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frantic-fiction · 3 months

Text

Unexpected

Pic: @cheekylittlepupp (I love her posts)

Astarion x gn!Tav, Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: A night of seduction takes an unexpected turn, leaving Astarion to realize just how deep his feelings for Tav have developed.

Warnings: Astarion not knowing how to handle affection. Mild disassociation. Astarion has a lot of confusing feels.

Word count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Astarion sprawls across the blanket, his spine cracking against the stretch. A reflexive groan escapes him. His arms are crossed to cushion his head while the sun's heat seeps into his bones. The last time he felt this warm and relaxed was when his heart still beat in his chest. He feels like he could trance, in just a moment.

It still baffles him, the luck of it all. Being ripped right out of that bastard's chains, only to be dropped in the middle of nowhere with a tadpole in his head and a bunch of problematic weirdos for company. And Tav. Tav, who Astarion has yet to fully figure out.

At first, he thought the naive little hero thing was all an act, but no, that was just Tav. And a sweet, naive person was exactly who he needed to keep his place in this group. He had already seduced them; now, he just needed to keep them on his side.

Astarion is pulled from his thoughts. He's not sure why until his ears twitch at the sound of boots scuffing on dirt. Pushing up on his elbows, Astarion looks up towards the tree line.

Tav, slightly obscured by clouds of disturbed dust, is trudging up the west trail. Their body seems to have deflated, shoulders slumped, both hands gripping their pack straps as if the moment they let go, the heavy bag would pull them to the ground.

Tav looks exhausted, not the kind brought on by a poor night's rest or a long day's travel. But one that builds up slowly, from continuous tasks and responsibilities, with constant eyes looking for guidance in a time none could imagine experiencing. The suffocating feeling that claws its way under the skin, burying deep behind fake smiles and pleasantries.

Sitting up further, he watches Tav start to make their rounds. First to Gale, they pull a necklace out of their pocket before placing it in his palm. The wizard makes what's sure to be a subpar joke, and Tav's delicate laugh rings out—Astarion glares in annoyance.

Tav says goodbye and moves over to Wyll. They unsheaths a polished rapier- a replacement for the one Wyll managed to break when they fought against a pack of minotaurs. It's ridiculous if you ask Astarion, but Tav tells him to keep his comments to himself and, as they say, "don't bite the hand that feeds."

After a quick hello to Lae'zel, Tav's eyes find Astarion. They perk up a bit, a timid smile stretching their plump lips. Astarion is now fully on his feet, returning their smile with a smirk of his own.

"Hello, my sweet," Astarion says, moving behind Tav. "Let me," he pulls the straps off Tav's shoulders, letting the heavy pack fall into his arms. "Hells, my dear, you carried this all the way from town."

"It's not that heavy," they mumble, reaching for the bag.

Astarion swiftly pulls the pack from Tav's reach. "What did you get?" He quirks his brow and unlatches the pack to begin sifting through its contents.

Tav huffs something under their breath and crosses their arms, but makes no further attempt to reach for the bag.

The pack is brimming with food, potions, arrows, daggers, and scrolls, all basic supplies. "Boring," Astarion says, tossing the bag to the side carelessly.

"If anything broke, it's coming from your gold pouch."

"Yes, yes, of course," Astarion says, waving his hand casually before turning up the charm. They look up at him with lidded eyes and a glaze over look . "Are you alright?" Astarion asks, his voice laced with played-up concern.

"Hmm... O-Oh, yeah, yes, I'm fine." Their eyes dart away, seeming to look for the next lie. "You know me; I'm always doing good."

Astarion glances around the camp, looking at the others. None seemed to be paying attention to the two of them. He steps forward and brushes a strand of hair behind Tav's ear, trailing his fingers down their neck.

"I've begun to know you very well, my sweet, and I can tell you are exhausted."

"I'll be fine," Tav catches his hand and starts to play with his fingers.

Astarion freezes, brow furrowing in confusion. They're just pulling slightly at his hand. An odd feeling settles in Astarion's stomach.

Why are they doing that?

They let go a moment later, and Astarion pulls his hand back quickly.

"I've got to talk with Shadowheart; if you'd like, you can feed on me tonight." Tav hesitates before quickly pecking his cheek and skipping off.

Astarion is left staring after them with this dreadful fluttering in his stomach. A hand absentmindedly touches his cheek. His mouth feels dry, and he swallows hard.

Astarion has an idea brewing that would please Tav, and maybe he would even get another of those soft kisses.

Why would he care for another damn kiss? Gods, what is happening to him? Is it the damn tadpole?

It's nightfall when Astarion finds Tav again. They are sat on the ground, suffocated between a growing owlbear cub and a slobbery dog. Scratch's tail wags and the subtle movement of Tav's hands petting each animal's fur are the only movements. Tav's eyes are closed, and their face is relaxed.

"Should I grab the cleric?"

"No, I think the rogue will do just fine."

Tav's eyes open, their face breaking into a bright smile. They sit up, displacing the animals who no longer consider Tav a suitable bed.

"Time for dinner?" Tav wiggles their fingers at them, beckoning for assistance.

Astarion scoffs but grabs their wrists and pulls Tav to their feet. Tav stumbles forward a step and presses into him. He gets the urge to kiss them for no reason other than he wants to and almost leans down to do just that when Tav speaks.

"So… my tent or yours?"

Astarion blinks out of his thoughts. "Right, I think my tent tonight,” he offers his arm, which Tav takes. "This way, my dear."

Tav allows Astarion to escort them to his tent, where upon entrance, on a small table sits a platter containing a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese he nipped from Gale's pack, alongside a fresh vine of grapes he may or may not have gone all the way to the bloody town for. Tav mentioned it was their favorite fruit, and hearing the shocked gasp made that obnoxious trip at least worth it.

"What's all this for?"

"I was feeling a bit peckish tonight, so I decided to have a nice meal. I merely wanted to rub it in your face."

Tav rolls their eyes and punches him in the arm dropping to the ground. They pluck a grape from the vine, pop it in their mouth, and pierce the skin with their teeth.

"Where did you even get all this?"

"If I told you the lengths I went," Astarion says, pulling out a bottle of wine and popping the cork. "I would have to kill you, Darling. I've got an image to keep." He pours out a glass and passes it over.

Tav chuckles and thanks him and takes a sip. Astarion sits on a cushion beside Tav with his own glass, watching them slice the bread. It quiets long enough for Tav to finish the slice of bread with some cheese along with a couple of grapes.

Astarion couldn't help but think how cute they looked, cheeks puffing slightly from too big of a bite. They swallow it with a mouth full of wine, a droplet falling down their chin. He wants to catch it with his thumb.

"But seriously, isn't this time reserved for your midnight snack?"

"Typically, but you looked so tired, my dear." Astarion places his goblet to the side and scoots closer to Tav. "I wanted to help you relax, help you sleep. You are always doing so much for everyone."

He plucks a grape and leans in, guiding it to their wine-stained lips. Lowering his voice, he whispers deep and low, "Let me help you."

Tav instinctually opens their mouth, letting the fruit fall in between their lips; their tongue catches Astarion's thumb briefly before his hand retreats. He cups their jaw, and traces over Tav's cheekbone.

Every time he gets a chance to look, really look at Tav. Astarion can't help being captivated by their beauty. The shine of their hair, the softness of their face alway so warm and inviting, their nose scrunching up anytime he teases. So gorgeous.

Tav's doe eyes flick down from his eyes to his mouth. Their tongue peaks out gently swiping across their bottom lip.

Who kisses who is irrelevant. Only the feeling of their smooth lips gliding against his, the shaky exhale of breath, Tav's warm hands curling around his neck, fingers carding into his hair.

Tav pulls away to breathe, running their nose against his. Astarion can't remember the last time a kiss left him wanting more. And having Tav rush back into the kiss as desperate as he feels sent unfamiliar shivers down his spine.

Astarion's hand presses against the small of their back, pulling Tav close to his chest. The other falls on their thigh, gripping gently like a lifeline. Astarion sighs low in his chest and runs his tongue against the seam of Tav's lips. They tentatively part, and Astarion chases the taste of grapes and bread.

Hells, he wishes to stay in the moment- in the softness of this kiss, the closeness of their bodies. His chest felt light, and the warmth of Tav's body under his hands is something he never wants to stop feeling. It feels as if nothing more needs to happen if either party deems it so.

But that wasn't how this worked. No one ever wanted a simple kiss. Astarion was never the innocent kiss that had you blushing the whole walk home. He was the sinful whisper and dirty looks. The pleasure before the end. Never this.

So Astarion begins the routine he's done a thousand times before.

His mouth leaves Tav's lips, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of their throat. Tav releases the softest whimper when he bites at the flesh of their shoulder. Their fingers tighten in his hair. He grunts.

Astarion no longer feels quite present; it is more like he is simply observing the scene as a third party. Just finish the task.

His agile fingers snake up their waist, pulling their shirt from their pants and caressing the smooth skin underneath. Astarion begins to unbutton their top when Tav grabs his hand.

"Wait." They say out of breath.

Astarion focuses back in, eyes taking in the look of Tav's flushed face and kiss swollen lips. They look flustered, and he's suddenly confused about why they stopped him.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I was…" They trail off, looking away then back again. "Could… we not do this tonight?"

That wasn't what he thought they’d say and it has Astarion momentarily at a loss for words. What does he do now? Tav's looking at him, and he's still frozen. No one has asked him not to have sex before.

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to pack this food and escort you back to your tent?" He sounds robotic to his ears and cringes.

"No."

Astarion's brow furrows. Do they want his tent? Okay, he can work with this. Let them have his tent for the night; he'll be fine. And it's a nice thing to do since they don't want sex. He can still win favor. Right?

"That will not be a problem, my dear. I was going to be out late hunting anyway- probably until morning. You're welcome to sleep here. Rest well."

Astarion moves to leave- flee more like when Tav grabs his wrist.

"Wait," Their voice is so tiny.

Astarion turns back to Tav. They won't meet his eyes and are playing with his fingers again. Is this something people do? Or just Tav?

"Would you hold me?" A subtle blush began to bloom across their cheeks.

"I can't sleep; I keep having nightmares. I keep waking up trapped in my body." Tav released his hand to hug themselves. "I just don't want to sleep alone again."

Tav. Fearless, reckless, heroic Tav. Who killed more goblins and helped more people than any hero he could think of. To see them look so small, so vulnerable. And ask him. Him. To hold them, protect them from the monsters that torment their sleep.

His mind is ricocheting around. Who was this person before him? So kind, so beautiful, so trusting of him, who deserves none of it.

Astarion has been quiet for too long. He knows this when he sees hope drain from Tav's wide eyes. They are looking for a way to leave.

"Okay," Astarion croaks, nodding before clearing his throat and repeating the word more confidently.

Tav beams at him. "Okay."

They stay rooted in place, awkwardly staring at each other. Tav bites their lip, tugging it between their teeth. Astarion feels like he's been plunged into the deep end. Every physical encounter he's partaken in was sexual and one he quickly left feeling used and disgusted.

This was new territory; did Tav want him to initiate? How did he initiate this without sex?

Astarion looks down when he feels a tug at his arm. "Um, would it be okay if we laid down?"

Astarion nods rigidly, his tongue cemented in his mouth. He moves to his bedroll and lays back. Astarion's body felt like a wood plank, he couldn't seem to relax. Tav sees this of course, because they seem to alway notice him.

Everything Astarion wished to keep buried, all his dirty secrets, he kept behind the facade he perfected over the centuries. Tav seemed to see through everything. Read him in a way no other had.

"Astarion," he looks up, Tav's kneeling beside him, eyes full of concern. "If you're uncomfortable, I can-"

Astarion snaps back to himself. He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbow. A flirtatious smirk automatically stretches his lips.

"Me? Uncomfortable? Pfft, Darling, to have you pressed against me all night," Astarion reaches out to pull Tav's arm hard enough to have them stumble onto his chest with a small yelp.

His voice drops to a husky whisper. "I don't think there's anything I'd like more."

Astarion chuckles at how reactive Tav always is to him. Their hands are splayed against his chest, face inches from his.

They open their mouths to speak, but Astarion cuts them off with a kiss long enough to leave Tav chasing him for another.

"Though I will admit, having you so close, it's going to be very difficult to keep my hands to myself."

"I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself. I want you to hold me." Tav speaks plainly as they adjust til they are pressed against his side.

Their head is in the space between his collar and jaw. Astarion takes a deep breath. The smell of pine, rosewater, and something distinctly Tav hits his nose. The scent alone acts like a cool drink of water during a searing summer day, calming his anxiety.

Tav grips the front of his shirt loosely and tangles their legs with his. Astarion was initially unsure what to do with his hands, hovering them slightly over the contours of Tav's body. But he adjusts quickly enough, and pulls them tighter against his chest, chasing the addictive warmth of their body.

This was strange, unfamiliar, but…nice. Tav's nose brushed against his neck, and the heat of their mumbled words fans over his skin. Astarion hums in question.

"Thank you," Tav repeats, yawning, their words slightly slurs from exhaustion. "You make me feel safe."

Tav was trying to break the record for how many times they could shock Astarion in one day. But before he could come up with a charming retort, their breath had already evened out. Tav fell into the world of dreams, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Astarion didn't trance that night, just staring up at the roof of his tent, listening to the soft breaths and steady heartbeat, rubbing absentminded patterns to the planes of Tav's back.

Why couldn't he have found them when he was still so hopeful? Less broken. Because he think he might have been able to make it through just about anything with Tav by his side.

Tav, whose eyes find him first. Who makes sure he's fed and comfortable and okay with the plan even though he could give two shits about the poor fools that need saving.

Who asks to be held at night when the dreams are too dark to handle alone, and they trust Astarion of all people to keep them safe? Where was Tav when he needed and pleaded for someone to care for and protect him from the cruelty of this realm?

Gods, he thinks he loves Tav. The thought turns his stomach to lead, but he stops and takes a deep breath. That is something he will have to think about tomorrow.

All Astarion wanted to think about right then was the person in his arms. He kisses the top of Tav's head and closes his eyes. Astarion doesn't believe he's ever felt more at ease.

I really enjoyed writing this, so please let know what you thought. Astarion discovering his feelings for Tav past his survival instinct is a personal favorite type of fic for me, so I want to write one of my own.

Taglist: @heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive

Want to be added? DM me please!

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion imagine #reader insert #fanfic #writing #astarion fluff #frantic fiction

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sinsandsweetness · 10 months

Note

Wellllllll…… I just read one Rec from someone and holy. Stepdad Rick isn’t my thing but still hot. I was thinking what if it was Shane instead. Or Daryl. Sneaking around behind Rick’s back. But ugh, Rick is so hot tho. Decisions decisions. More like Dad’s best friend maybe?

now that’s hot as hell. Idk who Dad would be but best friend trope could work for any combination possible I would think… (all of them!? 🙈 short of a orgy, I can’t see either Dixon putting up with Shane even for something like that but hey)

been thinking about this every hour since it appeared in my inbox… (Shane is my guilty pleasure fr. would let him do disgusting things to me)

I think I’m seeing your vision… lemme know what you think💗

PICK YOUR POISON

(Rick & Shane & Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+, smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, references of sex, multiple partners, the boys are kinda pervs but it’s ok cause ur legal and this is fiction <3 2.1k word count

You open the door to the garage and make your way down the stairs. Not even bothering to slip any shoes on. Your mom keeps the epoxy floors absolutely pristine, so there’s really no reason. Plus, your toenail polish is still a little tacky. Bright, bubble gum pink polish and a silver toe ring adorning your foot. The smell of liquor and smoke has filled the garage. Accompanied by the deep, rugged voices and dry laughs coming from your fathers closest friends.

“You know mom hates it when you smoke in the house.” You say all matter of fact, leaning up against the bar-tops, marble counter. You can feel your tank top strap slipping down your shoulder. But the animalistic looks coming from your dads three closest friends, force you to let it drop. To let them see.

Your father puts his cigarette out in the ash tray on the bar. Rolling his eyes at you. “Well good thing we’re in the garage then.”

You ignore his attitude.

“Mom needs you.”

“For what?”

“To drop her off at Cindy’s.”

He seems irritated. But all five of you can hear the rain. There’s no way any half decent husband should let his wife walk to her monthly book club meeting in this weather.

“Just- keep your mouth shut about the smokes. And grab everyone another drink. Make sure they don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” You father jokes, ruffling up Daryl’s hair on his way to the door, grabbing his jacket and keys.

You wave an innocent goodbye as you watch him through the garage door windows, backing out of the driveway. Your mother in the passenger seat, smiling sweetly at you.

“Well… whatcha drinkin’?” You ask Rick, who’s sat in the middle. Glass empty, with a lone, melting ice cube clinking around in the bottom.

“Rum and coke.” He answers, licking his lips.

“Spiced?” You ask. A flirty smile playing on your face as you bite your bottom lip.

They’re all staring. Jaws clenched and breathing slowly.

You know what you’re doing. You can tell by the way they’re all looking at you. You can practically see the wheels turning in their brains.

They shouldn’t be thinking this way about their friends daughter. About their best friends little girl. Well… not so little anymore. You’d just turned 21. Hell, they were at the party. Giving you the exact same looks they’re giving you right now.

The ones they definitely shouldn’t be.

But they are.

They’re thinking about your thin, frilly, pyjama shorts, and how they can see the purple g string pulled up over your hips. How they can see your belly ring through the fabric of your tank top, and imagining what it would feel like against their lips as they kiss their way down your stomach. And you know they’re thinking about bending you over the bar counter and taking turns at fucking you until they hear the sound of your dads diesel pulling into the driveway. How you’d have to play pretend for your father, ignoring the fact that your panties are soaking through with three different men’s cum, and maybe even a mix of your own. The salty liquids threatening to drip down your inner thigh as you politely excuse yourself from the garage. Coming up with any bullshit excuse to go lay on your bed and rub your clit until you’re seeing stars. Imagining each of their faces in between your legs, spreading you open and eating you up.

You know they’re thinking it, because you are too. It’s the only thing you can think about in this moment, while pouring Rick a double spiced rum and coke. Taking a sip and then handing it him. Making sure your fingers touch.

When you turn to ask Shane what he wants, he gets up. Insisting that you won’t know how to make an old fashioned. You only just turned 21 after all. You probably haven’t even had one before.

But he’s wrong. They’re your dads favourite and you’d been making them for him since you were 16. But you didn’t tell Shane that. Instead you let him walk around the bar, come up behind you and press himself against your back. Letting a tiny gasp escape at the feeling of his, very hard, cock pressing into your bum. Pushing you even further against the counter. His chest is warm against you. And his hands are big and calloused as he guides your own, pouring the perfect amount of bitters, simple syrup and bourbon over a huge, king sized ice cube that he’d retrieved from the freezer.

Finally, taking a slice of orange, meticulously cut up and organized in little containers on the bar top. It was something your mother was always very fond of; organizing the liquors and the garnishes, ensuring that your father could host a proper poker night or barbecue. Or whatever the fuck they stayed up all night doing in their little man cave. Not knowing that you were upstairs, awake and playing with your favourite vibrator, listening to their rock music through your bedroom floor.

“And then you twist it, like this…” Shane’s lips are actually brushing your ear. And you don’t mean to, but your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. His free hand moves to your waist as he tosses the orange peel in the drink, lifting it up and bringing the cold glass to your lips.

“Try it.” He says. And though you can’t see him because he’s still behind you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You take a sip. A small one. Immediately scrunching your face at the two men still sitting across you. Their lips curl into an amused smile as they watch you swallow the amber liquid.

“Not my favourite.” You whisper as Shane leans back. Only for a second before he’s turned you around and trapped you once more, back to the bar this time.

“Well we did forget one thing,” He says, reaching over to a jar on the counter. Maraschino cherries. Your favourite.

“And I know how much you like these.” He teases, referring to all the cherries he caught you adding to your piña coladas at a neighbors pool party only a couple weeks ago.

He dips a single cherry in the drink. Taking it by the stem and lifting it to your mouth. You don’t hesitate in wrapping your lips around it. The bitter taste of the bourbon on the fruit doesn’t last long. A sweet, sugary syrup bleeds over your tastebuds as you bite into the cherry. And a moan manages to escape your throat. It’s quiet. You think maybe it was subtle enough to go unnoticed. But the smile on Shane’s lips and the dry laugh coming from behind you, tell you that it didn’t.

Shane is still pushed up against you, cock strained in his jeans and pressed right against your stomach. His hand gripping your hip and forcing you to stay against the counter. And the way he’s looking down at you. Fuck, the way they’re all looking at you. Watching you start to squirm under their gaze.

“It’s good.” You swallow. Trying to maintain a confident, big girl attitude. But truthfully, you just want them to peel your clothes off, and let you melt into their arms as you cum all over their cocks.

“Daryl’s drink is still empty, sweetheart.” Rick’s gravelly voice pulls you back.

“Right.”

Shane gives your hip one last squeeze before he walks back to his barstool. Next to Rick. They cheers quietly and sip on their drinks. Watching intently as you try to compose yourself.

“What’s your poison?” You turn to the last man, lighting what was probably his second or third cigarette of the night. Glancing up at you and taking a draw. Slowly inhaling and exhaling. And though your mother was not a fan, you fucking loved it. You wanted to crawl onto his lap and have him blow the smoke right between your lips as you rode his cock, letting the other two men watch and touch themselves to the sight of you getting off on another guy.

But you didn’t.

“Just a beer, sunshine.” He pushes his empty glass forward for you. You grab it and put it in the dishwasher. Grabbing a brand new, frosted mug from the freezer.

“Which one?”

“Bud’s fine.”

You grab a bottle and skillfully pour it into the mug, coming around the bar this time to hand it to him. Intentionally placing yourself between him and Rick, reaching over and setting the glass in front of him.

To no one’s surprise, you feel a warm hand on the small of your back. Rick’s fingers tracing dangerously close to the thin band of your panties.

“Those are really bad for you, y’know.”

You get bold again. Stepping onto the foot rest of Rick’s barstool, and taking a seat right on his lap. The hand on your back only helping guide you on to him. Quickly finding its way around your waist as you make yourself comfortable.

Daryl only grunts. Hiding a smile at your silly comment. He’d seen you smoke. Hell, he’d snuck out of multiple dinner parties to have one with you.

“You gonna share?” You ask.

Hesitantly he hands it over, and you take it with two fingers. Taking a long drag in and then turning to face Rick again, before you slowly exhale. Trying to focus the smoke onto his lips more than anything.

“What the hell would your father think if he could see you right now?” Shane asks, leaning back in his chair and palming the hard on, still evident in his jeans.

“Think he’d probably try and beat you’re asses.” You say. And while you’re answering Shane, your focus is solely on Rick. The scruff on his face. His bright blue eyes, taunting you and begging you to lean in. Just an inch closer so that he can catch your lips.

“Think he’d win?” Rick asks, glancing down at your own lips.

“Not a chance.” You smile.

He closes the space between you, and you taste rum on the tongue that traces yours. Rick’s hand going to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as you blindly try to put the cigarette out on the ashtray. You start to move. Trying to maneuver your position so that you’d have a leg on either side of him, straddling his very apparent bulge. But right as you start to moan against his mouth, you hear the truck pull up and park. Practically jumping off of Rick and standing in between him and Daryl’s barstools. Fixing your hair as the heat rises to your cheeks. The men chuckle at your flustered appearance. Waiting for their friend to enter through the side door of the garage.

“Hi dad.” You say, smiling politely and pulling your tank top down to cover the strip of skin visible where it had previously rode up.

“Hey, hun. Glad to see they weren’t too much trouble for ya.” You father aproaches and slaps a hand on Shane’s back. Sitting down next to him and grabbing the pack of smokes from his jacket pocket.

“Y’wannanother drink, daddy?” You ask. Daryl clears his throat. And you see Ricks eyes go wide as Shane tries to hide his smile.

“Please. Old fashioned, darling. Y’want some of that pink stuff we found last week? Bubbly… something or other. It’s in the fridge.”

You watch Shane the whole time that you make the old fashioned. Clearly showing him that you knew exactly how your dad liked it. Carefully placing the cocktail on the counter in front of them.

“Thanks doll.” Your dad says, continuing to smoke his cigarette. Reaching over the counter and handing one to Rick who lights it. Watching you the whole time. Tendrils of smoke, floating up to the ceiling of the garage. You turn around. Bending over and being sure to stay searching for the bottle of rosé about thirty seconds longer than you really needed to. You pour a glass as the men discuss what the next move was. What they should do for the night. Considering it’s still a work night, and they all have a supply run pretty early in the morning.

“You wanna play some cards, sweetie?” Your dad asks. You scrunch your nose at him, taking a nice long sip of your sparkling wine.

“What? You got somewhere better to be?” Shane teases.

You huff a semi-annoyed breath, looking around for a spare stool. Even though you already knew there were only 4. Ricks eyes glimmer as he pats his left thigh, inviting you back on.

To your surprise, your dad pays you no mind, already starting to shuffle the deck of cards as you hesitantly take your seat back on top of Rick. Loving the way his hand curls around your thighs and tugs you even further on top of him. And the the way that Shane looks a little jealous that he hadn’t offered first. And you’re especially loving the way Daryl shifts on his stool just the tiniest bit closer, so that his leg grazes yours every now and then.

“All right, here’s the rules…” You hear your dad starts to explain, already dealing you each some cards. But you don’t hear him. You don’t even look in his direction. You’re way too focused on the taste of Rick that lingers on your lips, and the way your clit is actually fucking pulsing. Begging for attention. And truthfully, your mind can’t help but wander, thinking about what might have happened if your dad had taken any longer to get back home.

part 2

(I’m picturing readers dad as Tobin in Alexandria. Someone like that at least. With a Carol-esque mother. But picture whoever you’d like! Just thought I’d share what I was kinda thinking…)

taglist - @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @murder-jacket @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker

#rick grimes #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh smut #shane walsh fanfiction #smut #rickyl smut #rickyl x reader #dbf!rick #dbf!daryl #dbf!shane #dads best friend trope #pick your poison

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sweetnothingtm · 1 year

Text

RUTHLESS// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 4.6k

content warning rough sex, knife play, degradation, oral sex, the mask stays on!

authors note i hope you enjoy you dirty little freaks. thank you for everything ♡

It’s an honest mistake - really. Had you known any better you would’ve kept it right where he left it.

But you can’t help yourself, lingering just a moment longer to stare at the blade that shines in the light. Its tip was stuck in the wall, the black hilt of the knife worn from use. Soap is calling your name, but you stay put, lip caught between your teeth.

It’s the lieutenants, his initials engraved into it - and you pocket it without a second thought.

You hide it from him like a dirty secret.

At first, you reason that it’s a good knife - a waste of potential to be left in the wall. It’s been polished and sharpened, the tip of the blade pricking into your finger. You had to keep it, you thought. Despite the fact that he would eventually come back for it, eyebrows drawn in confusion at the empty hole where it used to stick. You don’t necessarily use it, but you keep it on you at all times. It rests in your breast pocket, your heart beating against it even now.

A reminder of him. All the little unspoken truths and harbored emotions that you kept from him.

Then you think he could've asked for it back. You don’t admit that you have it, but if he wants it then he’ll try to find it. You have a bad habit to absentmindedly stare at him during briefings, and you notice the empty spot on his vest. It’s a similar shape to the knife.

You’ve been free falling for the lieutenant since the day you met him. Always a little too desperate and eager, you did your best to please. Arriving early for meetings, being the first one up, getting your report and handing it to him finished not a day later. He’d catch your gaze, cocking an eyebrow almost as if in challenge. You’d blush, breaking his stare and shoving down all those months of pining.

He taught you how to aim, how to disassemble your weapons and put them back together, hell- he’d just about taught you how to breathe. A ghost that’s hellbent on haunting the living, he kept you waiting patiently and obediently. You just needed a sign - something to tell you that he sees you.

The lieutenant doesn’t ask for it back. Yet. You’re starting to fall asleep looking at it, eyes half lidded and thumb rubbing over the hilt softly. It flips between your hands under the table at meetings, head in the clouds with your superior storming your thoughts.

The initials are ingrained in your memory like it was branded. SR. You start to carve it in bathrooms, trees, your bed frame. It’s shameful to admit, but having a piece of him is nice to carry. It’s because he’s your boss, the guy whose job it is to keep you alive. You’re just being sentimental for a friend.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows it’s gone. There’s a part of you that hopes you’ll never have to give it back.

Eventually you’re beginning to treat it like it’s your own. You carry it with you like a lost piece to a puzzle. It’s got a spot on the inside of your vest, hidden from his eyes. You let it dance on your skin in boredom, and use it to cut stray threads off you. But you can’t cut the lieutenant loose.

Your eyes are blinking away boredom and disinterest, head hung low as the drowning deep voice of Ghost continues on. It’s late, and you’re tapping your boot impatiently as Johnny and Kyle are making small talk about the stupidest shit.

The knife clicks open and closed, fingers unconsciously brushing against the blade. You really just need a shower and eight hours of sleep, but time is ticking away.

Think Lt will let us sleep in tomorrow?

Not a chance, Soap

Bastard doesn’t even sleep. It’s not fair

You feel like kicking yourself to stay awake. Yawns are bubbling up from your chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It’s been a half hour since he started talking about procedures, protocols, what to do if blah blah blah. You fiddle with the knife in your hands, glancing down at the initials. Simon Riley. You wish you were in bed, the soft glow of your lamp illuminating your favorite kept secret.

He can tell too, and it’s infuriating him. You’re messing with your hands, lip caught between your teeth as your leg bounces in the chair. You rest your arms on the table, leaning forward and absentmindedly playing with something. Then he sees it, the black hilt that’s worn from the grip of his hand. It’s got the same engraving too, the one he got custom done his first day on the force.

You took it.

Simon didn’t think you’d have it - just a sneaking suspicion. He’s lost it before, usually to find it the next day in his jeans. Yet he saw you leaving, cheeks scarlet as you avoided his gaze. Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, mumbling soft apologies as he brushed past you and back into the room. It wasn’t there, though.

He missed it. Simon carried it with him everywhere, like it was a part of him. It’s the only knife he owns, always wiping it clean at the end of the night. It twists between his fingers at night, the hilt worn from the palm of his hand. He would lazily flick it open, thumb rubbing along the edge of the knife. He thought he’d find it by now - but there you are, treating it with the same care that he has.

The lieutenant pauses, words trailing off as he stares at the familiar blade. You glance up, catching his gaze with eyes that are dark and heavy. You blink once, twice, straightening and looking down to your hands where the open knife lays. You freeze, the air around you running cold. Heart faltering and chest tightening, you wait with baited breath. Never has the truth been laid so bare before you. His eyes are kept on your face, pinning you in your seat. Does he know?

The lieutenant breaks your gaze, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. You’re absolutely mortified, shoving the knife in your back pocket and biting your tongue. Johnny looks to Ghost, pausing his conversation with Kyle at the unexpected silence. You’re distracting yourself by looking at anywhere but him, breaths uneven and shoulders tight with anxiety.

Ghost takes a moment to regain his control, mind clouded with the image of you playing with his knife. He runs a hand down the haunting white mask that separates you from him. Still wearing the uniform and gear, his hand rests on the empty spot of his vest as his eyes drag straight back to you.

He has to know.

“Johnny, Gaz - take your gossip outside. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he states, leaving no room for questions. The lieutenant breaths a long sigh, head cocking to the side as you blush a deep red. You whip your head to him, standing up straight at the sound of your name. He doesn’t dismiss you. The boys nod begrudgingly, standing up and stretching while grunting goodbyes as they shuffle out of the room. The door swings shut, clicking back into place and leaving you stranded.

It’s just the two of you, a thick and nauseating tension arises as moments slip by in an uncomfortable quiet. Your hands are balled into fists out of anxious habit, nails digging into the palms for your hands. He’s shrugging off the vest, peeling off his gloves and tossing everything on a nearby chair. His bare hands brace against the side of the desk, eyes staring straight through you.

“That’s my favorite knife that you stole,” he says, voice patronizing as you stupidly blink at him with innocence in your eyes. Your mouth opens and shuts quickly, head spinning with all the ways you can lie yourself through this.

“I don’t have it, maybe you lost it?” You say, shifting uncomfortably as he cocks an eyebrow at you. He looks at you as though you’re on fire, burning up with every lie that you feed him. You fumble, shaking your head at him and letting poor bluffs take the lead, “I just bought this one. I got it from a store in-“

“You’re a bad fucking liar.”

You freeze, words stuck in your throat as his voice rings in your ears. You’ve been caught like a deer in the headlights, eyes widening and panic setting in. His fingers drum against the side of the desk, and he almost looks like he’s found his new pet not behaving.

Glancing to the door, you swallow a thick ball of fear. It’s a few feet away, right there and waiting for you to run. Excuses and dishonesty coat your senses, trying to cover up lost tracks as you look longingly to the exit. The knife sits heavy in your pocket, a ruthless and terrible reminder of the fact that it doesn’t belong to you. You should’ve given it to him when you had the chance.

He waits for you to answer, and he’s gritting his teeth every second you stare at him all pretty and dumb - like you don’t know a goddamn thing. Honestly, a part of him feels a little prideful that you kept it in the first place. You intoxicate and torture him, forcing him to keep distance from the forest fire he wants to call home. The lieutenants been waiting for you to spark since the day he met you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, voice struggling to stay even as his eyes narrow at your words. You try your best to remain calm as the lieutenant continues to stare, skin flushed with fear as he shakes his head at you. “You’re a rotten brat, you know that?” He spits, watching with hate as you look away with your chin held high. You won’t admit defeat, not until it’s ripped from you with prying hands.

“It’s got my fucking name on the blade, sweetheart-“ he grounds out, leaning forward as his eyes burn into your own. “And unless you’ve got it branded on you too, I’d suggest being a good girl and giving it back.”

The room is laced with a thick silence while you shiver where you stand. You nod meekly to him from across the table, letting loose an uneven breath. You hold his gaze, stomach churning with months of suppressed fear and unrequited adoration. You speak to him softly, as if your voice is made of truth.

“You left it, and I found it. It’s mine now,”

He laughs at you, the sound hateful and violent in your ears. He pushes himself off the desk where he leans, the mask building a wall of irritation around him. His footsteps land heavy as he’s crossing the room, sauntering towards you with a determined look in his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he states, shaking his head condescendingly at you.

Three steps, and he’s right in front of you. His figure towers over you, face tilted down to look at you. He smells like tobacco and pine, and you notice the spread of ink that peeks out from his sleeve. A finger grazes under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his dark eyes. “Give it back.”

It’s a losing game, and you’re trying desperately to win. You shake your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. No.

The lieutenant drags over a chair, exhaling heavily as he takes a seat. His legs are spread, a hand resting on his thigh as you shake under his touch. He looks away for a moment, as if he’s mulling over something. Tsking softly to himself, he reaches a hand out and hooks it into your vest before tugging you down, “patience is wearing thin, sweetheart. I want it back, now.”

Your breath fans hot against his mask, eyes widening in shock as his grip tightens on you. His eyes are swimming with a haunting rage. The careful distance you’ve kept from his is crumbling, heart skipping a beat to catch up with the lieutenant. He pulls you closer, and you’re tripping under yourself as the mask stares back at you in challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir-” you whisper under your breath, the tip of your shoes hitting his boots as your shoulders sag. “I’m keeping it,” you say honestly, letting the shame wash over you. There’s nowhere to hide, all the time spent trying to get him to see you when you should’ve been running.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand drags you down and over him, knees pressing into your stomach as the breath is stolen from you. His hand finds its place along the back of your head, keeping you down as his fingers run along your back. Head spinning with all the ways in which you’ve been waiting for this, you squirm on his lap and brace your hands under you and on his thigh.

The lieutenants face drops down to you, mask brushing against your cheek. Your mind is blank now, the feel of his hot breath against your skin causing you to freeze. His dog tags dangle over your back, brushing against your shirt. “You should really mind your manners,” he admits, plucking the knife from your back pocket. “You know better than this.”

Your ass hangs up and over his knee, his hand resting along your upper thigh to keep you in place. The blade clicks open, and he lets loose a chuckle as he appreciates it. He flips it between his fingers out of sight, pulling back your hair as it takes place against your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut at the touch, the cool metal pressed against your skin and causing you to shiver.

There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in silence. You count your breaths, biting your cheek and waiting patiently for the lieutenant to make his next move. Apologies are at the tip of your tongue, but fall short as his blade runs along your skin.

A sickening smack lands against your ass, body jumping from the unexpected touch. Desire runs up and along your spine, head cloudy with longing for a ghost in your haunted home. You can feel his hand rub softly into your skin, breath coming loose as he pulls away. “Lieutenant - please, I’m so sorry-”

Another smack, this time harder as it leaves a sting. “Simon - don’t you remember, love? That’s the name I’m gonna carve into your fucking skin,” he spits, digging the tip of his knife into your throat as you nod to him. Heat is pooling between your thighs that rub together in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth as you peel open your eyes and glance over your shoulder to him.

You regret ever having bothered.

He stares at you with a hateful lust, a smirk playing on his lips that are just out of your sight. Simon dips his fingers between your thighs and rubs soft circles, savoring the way you melt under his touch. You wiggle your hips, shifting on his knees and spreading your legs open just an inch. He notices, sending another smack to your ass. “Filthy,” he laughs, two fingers dragging along the wet desire that continues to grow within you. “You’re not even sorry - are you?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his thigh as his fingertips dig into your clit. “I am - I didn’t mean to steal it - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon,”

His name is unexpected as it falls from you, but you say it like it belongs to you. The bulge in his pants is growing, dick twitching at the way you squirm on his lap. All those months spent dreaming of you on your knees is starting to catch up with him, and he just can’t run away. He grits his teeth, the sound of his name on your lips sending him straight to hell. Good thing he’s friends with the devil.

Simon’s hands leave you suddenly, the knife clicking closed and set onto the table. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back until your neck is craned and your eyes begin to water at the pain. “If you really are sorry - then get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

He abruptly pushes you off his lap, and you tumble to the ground with your head smacking against the floor. You pull air into your lungs desperately, body recoiling from the shock of being thrown off of him. Hands pushing from under you to brace yourself, you look to him with innocent wide eyes and full lips that wobble in fear. He leans back in the chair, arms braced on the sides as he looks at your expectantly.

Shamefully, you crawl between his legs and sit on your knees. The knife sits alone on the table, watching you mockingly as you blink up to Simon. There’s a wide grin spread across his face, though you’re not able to see it. The mask keeps you from him, a careful distance that he isn’t willing to give up yet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble softly, blushing crimson as his hands fall to his belt. “I’m sorry.” He unbuckles the belt, dragging down the zipper as his eyes remain on your pretty little face with eyes glossy from tears. He’s nodding to you, pushing down the waist of his pants until you’re staring at the swollen tip of his dick that’s wet from pre cum.

“I know you are - but I want to see you beg.”

His hand comes to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he squeezes the tip of himself. Your hands gently rest against his knees, chest coiling tight with a familiar ache. You sit there patient, waiting for his approval as Simon jerks himself off. The heat between your legs is burning, heart struggling to keep a steady pace.

Then he gives a small nod, hands drifting to the side as your mouth waters. You lean forward, little lips parting wide. Simon sighs softly as your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed.

Your head bobs in his lap, hand coming to stroke what you can’t take. His hand tangles itself in your hair, guiding your movements slowly. Your tongue dances along his tip, his hips bucking at the touch and fingers tightening their grip. Simon lets his head fall back, waves of pleasure rocking through him at the way you hum against his dick. “Shit, you’re such a nasty slut,” he laughs out.

Lips dragging along his shaft, you take him inch by devastating inch without hesitation. Your nails are digging into his knees, clawing at him to take control as he begins to unravel. His shoulders drop, groans pulled from him when drool dribbles out from your lip and onto him.

Simon watches as you force him to the base of your throat, soft gargling sounds emitting from you. You can’t take all of him, but your hand massages the rest of his shaft, the touch soft and delicate. His head is cloudy with desire, forcing your head further down until you start to choke, tears blurring your vision. He’s abandoning all self control, letting it slip from his fingertips like a thread of gold. Doesn’t matter when you’re on your knees for him, sucking his dick like its the only thing you’ve dreamed of.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth. You’re humming, bobbing your head yes as you continue to let him fuck your mouth. He feels sick with pleasure, hand pushing you further along his dick until he’s seeing stars.

You’re eagerly on your knees, chest tightening with every moan that fires from Simons lips and aims straight to you. It’s got you feeling confident, sitting up on your knees and licking your tongue along the bottom of him. “Fuck - that’s it, sweetheart,” he grounds out, and you’re pressing your thighs together to stop yourself from dripping. You look up at him, dick caught in your throat and eyes sparkling with obedience.

Your teeth drag along his shaft, causing him to slam your head down. You choke, struggling to pull back and catch your breath. “Bloody hell,” he muses, the pad of his thumb rubbing into your cheek softly. You pull away, lips smacking as you try to control your uneven breaths. Simon watches as you rub the drool and spit from your lips, eyes turning a shade darker when you give him an innocent smile.

“Come here.”

When you stand, his fingers push themselves between your thighs. His hand comes to undo your pants, your lip caught between your teeth as you wait patiently for him. He’s pushed down the hem of your pants, hands coming to grip your waist. You stand there silently, holding your breath when he glances up to you. “Well? Show me how sorry you are,”

It takes you a moment to peel away your clothes, strewn on another chair where his things lie. Your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment as your arms snake around his neck, hesitantly coming to sit in his lap. He leans over to grab the knife, flicking it open again and pressing it against your chest. “Simon,” you breath softly, fingertips brushing along the base of his neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering filthy curses as his fingers dig into your waist. You’ve been waiting for this, soaked through and blind with guilt, you let the tip of him brush against your folds. Simon drags the knife to your throat, watching you with his breath held as you sink slowly onto his dick.

It’s a feeling you’ve only ever dreamed of. He pushes into you completely, heart beginning to falter and freeze at the pure pleasure that spreads between you. Your stomach is tightening, hips grinding into him softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, the hold on his knife tightening until his knuckles are white. “I’m considering it.”

It wouldn’t be so bad - to spend the rest of your life chasing after this high.

Hesitation has been tossed aside, breaths becoming in sync as he watches with baited breath as you grind into his lap and mewl out moans.

You pull yourself up with shaking thighs, falling back into him and letting a moan slip past your lips. You bounce on his dick, hips rolling and grinding with his knife pressed against your throat. Disgraceful slick wet sounds are ringing in your ears like a sickening melody. His hands are pressing and pulling you down, his hips bucking up with your movements.

Simon garbs a handful of your ass, keeping you in balance as you ride him ruthlessly. The knot of pleasure is tying itself tight, and you’re whining in his ear from the ecstasy “That’s it - look at you, such a good girl riding my dick.”

“Mm-mm,” you moan, head falling into the crook of his neck as he drags the knife to your chest, letting the tip press against your skin. “Please - please, I’m so sorry, Simon,” you gasp out, tightening your arms around his neck as he slams his hips into you.

His touch is rough and ruthless, impatient with pleasure as he smacks your ass that’s now red with his handprint. His. The thought sends him spiraling, groaning loudly. Simon lets you roll into him, bouncing in his lap with his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Careful,” he laughs against you, fingers traveling to your clit to rub harsh circles. “I just might think you like this.”

And you do. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by the sensational desire that’s boiling within you. Your moans are becoming desperate, nails scarping along his shoulder blades as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, practically hanging off of him as he rubs the wet pleasure between your thighs.

It’s just the two of you. His hand is greedily snapping your hips back to him, and you meet the touch eagerly. There’s a fire that’s building within you - and neither of you can smother it out. Your chest is tightening, lips mumbling out pathetic moans as Simon laughs, the sound dark and tantalizing. “You do - don’t you?” He asks, and you’re nodding into his neck with pleas rippling off of you. “I know you do, I bet your pretty little pussy is gonna cum on my dick-” he states, suddenly grabbing your throat and forcing you to look at him.

You hold his stare, mewling out and begging for him as he rubs quickly. You’re losing your sanity, hips eagerly grinding into his lap until a simmering heat takes a hold of you, crying out in pleasure. “Right about now.” He finishes, watching as you smile innocently at him.

He still fucks you though, riding out your orgasm as he chases after his own.

It only takes him another moment until he’s following you, sloppy and lazy thrusts into your hips. Simon is grounding out your name, gritting his teeth and savoring the way your slick cunt tightens around him. His head falls back against the chair, breath hot and uneven as he snaps and slams his hips into you one last time.

Then you’re sitting pretty and patient in his lap, letting him grow soft in you with your lip caught in between your teeth. Your eyes are glossed over with happiness, stomach flipping as he closes the blade and leaves a hand resting against your waist. Seconds slip by in silence, buy neither of you seem to mind. His breath is slowly untangling itself from yours, gaze dark and haunting.

When you peel yourself away from him, shaking hands pulling up your pants and blushing scarlet, he tugs you closer to him. You button your pants, still wet from the way Simon pulled all those dirty little secrets from you like they were his to begin with. He lets his hands slide to your ass, giving it a final squeeze.

“Such a good girl,” he says softly, a smile playing at his lips as you blush deeper. He stands, cupping your face in his hands and looking at you with the same adoration that you’ve given him for months. “I think you’ve learned your lesson - yeah, sweetheart?”

You nod up to him eagerly, the strings of your heart snapping and breaking as he pulls himself from you. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, and you mean it. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting his finger commit the feel of your skin to memory.

“Be good for me - get some rest, love.”

He left the knife in your back pocket, and it sits there now - waiting for him to come back.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost riley x you #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw22 #cod fanfic #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mwii

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emmyrosee · 7 months

Text

random thoughts #4 (14:44)

Every Tuesday night, bakugou comes over to get his nails painted.

It starts completely begrudgingly, originally only starting because your room smelt like acetone and it was creeping into his room- somehow, some way, and you’re pretty sure it wasn’t actually, he just wanted to come over and start some shit. You'd merely sighed and told him to mind his business.

"Who shit in your cereal?" he'd snarled, and when you just scoffed and started to close your door, he jammed his foot in, "you are so not shutting me the fuck out. be so fuckin' for real."

"as fun as you think this conversation is," you begin, having mercy on his foot and opening the door, "I just want to finish my nails and go to bed. please."

he snarls and looks into your room, then back at you. "something happened."

you shrug, "nothing bad. just not happy. don’t have to be happy all the time, no one knows that more than you.”

"you're upset, no matter what it was." his voice is softer now, and he takes a deep breath in before crossing his arms and blinking at you slowly. "you want some company?"

"no," you say flatly before moving to close the door. once again, his foot jams in the way.

"hang on," he says, grunting. "you... you shouldn't have to be upset and alone. been there, fuckin' blows."

"and why would you, the impenetrable bakugou katsuki care about me being upset?"

"well, for fuckin' one-" he gestures a hand around, "i smell fuckin' popcorn and nail polish and fuckin' sprinkle fart coming out of here, and it reeks."

you tuck your tongue in your cheek to hide your laughter.

"and two-" this time, his eyes meet up to you. He struggles briefly to find words, mouth opening and twitching as he struggles to find them. “I’ll… let you rant while you paint my nails.”

The both of you quirk your brows as if you don’t know where the words came from, but you decide this was better than having him lecture you about the importance of friendship or some shit.

“Bakugou,” you sing, and he grits his teeth. “Did you come over for me to paint your nails?”

He takes a deep inhale through his nose to calm down. “Sure did. If that will make you feel better.” He’s fuming. You’re finally starting to relish in this a little more.

You shrug, “who knows? Maybe it will?” You step to the side to let him in. “You wanna find out? Maybe it’ll get a stick out of your ass too.”

Bakugou snarls one more time at you before stepping into your room. “Smells like shit.”

“It’s acetone.”

“What’s that for?”

“Taking off nail polish.”

“But you don’t have nail polish on.”

“Not anymore; sit down bombshell, and give me your paws.”

And even though he kicked and screamed the whole time as you tore up his unkempt cuticles and cleaned them with the acetone, he was able to finally shut the hell up as you hook him up with a deep, solid red to match his eyes.

“How’d you get so good at this?” He asks.

“Don’t touch anything; and I’ve just been doing it a while.” Then you shrug, “and I’ve been painting Shinsou’s nails since he got here.”

“MINDREADER?!”

“He asked. You didn’t.”

“Never again. You go to me. Fuck him.”

You smirk, “you jealous?”

He doesn’t say a word. But from then on, it was just Katsuki coming to knock on your door every Tuesday, plopping on your floor and letting you paint his newly grown nails, be it in silence or you two talking about your thoughts.

You’d never expect him to be such good company 🥺🩷

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simplymarr · 23 days

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Chapter one.

summary: vincent renzi x fem!reader.

A young law student is navigating her last year in university, where she meets a misteryous french professor that is going to help her getting her thesis done. A strong chemistry and a love for books and hard work it's what gets them to work so well with each other. But how much are they going to resist when temptation arrives?

warnings: age gap (legal ofc) he's 43 and she's 26. Other that that, none (yet).

London. 8 am and a room full of people on a rainy day. Cold fingers on the desk, waiting for something to happen.

I looked over and the clock was still; maybe it was broken or maybe the time was way too slow in the morning. Even for me.

Today it was the last-first day i was going to have on that university. Five long years studying law, yet it felt like i was still a stranger in that big, cold classroom.

I was, finally, going to get my thesis done. No more wasting time, no more fear. I had to be strong.

How difficult could it be?

The world with its unique, hidden irony seemed to have answered my question when, all of a sudden, he walked through that old, wooden door.

Mature, maybe in his early forties. Tall but not too much; quite skinny. Long neck and serious countenance. Silver hair, some strands fell on his forehead as he walked across the room until he reached his desk. His polished clothes didn't look wet even though it was raining, and even for me to be so far away from him i could, somehow, sense that he smelled like cigarrettes and old fashioned, classic cologne.

Professor Vincent Renzi was his name.

He came from France. He said that he had recently won a case in the city, and that a colleague of his needed him to replace him for a few months at the university. A two-hour weekly class and, most importantly,

he was in charge of correcting some of the theses.

I hesitated the rest of the class, unsure of what was going to happen. Would he be easy on me? or would he be an idiot? After all, all male professors in law school seemed to treat women like they were not smart enough to be there. Or worse, like they fucked their way to the top.

Suddenly my feet stepped on earth again when i felt a deep voice making, in a strong french accent, a question that no one dared to answer.

"So, has anyone already started working on their thesis?"

Silence.

Then, for inertia or maybe an obscure, unconscious desire to be seen by his blue eyes i raised my hand.

He smiled at me; perhaps relieved that he hadn't been ignored. Little wrinkles formed on each side of his mouth as he spoke:

"Great, at least someone is doing their job. Now, enlighten me, please".

........................................

I tried to leave as soon as the class ended.

Maybe it was the shame, the blushed cheeks as i explained to him the central themes of the thesis. For the first time, i felt like my tongue wasn't mine as the words kept coming out of my mouth, but i felt grateful for that.

However, due to how far away i was from the exit, i was the last one to leave. I slid between each seat until i reached the door where, luckily for me, he was standing, waiting.

"That was good. Very good actually". He said as he reached out for a pack of cigarettes between his pockets.

I stuttered.

"Well, thank you. There's still some issues i need to fix, you know. References and stuff". I tried, without luck, to sound as calm as possible.

"That's why im here". He said, staid but in a soft tone.

As he left the building and got into his car, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lighting a cigarette, i couldn't help but wonder

what the hell was i getting into.

next chapter soon

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #swann arlaud fanfic #anatomy of a fall

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 9 days

Text

The Lookalike (Part 3)

☒ Summary: “Surely you’re not embarrassed,” he said, running his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth. You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you have fallen into his clutches.

☒ Warnings: Alastor X Reader, implied Vox X reader, hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, injury and treatment, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Parts: Part 1! Part 2! Part 4! Part 5!

Through half-lidded eyes, you helped Alastor undress you; peeling away your bloodied tailcoat and unbuttoning your shirt, slow and unhurried. You winced as he pulled your shirt off over your injured arm, and he paused, letting you shear the fabric with your talons to leave the section that was stuck to your injury in place.

When he came to your trousers he eyed the mess you had made with interest, one curious finger scooping up some of the cum that pooled at your adonis belt. Alastor held the sample to the light, sniffed it, and with a brief glance down at you, sucked it from his fingertip. The sight sent heat to your face, a twinge in your spent cock, and it must have showed in your expression because Alastor’s grin widened.

“Surely you’re not embarrassed,” he said, running his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth.

“A little.” You returned his gaze, the post-orgasmic peace you felt leaving you a little bolder than you might have otherwise been. It would be quite the sight, you thought, to see him lick your mons clean with his long red tongue. “Am I to your tastes?”

Alastor balled your ruined shirt in his hand and used it to wipe the remnants of your cum from your skin, the motion considered and almost tender. “The wrong question, little pretender. I think you are already well aware of where my predilections lie.” His gaze ran the path from your navel to your face, and his eyes locked with yours once more. “In this delectable little world of ours, you see, our forms are determined by our natures.” Lifting the balled up shirt from your skin, he gripped it tight in his fist, and green flame sprung from it, consuming the fabric. In the green light, his face was cast in eerie shadow, his eyes glowing red. “You would not resemble me like this if we were not very much alike.”

Naked, you sat cross-legged on the bed as Alastor fetched a polished wooden case full of surgeon’s tools. His gaze had none of the unconstrained lust for you that Vox’s had, which was hardly surprising since the forms you held were so similar, though the way Alastor had paused when stripping your underwear from you told you that you probably weren’t identical in all regards.

Alastor sat before you, picking scissors, needle and thread and disinfectant from his kit before he gestured for you to give him your arm. Your first instinct was to refuse, but you knew from experience that stitching up an injury one-handed was fiddly, so you held out your hand for him, palm down, and let him move you by the wrist.

The cuts from his talons were deep, and dried blood stuck the remaining piece of shirt fabric to the injury. Taking one end of the fabric between his fingers, Alastor began to tug it from the injury, and a hiss of pain escaped your lips as it welled fresh blood.

“Did you make a deal with the television demon?” he asked, casually, as if he weren’t in the middle of re-opening the gashes he had made on your forearm.

You controlled your voice, wincing as he tugged a little more of the strip away. “No, not with anyone.”

Alastor’s grin betrayed no surprise. “And he has no other leverage on you? No family, friends?”

“He doesn’t,” you said. “But how do you know I’m not lying about that?”

“Lying to me? With my own face? Now, that I’d like to see!” Alastor laughed to himself. “I believe we each have something the other wants, little pretender. If you’d hear me out.”

You swiveled your ears towards him for effect. “I’m listening.”

Alastor’s own ears gave a twitch of amusement as he soaked a wad of cotton in disinfectant. “First, I want a promise of silence from you. You speak of nothing that I offer you next, and nothing that I ask of you next, regardless of the terms we settle on.”

A Hellish nondisclosure agreement? Interesting. You held still, a small squeak escaping your lips as Alastor applied the antiseptic. It stung, worse than the original wound had. Swallowing your pain, you tried not to sound like you had felt it. “Sure, I'll shake on that.”

Alastor took your hand in his, his palm pressed to your fingers as he looked you in the eye. “A deal,” he said, quietly, and there was green light around you, the smell of brimstone. The sensation of the deal itself was a strange one, almost like vertigo, and you noted it for later.

“So, what is it that you want from me?” You held your arm steady as Alastor pushed the needle through your skin for the first of the stitches your injuries needed. It hurt, but not as badly as the disinfectant from a moment ago, the thread that followed a queasy pull on your skin through the hole, and you pulled a face. “I hope you're not wanting to lock me in your bedroom too.”

Alastor laughed. “And let your talents go to waste? I think not.” He finished another stitch, pulling it closed without making your skin buckle where the sides of the wound met, so that the injury would heal with minimal scarring. A surge of appreciation for the care welled in your chest as he continued. “It just so happens that I can think of a great many things that I could do with a body double.”

You gave him a frown. “I'm not going to agree to a great many things.”

“I think you'll be favorably disposed.” Alastor pushed the needle in once more, a sting with the puncture and a pull with the thread. “Let me spell out my conditions.”

“I'm a captive audience.”

“Hm. Quite.” Alastor paused his stitching, holding up the needle between thumb and forefinger. “The first condition, you will harm no-one within this hotel.”

“Physical harm?” you asked, watching Alastor’s face. It was hard to read him behind the smile, but your gut told you that he was amused rather than irritated by the challenge.

“No physical or metaphysical harm,” he clarified brightly. “Emotional harm is fine.”

“If I'm being attacked?”

“Then you'll call me for help.”

“And if you don't come to save me?”

Alastor sighed, threading the needle through the skin on your forearm once more as he resumed the stitches. “Then you have yourself a loophole.” He tied off the stitch, cutting the ends of the knot close to the skin, the whisper of cold metal from the scissor blades making you shiver. “The second condition- you bring no trouble to the hotel.”

“Trouble? Is Vox trouble?” The television demon was likely to come after you, and you couldn’t agree to a deal you had no hope of fulfilling.

Alastor gave you a laconic look. “Vox was coming for me long before you arrived, my dear.”

“Done, then. I like a quiet life.”

Alastor looked at you with something close to approval before moving to the second parallel gash on your arm, pulling the injury together with his talons as he lined up the needle for the first stitch. “The third condition-” He began, hesitating. “The Radio Demon must be feared. My reputation must be maintained. My detractors must be dealt with.”

“You seem capable of that yourself.”

“I have certain obligations.” Alastor’s smile did not falter, but it was easy to see that this was why he had asked for your consent to nondisclosure. “I am limited. You, however…” He paused to make a stitch, the drag of the thread through your skin almost familiar by now.

“You want me to hunt for you,” you finished for him.

“If that's what you want to call it.”

You frowned, lowering your ears. “I don't like the idea of someone else picking quarry for me.”

“Would you rather not hunt at all?” asked Alastor, tying the knot on another stitch.

You thought about it. You remembered the times when you had stopped. When you had been forced to stop. It had been an itch. You breathed out through your nose. “Give me veto rights. I don’t have to kill anyone I don’t want to.”

Alastor’s smile was tight. “That's hardly a fair deal. You're practically doing what you want, at that point.”

“Isn't that true of your end of the bargain too? I get the feeling that you don't want the television demon fucking someone with your face.”

Alastor’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Are you sure you want to provoke someone who is currently stitching your arm closed?”

“I'm negotiating.” You watched Alastor carefully. Naked and injured, in his territory, you ought to have been the one at a disadvantage, but your mention of Vox had set him practically snarling. Part of you wanted to poke him more, just to see how he reacted, but the pragmatic part of you told you to play it gently. “And I'm not opposed to the deal. I just need a little free rein, that's all.”

“I could use an extra pair of hands around the hotel,” conceded Alastor, after a pause. “Janitorial work, front desk. Agree to that, and you can have your veto.”

“Regular hours?”

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he looked up from the stitching, the work nearly complete. “I’m not a slavedriver, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. You can have your nine to five, little pretender, two days off a week.”

You smiled at him, your expression matching his. “I think I can live with that.”

“We have a deal, then,” said Alastor, his eyes creasing at the corners as he tied the final knot.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #vox x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin hotel

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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Eddie, your boyfriend, and you discussing having a threesome at some point. And then he offers you a threesome with Chrissy. You get confused like does Eddie wanna sleep with Chrissy? I just thought they were friends? But then he explains babe, Chrissy wants to sleep with YOU. She, like, is always telling him how pretty you are

You were only eager to explore the idea of a threesome with Eddie until he had a name already locked and loaded for your third party. You thought you'd scout a bar together, or rope one of your friends' friends into a one-time test that would determine whether 'the more the merrier' applied to sex. But when Eddie responds to your initial proposal with a quick nod, and a, 'Chrissy?' you start rethinking your offer.

"Uh," You flounder, stomach starting to churn, "I guess- maybe? I thought you two were just friends."

"We are," He nods, still absent-minded until his brain catches up with him. Then he's dropping his pen onto the scribbled doodle he'd been sketching, looking up at you with wide eyes pooled with understanding.

"Wait, wait, wait, not like that." He reaches for your hands, and you hear him out with dread still pooling in your stomach.

"We are just friends," He assures you, pretty brown eyes dripping with sincerity behind his long lashes, "But she likes you. She talks about you all the time. At first she was just, like, asking me how you were doing when she saw me and stuff. But then she came to my van to pick something up," He clears his throat, politely leaving the name of whatever drugs she was buying out of your conversation, "-and out of the corner of my eye I saw her slip something into her pocket. I only realized later, when you couldn't find it, that it was your lip gloss that you keep in the cupholder. And when I saw her again she was wearing it, now it's the only thing she wears."

You mull the information over a bit, deep in thought. Then, in a quiet voice, "That doesn't mean she wants to have sex with me, Eddie."

"That's... not all of it." He admits, raising a hand to scratch at his hair, "I tried to be casual about it. I said the stuff she was wearing looked like yours. And she got all red, started talking about how pretty the color was. I was starting to get a little suspicious, but I really couldn't tell if she was after me or you, y'know?"

You nod, and he squeezes your hands tighter.

"Then the next time I sold stuff to her, she asked about you again. I teased her a bit, asked if she just wanted to come over and see you. She heated up again, started smoothing out her skirt and messing with her shirt, asking if I meant 'right now?'. That's when I figured it out."

"I kinda elbowed her, y'know?" Eddie mimics the gesture, rocking his body to one side, "And I said 'Holy shit, you've got a thing for my girlfriend!'.

"No!" Chrissy stammers, shaking her head so that her ponytail bounces, "No, Eddie, that's- I would never do that to you!"

I don't blame you," Eddie shrugs, a smug smirk on his face, "I've got a thing for her too."

"I think she's really pretty." Chrissy admits, eyes wide and glued to her feet, "But that's- she's your girlfriend! And I know it's not fair, I- I'm really sorry, Eddie."

"Really," He laughs, knocking his shoulder into hers, "It's fine. I know you won't try anything. Hell, you're so sweet you'd pr'y come crying to me feeling guilty before you'd even made a move. You are not a cheater, I know that."

"Thing is," Eddie picks away a smear of nail polish that's stuck in the crease of your finger, "Now that I know, she won't shut up about you. She just talks and talks and talks, all day long, about how pretty she thinks you are, how lucky I am, and I don't really disagree."

"That's.. crazy." You shake your head, not because you're upset, but because you're surprised. You've interacted with the girl before, and she's been almost unbearably sweet, but you hadn't thought anything of it. You'd heard only good things about her, so you just assumed her saccharine demeanor was the default. You have to say, thinking about the starry-eyed girl having a puppy crush on you is making your heart beat just a bit faster.

"Well, all I'm saying is, she's a willing candidate. We'd have to break our 'no kissing' rule, though," Eddie grins, "I think she wants to give back some of that lip gloss she snatched."

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necroflame · 2 months

Text

Hell is Other People – Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: As the night draws to an end, so does the last semblance of your freedom.

Warnings: Implied dv, possessive behaviour

🦇gill – "Wanted to post a little something so this drabble is a filler between my next longer fic hehe, happy valentines! 💘 (or not if you're in the same boat as me lmao)"

Why are you still here?

It was well into the evening and the venue only continued to grow more compact and cacophonous. The hors d'oeuvres now lay cold and discarded atop the piano case and the fizz of your drink was reduced to a dull static that weighed heavily on the base of your stomach.

By now you should be retreating to someplace quiet. Preferably four white walls where he could do as pleased without the watchful eyes of Kildare and you could finally drop your shoulders and rest.

A phantom ache blossoms throughout the ligaments attached to your wrist as his grip tightens elsewhere.

Rafe hated these gatherings, so then why are you still here?

As if the cloud of your confusion drifted over to him, he glanced down at you with a small smirk – knowing – rubbing his thumb over your waist. He smelt nice tonight, a faint musk that reached some deep, primal part of you. As his dynamic maw descended upon your neck, you resisted the urge to nuzzle into those well-built arms, capable of much more than lifting heavy weights and rocking your feeble body to sleep.

Had it always been this hot?

“What's that look for?" His derisive tone was buried beneath a playful lilt. There was something unspoken, a cryptic message for you to decipher; 'you're much prettier when you smile.'

The man he was speaking to now shifted his focus to you. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, suit tailored to accommodate an impressive beer gut that threatened to pop the seams of his taut trousers. He took your hand, sincerity flashing across his muddy irises. His fingers were soft and unmarred in comparison to Rafe's calloused skin.

You did not recognise this man at all.

“Charlotte and I were worried when Rafe told us you’d been unwell," Why didn’t you reach out, then? "But I must say, you look rather radiant tonight."

“That’s very kind of you.” A squeeze, warning. “I’ve been feeling much better recently, Rafe always takes such good care of me."

You patted his lapels, glancing up in search of approval. He simply pursed his lips– a promising sign –and his chest rumbled in praise when you planted your supple lips to the corner of his mouth.

Something was very wrong.

This was confirmed by Topper and Kelce who were acting just as strange as the man beside you. They remained seated at the round tables adjacent to the polished floor, mingling with a few Kook women you knew had a penchant for trouble and powdery substances. When his piercing blue eyes pinned you from across the room, Topper sent you a wink.

"Rafe—."

You were cut off by the echo of a silver colliding with glass. Ward made his way onto the small podium, garnering the attention of the entire room.

"Rafe," Your voice reduced to a whisper, desperate for him to assuage your brimming anxiety, but even still he shushed you, gaze not once faltering from his father.

"Now, I'd like to applaud everyone in this room for a fantastic effort tonight," Your glossy eyes flitted around desperately. It was as though everyone was in a trance, and a sheen of confusion ebbed over your frame. Could they not sense something was wrong?

"With your help, we were able to raise just under five hundred thousand dollars for the Safe Horizon Foundation, which is just outstanding."

The room erupted into applause.

"Think about all the women and children, potential victims of the future, you have helped save!"

Another wave of claps, this time more ferocious. Rafe's grip tightened, hauling you into his side. Your hip made contact with the jagged edge of something– sharp and painful – and you hissed.

"But there is another big announcement to be made,"

A twisted grimace contorted your features as you glanced up at the blonde who was now staring right back at you. The glint in his eyes was a familiar one; haughty, revelling in victory and gloating in his ownership of you.

“My son…” Ward's speech was drowned out by the stutter of your heart as it did frightened little flips beneath your ribs. It was as though your blood had mimicked your state of shock, frozen in panic and struggling to course through your veins.

Rafe reached into his pocket, removing a sleek black box. It was simple in its design, not overly flashy but very telling.

“I’ve been thinking…it’s about time we got married.”

All focus shifted to you – don't forget to smile – and he tore himself from your desperate clutch. The crowds parted for him as he trekked toward the podium.

“Come up here, son.”

He threw one last look over his shoulder, a final dig at your impending defeat. I won, it said and you'd never been much of a believer in fate until it stared right back at you.

#dark rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #obx drabble #rafe x reader #Rafe Cameron drabble #dark fic #obx #outer banks x reader #dark obx #dark rafe thoughts #dark rafe x reader

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bunnystalker · 4 months

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C-Cock warming with Wesker thoughts?

👉👈

listen, i understand the appeal of cockwarming but as someone with a pussy, that would throw off your ph balance, and his, so fast.

anyway, here's this.

cw; cockwarming, gn!reader, reader's genitalia is nondescript, implied dom/sub dynamic, implied age gap (reader is early twenties, wesker is late forties), takes place before re5, petnames used (little dove), orgasm denial, creampie

you don't know how long you've been sitting on your boyfriend's lap with his cock buried inside you. he pays you no mind as he works on writing his lab report, one arm lazily wrapped around your waist. he's hardly said anything in the past twenty minutes and you're starting to get restless, wanting him to move or give you *something.*

"al-"

"hush, little dove. you'll get what you want in due time," he mutters, light annoyance in his voice.

his breath hitches in his throat when your walls squeeze him, the grip on his pen faltering for just a split second.

"please?" you whine quietly, shifting your hips a little.

his thinned patience snaps. a moan escapes you as starts bucking his hips up into your needy hole with impressive force and speed.

"such a needy little thing. you can't wait just a few fucking minutes for me to finish my goddamned report? " he growls into your ear, his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. his pace is breakneck, his cock hitting so deep inside you, he's in your guts.

"fuck- s-sorry, m'sorry!" you can hardly keep yourself upright, your thighs forcefully parted as he leans you forward, right over his desk. you grasp at the edge of it, your nails digging into the polished wood surface.

"like hell you are." he holds you in place as he fucks into you with a mean vigor, his stamina unmatched due to his genetic mutations. you know he's getting closer because his thrusts become frantic. it's not long before you're forced to take his cum, the white-hot liquid filling you up comfortably so. you expect him to keep going, to make you cum, too, but he leans you back against his chest instead and resumes working on his lab report. you're frustrated, his cock keeping his spend in you, but if you complain, you'll only get denied again.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#albert wesker #bunny's replies 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker smut

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actual-changeling · 5 months

Text

this post by @fellshish inspired me to write a little something as a reblog and now it is. a bit more than a little something so it gets its own post. why does this always happen. why. i simply cannot resist.

aziracrow angst with one archangel and one archduke being equally unhappy

"You?"

The door falls shut behind him with a loud bang, metal scratching over metal, and even after weeks in hell, Crowley still isn't used to the noise and hides his flinch with an exaggerated bow. Swallowing the dizziness, he straightens and flings himself back into his chair.

"'s me, angel. Oh, not angel anymore, is it?"

Aziraphale blinks, blinks again, and wrings his hands, turning the ring on his pinky round and round and round. In the dirty green light, he almost can't see the reddened, raw skin underneath.

"My deepest apologies, your Supreme Arseangelness," he winces when his voice breaks on angel, picking up the previously discarded bottle and taking a swig. "So, what d'ya want?"

After his question, the room grows quiet, the demons' moaning and shuffling a faded buzz, and while the Dark Council did insist on him changing his clothes, there were no requirements except 'well, evil and- and demony'. So—keeping the ever-changing temperatures in mind—he switched his usual attire for a calf-long black coat over a deep burgundy shirt, his polished high-heeled boots reflecting the light as he sprawls and the skirt ruffles and flows.

With one leg stretched out over the armrest, he regards Aziraphale through lidded eyes. He might not seem particularly present, but he would never let his guard down in hell—fuck, not even on earth.

(Not anymore. His flat was too empty and quiet, the bookshop too—well, the point is, he left.)

Aziraphale's suit is pristine, practically glowing surrounded by hell's filth, and swirling gold markings are framing his face; definitely new, Crowley decides, and entirely too attractive. Biting his lip, Aziraphale steps closer, arms pressed tightly against his body, while his eyes roam over Crowley's.

"As the new Supreme Archangel, it is only polite to introduce myself to the new duk—" he interrupts himself, his knuckles turning white, and suddenly his eyes are everywhere but on him. "I didn't know it was you, Crowley, I swear."

There is almost a tinge of desperation in his words, and he cannot decide whether to be annoyed or comforting. The urge to keep him safe will never fade; it has not wavered even once in six thousand years, and he doubts it will start now. Then again, he did warn him, didn't he?

For six thousand years, just to be forced to watch him leave anyway.

Crowley empties the bottle and throws it against the nearest wall, watching it break, shatter, crumble to dust, and sink into the floor. Hell is his to shape, yet it also shapes him, he realises, when his annoyance switches to anger.

He pushes himself upright under Aziraphale's wide-eyed gaze and closes the distance between them with a handful of wide steps. Swallowing a wave of tears, Crowley looks at him, unblinking, and waits until a familiar look of furious defiance settles on Aziraphale's face.

Now they're getting somewhere.

Earth is nothing without him on it, not just boring but driving him properly insane with the emptiness expanding around him; London had turned into the centre of a black hole, sucking him. When he couldn't take it anymore, descending back to hell had been surprisingly easy.

"Now you know," he hisses, low and long, his teeth sharp, his eyes fully golden, "so you can leave."

"But-"

"But what? Do you need something from me?" And, ohh, he does feel the alcohol now, loosening his split tongue and pushing emotions to the surface. "First you discard me, now you come back to demand my help?"

"Crowley, I didn't-"

"It's Archduke of Hell for you, and this audience is over."

A part of him had hoped that maybe allowing the anger to escape, to take form and turn his words into knives, would make him less heartbroken, yet all it is doing now is ripping badly healed wounds wide open. Seeing him, hearing him, smelling, tasting him in the stale air—it is too much. Not enough. Both.

His throne welcomes him back as he stumbles onto it, another bottle appearing in his outstretched hand, and with a snap ringing through the room, the door slams open.

Aziraphale watches him with tight lips, but he does not try to argue, does not chase after him, does not say anything, does not do anything.

Instead, he does what he can apparently do best now—he turns around and leaves.

For the very first time since his arrival, Crowley channels his anger into the walls of hell, stomping down any moral qualms as he listens to the increasing pitch of pain echoing through the halls.

It doesn't help, but neither did coming back, nor did talking to him. All he can do is lift the bottle to his lips once more and wait.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens ficlet #good omens angst

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juvenillia · 6 months

Text

~ tangled series ~ part 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

summary: Simon needs some distraction after Johnny is away on a mission for a longer time. So he finds him a casual ons, but just like his partner before he found something different and things become even more complicated.

a/n: Welcome back to part 2 of the tangled series. This time I got a bit carried away but I hope you like it. So yeah still porn with plot, but this time more plot.

cw/tw: suggestive content, pure smut , bi!Soap, bi!Ghost, Ghoap, flirting, petnames, piv, unprotected sex, fingering, drinking, open relationship/situationship, catcalling,

worcount: 5.5k

》Masterlist《》 Read on AO3 《》Master Post《

Everything turned out to be easier with Johnny at his side. Sure, as hell, that missions became somehow more strained. Simon always wanted to protect all his teammates, no matter the fact that he knew fairly well that every one of the 141 were extremely capable of their tasks. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing even one of them. And as soon as Johnny and him reached an agreement on their relationship terms, Simon became more restless considering the thought of getting the Scot injured. Everyone he ever let get close to him had to follow the sad fate of dying sooner than expected. Always too soon. Maybe that was the reason that Ghost didn’t accept on a serious relationship with him. Maybe that’s why they sorted things out and agreed on a kind of ‘friends with benefits situationship’, with no strings attached. Even if they were more attached than both actually saw.

That’s also the reason he wasn’t feeling alright. He felt more anxious, more at edge lately. Usually, he would drop by that specific Scot to keep his demons at bay. Simon could simply search out for his presence to make himself feel better, but since Soap needed to head out three weeks ago, there was simply no possibility to do so. The radio silence only exacerbated the tension and his nightmares. He couldn’t stay relaxed on leave when he didn’t know how his not-boyfriend was doing right now. What if Simon could change something about the situation? No, Price wanted him to rest after the last operation that took way longer than it was planned.

Maybe all that lead him to this situation. He was seated at a bar he frequented a lot of times when on leave. It wasn’t too far away from the base, just in case. He booked a hotel nearby because drinking and driving is irresponsible. And just like this he spent the nights in the ‘Downunder’. A pub that was run by Steven. Steven was a bit older than him, the owner, and bartender. He did know a lot about good whisky’s, always had a joke at hand, and most important he granted Simon his peace. He could sit there the whole night, listening to talks from strangers, sometimes some good live music, and just sit in silence. Sure, he got approached by some woman and dudes, mostly asking him about the mask, the black skull balaclava he always wore. But most of the times it was calm, and he could drown his thoughts with alcohol, and the best about it, nobody knew him here. Sure, there were some regulars that remembered his mask, but they went after their business and left the Brit alone. Nobody knew his name, or what he was doing for a living.

It was a usual Saturday when he found himself in these familiar surroundings. His glance was on the screen of his phone as he sat at the bar. Pinned on the little last seen status from Johnny that still told him a date about three weeks ago. A deep sigh left his throat. “Tough night?” an unfamiliar voice dragged his attention up. It wasn’t the usual bearded man greeting him behind the bar, it was a younger woman wearing a gentle smile, just polishing a whisky glass. His brows furrowed at the sight, what earned him a quite chuckle from you. “Stevie had a family emergency, so he asked me to fill in for tonight.” You simply placed the glass in front of him. Simon only nodded, somehow annoyed for need to get used to a new person, especially while he was in such an unsettled mood right now. “So, Dalmore Port or Craigellachie?” You placed your palm flat on the wooden counter, next to the still empty glass.

Simon tilted his head slightly and his brows arched even more. “Dalmore Port,” he answered stern, as you turned on your heel with a sweet hum to pull out the bottle and pour him a good glass of the desired drink.

“Not quite the chatter, huh?” you said while shoving the glass over in front of him, your soft smile never leaving your features.

He pulled his mask up only the slightest to reveal the perfect shaped jawline covered in a subtle stubble. Only high enough that the glass could meet his lips, as he shook his head no. “What a shame. Usually, people that sit at the bar are up to talks. But that’s your loss then,” you chimed teasingly throwing him a wink, as you turned your attention to another customer approaching the bar. Simon watched your every movement and something about you got him hooked. The way you talked so melodic, the way you gracefully moved along the bar to prepare the desired drinks. Maybe it wasn’t that bad that Steven wasn’t here. Maybe you were a fresh breeze of distraction for his mind.

From time to time, you tried to start an easy chat with him, but he only shortcut the answers. Somehow distant, still not so fond of the getting to know you part. Still, your features never even faltered a bit, like a natural beam of sunshine. Simon started to ask himself, how a fragile, soft, and pretty figure like you could work in such a place. Stevie entrusted you with the place he called his second child, but what would happen if things escalated? You wouldn’t be able to handle a bar fight, so Simon made sure to spend the whole night here. Just in case, and definitely not for any other reason than that. He knew better than that. Did he though?

That way it was already about one in the morning when the band packed up and left the bar and most of the customers left with them. Only a biker squad at one of the larger tables, something that looked like a bachelor party of some businessmen at another table and some random lonely dudes were left. Simon was one of them. That’s when the bachelor party demanded a larger order for shots and beers and asked if you’d bring them over. The pure nature you were you agreed on it. Nothing unusual to be honest. So, you grabbed a tablet and placed everything on it and made your way over the table. It was the very first time Simon were able to get a concrete look at your whole statue. A pair of black skinny jeans paired with a tight turtleneck that left nothing to the imagination. The little apron wrapped around your waist hugged your curves perfectly fine, as you swayed your hips naturally while walking over the table. Eventually Simon drowned his drink at the sight, before quickly adjusting his mask again.

As you crossed the table from the biker squad, one of the bulky tattooed men whistled after you. It made Simon’s jaw clench, but you just turned gracefully around, not spilling even a drop of liquor in the turn. “I know you like what you see, no need to remind me, Marcus,” you chimed while turning back to your actual direction. Simon’s jaw was still locked. You bend down to the table from the already quite drunken bachelor party and placed the glasses around for each member, before straightening up again. “There you go.” You still wore that same sweet smile.

Just as you turned once more to head back to the bar as one of those men took grip of your wrist. “Why don’t cha stay here, sweetheart.” One of them whined while pulling you back. Tension built in the back of Simon’s muscles, as he watched the scene. Preparing himself to step in.

A sigh left your throat as you tried to keep the happy face up. “Feeling honored, but I still have other customers to serve,” you stated soft. Not moving an inch.

“Nah, they can rot. Stay here.” He pulled you closer that you needed to bend over again, being on eyelevel with the drunken man.

That was the moment when Simon stood up from his place. Eyes glaring at the situation in front of him. But before he stepped in, he noticed the sudden change in your voice. “Sit,” you ordered with such a stoic voice that the man in front of you loosen the grip around your wrist and you straightened your back once more. Such an unexpected tone for your sunshine nature. Simon didn’t know if your order was aimed at him, but he also didn’t realize that the guy from earlier, Marcus was his name, also stood up. Who now slowly sat down again. Simon still stood there, not averting his gaze from you. Your posture was different to before, tense but not frightened. “Listen hun…” Your arms folded over your chest. “I don’t care who you think you are, but you’re nothing more than a cockroach here. If you get on my nerves, you’ll be escorted and not in the way you’d like to.” Your voice was so cold. The man in front of you only gulped. A mischievous grin growing on your lips, your hand slowly moved alongside your curves. “Besides, that’s nothing you could ever afford,” you remarked with more cockiness laying in your tone, before heading back to the bar again.

Simon sat back at his place before you returned. “Impressive…” he stated as he still watched every move you made. It earned him a soft chuckle, as you once more winked at him.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” With that statement he felt his cheeks burn. He was really glad that his mask was neatly in place, but still, he couldn’t suppress a low laugh escaping his throat. You reminded him so much of something he missed too much. Just a bit softer, a bit more elegant but as much of a tease and flirt as the Scot.

The rest of the night went on without any more incidents. All customers left the bar sometime after, and that’s how Simon found himself in the cold and dark night in front of the pub. It took you about forty-five minutes to close and clean up. During those forty-five minutes he could’ve walked away, he could’ve simply decided to leave. And still he found himself leaned against a streetlamp, as he decided to insist to walk you home. Making sure you’d arrive save at home. It was an urge he couldn’t fight. He ignited a fag and waited those minutes until he recognized your figure. A smile crept on your face as you took notice of him.

You slowly approached him. “No Mrs. waiting for you?” you asked jokingly while closing your jacket.

“Nah.” That’s the first time he gave some information about him away. His mouth was quicker than his mind. Your intoxicating smile made it hard for him to contain himself, the alcohol rushing through his veins did the rest. His answer made your smile grew.

“I see.” You reached out to steal the fag from his grip to take a drag yourself. The smile never leaving your features as you could feel his intense glance onto you. Eventually you could witness a low growl escaping his throat before he shook his mind clear.

“So, what’s the plan mysterious stranger?” You teased while exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “You gonna drag me to an alley and kill me?” You passed the cigarette back to him and the corner of his lips tugged up.

“Thought ‘f walking ya home, to prevent that exact incident.” He took another drag of the cigarette and could feel a slight burn in his abdomen as he tasted your sweet lip balm on the cigarette.

“A true gentleman, huh?” You grinned “Or a serial killer.”

“Up to ya to find out.” Now it was his time to tease, and it only ignited something within you.

“Good then that I don’t actual live here.” You winked at him as you started to walk into the direction of your temporally home. Simon trailed close behind.

You walked in completely silence, somehow you were too tense to speak right now. He indeed made you nervous now. It wasn’t like you never brought someone over after a long shift or hooked up with someone in a bar. It wasn’t that regular, only guys that somehow really caught your attention. What didn’t happen so often. But this masked man had something on him, that pulled you under his spell. Something you didn’t feel so often. Rounding a few corners before your stood in front of a not so cozy motel. He insisted to guide you up to your door, and you didn’t argue. How could you when his eyes already burned themselves into your brain.

That way you found yourself in front of the door to your room. “Thanks. Mind to tell me your name, that I can show my gratitude?” You smiled while facing him. Looking in those deep dark orbs his eyes were. He didn’t answer, instead he placed his index finger and thumb under your chin to tilt it up only the slightest. His eyes never leaving yours. The breath got caught into your throat while your lips slightly parted.

Usually he would pull back, call it a night, and give in to his demons. But not tonight. Tonight, he found a soul that could distract him as much as only Johnny could. And he needed that. It was selfish, it was something he didn’t like to do. But what could possibly go wrong? Nothing? Johnny himself did hook up with a girl at some time in their relationship – no situationship. They were okay with it, so why shouldn’t Simon for once have something good for himself.

He stepped forward, invading your personal space while leaning in. His glance still pinned onto yours. “No names,” he breathed out, while his free hand pulled at the hem of his mask. Once more only the slightest to reveal his lips. His eyes checking onto your glance, only to look for hint of hesitation.

“That comes at a price.” Your lips were formed into a smile as you closed the gap. He didn’t care about a price to pay, right now he only wanted this, he wanted you. His grip on your chin tightened as his other hand found your back to pull you closer to deepen the kiss. The sensation in his guts literally burning himself as he tasted your lips, while he already felt his pants tighten. It wasn’t a rough, sloppy kiss, but so passionate. It left you breathless as you parted to open the door. You walked backwards, eyes never leaving the intense glance from the behemoth of a man in front of you. He kicked the door shut as he followed you in.

Both of you removed your jackets as it turned too hot in here anyways. And in an instant, he was back on you. His calloused hands gripping on your waist while you clung around his neck. Slightly slipping under the mask to feel some strains of his hair, while your kisses turned more heated. Until you caught his lower lips between your teeth, and he let out a deep groan that sent shivers down your spine. Back was the grin full of mischief on your lips.

“Mask stays on, I suppose,” you teased while pulling away from him. Slowly walking over to the bed and pulling your turtleneck over your head to reveal your upper body, left only in an all-black laced bra.

“Affirmative,” he stated trailing behind you. A slight giggle run over your lips as you sat on the bed. Reaching out to him to pull him on top of you as you laid down. He followed your lead without hesitation. He was huge, you could feel the bulge in his trousers brushed over your sensitive spot as he leaned down to let his tongue slip into your mouth. You let out a moan at his demanding movements as his hands roamed down your body. His beefy hands felt so rough against your soft skin, and still it was a feeling you somehow missed a lot. He couldn’t help himself but started to grind his hips against your clothed crotch. “’m gonna take ma time with ya.” His hot breath brushed over your skin as he leaned down to place open mouthed kisses along your neck. Your hands found his brawn shoulders as your nails dig in.

Another deep moan escaped your throat as he suddenly stopped. You looked with lust blown pupils and a raised pair brow at him. His lips curled up in a cocky smile. He pulled his hoodie over his head, without disturbing the mask, which stayed magically neatly in place. Just to reveal a tight compression shirt, that clung to his toned body just perfectly. Revealing a tattoo sleeve at one arm and some scars across his skin. One of his hands cupped your breast, when you could hear his deep voice once more. “Ya know the traffic light system.” His hands squeezed your breast as the other took grip of your hip. You nodded eagerly. “Use ya words, luv,” he teased with his thumb along your waistband.

“Green keep going. Yellow break. Red stop.”, Your breath hitched in the back of your lungs as you felt your body filling with anticipation.

“Good gurl,” he praised, his eyes trailing down your body as he licked over his lips at the sight.

As he fumbled with your trousers to free you, you got a good sight of his hardened member that would await you later. You raised your hips to make it easier for him to took them off, and instant of lowering them again, he pressed your legs up, placing his mouth onto your panties. It earned him another sweet moan. He was way too turned on from the way you reacted to him as he held your legs in place.

“So wet f’ me already.” He pulled your panties aside to let his tongue run through your folds, while one of his fingers circled around your hole.

“Fuck,” you cried out and he once more stopped.

He placed another finger next to your hole, let them get soaked with your liquid. “Color, luv,” he said with such an endearing and at the same time demanding tone, it made your hips thrust.

“Green.” You quickly answered to finally feel the needed friction. And without hesitation he pushed inside while his mouth started to suck at your clit. It made your back arch. It was ridiculous how fast a familiar burn built up in your stomach. The combination of his sucking and his fingers pushing and curling inside you already brought you so close.

Your hands wandering down to grip onto his hair, but you only found the fabric of his mask. “Nuhuh. Be a good gurl f’ me.” It made you moan out as he stopped his movement again. Edging you when you were already out of breath. From the grin he wore you assumed he know fairly well what he did to you. You nodded, as your hands trailed to the sides of you gripping on the sheets. “Better,” he said while he placed his mouth onto you again. “Taste so bloody fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned against your clit while he added another of his beefy fingers to your insides. He could feel how your whole body trembled and how your walls started to clench around his digits. “Cum f’ me, luv.” he groaned while the pace of his digits picked up. And just as he demanded you did, without hesitation. His fingers slowed down as he guided you through your first orgasm. “Gonna be a long bloody night,” he said while sitting back, sucking his fingers clean from your cum. Letting your legs down as you caught your breath.

The now free hand stroked over his clothed cock, that already started twitching at the delicate sight in front of him. You sit carefully up to face him properly. A smile planted on your face. A smile full of mischief. “I hope so,” you stated while moving to sit on your knees. Fumbling with his belt. He instantly pulled you into a deep kiss again and you could taste yourself on his tongue. His mask was soaked in your liquids as much as your panties. A little souvenir you’d grant him. Something he was already grateful for, because he literal could grow addicted to your scent, to your taste. Something he wouldn’t let happen, but right now it was alright. Right now, in the heat of the moment he let it happen and enjoyed it.

Kneeling before him on the mattress you reached out to free his cock, distracted from the dizzying kisses he continued to assault you with. When he finally sprang free you leant down to take him in your mouth, only to startle as he laid down, tugging you with him. His strong arms maneuvering you to sit backwards on his face, letting you brace your hands against his abdomen as he mouthed at your cunt. Licking the drops of pre up from his glossy tip made the behemoth of a man moan deeply beneath you. He instantly started to eat you out once more as you carefully placed your lips around his length. Taking in as much as your throat granted you. Gagging a few times, what only made his member twitch and his mouth groan against your sensitive spot. It didn’t take long until you started to grind yourself over his mouth.

His hands firmly placed onto your ass, squeezing it all so often while one of his fingers circled around the hole that wasn’t occupied by his mouth. He only pulled away for a second when you already spoke up. “Green, god damn.”Before taking his dick back into your throat. Your reaction made him laugh, before he returned to his task. Completely ruining his face with your cum. It was the second time when he pushed you over the edge so effortlessly, it made tears build up in the corner of your eyes from pure pleasure. You needed more; you needed him.

You turned around to place you above his dripping cock, but before you could lower yourself, he switched places with you. Manhandling you like you weighted nothing, and he was between your legs on top of you. “ ‘m not finished with ya.,” he growled while his mouth found yours again. Wiggling his trousers completely of him when his length brushed over your folds.

“Need that. Please,” you whined as the desperate demand in you grew higher. The deep chuckle could be heard once more.

“Such a needy pretty thing.” He let his hard cock once more slide over your cunt. “Ya think ya ready to take me.” One of his hands stroke over your hair, that was slightly dump from the sweat.

You nodded, before you remembered what he wanted to hear. “Green,” you said with a smile. And he looked down at you. His eyes filled with so much lust but at the same time there was adoration hidden behind the darkness of his pupils.

He placed a soft kiss onto your forehead. “That’s ma gurl,” he praised while his teeth locked around your earlobe. He slowly pushed the tip inside and immediately could feel your back arch. He kept him steady on top of you, not lowering himself completely. “Gonna ruin ya f’ any other man out there,” he committed as he pushed deeper and deeper. You whined out at his thickness. “Hush. Ya can take it. I know it.” His soft tone with the lustful deep voice sent you into an addictive haze.

It took him some time to button out, and as soon as you adjusted and gave him another green light he started with an unforgettable pace. “That’s it, luv.” His hands were still on your head, keeping you to face him while he thrusted inside you until you started to see stars. You felt so god damn full and good. The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin smacking against each other combined with his sweet praises. You didn’t know how long it took till you felt his thrusts grew sloppy; you didn’t know how many more orgasms he pulled out of you until then. But the moment came, and you could feel how his body started to give in. Clinging onto yours for the sake of his own life.

That’s when you started to trace lazy circled around his neck. “Just let go,” you said softly with the rest of energy your body held. “Cum inside of me, darling.” Your voice pushing him closer, as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Arms slung around you, holding you steady as his thrusts grew slower, but deeper than before. Pushing the spongy spot inside of you. Completely overstimulated you didn’t know if you could just come another time, but it didn’t matter to you. “I wanna feel it.” You assured him one more time, before he completely let go and painted your walls with his cum. Your head falling further back into the pillow as you felt his release.

He collapsed onto you, while your hands stroked over his sweaty body. He needed to pull out, still he couldn’t bring himself to. It was too comfortable, too warm. He could still feel your walls clenching around him. Your voice was the only thing that made him pull back. “Yellow, darling. I think I can’t take anymore.” Your words were filled with so much endearment. It let his stomach turn as he started to clean you and himself up. Not caring about anything, before collapsing onto bed once more.

His head laying onto your bare chest, while his hand took grip around your waist. ”Ya did so good f’ me, luv”. You placed a kiss onto the sweaty fabric of his balaclava.

“Thank you, mysterious stranger.” You giggled when he couldn’t suppress a small laugh. Why did it feel so good and familiar? It was what scared him a bit, but as soon as darkness washed over his sight, he couldn’t care about it anymore. After three weeks he finally found some peace and rest again. Laying here in your arms, where no nightmare could bring him any harm. He was safe.

Simon wasn’t used to one night stands, well not to those ones where he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Usually, he would stay awake till his hook up fell asleep to sneak out of the apartment. But with you? He couldn’t leave. So just like that he woke up the next morning, or better said late afternoon. He couldn’t remember when he slept this long, apart from the time the both of you went to sleep anyway. The scent of freshly brewed coffee woke him up. You stood into the little kitchenette, only a fresh pair of panties and an oversized hoodie.

“Good mornin’ darling,” you chimed while bringing a coffee over to him. As he took the mug, he realized how fucked up this whole situation was. What was if that lead to something wrong? Something he couldn’t provide you with. Something that he swore to Johnny he couldn’t agree on. You could literally see the turns in his head, and just placed another kiss on the stained mask. “Don’t worry. This can stay a casual fling between two strangers,” you cooed with a soft giggle, and he nodded.

Still, when he arrived at his hotel later that day, his head hurt as much as his heart ached. Not because of the alcohol, nor because of the guilt he slept with you. It was of the fact that something in him wanted it to be more. Just like Simon wanted it to be more with Johnny than just a casual fling. But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t corrupt you into the mess his life was. And he wouldn’t break Johnny’s heart. With you it was easier. He would always hold tight to that night in his memory. Especially when he didn’t have so many memories to think back in happiness. But he hadn’t to face you again, he didn’t even know your name. He could easily return to his life. With this mental note he spent the last few days of his leave alone in a hotel room with the sheer memory of your breathtaking smile and that intoxicating scent, and how good this one would mix with the scent of his beloved Scot.

It was now about two months ago when things settled again. Johnny came back together with their Captain, and everything was alright. Simon’s mind could finally calm down. Even if his dreams often sent him back to that night with you. But right now, there were more important things to do. Price got back with an injury that didn’t allow him to get back to work. So, Ghost had to fill in his position for some time. Nothing he wasn’t used to. But what he wasn’t used to is when this time passed the four-week mark and the three members of the 141 started to worry about their Captain. So, Kyle reached out to him to ask about his status and was somehow surprised when John did invite the three men over for a dinner at his home. Just to catch up about the important things and plan a bit ahead.

That’s how Simon pulled the car into a driveway of a cozy looking home. The drive to their Captain home was filled with heavy assumptions from Kyle and Johnny how he would live, if there would be kids running around and stuff like that. But they had lost all their assumptions as soon as the door opened and they saw a weak looking John, a cast around his left arm and a loop to hold it steady in place. “Come on in boys,” he said while guiding them into a warm living room which also served as dining room. Everyone took a place at the table and soon the three were kind of confused, because the table was prepared for five people, not only for the four of them.

“Is Kate coming?” Kyle asked with a teasing tone, as he took the chair at the head of the table. Simon and Johnny sat down next to each other at the window side, while John sat next to an empty chair, who only shook his head no.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he sighed a bit tense.

Simon pulled out some papers and maps as they chatted a bit about some reports and the last operations until they heard a door open another time. John tilted his head into the direction of the sound. “Need a helping a hand, sunshine?”

“One doesn’t quite do the job.” A muffled female voice echoed through the hallway.

“I have six more to lend now,” he said jokingly as the steps grew louder. The anticipation within the boys only growing. But the image in front of them let their blood run cold. Never had they expected the sight of you walking over to the dining table with your usual sweet smile. Simon could feel a rope lacing around his throat as he was unable to breath. Kyle blinked in utter confusion as you bend over John's shoulder and greeted the men in front of you.

“You’re a bad host John. Not even offering them drinks?” You punched his healthy shoulder playfully. Johnny could’ve sworn he needed to throw up. He never thought he would be able to see you again. The chances were so low, and he was sure if the fates were in his favor, he would be thrilled about it, but now he was only nauseous. Your glance wandered over the table and sigh left your throat. “John…” You straightened, and he mirrored your concerned filled face. “You promised me, no work tonight.”

“Yeah, sunny, you’re right.” The smile growing back on your face as your glance trailed over the boys. “We put it away, right boys?”, the be said men only nodded tense as you winked at them.

“So, three whiskeys, I suppose?” You ruffled through John’s short hair teasingly. Before turning back to the head of the table. “And a beer?” A mischievous smile on your lips before you turned on your heel to get said drinks.

The boys only stared after you, mouths slightly agape. “Stop it.” John had to clear his throat to drag them back into the here and now. Kyle and Johnny only exchanged some quick glances, as Simon sat there in completely silence, his glance still pinned onto you from the corner of his eyes. Nobody thought that things got to be this tangled, but right now, they eventually started to regret a few things, because you were right. Things always had a price.

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acescorazon · 5 months

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Crocodile x Mihawk x Buggy fic idea for you: Mihawk and Crocodile are stunned when they each discover both Yoru and Crocodile's gold hook missing. The both of them immediately suspect that Buggy did something. Pissed six ways to Hell they go looking for their "fearless leader". They find him in one of the workshops and all anger is replaced with astonishment when they find Buggy polishing Yoru to a radiant shine, while Crocodile's hook hand is already gleaming like it's been kissed by the sun itself. When they get closer, Mihawk is quietly stunned to see that Buggy has gone so far as to rewrap the hilt of the strongest blade in brand new gleaming white leather. Buggy does his best to be non-chalant as he explains that he simply wants his " Lieutenants" looking their best as he hands Crocodile his hook and assures Mihawk he's almost done polishing Yoru. The gesture actually shifts Mihawk and Crocodile's attitude towards Buggy after that. Before he knows it, Buggy is the one getting stunned when he winds up with the world's strongest swordsman and the former but still formidable leader of Baroque Works declaring that they are both in love with him and mean belong to him just as much as he does to them. Cue the absolute chaos that somehow becomes a genuinely loving throuple and a true for to be reckoned with in the pirate world.

IK WE'VE ALREADY TALKED BUT HI AGAIN POOKIE LOL. Anyways this is going to be another one of the requests i turn into a little series, if you didn't see the post where i went into more details click here. (That's if you want to, you don't have to LOL.) ALSO PT2 this is going to be the series i was talking about where i'm going to try and experiment with alternating POVS as mentioned here.

Anyways i hope everything goes well, and i'm going to debut the first three chapters before we get into anything serious, (but again, as mentioned before, i want everyone's feed back please so i know this is something yall might want again in the future. ((OR MIGHT NOT LOL) ) ) I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS THO POOKIE AND ILY MUAHHHHH.

AWYWHOREEEEEE LETS GET IT.

Title: Buggy's guide to bagging boyfriends

Ch: 1/?

Rating: PG-ish for now ig (But let's talk later about it.)

Word count: 2835

Chapter except:

The room fills with tension as the two other members of Cross Guild glare at him, and Crocodile is the first to speak up, “Where’s my damn hook?!” He asks, and even though it's first thing in the morning, his voice is still, loud, deep, and intimidating, and he doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood… but, then again, Buggy doesn’t think he ever is. Mihawk follows suit, asking his own question afterwards in a significantly quieter, yet equally as intimidating voice, “...And why do you have my sword?”

Well, so much for the surprise...

It’s not like Buggy’s a workaholic or anything like that, he’s far from it actually. It’s just that even after he’s done doing his duties for the day, he often finds it hard to shut his brain off at night. He often tosses and turns in his bed, thinking about what he has to do in the morning or for the week, and sometimes finds himself wanting to get a head start on things. Tonight, he finds himself in another one of those situations, unable to sleep no matter how hard he tries because he keeps on thinking about Cross Guild and all that he has to do.

He has to have new weapons and medical supplies ordered, and he also has new men to welcome into the crew, each of whom he has to find a job for because Mihawk and Crocodile, while skilled in many things, aren’t big fans of doing the more simple tasks; like assigning their men jobs or giving them pep talks, or sending their families money after they’ve made an enemy out of themselves for attacking the marines. Damn, he has more bounties that need to be made too, and he has old ones that need to be taken off the market.

There’s so much to do, and part of him wants to go to sleep, but another part of him also wants to get back up and get right back to work again. It’s weird.

Two, three, and then four o'clock, quickly passes him by as he continues to think about all that he has to do. He feels full of energy right now despite the fact that prior to lying down, he felt exhausted. He kept yawning and could barely keep his eyes open, but now, as he lies in his bed, it seems like he can’t fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. It seems like his previous exhaustion was just a sick prank his brain played on him. Thanks, brain. He continues to think about Cross Guild, he wasn’t exactly serious about it before. He was more or less just in it because he needed to repay his debt to Crocodile, but now… Well, he can’t say it’s the worst thing in the world.

It has its cons of course: Mihawk and Crocodile are always bullying him, plus they make him run around like a chicken with its head cut off, doing what could only be considered more of a manager role than the big boss role, but Buggy kind of enjoys it actually. It makes the days go by a little quicker because he has so many things to do and men to look after these days, and he thinks his responsibilities are only going to grow in the future.

His thoughts shift slightly, and he goes from thinking about all the things he needs to do to thinking about his ‘subordinates’ and his relationship with them. Buggy’s always had a rather rocky relationship with Mihawk and Crocodile but…It’s not like he would be opposed to being their friend or anything like that, the two just never seemed interested in anything other than a work relationship (or beating him up.) But maybe if Buggy actually put in an effort to be their friend, they could fix things and this Cross Guild thing could really kick ass! Perhaps if he did something nice for them, they’d stop hating him and see that Buggy’s not that bad of a guy after all.

Should he do that?

He finds himself wondering if he should just give this whole Cross Guild thing his all, you know, make the best out of a bad situation because he’s not going anywhere any time soon… Maybe there are ways to make his, Mihawk, and Crocodile’s relationship better, like, maybe he could get them all matching red cloaks, that’d make them look like a flashy team, right?? Okay, they’d probably kill him on the spot if he did something like that. Oh, uh, maybe he could gift them some sake! Wait…They’re kind of snobby and only drink aged wine or some crap. Uh, uh… what could he do for them?

A sudden idea pops up in Buggy’s mind and he glances over at the clock by his bedside again, wondering how in just a few short seconds it went from four in the morning to almost six. Gah, time doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What are the most important things to Crocodile and Mihawk? Why, it’s their hook and sword of course! Well, actually, he’s pretty sure the most important thing to Crocodile is money and power, but that doesn’t matter! What if he shined their things for them!! That would be nice, wouldn’t it? And then they would definitely stop hating him and being mean to him, right? They’d have to! They’ll want to be his best friend if he does something that nice!! Buggy will give Crocodile’s hook and Mihawk’s sword a nice shine, and then they’ll be all like, ‘Oh, my god, Buggy. You’re so amazing, you’re so wonderful, you’re so sexy and smart, we love you!!!!’ Okay, wait, they probably won’t do the last thing, but Buggy can hear their praises now.

God, he’s so smart.

Buggy hops out of bed, quickly gets himself dressed, and then makes his way out of his tent. The island feels so calm and peaceful right now as his men continue to sleep in the early morning hours. Everything is deserted and quiet, and Buggy enjoys the scenery, finding Emptee Bluffs island the most beautiful during early summer mornings such as this. Buggy just so happens to notice that the sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon as he heads to Crocodile’s tent first, and he takes a moment to admire its beauty before continuing on with his tasks. He's so excited for this! He’s going to have two, not one, but two, super cool best friends!

As Crocodile’s tent comes into view, Buggy’s heart starts pounding in his chest because, despite knowing he has nothing but good intentions, he knows that if Crocodile were to discover what he plans on doing, then he’d wring his neck for sure. So, he quietly sneaks into Crocodile’s tent, and in his room, he can just barely make out the soft sounds of snoring coming from over at his bed. Perfect, Buggy thinks, hoping that there might be a chance that Crocodile doesn’t sleep with his hook on, and as he crouches down and makes his way slowly across the dimly lit room, he notices the object of his desire lying right on top of Crocodile’s nightstand.

Perfect. He’s going to be so surprised! Buggy’s going to just take this for a little while, but he’s going to make sure he returns Crocodile’s hook, and of course, Mihawk’s sword, before either of them realizes that their belongings have even gone missing!

Buggy quickly snatches up Crocodile’s hook, clutching it close to his chest, and then goes after his next target: Yoru. He thinks things might be a little more difficult considering that Mihawk may very well be awake at this time since he seems like an early riser, and Buggy has often seen him taking morning walks around the island or getting a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. It’ll be alright though, maybe he’ll be asleep or out of his tent. Buggy wastes little time making his way over to Mihawk’s tent, peeking his head in first to see if he’s awake or even inside, and when he realizes that his tent is empty, but Yoru is resting against the side of his bed, he grins, grabbing Mihawk’s beloved sword and quickly making a run for it.

Buggy can try to hide Crocodile’s hook but, obviously, it’ll be a little hard given its size, but there’s no way that he could possibly hide Mihawk’s sword, so he makes a quick run for it towards one of the island’s workshops, grunting on the way there from the sheer weight of both items. He looks around the shop once he’s inside, searching for some polishing cream and a rag, and struggling for a moment because he doesn’t usually come to this place. Usually, he just stops by for a few minutes to check up on his men, so he doesn’t know where anything is. Everything is so familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, but he eventually finds what he needs and begins working on his surprise, having a seat on a stool and polishing Crocodile’s hook first.

He grunts again as he holds the heavy metal in his hands, wondering how Crocodile can even use this as a prosthetic with how heavy it is. He thinks it has to be at least a good thirty pounds alone, but that’s none of Buggy’s concern, he just took it so that he would be able to give it the shine it needs. Not only does giving this bad boy a good shine seem nice, but wouldn’t it be cooler if Crocodile engaged in battle with the Marines or even one of the mighty four emperors (not Buggy though.) and he had the coolest, most shiniest, most bad ass hook the world’s ever seen?!

Hell yeah, it would be! Crocodile is going to look so freaking cool thanks to Buggy!!!

He polishes the hook once, but it honestly doesn’t look shiny enough the first time around, so Buggy decides to polish it again, and then actually a third time because he wants that bad boy to shine like a diamond…even though it’s gold. It doesn’t matter, he just wants it to look pretty. He wants it so shiny that light will bounce off it and blind people, that’s how shiny he wants Crocodile’s gold hook to be, and as he finishes polishing it, he smiles to himself, now a little sweaty because of the poor ventilation in the workshop.

Buggy moves on to Yoru next and as he holds the sword up, he once again takes the time to mentally complain about the pure weight of the object alone, wondering how Mihawk carries the damn thing on his back all the time without having any problems. He must have a spine made out of steel.

(Buggy wishes he could say the same.)

Buggy stares at the sword, admiring its beauty for a moment before lying it down on the workbench in front of him, he notices as he begins to polish the blade that the bandages around the hilt are a little ragged and dirty now, most likely from how much its owner uses it, and Buggy gets another idea in his head at that moment, wondering if there’s anything that he can rewrap the hilt of the sword with. He figures that he’ll worry about that a bit later though as he begins to polish Yoru, and just like with Crocodile’s hook, Buggy can’t help but think that the sword would look so much cooler and prettier if it was shinier. Like, yeah, it’s already stunning, but it just needs that extra layer of flashiness to really make it stand out, and so he takes his time polishing the blade, shining it until it’s bright and pretty, and so dazzling it makes Buggy’s eyes hurt, and once he’s done he looks for something to rewrap the hilt with.

It takes him a little while, but he does eventually find some white leather that he thinks could probably be used to wrap the hilt with, and he begins to unwrap the bandages from around the sword, which, by the way, takes a whole lot longer than Buggy thought it would. He eventually manages to get the bandages wrapped around the hilt off though, and then proceeds to wrap, and unwrap, and then wrap the sword again. He does this several times because this too, isn’t as easy as he thought it would be, but he slowly starts to figure out how to make the leather around the hilt look juuuust right...When all of a sudden, he hears loud, quick footsteps coming from the outside of the tent, but he figures it's just his men ready to start their day.

How long have I been here? Buggy wonders as he continues to wrap Yoru’s hilt. He doesn’t have a watch on him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s spent that much time in the workshop, maybe because he’s genuinely enjoying himself and likes the idea of possibly making Mihawk and Crocodile happy?

“Hey, Clown, you in there?!”

Buggy pauses in an instant. Crocodile…? He wonders, taking a moment to figure out who the gravelly voice that just called out to him belongs to. Oh no! The surprise, it’s going to be ruined if he doesn–

Too late.

Mihawk and Crocodile come barging into the tent, both red in the face and looking like they want to snap Buggy’s neck but to be fair, they always look like that. Buggy pauses for a moment and stares up at his two chief officers, unsure of how to explain himself now that he’s been caught. Damn it, he really thought that he could get everything done before they realized their stuff was missing!! Seriously, how long has he been in the workshop?!

Well, so much for the surprise...

Buggy places Yoru down for a moment as the other two former warlords approach him, and he notices how their expressions go from unbridled rage to pure confusion in a moment’s notice as soon as they get a little closer to him. He stands up and picks up Crocodile’s hook first and hands it to him, “I know I shouldn’t have taken your stuff,” He admits, and both Mihawk and Crocodile’s confusion only seems to grow, “But I just suddenly thought to myself: ‘Wow, i want to do something nice for them so that maybe we could be friends…and that you guys would look so cool if your weapons were all clean and shiny…” He chuckles lightly for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain how he got ahead of himself, but everything was all out of the goodness of his heart.

“Seriously, guys, i was hoping that i could get everything polished before you even noticed your things were gone, but obviously that didn’t happen…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his head, “But, yeah, i wasn’t trying to make you guys mad or anything, just wanted you to look cool and to be friends!”

There’s absolute silence after Buggy’s explanation. Crocodile looks down at his hook, twisting and turning it in his hand as he examines it, and then suddenly he mutters a quiet, “Whatever, just don’t steal it again.” before he makes his leave, and honestly… Considering this is Crocodile we’re talking about, Buggy feels like things went a lot better than they could have… but still, he’s a little disappointed at that reaction. Was Crocodile’s hook not shiny enough? Or is he just really upset that Buggy stole his hand in the first place? Ah, shucks… Maybe he messed up. Maybe he should have done something else for him instead…Is his relationship with Crocodile going to be even more strained because of this?

Aw, man. He hopes not!

Buggy turns to Mihawk next, who is still staring at him speechlessly with wide eyes. He gives him a small, little smile, hoping that he hasn’t screwed things up with Mihawk too, “Uh, no offense, but the bandages around your sword were a little worn out, so uh, i thought i’d rewrap your sword too. I’m almost done, just give me a second,” Buggy tells him and then sits back down on the stool he was using, quickly finishing his job and wrapping Yoru’s hilt tightly, and afterwards he stands back up and gives Mihawk a proper grin, hoping that he might be a little more appreciative of his gift. “There! All done,” He says, handing the sword back to its owner.

Mihawk continues to just stare at him even after he gets his sword back, and honestly, Buggy didn’t do any of this for a thank you or praise, even though that would be nice, he did this because he genuinely wanted to change things between him, Hawkeye, and Crocodile…So, he’s a little shocked when Mihawk simply sighs before quickly leaving the workshop too, not even saying another word to Buggy.

…So, are they not going to be super cool best friends?

((A/N: Hopefully this isn't ASS.))

#one piece #cross guild #REMEMBER THIS IS A FUN LIL TEST #A TRIAL AND ERROR IF U WILL :)#yall are free to give me the feedback you want lol #my writing #asks

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strawb3rrystar · 7 days

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AGH YOU CAN DO THEN WHENEVER UR NOT BUSY!!!

can i get a platonic Angel x Fem! sinner where she was a loser in her life (no bitches, no money, no game etc. etc.) and feels so awkward about having not done anything further than holding hands (kissing a partner or even sex)

so she runs to angel and confides in him and he is like “lol pookie thats an easy fix” and smooches her (i am a firm believer in platonic kissing with consent but u can remove that) and tells her that she doesnt need to rush to do those things, esp if its her first time? he could also prop her to pay him for the kiss (about 200 dollars kekw)

(totally isnt self projecting kekw)

Better dead than never.

Pairing: Angel Dust x Fem! Sinner! Reader

Warnings: Platonic kisses, Reader is implied to have sold their soul

Word count: 486

✰Masterlist

You were a loser in your life. That much you knew. Constantly being bullied your whole childhood. Never being able to get more than a first date. Having no money to your name. Dying alone and cold in an alleyway behind a bar. That was your existence. A lonely one.

You don't know what you did exactly to get into Hell, but here you were anyway. Might as well make the most of it, huh?

One day, while polishing the banisters of the hotel, you were thinking about your life before death. How you were unhappy, so you drowned yourself in alcohol. You realize that you had never had your first kiss. Even in death you hadn't kissed anyone yet. So you went to the one sinner you knew had lots of experience. Angel Dust.

You walk into his room without knocking, walking in on him combing the fur on his chest. You walk up next to him and tap on his shoulder, making him jump and throw the comb at you. He calms down when he realizes it's just you. "Jeez toots. Don't sneak up on me like that."

You mumble out an apology, but he reassures you it's okay. "So, you gonna tell me why you snuck into my room?"

"I've never had my first kiss." You reply. Angel raises an eyebrow. Why did you need his help with that?

"So? It's not that big of a deal." He shrugs, turning back to look at himself in the mirror. You grab onto the robe he's wearing, shaking him a little. "It is a big deal, Angel!"

Angel's eyes are wide as you shake him. He grabs onto your hands and holds them in his. "Toots, calm down."

You take a deep breath, doing as he asked. "I wanted your advice."

Angel blinks in surprise for a few seconds. "On what?"

"How to get guys to notice me!" You raise your voice slightly. Your soulless black eyes stare into his, pleading for help.

"You don't need a guy, trust me." Angel rolls his eyes, then puts on a comforting look.

"Well.. I still want to have my first kiss." You sigh, shaking your head. You look away from Angel, but he grabs your jaw and turns you back. Before you have time to react his lips are on yours. It only lasts a second before he pulls away again, leaving you dumbfounded.

"There. No need to rush into things, toots." Angel gives your head a pat as you slowly blink. "I think it's better that you haven't done anything like that."

"Huh..? Why?" You question, slowly coming back to reality.

"It gives you a better chance of gettin' into heaven." He turns back to the mirror again.

"Really?" You cock your head to the side. Angel responds with a shrug, looking at you with a grin. "I don't know. Probably? Heavens fucked up like that."

Star's notes -> PLATONIC KISSES >>>>

(Thank you, @sweetadonisbutbetter for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @alexandria-fandom @corruptcoder @astrolovedy @perfectlycraftychaos @stressedbleach @ghostdoodlen @idontreallyexistyet @roboticsuccubus83 @blood-heart22 @cirrus-sampling-sanity @onyxxtheghost @sugarplumz100 @myamythos @hazbinhappy @samohxt2-0 @mollzaj @sunshines-bright @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @sweetadonisbutbetter @little-miss-chaoss | Join the taglist

#☆strawb3rrystar answers requests #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #angel dust #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you

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that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction · 2 months

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I wrote a random fic thing (beginning and overview summary) on my phone when I had a spare half hour in work.

I don’t know if this will actually become something, I’m focusing on rewriting the next chapter of the Leon’s knowing and knowing treason fic before I properly start anything else, but I got bored and had an idea I didn’t want to forget.

Arthur takes Merlin not flirting with him after the sigil thing as a rejection. Merlin doesn’t know what a sigil means until Gwaine sees his, Arthur is embarrassed until Merlin claps him around the head and drags him out to yell about explaining what the hell sigils mean. Merlin gives Arthur half of a coin that his mother gave him (originally a gift from his father) and tells him he’s going to ask more about courting traditions, Arthur laughs and tells him that giving a sigil back completes the union and is basically an agreement to get married. Merlin kisses Arthur’s hand and tells him that of course he’ll marry him, but after he gets a chance to do the whole courting thing because Arthur deserves it. Possibly Hanahaki thrown in there too because I don’t think I’ve ever written that but I’m not sure yet.

— preview —

Arthur has loved Merlin as long as he’s known him. It started harmlessly enough, a childish crush on the insufferable peasant boy with a lack of respect for authority and a self assured ability to get himself too deep into trouble.

At first, Arthur was simply curious. Merlin hadn’t realised he was a prince for their first interaction, so it made sense that he felt confident enough to mouth off. Their second interaction however, had Arthur’s heart beating a little faster. Merlin had completely disregarded Arthur’s royal status in a way no one else ever had, and the drop in his voice, lilting with a slight Essetir accent, as he completely defaced the way Arthur would hear “My Lord” forever. That night at dinner with his Father, Arthur had choked on his wine when a servant had used his title! As though that wasn’t bad enough, Merlin had Arthur beat in their fight, though he’d never admit it. Arthur had no idea how the country boy managed to best him but the humiliating truth was that up until Merlin got distracted, Arthur was loosing.

And then Merlin saved his life, being rewarded a position as his manservant. Arthur tried to hate him, it seemed easy enough with the stuttering in his heart whenever Merlin came near him. Any attraction Arthur had felt as a result of Merlin’s fighting ability left him as soon as he saw the incompetence Merlin displayed when he forgot to hand Arthur his sword and fumbled through every piece of armour he had.

It came back full force when Merlin was suddenly well adept at polishing, sorting and handling his armour, but that was neither here nor there. Merlin had stopped his mindless prattle about nerves and whatever else too, simply wishing Arthur “Good luck” before his tournament. Arthur felt his heart melt a little in his chest.

And then Merlin had warned him about the snakes in Valiant’s shield in low fire light that cast an ethereal glow over his face and lit up his eyes almost golden. There was so much sincerity in his voice and Arthur couldn’t believe someone was capable of speaking so genuinely. Not to a Prince when there would always be a chance for some ulterior motive.

But not with Merlin.

So the long slow descent from harmless crush to falling in love began, and seven years later Arthur was absolutely smitten though only in secret. Merlin had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t care for Arthur in the same way Arthur cared for him, anyway.

———

So thoughts? :)

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin emrys #ao3 fanfic #i’m bad at tagging #fic preview #fic ideas #random #I’m blaming this on a lack of sleep

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dilftaroooo · 1 year

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a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

#ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #mw2 smut #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 smut #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #black reader

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