply as he hovers over you. He brings his lips down to your jaw, neck, and your collarbones; softly sucking and licking. He helps you take off your shirt and your bra and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, and then moving to the next one giving it equal attention.

“Mike, please.” You whine, squirming as Mike places a kiss between your breasts. Mike sits back and runs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“Oh, you're feeling extra polite this morning, huh? Please, Mike. I wanna make you feel good, Mike.” Mike mocks you with a tiny laugh. You groan in embarrassment and hide your face with your hands. Mike just lets out another laugh and wraps his hands around your wrists, prying them away from your face. He transfers both of your wrists to one hand, holding them over your head as he uses his other hand to trail his fingers down your body.

“Don’t hide your pretty face now, sweetheart. I wanna see it when I make you cum.” Mike says nonchalantly as he dips a hand inside your leggings and panties to feel your dripping cunt. You clench around nothing when you feel his middle finger dip into your wetness and bring it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. You moan softly as Mike teases your clit while never taking his eyes off of your face.

Mike begins to rub your clit faster, and you buck your hips up into his fingers. You hear Mike laugh at your eagerness and he presses soft kisses into your neck. Mike takes his fingers off of your clit and he snaps the waistband of your leggings against your pelvis.

“Can I take these off? They’re uh, a little restricting.” Mike says with a little laugh, and you join in, giggling as you nod your head at his question. Mike takes his hand off of your wrists to take your leggings and panties off. Once they’re off, he spreads your legs and you hear him groan at the view of your wet pussy in front of him. Mike inserts a finger into you and you moan loudly, arching your back off the bed.

“Dirty girl. You like getting fingered by older men?” Mike says with a smirk and you dumbly nod your head. Mike adds another finger and he pumps them in and out of you quickly. The sounds of your heavy breathing and your pussy squelching around Mike's thick fingers make your legs begin to shake. Mike spits on your cunt to lubricate it even more, and that's what makes you come undone. Your cunt clenches around Mike's fingers, sucking them in as he fingers you through your orgasm.

You breathe heavily, recovering from your orgasm as you watch Mike suck your cum off of his fingers. Mike leans in to kiss you again, softly this time and you smile against his lips in your post orgasmic bliss.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay?” Mike says sweetly and you nod your head. Mike runs his hard cock through your folds, and he catches your clit, making you jerk a little. Mike slowly begins to push himself into you and you throw your head back against the pillow.

“Fuck, knew you’d be tight when I felt you around my fingers.” Mike grits out, and he continues to push himself into you until he bottoms out. Mike starts to move at a slow pace, and he whines when you beg him to move faster.

“Fucking whore. Bet you think about me fucking you when you wait for me to come home from work.” Mike spits out as he pushes himself harder and deeper into your sloppy cunt. You moan at Mike's words, and you try to reply but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“I bet you touch yourself to the thought of me at night. I bet you’ve touched yourself thinking about this exact moment.” Mike says, as he brings his thumb to your sensitive clit and starts to rub harsh circles.

“Mike, I’m gonna cum.” You cry out, and you clench around Mike's cock.

“Cum, baby. Cum for me.” Mike moans out, fucking into you so deep, a ring of your cum and his has formed at the base of his cock. You run your fingers through Mike's hair, harshly tugging on it as you come undone at his expense. Mike buries his face into your neck as he cums, sucking at your pulse point. You feel his cum shoot into you and it only prolongs your own orgasm.

After a couple minutes of you two catching your breath, Mike takes his face out of your neck and gives your forehead a kiss.

“You were so good. Amazing.” He says, praising you as he begins to slowly pull out of you. He watches the way his cum slowly leaks out of you, and he pushes it back in with his middle and pointer fingers.

Mike gets up to go get you a warm towel and the only thing you can think about as you lay, legs shaking, on Mike's bed, is thank god for Mike being stressed.

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