#i just. have a soft spot for Ghosts Specifically | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smileysuh · 1 month

Text

heart aches

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Your ex finds your sweet spot as easily as ever, as if it hasn’t been two years since his tongue stroked this specific patch of skin and made your whole body tingle with pleasure. You let out a shaky sigh, threading your fingers through his hair and relaxing against the pillows. “Don’t leave me again,” you whisper. “Never again,” he promises.

tw/cw. foreplay, fingering, mutual masturbation, hand job hand fucking, spitting, finger sucking, inklings of oral fixation, praise, dirty talk, pining, reminiscing, breast worship, teasing, Jae being a simp, unprotected sex, handholding while fucking, Jae is pretty vanilla but pent up as hell, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5.3k

🍭 aus. ex's to lovers, non idol au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I don't normally do angst, but Idk, this felt right for some reason this month

Prologue:

“What’s wrong?” Jaehyun asks, watching you fiddle around the bedroom while he cuddles with your cat on the bed.

Part of you wants to push back your feelings - you’d kind of been hoping to talk to him at the airport in the morning - but you should have known Jaehyun would realize something is up with you. It’s been a nice long weekend having him home with you.

It’s almost been like he never left.

Almost.

With a deep sigh, you go to sit on the foot of your mattress, staring down at your hands. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say quietly.

The room feels achingly silent, and then the comforter ruffles as Jaehyun sits up. “This?” he asks.

“Us.” The word hurts to even say. “The distance… I mean, I knew continuing our relationship while you’re in a different city at a new university doing your graduate program would be rough… but… I just didn’t know I’d ever feel this lonely.”

Tears are welling in your eyes. You don’t want to break up with Jaehyun- he’s had your heart for four years. Starting over with someone new sounds impossible- but at the same time, being away from him hurts more than you could ever have imagined. It hurts when he calls you every night, being the perfect boyfriend, smiling and telling you about his day. It hurts because you thought you’d go through life together- you thought you’d be there to see it all yourself, not hear about it after the fact on the phone.

“Come here,” Jaehyun says softly, moving your cat off his lap so he can open his arms to you.

You allow Jaehyun to pull you into an embrace, his fingers stroking your hair. His heart is thundering in his ribcage, and you can hear it as you cuddle closer.

“I’m sorry that it came to this,” he breathes, “but I understand.”

You can’t help the tears now, and a choked sob escapes you. You grab at the front of his soft hoodie, wanting to crush the emblem of his new school. Part of you wishes he’d never been accepted into the elite business graduate program, but another part knows that Jaehyun deserves to be where he is now.

You love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and that’s what makes this so painful.

Jaehyun needs to focus on his studies, to build a new life for himself across the country- and you need to do the same. You can’t be a ghost anymore, walking through life like a zombie and waiting to hear from him, constantly checking the time zone differences and calculating what he’s doing based on schedules.

“I can still…” you rub at your eyes, swallowing thickly, “I’ll take you to the airport in the morning-”

“It’s okay, baby,” Jaehyun shushes you gently, kissing the crown of your head. “I can get a cab.”

“Are you angry at me?” you ask, pulling away from his chest to look up at his face, worried about what you might find there.

“Of course not,” Jaehyun assures you, immediately stroking a thumb across your cheek to wipe away your tears. “No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, I knew things had changed when I moved away. I could see that the distance was a problem. You have needs, and I’m proud of you for voicing them, even if it hurts.”

“My heart is breaking,” you whimper.

Jaehyun frowns. “Mine too.”

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“I could never be mad at you,” Jaehyun promises. “I think it will be easier to talk about this with time, if that’s something you’d be interested in. But for now, how do you feel about just laying down, holding each other, and doing our best to enjoy tonight- if it’s going to be our last.”

It might be easier if he was mad at you, if he yelled and swore and tried to make you change your mind- but Jaehyun’s never been an abusive type. Instead, he holds you close, and as you softly cry on his chest, you begin to drift off to sleep.

One

Even in a crowded bar, one distant laugh makes your blood run cold. You grip your drink, heart thundering in your rib cage as you scan your surrounding area.

It’s been two years since you broke up with Jaehyun. Even so, you’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“You good?” your best friend asks, reading your change in expression.

“Yeah, I just thought I heard-” as you’re about to say his name, you spot Jaehyun. He’s leaning against the bar top, chatting with a man whose back is to you.

God, he still looks so good.

Your chest aches, throat going dry. As you watch him, his eyes move to take in the bar. You’re quick to shift your gaze, lifting your drink to your lips to down the rest of it.

“I need to get out of here,” you mutter.

“What? Why?” Your friend reaches for your arm, pulling you closer to check in on you.

“My ex is here.”

“Which one?”

“Which one do you think?” You let out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Listen, have fun, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You hand her your empty glass, giving her one last look before you turn to head to the entrance of the bar.

You can feel eyes on you as you push through the crowd, but you chalk it up to being paranoid. You slip through the front doors, intent on hailing a taxi. As you make it to the cement sidewalk, you hear your name behind you, and that familiar voice has your blood running cold for a second time tonight.

“Y/N?”

Your whole body freezes, and for a moment, you truly consider running. But you’ve already run from Jaehyun once before, and you don’t have it in yourself to do it again.

With a deep breath, you turn to face your ex, your first love, the man you’ve never recovered from.

“I thought that was you,” Jaehyun mutters quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stares at you.

You don’t even know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut, taking in his pretty face and the broad set of his shoulders.

“Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have followed you,” he admits finally. “It doesn’t look like you want to talk.”

Jaehyun turns to head back inside, and your body reacts on its own accord; you grab at his arm, and it makes him stop. He looks down at your hand, wrapped around his forearm, then up at you.

“We…” you swallow thickly, “we can talk. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“That makes two of us.”

You drop your hand from his arm when you realize he’s not going anywhere.

“I uh…” Jaehyun clears his throat. “I got back to town a month ago. Meant to message you- but I didn’t know what to say then either.”

“You completed your program?”

“Yup. With flying colors.”

“I guess I always expected you to be a big shot and move to some other city- what are you doing back here?”

“Unfinished business… maybe.” Jaehyun dips his head, looking down at the ground. You watch him absentmindedly kick at an old cigarette butt.

He can’t be talking about you… can he?

“Anyways,” Jaehyun meets your eyes again, “how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been…” you search for the right word, “okay.”

“Yeah? Happy?”

“Sort of. You?”

Jaehyun shrugs, offering you a lopsided smile that makes your heart ache. “Sort of. It was two years of studying. Didn’t have much time for extracurriculars, as you know.”

So your breakup is still a sore spot for him, you can sense it in his words. He’s not outwardly saying it, but… it’s there all the same. There’s something of an apology in his statement, because you do know how hard it was for him to find time for things outside of school- it had been the main reason you’d had to call things off with him.

“How about you?” he presses. “Any uh… any protective boyfriend who’s about to show up and beat my ass?”

You can’t believe he’s asking you outright about this, and the question actually makes you let out a small laugh. You shake your head. “No. No boyfriend.”

“Good. I mean… I hoped you were happy, but uh, you know, it’s nice to hear that, well, you know what I mean.” Jaehyun looks down again, and you can see his ears turning red.

It’s as clear as day that Jaehyun still cares about you. The way he’s acting tells you everything you need to know… well, almost everything.

“So…” you wrap your arms around yourself, “are you planning on leaving again? Do you know how long you’ll be in town?”

“Nothing is set in stone,” Jaehyun admits, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you. “Listen, I’m just going to say it.” He takes a deep breath, meanwhile, you can’t even breathe. “I never got over you. I mean, how could I? You’re everything, and- I understand why we broke up, I really do. But my program is over now, and if you give me another chance, I promise not to go anywhere ever again, at least, not without you right there by my side.”

“Jaehyun-”

“If you need some time to think about it, I totally get that-”

Jaehyun goes to take a step back, and you find yourself grabbing at him once more. Your body simply can’t let him go- not now, not ever again.

Your ex looks down at your hand on his forearm, and as you open your mouth to give him your response, no words come to mind. Your gaze dips to his lips, and before you know what you’re even doing, you’re moving in to kiss him.

Jaehyun is frozen in place at the initial meeting of your lips, but after a moment, you feel his body relax. His hands gently slip to your waist, tugging you closer as he slants his mouth against your own. You feel him release a small groan, and a whimper bubbles in your chest.

How many times have you dreamt of this moment? How many times have you thought about kissing Jaehyun?

Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, and you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of him-

Someone lets out a whistle, and you roughly pull back from Jaehyun, your eyes finding the two bouncers outside the bar, who are staring at you with wolfish grins.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” Jaehyun asks, resting his forehead against your own.

“Come home with me.”

Two

It feels like deja vu to be walking into your apartment with Jaehyun. You’ve had the same unit for years- and you know it must feel even weirder for your ex to be here again after practically living here with you for half of your time in university together.

As you toss your keys onto the entryway table, you hear a familiar meow. Your cat slinks in from the kitchen, but instead of heading to you, she immediately moves toward Jaehyun’s feet, letting out an obnoxiously loud purr as she begins to rub against him.

“Looks like Mittens hasn’t forgotten me either,” Jaehyun smiles, immediately bending down to pick up the fluffy grey and white kitty. She leans into his touch, purring like an engine as he scratches he cheeks. Her paws begin to make softies on his arm, and it makes your heart ache.

You’ve dated a few guys casually in Jaehyun’s absence, and Mittens has never liked any of them. She always was a daddy’s girl- after all, you’d started dating Jaehyun only a few months after you’d picked her up from the shelter.

You still have pictures of the two of them on your phone, hidden in a secret file- you’d never had the heart to delete them, and as you watch their reunion, you’re glad you never did.

“She missed you,” you admit. “We both did.”

You watch Jaehyun’s Adam’s apple bob with effort, your words clearly invoking emotion. You’re quick to look away.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask, kicking off your shoes. “I had a few drinks at the bar, was planning on making a grilled cheese-”

“You still do that?” Jaehyun asks.

“Yeah.” Your throat feels dry admitting another ghost of your past you still haven’t been able to shake. “I still do that.”

Grilled cheese after a night out had always been your thing, and when you’d started dating Jaehyun, it had become his thing too. You can’t even count how many nights the two of you came home from university parties only to make a grilled cheese and collapse on your bed, giggling and kissing like kids in love.

“A grilled cheese sounds perfect,” Jaehyun says. “Thank you.”

He follows you into the kitchen. As you begin to make the late-night snack, you realize Jaehyun has no intention of putting Mittens down. She basks in his attention, letting out upset chirps any time he tries to stop petting her to help you in small ways.

Jaehyun asks you about your job, and from that, the two of you begin to talk about your lives over the past two years. It feels too natural to slip into this type of conversation. His presence is so calming and familiar- by the time you’re done making the grilled cheese for you to share, it’s almost as if the past two years never happened.

It’s almost as if you never left him.

Almost as if he never left you first.

“Do you want to eat in here?” Jaehyun asks, heading to the small kitchen table.

“We can go to my bedroom,” you say softly. “Unless you wanted to be here.”

“Your bedroom is good.”

He follows you through your apartment, but when you get to your room, he stops in the doorway.

“I can’t get over how little this place has changed,” he muses, looking at the layout of the space.

“Yeah,” you sit down on your bed, lifting your legs onto the mattress and setting the plate by your knee. “I guess I’m used to it like this.”

Jaehyun knows all too well how comfortable you get, how hard it is for you to make changes. You think it must be one of the reasons he never fought the breakup. If you’d gotten to the point of needing an emotional separation to deal with the physical distance, pushing you to change your mind would have only made things worse.

“Can we come sit with you?” Jaehyun asks.

“Of course.” You gesture to the mattress. “Make yourself at home, Jae.”

With a small chuckle, he comes to join you. He’s careful when he sets Mittens down, and she immediately stretches, letting out a massive yawn before coming to investigate the grilled cheese.

Jaehyun reaches for his half of the sandwich. “I missed these.”

“It’s just a grilled cheese,” you laugh.

“Yeah, but there’s something special about the way you make it. I can’t explain it.”

You can only offer him a smile as you both lift the gooey, cheesy, greasy, crispy bread to your lips. The crunch is satisfying, and Jaehyun shifts the food to his right hand so he can pet Mittens with his left.

The two of you eat in silence, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. As your meal comes to a quick end, your phone begins to ring, and you stand up to answer it. “Give me a sec,” you tell him, exiting the room while Mittens rushes to follow you.

“Hey girl,” your best friend says. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Seeing your ex must have been pretty hard.”

“Actually, uh…” you look toward your open bedroom door, swallowing thickly then lowering your voice, “he’s at my apartment with me.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, we’re talking things out.”

“Just talking?” You can hear the cheeky grin in her voice.

“Don’t be like that,” you laugh.

“Girl, you and that man were a dream couple. He’s the one that got away, and now he’s in your apartment- he’s probably sitting on your bed, eating grilled cheese-”

“God, stop,” you groan. “Am I that predictable?”

“Nah, it was hashtag just couple things. Okay, look, obviously you’re doing good- I was worried you were somewhere crying and drowning yourself in booze. I’ll leave you be. Say hi to him for me.”

“Will do.” You hang up, looking down at Mittens. She’s circling your feet, and with a sigh, you go to refill her food bowl. You’d given her lunch hours ago, and you feel bad that she just watched you down a grilled cheese with nothing for her own little mittens to get a hold of.

Also… your best friend knows you too well.

Your body is reacting to Jaehyun as if there was never a separation- or maybe, your body is reacting because there was a separation. Your pulse is picking up with each step back to your bedroom, and when you close the door behind you, Jaehyun cocks a brow, finishing his grilled cheese with one last large bite.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’m great,” you tell him, approaching the bed.

“Yeah?” Jaehyun’s gaze moves to the closed door, and he offers you a dimpled grin, mischief flaring on the edges of his expression. “You locked out Mittens.”

Nothing gets past this man. You’ve never loved getting intimate while Mittens is trying to hog Jaehyun’s attention, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he got you figured out the moment you closed the door to your bedroom.

“Don’t even with me, Jae.” You sigh, collapsing onto the mattress next to him while he moves the grilled cheese plate to the side table.

“Look, I don’t want you to feel any pressure just cuz I’m here and we’re sitting on your bed-”

“Does it look like I feel pressure?” you ask, hyper-aware of the way your dress is riding up your thighs.

Jaehyun gives you a slow once-over. “I guess not.”

“You really mean what you said about not going away a second time?” You look down. “Because I don’t think I could take it if we gave this another try and three months down the line you moved cities again.”

Your ex nods. “I promise. If you give me one more chance, I won’t let you down.”

You stare at Jaehyun for a moment, studying the sincerity on his face. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You open your arms, resting back against the pillows and spreading your legs. “Now come here.”

Jaehyun practically leaps on top of you. He slots between your thighs like he was made to be there, his mouth pressing to your own while you wrap him in a tight embrace. He kisses you like he’s been starved of your lips.

He retains some of the gentleness that he’d exhibited outside of the club, but there’s a desperation too, you can almost taste it on him… along with the grilled cheese.

The thought makes you smile, and Jaehyun breaks the kiss to look down at you, also grinning. “What?”

“Nothing, just- I’m happy.”

“Me too,” he admits, looking down at your beaming face before he grabs your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, angling your head to the side so he can access your neck. Your ex finds your sweet spot as easily as ever, as if it hasn’t been two years since his tongue stroked this specific patch of skin and made your whole body tingle with pleasure.

You let out a shaky sigh, threading your fingers through his hair and relaxing against the pillows.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whisper.

“Never again,” he promises, voice husky in your ear.

His hand slides down the curve of your body, grasping at your thighs and slowly pushing your dress up. Your hips move, rutting in an attempt to spur him on. When his fingers finally find your core through your panties, you swear you see stars. He begins to rub your clit, circling it as he applies more and more pressure.

His mouth continues on your neck, and you begin to whimper from the stimulus.

You’d nearly forgotten how good it feels to be touched by someone who knows you inside and out- by someone who cares about your pleasure more than he’s ever cared about his own.

“Jae,” you whimper, breathing heavily as he rubs your core.

“Yes, baby?” His lips are gentle along your throat, and the feather-light touch almost teases you more than a rougher one would.

“Can we skip the foreplay? I need you.”

Jaehyun’s fingers stop on your clit, and he pushes himself up on an elbow, looking down at you with a quizzical set to his brow. “Skip the foreplay?” he repeats, letting out a scoff. “Baby, I’ve been thinking about what I’d do to you if you ever gave me a second chance for over two years. We’re not skipping the foreplay.”

“But-”

“Please don’t argue with me. Just let me have this. Just let me enjoy the body I’ve missed so much. I’ve missed your sounds, the way you react to my touch-” his fingers pick up their pace on your clit again, and you let out a whine, pushing toward him again. “See? You’re perfect. No matter how many memories of this I have, nothing compares to the real thing.”

When you’d been dating Jaehyun initially, he was - for lack of a better word - pretty vanilla. This dirty talk is new, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. Your mind goes practically blank, lulled into a lusty trance by the musings of a man who’s clearly bewitched by you, body and soul.

When your gaze dips down to his hand between your thighs, you notice the way his cock is straining in his pants. “Can I…” you swallow thickly, “Can I touch you too?”

“Yeah.” His mouth returns to your throat, and he pushes your panties to the side, dragging his fingers through your soaked folds. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

You mewl at his words, quickly fumbling with the button of his pants so you can push them down just far enough to take his cock out of his briefs. Jaehyun releases a low groan and it makes your pussy flutter as you begin to stroke him.

Your ex reacts by slipping his fingers into your core, two long digits going knuckle deep. He tests your walls, grazing your g-spot when he begins to lazily pump his hand, his palm firmly pressing to your clit.

A whimper of pleasure escapes you, and you can feel Jaehyun grin against your neck. “The prettiest sounds,” he muses. “How did you ever get this pretty?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and it makes you feel cock drunk and dumb, your chest pushing up against his own, looking for stimulus- your nipples are hard in your bralette, but you wish you were naked already, wish you could feel him better-

“Jae?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you take my dress off?”

Jaehyun pulls his hand away from your core, bringing his two wet fingers to your lips. He pushes them into your mouth, propping himself up so he can look down at you while you suck his digits clean. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You groan around his fingers, the act of sucking is turning you on more than you’d care to admit, but it ends too quickly as Jaehyun pulls his hand away.

He sits up, taking off his own shirt first. Then he reaches down to grab at the hem of your dress, slowly dragging it up your form. Jaehyun’s eyes take in each strip of newly exposed skin, and you can see the way his pupils have blown with interest.

You lift your shoulders off the bed, making it easier for him to tear the fabric off of you and toss it to the side. This leaves you in your bralette and panties, both of which you’re eager to have join your dress on the floor.

Jaehyun’s hand reaches out to cup your breast, his thumb smoothing over the pebbled nipple that’s pushing through the silky fabric. He squeezes you gently, forcing you to release a moan of pleasure.

A moment later, he’s removing your panties, then your bra, fingers pinching at your newly exposed nipple.

Your hand, meanwhile, returns to his cock- only for Jaehyun to grab at your wrist, pulling you away.

You’re about to ask what’s wrong, but then Jaehyun turns your hand palm up, and he spits into the center of it, bringing it back to his cock.

There’s no way that action should have been as sexy as it was- your core throbbing as you begin to stroke his rock-hard length.

With one last lustful look at your body, Jaehyun settles over top of you again, his mouth seeking out your breasts while you pump his cock. The feeling of his tongue flicking against you has you crying out, pushing your chest toward his mouth. His teeth graze over your sensitive nipple and you respond by applying more pressure to his cock.

Jaehyun groans loudly, rutting his hips into your hand, which stills so you can allow him to fuck your palm. He continues to worship your breasts while his hips do most of the work, and you surrender yourself to the pleasurable scenario you’ve found yourself in.

“You know…” Jaehyun presses another kiss to your nipple, “I was going to ask you to sit on my face, but… it’s hard being this close to your pretty pussy and not just… slipping it in.”

“Yeah?” You guide his cock closer to your core, so that when he ruts his hips, the tip of his cock glides through your soaked folds. “Then just do it.”

“Here I was, saying not to skip the foreplay- but here I am, giving in to you like always.”

Jaehyun releases a laugh, and it makes you giggle along with him, because it’s true. Jaehyun may have this sexy, devil-may-care attitude, but he’s always been a total simp for you.

He was completely wrapped around your finger when you first met, and he’s completely wrapped around your finger now. It’s interesting how so much can change, and so little can change at the same time.

“You just feel so good,” Jaehyun groans, thrusting again, the tip of his pretty pink flushed cock just slipping inside of you-

“Fuck, Jae, please-” you push your chest up toward his face again, pumping his length, trying to guide him deeper-

He brings his mouth to your own, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss as he sheaths himself into your wet core.

You let out a low whine, wrapping your legs around his hips and releasing his cock in favor of grabbing his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck-” Jaehyun moans, staying still inside of you while your walls pulse around his shaft. “Missed this perfect pussy, baby.”

“Missed your perfect cock,” you retort, tangling your fingers in his soft hair and drawing him in for another kiss.

His tongue clashes against your own, his hands finding your hips so he can steady himself as he begins to rut into you.

You love getting lost in him. You can feel your mind slipping away, your body giving into its primal instincts as Jaehyun makes love to you the way he has so many times before.

One of his hands finds your own, taking it from his shoulder and lacing your fingers above you, pressing you into the pillow. He breaks the kiss to look down at you, breathing heavily.

“There’s so much I’ve wanted to say,” Jaehyun admits.

“Then say it,” you urge him, cupping his cheek with your free hand.

He nuzzles against your palm, closing his eyes for a moment while he enjoys your touch. “I’ve missed everything about you. You’ve been on my mind every day for two years.”

Your heart aches.

“It’s more than just the sex, and you know it. I’ve missed holding you,” he squeezes your hand, “missed sleeping next to you. Missed late-night talks and grilled cheese. Missed your laugh and the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Missed the way you cry at sad parts in movies-”

As he talks, the pace of his thrusts gets faster, and you find it harder and harder not to moan like a whore and interrupt his cute little speech about missing you.

In fact, it’s hard to even keep your eyes open, but your gaze is caught in his own. Jaehyun’s staring into your soul, baring himself to you like a man who’s brought all his walls down.

“I love you,” Jaehyun says gruffly, “I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one single day. It’s you, and it’s always been you.”

Your stomach muscles clench at his admission, orgasm bubbling to the surface fast from the combination of his movements and his words.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you, licking his lips. “Just rub your clit and let me feel your perfect pussy clench around me as you cum, that will be answer enough.”

With a loud whine, you throw your head back against the pillow, threading your free hand between your bodies. The first touch of your fingers on your clit has you throbbing already, and you release a gasp.

“That’s it, baby,” Jaehyun coos, lips finding your throat. “Just like that.”

“Jae-”

“I know, I know you’re close- must be pent up like me, right? We’re both going to cum way too fast, but that’s okay, we have all the time in the world to enjoy each other- the way I’m going to eat your perfect pussy for breakfast tomorrow morning-”

Your core pulses at the thought, and you rub your clit harder.

“Gonna let go for me, right, baby? I’m so close, want you to cum with me.”

“I’m there-” you tell him, shivering as he licks the sweet spot on your throat. ‘Fuck, Jae-”

“You want me to cum inside right? You’re still on the-”

“Cum inside,” you interrupt him. “God, fuck, please- need you to fill me up-”

Jaehyun groans, squeezing your hand again. His lips move from your neck to your mouth, and your tongues clash in a breathless, moan-filled frenzy, your orgasms just out of reach-

One more whimpered “please” out of you has Jaehyun moaning, his high crashing into him. You can feel him filling you up with his cum, and it triggers your own orgasm. A gasp escapes you, your sensitive nipples pressing against his chiseled chest-

You can feel him everywhere. He’s all-consuming. You completely let go, sounds uninhibited, pussy throbbing harder than it has in the past two years.

Jaehyun fucks you through it, until you’re both sweaty, gasping messes. Then he collapses on top of you, giving your captured hand one last squeeze before adjusting. He rolls off of you just enough to tuck you close to his chest, hand finding your hair and beginning to pet you.

You can hear the racing of his heart as he catches his breath.

As you come down from your high, you feel a welling of emotion bubbling inside of you. You’re shocked when a tear rolls down your cheek, and you’re quick to brush it away. Jaehyun notices the movement and tilts his head to assess you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “I’m just…. I’m happy, and I missed you a lot.”

“Baby,” Jaehyun’s fingers draw pretty nothings on your back, “I promise I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I've been reading a lot of shorter smut fics recently, and after doing such a big kick-off in January, I wanted to try a shorter piece again, and challenge myself with a little angst :)

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🔮 preview. “Listen, I promised myself I wasn't going to cum in or on you tonight - you know, seeing as you’re my wife tomorrow and I don’t want to disrespect you - but since you’re begging for it,” Jaehyun slips the tip of his cock inside of you, only to pull away, “I guess I can settle for cumming on your ass, but only if we shower together after.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, creampie, pussy eating champ Jae, pussy worship, fingering, 69, blow job, hand job, deep throating, gentle choking, begging, dirty talk, slight cum kink/mentions of exhibitionism, finger sucking, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

Since you got back with Jaehyun over a year ago, the two of you haven’t been separated for longer than twelve hours, but tomorrow is the day of your wedding, and there are certain traditions about the bride and groom staying apart- so here you are, cuddled on a couch in your hotel room, missing your fiance.

When your phone rings and Jaehyun’s pretty face shows up as the contact on your screen, you fumble over yourself to pause your movie and answer it. “Jae?”

“Hey, baby. What room are you in again?”

You think about it for a moment. You’d never actually told him where you’re staying in the hotel… “Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe I wanna send my fiance flowers before our wedding tomorrow.”

God, why’s he so charming?

You give him your room number without a second thought, hanging up with an ‘I love you.’

Five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, and you open it to find Jaehyun standing there with a massive dimpled grin on his face, and a vase of flowers in his hands. “Hi, baby.”

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general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

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✘ nct taglist

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@sehunniepot

thank you to those who interacted with the teaser :)

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#jaehyun #jaehyun smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #nct jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct smut #jaehyun x reader #jeong jaehyun x reader

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nsharks · 1 year

Note

can we see more of dad ghost ♥︎ im obsessedLMAO

“soft around the edges”

aka when ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team (a little part 2 to this fic. part 3 here.)

Soap doesn't share the Lieutenant's secret with the rest of the force.

Things go back to normal after that brief, bizarre encounter with you. When their break is over, Ghost carries on the typical dry humor and sharp orders, pretending that Soap never had dinner at his cozy home and met his pregnant wife.

Though, MacTavish does notice little differences in his stoic superior turned new dad. Ghost is shockingly, and ever-so-slightly, nicer. His language is still foul. But he's a little less rough around the edges: compliments Soap a bit more, tells him to shut the fuck up a little bit less.

It's not something that any of the others notice, of course, which is why they are all so baffled when they finally do figure out about Ghost's secret family.

It's two years later when they are disbanding at a base in the UK that you accidentally reveal yourself.

It's truly an accident.

Whenever you pick him up from the military base, Simon instructs you to wait outside. Says he doesn't want to put you at any risk. But you have a knack for not listening to him. You missed him so much during the past four months, and the two-year-old in your arms was old enough to start asking where his dad was, so you figured you could wait for him inside this time, hidden away in a corner.

Your plan might have worked if it weren't for the swell of your belly making it difficult for you to hold the squirming toddler.

He recognizes his dad even with the skull mask on.

Immediately starts to yelp for him, kicking his little feet around, and giving you no choice but to set the toddler down for a second. But your son is growing so much, and he's got his father's determination.

It's definitely riveting for Soap and the team to witness the whole thing unfold.

At first sight, the waddling two-year-old boy doesn't faze them. There were usually family members and little ones waiting at the gate. Gaz and Price are saying their goodbyes when they both notice that the toddler running around is coming in their direction. Or more specifically, in Ghost's direction.

Soap knows right away what's happening.

Watches with raised brows.

For the rest of the team, this is the first time they witness Ghost's demeanor shift to something so soft and peculiar. His mannerisms give everything away before the kid even reaches him: a typically-unfazed Ghost looks around frantically, probably wondering how the hell his son even got here, until he spots you waddling sheepishly after him.

Oh, fuckin' hell.

You give your husband an apologetic look that says I'm sorry and help me at the same time.

“Can’t believe what I’m seeing," Gaz mutters, watching as Ghost bends down to pick up the small child.

Tell me 'bout it, Soap wants to say. But he's already gone through the initial disbelief two years ago, so now, he simply watches with knowing eyes.

He can't say he didn't spend some time the past two years wondering what kind of parents you and Ghost had become. He knew bits and pieces of his past and hesitantly wondered if Ghost had carried on that behavior.

But now he witnesses the Lieutenant scoop the toddler in his arms, making him look so small against his broad chest. “I’ve got ya, kid.” And he is tucking the boy's head underneath his chin and pressing his masked nose to the top of his hair.

Then, the toddler reaches a small hand to his mask and pats it, perhaps harder than he realizes, but Ghost simply shakes his head and patiently wraps his much larger hand around the curious little one’s.

Ghost is soft and gentle and anything but angry, even though you worried that he might have been.

Everything seems to sink in for the team when they see you finally reach your husband. Your mouth moving to rush out apologies:

"I'm sorry, Simon, I know you said to wait outside. We just really wanted to see you and I tried to hold him and-"

And Ghost might have been frustrated on another day. But on this day, he’s just relieved to see you again. It's apparent to all of the eyes watching that this brooding man, with his deadpan eyes and a trademark mask, is utterly and unabashedly in love with you and the little family you have gifted him. Finally able to fully relax as he wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles your neck, something you could never imagine him doing in public like this a few years ago.

“S’okay, love,” he tells you. “Can’t be mad, can I? Not when I get to see you two.”

You’re carrying his second child and he hasn't seen you in months and he simply doesn't give a fuck at the moment.

To his team watching, the Lieutenant seems like another person.

They're watching Simon, not Ghost.

"That's his girl, then?" Alejandro finally asks, as they have been frozen in place. Watching in curiosity and bewilderment.

“Wife seems like,” Gaz says. Shooting Soap a curious look, he adds, “Did you know anything about this?”

“Hell,” Soap shrugs to feign innocence. “Didn’t know a thing-“

But, of course, you’re soon waving over at him and smiling before your husband can stop you. “Hi, Johnny!”

Guilty and caught, Soap offers a small wave in return before shaking his head. “Christ, alright. May have ran into them awhile back.”

“And you didn’t tell us, MacTavish?” Gaz scoffs.

“Not my secret to tell,” Soap shrugs again and watches as Ghost caresses your pregnant stomach. He leans down to whisper something in your ear and you smile coyly at him, planting a little kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. Ghost is somehow able to hold you and your son firmly against his chest and still have more room. Must be what had the two of you realizing that a fourth family member was needed.

Soap hears the snide remarks as your family leaves and is out of earshot.

Looks like Ghost keeps himself busy on leave.

You think he helps with the diapers?

The kid’s even got his eyes.

Reckon he takes the mask off during sex?

Finally, Soap groans out, “Haud yer wheesht. That’s enough.”

“Sergeant’s right,” Price, whose own surprise has faded into something more stern, quiets the members of the team who are still lingering. “That’s your superior you’re gosspin’ about. Show some respect and bugger off.”

But once the Captain is gone, Soap allows himself this one quip (because, he’d been so good at not sharing what he’d seen for two years).

It’s a quiet one that he mentions only to Kyle.

“He takes her shopping an’ carries all the bags. Saw it myself.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost #fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #fem!reader #dad ghost

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frogchiro · 7 months

Note

I hope I’m not bothering you with my ancient greek mythology stuff my little brain is going into overdrive👉👈

Just…sculptor/painter reader using the gladiators as her nude model…running your hands over their muscles and gushing how strong they are and how amazing your latest piece is going to come out!

You don’t even notice they’re getting hard as you run your fingers over their adonis belt commenting how they’re your new muse for your art

I almost (s)creamed the moment I saw this ask nonnie dear you're a genius ;;

Also I feel the need to mention this; please do keep in mind that this is only my silly au and most probably will have historical inaccuracies so if you're a true history/ancient greece/roman enjoyer, please go mild on me ;;

But back to the drill...You are so right??? Like...I imagine that reader would be a young, aspiring artist with a knack for painting. Maybe she doesn't come from a wealthy family so any true school for it is out of the question, your own parents only came along when you started selling your painting and doing commissions for nobles and it actually started to bring in money. Your road to success is still long but you're managing! Plus you're 'stupidly determined like your father' as your mother says so you try to stay positive!

The one problem you had was something you believed many artists suffered from; inspiration and models. Specifically human models. The human body and physique fascinated you from an early age, the moving muscles, facial expressions to different stimuli and so much more but...the problem were the models, or rather the lack thereof.

You could probably hire someone but the money spend on that would be way too much for your limited budget so the next best thing was the coliseum! It was a blessing in poor disguise, the gladiators trained there almost daily and luckily the head keeper of the arena begrudingly let you stay there and practice in exchange for a satchel of money but to be honest...the practice wasn't the only thing you longed for when visiting the coliseum almost daily, it was the gladiators.

They were huge, burly men in their prime, all of them looking like they were born with a sword or spear in hand and to grow up to become warrior and you'd be lying if you said that warmth didn't spread through your body and centered in your lower belly whenever these big, loud and boisterous men didn't call out for you and purred in dripping, low voices how pent up they are and what they wouldn't give for a pretty soft thing like you :((

The worst (or best) part was when you were practicing nude drawings which were equally fascinating and hard to draw, especially with all these men being so...shameless with it. You loved the human body, all artists do but still you were a young lady and watching all the gladiators walking around the barracks all naked and proud was...an experience to say the least and brought a pang of warmth between your thighs, especially when they were so happy to parade themselves like proud stallions in front of you :((

Strong, toned bodies glistening with sweat and water, their hardening cocks proudly on show whenever you run your soft hands over their toned torsos to study the way muscles move and twitch whenever you run your fingers over a sensitive spot, the most reactive being two of the many foreign gladiators, Johnny or like he insisted to be called 'Soap' and Kyle or 'Gaz', like he wants to be called.

These two are always purring low withing their chests to you as you look all over them, their backs, chests, stomachs, making you promise to do a special commission only for them but you're just nodding dumbly because you're too transfixed on the god-like bodies to draw :(

Another gladiator you're very fond of is a huge, blonde foreigner named Simon, or 'Ghost'. A formidable warrior, a veteran for sure, it looked like Ares himself send this one here to grace the people with a demigod of war. He was always incredibly patient with you, letting you roam your hands over his body and all the numerous scars decorating his skin. Once you saw Simon up close you immediately realized why people called him a demigod-he was beautiful. A strong and powerful man in his prime, his muscles jumping and twitching beneath his thick skin and a layer of fat, power and virility was literally radiating off of this man, and you insistently tried not to look at the long and thick cock hanging between his legs, twitching and pulsating with arousal whenever you marveled over his body and your fingers ran over his adonis belt <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #THANK YOU FOR THIS #i could go on for hours ;;#gladiator au #gladiator!ghost #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader

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peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage.

You have to try. You have to.

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens.

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break.

Just like you.

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation.

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again.

The house.

Your knees find ground.

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or…

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace.

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching.

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun.

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip.

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning.

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch.

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick.

You’re sick.

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face.

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?”

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod.

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes.

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity.

You’re sick.

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second.

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking.

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem.

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure.

If you could make it to the door.

If you could make it down the hall.

If you could get out.

You grit your teeth.

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time.

They must not be here.

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how.

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron.

You can do it. You can.

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming.

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just-

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew.

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks.

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once.

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go.

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass.

You’re locked in here. With them.

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors.

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes.

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark.

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look.

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings.

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.”

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle.

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.”

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me.

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.”

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die.

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both.

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot.

You’re sick.

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it.

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes.

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day.

Why must the leash be so tight?

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe.

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick.

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick.

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey.

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick.

Eight months prior:

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition.

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well...

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it.

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered.

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove.

#peaches writes #the pit #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish

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shadow4-1 · 15 days

Text

I'm just imagining using a secluded space on base to do some yoga away from the 141, only to realize Ghost's been watching disapprovingly the whole time.

Like, what you lack in raw strength compared to the boys, you have in agility. You're not nearly as rigid. You're flexible, and it's only because you take the time to work on it. You have several methods but dancing and yoga are by far your favorite.

Neither hobby you can enjoy on base much, because well...you always get stared at. So, you take it upon yourself to clear out part of old studio space used for storage. It's kind of crappy, with cracked tile and dust bunnies galore, but it'll do. You play some music in your earbuds and do your beginning stretches on your mat.

When you're in the zone you're in the zone. You end up in a place far away and yet still within yourself. The burning stretch from some of your maneuvers feels so good you nearly groan. You get lost in the personal meditation. One certain position uses a specific pair of muscles in your lower back. It takes you a moment to realize why it makes you gasp. You bite your lip and decide to take a short break.

As you untangle your body you feel something's off. You're physically fine, but your heart starts to race. Your stomach lurches. You move to stand, suddenly startled by seemingly nothing.

"Yer doing it wrong."

And just like that Ghost makes himself known from behind a shelf. He's in his workout clothes, which isn't much but some slinky basketball shorts and a tank top. Black of course. His mask is the soft one he uses when he's not on the field.

You scoff at him, still feeling on edge but also relieved at no immediate threat.

"You do yoga?" You ask incredulously. "Fine, big guy. Show me how it's done."

He rolls out a mat and gestures for you to copy him. It's a simple move, one you've perfected. And yet he still shakes his head at your form. You try it again. Wrong. Again. Wrong.

"Where am I going wrong?"

You don't expect him to reach over and grab your back leg. He pulls it out further. You stumble and he rights you with the same arm. He tuts at you, but he's the reason you're off balance.

"Lift your back. No. Higher. Your hip should be down."

Next thing you know he's behind you, his large hands making your body twist and bend. You end up in the same position as you'd been in earlier, but this time you can really feel the stretch. Maybe he was right, you were doing it wrong.

You tilt your back up and feel the familiar stretch. It's better than you've ever been able to get it on your own. You can't help the soft groan that leaves your lips. The last time those muscles had been used was before you joined the 141, when you'd still had a boyfrie-

Two hands grab at those spots. Large thumbs work circles into the areas. Despite yourself, you moan. This was going a bit too far but...

The more he kneads the more you fall to your knees. You can't hold the position with your back up anymore. You practically collapse onto the mat, ass up, Ghost knelt over you.

He still doesn't let up. His thumbs dig into those circles hard enough it should hurt but instead you only feel bliss. You bite your lip, it feels so fucking good. Eventually he relents, and stops digging into you. You whine at the absence.

"That feels so good." You groan, voice sounding way too needy for what just occurred.

"M' glad." Ghost huffs amusement evident in his tone.

Ghost grabs you and flips you over onto your back. He grabs one of your legs and pushes it as far forward towards your head as he can without hurting you. He does the same to the other. It's a weird position, but it's not far off from some of the other ones you're used to. It burns but it also feels good. Considering you're flat on your back, you feel supported.

You smile up at him, a little breathless but also happy that he's willing to help you out. Yoga did not seem like something any where near his wheelhouse.

"I didn't know you liked yoga. How did you learn about this stuff?" You ask, using your own arms to hold your legs in position as Ghost gets up higher on his knees.

Ghost huffs behind his mask as he looks down at you. He narrows his eyes, his head blocking out the white light of the overhead flourescents. You feel a hand slide between the material of your shorts and the curve of your ass.

"The Kama Sutra."

#cod imagines #mw2 #call of duty #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #simon riley x reader

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seonghwaddict · 4 months

Text

ateez and their top 3 kinks — masterlist

genre. hc, smut...? rating. mature. warnings. sexual content mdni, yn wears a dress in one part, kinks and stuff, marking, rough-ish, mentions of toys, somnophilia, size kinks, praise, degradation, bdsm themes, public/semi-public sex, breath play, it’s like a lot of kinks. wc. 1.1k.

[ lilo’s notes . . . ] uh yeah i wrote this at 2 in the morning i have no fucking idea why i decided to do this but anyways- enjoy :3

hongjoong

marking. he’d mark you and fucking love to have you mark him… he’s literally so possessive and would never pass the opportunity to physically show people you’re his and he’s yours. hickeys literally everywhere and so many of them you’ll have a hard time covering them up—neck, chest, thighs, back, anywhere.

orgasm control. he’s a natural leader, what he says goes. so, of course, he’d want to be the one to control when you finish. which leads me to my next point.

overstimulation. he personally doesn’t like to be overstimulated but god does he love doing it to you. he loves the whines and twitches as he continue pressing a vibrator against your clit because, let’s be fr, he’d definitely be using plenty of toys (as well as himself).

seonghwa

shibari. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again and again and again. this man loves nothing more than to tie you up in the most intricate and borderline artistic ways for his own (and your) pleasure.

sensory deprivation. he absolutely loves the trust and vulnerability that comes with this. specifically, he likes to blindfold you and run his hands all over you as lightly as he can, barely brushing over all the spots he knows make you feel good, soft plushy lips ghosting over your skin. and no matter how light it is, you’ll always feel everything ten times more intensely, having nothing else to focus on but his voice and his touch. also, ice cubes.

praise. this is something he’ll incorporate into your everyday lives outside of bedroom a activities. he’ll make sure to tell you you’re doing well while your working on something. gentle head pats and approving nods.

yunho

size kink. this is so obvious but like literally look at him, he makes everyone seem so tiny compared to him. he likes to stare as he pushes his huge dick into you, jaw practically dropping as his huge hands pin your hips to the mattress. speaking of hands…

fingers in mouth…(?) i have no idea if this is an actual kink, but i just know this is so yunho. he’s the type of guy to have you suck your own release off him after he fingers you, getting off on the way your lips wrap around his digits. he would definitely have two fingers or his thumb stuffed in your mouth as he fucks you.

breath play. is it obvious i really like his hands? anyways, i will not be elaborating on this for the sake of my sanity.

yeosang

body worship. is this a seonghwaddict post without body worship being involved in some way? that’s right, no. he’s more into giving the body worship, but when he’s receiving it he becomes the ultimate softie (in my head, he’d be leaning towards being a hard dom tho)

edging. oh he would absolutely love your subtle frustrated huffs every time he stops whatever he’s doing, thinking you look so so cute when you’re desperate and practically begging. and then he’d finally let you finish, giving you the best orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

wax play. usually yeosang is a pretty calm guy outside of the bedroom and he likes to maintain that when it comes to foreplay, building up the anticipation. he specifically likes those candles that melt the wax into massage oil.

san

bondage. i think shibari would also be suitable for san, but he would do it with the usual ropes unlikes seonghwa. additionally, san is totally into marking. bondage/shibari would include exactly that—bruises and rope burns.

locations. ok so i didn’t exactly know what to call this, but he would not give a single shit about where and when he fucks you. backstage during an intermission? you’ll be dragged into a dressing room so he can give you some quick head before going back on stage, someone pounding on the door but he ignores them. at a dinner with some friends, you looking as ravishing as ever? he’ll either discreetly slip his hands up the skirt of your dress to finger you, drag you to a bathroom when no one’s looking, or drag you into the backseat of his car and rip that dress of you. this man has no patience and would rather not wait until you’re in the private confines of your home.

manhandling. he has all those muscles for a reason.

mingi

size kink. the twin towers have very obvious size kinks. like, how could they not? they’re fucking huge.

praise. giving and receiving. mingi likes being told how well he’s doing as much as he likes to be the one telling his partner. he needs the reassurance to make sure what he’s doing feels good for you, he’d hate to hurt you.

somnophilia. ok idk if this counts as it, but he thinks it’s so cute when he fucks you to sleep. his touches and his words and the way he fills you up so gentle soothing it’s like you’re being lulled to sleep. like he’s literally such a softie, okay? he knows his dick game’s good.

wooyoung

humiliation/degradation. giving and receiving. come on guys he basically admitted this already. he would be such a menace in bed, he would coo at you and mock you as he fucks you stupid.

biting. is this even a surprise? he loves to sink his teeth into you as a form of affection, listening to your whimpers and feeling you writhe beneath him as he… multitasks.

dry humping. he doesn’t care that it makes him seem like an inexperienced high schooler making out with his partner. he loves the friction he gets when he slowly grinds against you through your layers of clothing (and he knows you love it too). idk and like he would get desperate at some point, almost there but not quite there yet because it’s not quite enough, and yeah i just like the idea of that.

jongho

sir. he would love to be called sir. or daddy, but i think sir is just so jdjsjhcjsnc like i’m literally pacing in my room as i write this. JUST IMAGINE IT FOR A SECOND PLEASEEE- “please” “please what” “please, sir” “good. very good, darling” AHHHHHHHH

location. couldn’t care less about where he fucks you pt 2. kitchen counter, living room couch, dressing room in a clothing store, in the shower, bathroom stall, up against a wall, the list could literally go on forever.

eye contact. whether it’s forced or not, he thinks eye contact is one of the hottest things. he likes missionary for that exact reason—so he can look you in the eyes, look at you in your fucked out state, as he makes you feel things you know no one else can make you feel.

ot8 (aka things i wanted to give to all of them, with no explanation)

thigh riding.

i want them so bad.

　　[ networks ... ] @cromernet @blankjournal

　　[ perm taglist — open ... ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb

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diejager · 3 months

Note

HI HI !!! i just wanted to request a fic of perv! stebrother! konig :D

he basically offers us a massage and us, innocent! reader would agree not knowing the intent behind this ‘innocent’ service— it’d turn into SEX,, ( you can figure the details out or just get straight into the scenario of you’d prefer )

that is all, teehee :3

Massage Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, massage, innocent/oblivious!reader, fingering, condescending, coercion, slight misogyny, size kink, tell me if I missed any.

You thought yourself extremely lucky to have an older brother so caring and gentle with you, always offering to pick you up after classes in his old pickup truck, helping you with finding inspiration for projects, acting as your model, soothing your aching muscles and always giving you a hand whenever you needed it. You really loved König despite his awkwardness and aversion to you when you first moved in with him, his avoidance of you when you crossed paths in the hall or his cold, lingering gaze on you, but after a while, he opened up, gracing you with soft affection and and eagerness to be near and help you.

You spent a lot of times together, be it in one of your rooms, in the kitchen, in the living room or in public, always so close to you and holding such an intimacy that some would think that you were a couple. Perhaps it’s this closeness that made you feel so comfortable being naked in front of him, splayed over his bigger bed without anything to cover yourself. His hands pressed down on the knot, feeling the tightness in your muscles and the softness of your skin, without being obstructed by your clothes —or any at all. König had your back oiled, stomach and breasts pressed into the cool sheets of his bed, tensing and groaning when he put pressure on a specific spot.

“You’re so tense, Spatzi,” he bemoaned, letting his rough fingers trail down your spine, feeling and staring at your arched back, mewling lightly when he ghosted your hips, “It’s good that have good hands, ja?”

You nodded against his bed, letting out a little sigh when he raised your hips with one of his big and silky pillows, hands grazing down your ass to grip your plush thighs. Kneading the sensitive, inner fat of your legs, drifting so closely to your uncovered cunt, teasing you a little flick of his thumb on your swollen clit. Your body reacted to his touch, cunt growing slick from all the stimulation of his calloused pads pressing and kneading your skin, especially when he moved down your ass or crawled up the sides of your tits, leaving fleeting touches on your perked nipples.

“Wait, König-” you mewled, squirming lightly beneath him, hips bucking against his palm from light touches, “König.”

“I know. I know,” he mumbled out, his tone wearing a slight edge of condescension, “Let me help you, Spatzi.”

You mewled lowly, your body too relaxed into his sheets to do anything against him but mewl out your objections and writhe beneath him, legs numb to the point that all you could do was give him light nudges. Shushing your cries with growling words, his fingers slipped down your slit, thumb nudging at your clit and rolling it before he dipped a thick finger into you. You moaned, gushing around him the moment he pressed his finger knuckle deep, your virginal walls unused to having a thick and rough finger curling inside of you.

You’ve fucked your self with your hand before, unable to stop the brewing flame in your core, but one finger of his equalled to two of yours, it filled you to the near brink, pumping and tapping your g-spot without fail. Your body moved on its own, ass raising lightly to coax König faster and harder, riding his hand for more stimulation than his muscle-deep massage. He nearly sneered at you for being so eager to want to come around his fingers, his sweet and innocent step-sister vulnerable and pliant for him. Giving you a few rough pumps, you gushed, soaking his palm with slick, rutting against his hand and screaming into his sheets, fingers clenching and body tense, thrashing and arching.

Your slick rolled down your thighs, wetting his bed with your salty and musky cum, gifting him with something to relieve himself with for the next days. You were complexly limp, after a massage and a mind-blowing orgasm, you felt boneless and aroused and floating on ecstasy.

“See?” König growled out, body pressing down on you to reaffirm his previous words, ”I know how to help you. I know better, Spatzi.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 8 months

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 5 - Ice Princess | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to the North, before the match with Cregan and Sara, everything comes to a head | Word Count: 7.2k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: *deep breath* jealous!aemond, swearing, degradation, heaps of sexual tension, one room in the hotel trope, aemond being a sexual menace, a lot of dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie, mild angst

A/N: *me barking writing all the warnings* I ain't got nothing else to say I-

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“What the fuck was that?!” El shouts over the video call, making you cradle your face in your hands.

She’s showing you her front camera, tapping on the TV in front of her as she rewinds the footage of your routine at Casterly Rock. She must have replayed that specific part about ten times now.

She taps the screen harshly, “Look at that! You’re fucking blushing, you whore!”

“El, please” you reply, exasperated.

“Is that a fucking bruise on your leg”

"El!" You shout over the phone, making her press her lips together in a mischievous grin.

"Did you get a bit too cozy?" She teases,

"Fuck off"

"You both look completely different. Also that triple spin, that was fucking perfect"

"Thank you" you say flatly, rolling your eyes, remembering doing it in the routine.

You don't remember the time between the dressing room and getting on the ice. Just the steady hum of the crowd's applause as the announcer welcomed the representatives of the Crownlands.

"Performing second is Aemond Targaryen with his not-so-new skating partner, who proved herself significantly in the deciding match for the Championship tour"

"They were both very icy in that performance. Let's see if anything has improved"

You run over all the jumps and spins, in case your mind is so preoccupied that you've somehow forgotten. Smoothing down your hair and your skirt, desperately trying to hide any proof of his fingerprints, you take your spot in the middle of the ice.

For this routine, it begins with Aemond facing you, and when he pauses to a halt before you, you meet his gaze briefly, feeling the warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

Before he left the dressing room, he looked nervous. But that facade is gone. He looks deadly serious, and you hate to admit that the look he's giving you, performance or not, is so piercing and purposeful that it's almost exciting. Arousing? No, focus.

At the other match, his touch had been calculated, firm and almost rigid. His movements were largely the same, as you had pointed out only the day before. But now, his touch is so whisper soft it's almost undetectable. His fingers dance across your bare skin, a path of goosebumps left in their wake. Except this time, his eyes barely ever leave yours, fully aware of the effect of his touch and a ghost of a smile lob-sided on his face.

Every single touch of his hands on your waist to lift you, every hold to lunge into a jump together and every shared gaze never fails to have your stomach roll pleasantly inside you, settling between your thighs where Aemond had touched you not a moment before.

You come together, skating backwards for the triple spin. His hands brace your waist, and you swallow anxiously.

"Remember to tuck your arms in" he whispers, you nod, running over what you need to do, "you've got this"

"I'm seeing a stark difference in attitude in this performance. Perhaps our icy couple are starting to warm up"

Taking a steadying breath, Aemond does as he needs and flings you in the air, ready to catch you once you've done one, two, three spins, before taking your hand once you land.

Right leg, push…

You can't help but smile when you land it. That's the best feeling in the world, when the crowd applauds.

"She's done it! Another graceful landing!"

You release the breath you'd been tightly holding, gliding through the rest of the routine with Aemond to the view of the stands, some of them stood and some seated in applause.

It's only when you are stopped, with Aemond's arms around your middle and feeling his hurried breath against your back, that you can finally form a thought. Your heart beats furiously in your chest, lungs dry.

"Well done" he breathes, hot against the shell of your ear. The praise goes straight to your core.

"Oop, I saw that look. Perhaps the Ice Prince has an Ice Princess in his sights"

"Oh come on, look at the way he's looking at you!" El beams over the video call, tearing you from your thoughts, "I swear to all the gods, if y'all don't smash-"

"Can I have one conversation with you that isn't about fucking please?"

El pulls a face, "What can I say. Hoes United. Are you kidding me? Ice Princess? He better be calling you princess between the sheet-"

"Goodbye, El"

You hang up, heaving a large sigh, staring forwards at the bed with your packed duffle bag, ready to depart once again in the car with Arryk.

It was clear as day, the difference between you and Aemond. The attitude.

The commentators dubbed you his 'Ice Princess', a nickname which you hate immensely. Several reporters had flocked to the hotel you were both staying in, all hanging around Arryk's car waiting for a chance to speak to the famed 'couple'.

The match was a success at least, no doubt because of the 'warming up' to one another, as the commentators graciously put it. You received good scores, marginally better technically than Johanna and Jason but ultimately winning most on performance, the former of which wiggled her eyebrow at you as she hugged you in congratulations during scoring.

She didn't dare say anything. The cameras would pick it up, no doubt.

A seasoned pro in that respect.

As per usual, you and Aemond were hauled into the back of Arryk's car provided by Hightower Management, sat together on opposite ends.

Also as usual, Aemond had his airpods shoved inside his ears, turned away towards the window. Usually, you'd be able to hear the music blasting through his earphones. But you couldn't hear a thing.

Perhaps he just wanted to be left alone.

His hands were clasped tight in his lap, his left leg bouncing. And you had to turn away towards your own window to stop staring at him in his sweatpants, feeling your face and neck get hot just thinking about what happened between you two.

The journey to Winterfell was several hours. You couldn't possibly be faster getting out the car and grabbing your stuff, walking straight past Aemond to go into the foyer of 'The Lone Wolf', a humble yet large hotel in the heart of Winterfell. Owned by none other than the Stark Family, so the idea of seeing Cregan before the match sent anxious flutters in your stomach.

"Good morning, Miss" the receptionist says with a polite customer service brimmed smile.

"Hello, uh, should be some rooms booked under Hightower?"

She nods, her fingernails clicking against the keyboard, "Just let me check for you…"

You ignore the white-haired male in your periphery, leaning against the desk by one of his forearms, one airpod now safely tucked away. When you spare a brief glance, he's not looking at you, but at the woman as she types quickly, flexing his fingers on the desk. You swallow thick at the closeness, sidestepping an inch.

The lady pulls a face.

"I'm afraid there seems to have been an administrative issue with the booking…"

Your skin starts to erupt in worry, "what issue?.."

The receptionist meets your eyes, her lips drawn flat in apology, "There is only one room on the Hightower booking…"

You go cold all over, staring back for a long moment without saying anything.

"A twin?" you ask,

She shakes her head, "a double.."

Your hand braces your forehead, leaning against the desk, "Fuck"

An awkward silence passes before you ask, "there aren't any other rooms?"

"I'm afraid not. We're full because of the skating match in a few days"

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek, his face stoic, "Is there a sofa? In the room?"

She reluctantly nods, "Yes but only a 2 seater-"

"That's fine" Aemond says immediately, holding his hand out and clapping the keycard in his grasp. He sighs and turns to you, smirking slightly at the horrified look on your face, "Let's go then, business partner"

You feel like you stand stock still, frozen into place, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of sharing such intimate space with Aemond.

I've got to be the most fucking unlucky person in Westeros.

By the time you catch your breath, having checked to see if Arryk had already left (which unfortunately he had), you're walking hurriedly to the room, standing before the numbered door for a moment as if to psych yourself up for the next day and a bit that will be inevitably be spent in extremely close proximity with Aemond.

The hotel room is luckily wide, with an en-suite situated in the corner as well as a wide curved window that looks out over the roof of another building. Aemond shucks his bag onto the sofa, his well muscled back moves as he unzips it and pulls his belongings out.

He barely moves his head, "You gonna unpack or just stand there?"

Hot embarrassment combined with subtle anger nips at your insides. You pull your lips into a flat line to hold you back from retorting and huff your bag onto the bed, pulling off your jacket.

Aemond won't stop you from getting comfortable.

"Will you fit on that 2-seater?"

Aemond shrugs, still busied with unpacking, "I've slept on worse"

Usually, unpacking is a time for relaxation, making a home of the hotel room. But here, with Aemond, it feels like you're on guard the entire time, methodically grabbing the more intimate items of clothing and putting them away as quickly as you can.

Suddenly, the shorts you're wearing feels just a bit too revealing, the hem lapping at your thighs barely. Every now and then, you feel his gaze on them, setting every hair on edge. But when you look back at him, he just does that little lob-sided smug smile, pretending to be busy with something else.

You push your palms over the skirt of your dress anxiously, feeling a nervous sweat coat them "Okay well…" you murmur awkwardly, "I'm gonna…to go downstairs for a bit"

You're barely turned, hand on the door when Aemond chuckles, low, in his chest, "Desperate to get away from me, hm?"

You freeze, not daring to turn back. All you can hear is the soft press of his trainers on the carpet as he turns away, and you just know he's looking at you.

The inside of your mouth is so dry.

"I know what you're thinking, I can see it on your face" he muses quietly, his voice edging closer to your back as you're frozen on the spot, "I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

No I haven't.

Yes I have.

Fuck.

As much as the thoughts whizz around your head, they don't make the connection to your mouth. You can feel how close Aemond must be to your back, and your fingers tighten over the handle of the door.

"You have, haven't you?" He grins darkly, his voice an octave lower, quieter, more calculated, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

Your breath is stuck in your ribs, arousal pooling slowly in your belly, like the calm tide of the ocean sweeping in to wet the sand.

You feel his breath against your neck and ear, blowing the hair at the side of your face. His mere presence behind you.

"See you tonight"

Almost as soon as he says it, you're out the door, pushing it shut behind you forcefully. Shutting out the feeling that you desperately want to disappear. The mere memory of his hands on your bare thighs that day sets urgency in your core, hands clenched tight at your sides.

But more than anything, the way he kissed you, was the feeling you remembered the most. You recall moments after he'd rushed out, touching your kiss-swollen lips, willing the feeling of them back, realising just what line had been crossed.

Aemond Targaryen was an infuriatingly good kisser. Just like the way he moves on the ice, he's smooth and deliberate, taking his time. And it translated in the passion of that moment, the way his hand had grasped the back of your neck, and the other had spread your legs to accommodate him standing between them…

…How his hardness had pressed against your clothed core.

Aemond had been aroused.

Everything you thought about him, about how he felt about you, could very well be misplaced.

You don't know how to feel about that.

It goes against everything you thought. Everything you believed.

And he still hasn't apologised. He'd said pretty words, all but those two you really needed.

Nothing would happen until he did. You'd make sure of that.

Torture him right back. It's the least he deserves.

Prick.

The hotel bar is better than anticipated, with several tables and chairs, even stools that line the front of the large oak counter on one side of the room. You don't usually partake in drinking, or at least much. But every now and then you feel you deserve it.

And right now for example, it's taking the edge off.

The large glass windows show you just how dark outside it already is, with the streetlights beaming through the single glazing. The North is different, obviously, but you didn't quite consider the weather.

Your muscles ache from doing your cardio, choosing to train on the ice tomorrow instead, the day before the match with Cregan and Sara. The hotel gym was nice, and each time you went into the hotel room to change, you worried about running into Aemond.

But luckily he was nowhere to be found.

Where he'd gone?

Not your problem, you surmise.

You were dressed once again in black, but nowhere near as flashy as the after-party from weeks before, but still a nice enough dress that it completely didn't work with the use of a bra. Hightower Management had organised a small get-together of the skaters currently in the North, as a way of showing support, despite all of you being quite literally competitors.

This includes the Singles skaters.

With that, they insisted you and Aemond look presentable.

You were there early, as a means of…avoiding Aemond in the hotel room. With so far, success.

A few figures begin to leak into the bar area, a few you don't recognise, but then a sea of silver-hair you actually would like to see.

Baela and Rhaena, clad in equally stunning blue dresses, bound up to you with gleaming teethy smiles. You stand excitedly meeting them in the middle, a shared female squeal of excitement is the only sound emitted.

"There she is!" Baela shouts, and both the twins envelop you in an equally tight hug.

"Jesus, guys there's only one of me, bit looser please" you joke, pretending to be out of breath.

They pull back, their silver curls sitting loose with silver accessories, "Our Ice Princess!" Rhaena jabs with a mischievous smile.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Don't you fucking start, I've had enough of that"

Baela laughs, "had enough of your Ice Prince as well?"

You give her a warning look and the twins hold back their smile, dropping the subject as per your glare. Knowing how you can get.

"How is Pairs?" Rhaena asks,

You sigh, "Different" is all you respond, "How's Singles? Rhaenys giving you a hard time?"

They both groan comically at the same time, "is she? When is she not giving us a hard time? She's our grandmother"

You laugh, sipping your drink, "Ah yeah, forgive me, I do forget sometimes she's a gilf"

"She's not a gilf!" Baela retorts, making you snort a laugh. Almost dropping the glass in your hand.

"Who's not a gilf?"

You all turn and beam, "Jace! When did you get here!" Baela throws herself at him, as does Rhaena as soon as her sister lets go. Sometimes you forget they're cousins, they look so different.

"Hi Jace" you smile, "How have you been?" You ask giving him a hug, which he returns with one hand politely on your back.

"Alright, competitions kicking my ass though"

"Oh dear" you pout, faking a sad face and patting his shoulder, "You'll get over it"

"Thanks, you're so kind" Jace grins.

Over his shoulder you spot him, lurking in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.

Aemond.

He's dressed all in black again, hair in a loose bun, with a button down and dress pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a chain that glints beneath the collar. You swallow at his expression.

He doesn't look pleased in the slightest.

But annoyingly, he does look good.

His eye flits from you and Jace, before realising that you're watching him, to which his attention falls entirely to you. You wonder if he's actually on the phone since he doesn't say anything.

"There she is. The Ice Princess" Cregan Stark obstructs your view for a moment and you smile politely.

"Hi, Cregan-umf"

Your outstretched hand in greeting is completely ignored as Cregan pulls you into a hug, his massive form completely swallowing yours.

"You're in the North, we hug here" he laughs, the vibrations rumbling through your chest, his hand politely in the middle of your back to gently squeeze the hug for longer than you'd think.

Your eyes immediately go to Aemond, over his shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch. But he's hung up his phone, slapping it on his thigh to shove into his pocket. You can't pin down what that look is, but the muscle in his jaw tenses when he looks at Cregan, softening into a smirk when the Northerner pulls away.

Your throat feels tight.

"I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

He doesn't look away, eyes trained on your body. Unabashedly raking over it.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

"Drinks!" Baela announces, dragging you luckily to the bar, breaking your staring competition with Aemond.

As the night progresses, you get to know Cregan and Sara. They couldn't be more different from one another, despite being half siblings. Sara has a fire in her belly, and a competitive eye, whereas Cregan is like a big, muscly Northern golden retriever. He looks like the kind of guy who lifts at the gym in one breath and in another would be having afternoon tea with his grandmother.

The duality takes you off guard multiple times during the night.

Jace and Cregan at least seem very close, having trained together multiple times. They're like long lost brothers, the way Cregan has him in a soft headlock as they wobble back to the bar, is proof enough.

Sara leans close to you, "Is he always like that?"

"Who?" You ask, sipping the drink you've been nursing for hours. Not wanting to get drunk in the slightest.

She nods to the corner, "Your Ice Prince. Aptly named by the way he stares at you"

You follow her line of sight, your core instantly clenching at the sight of him. Perhaps you hadn't really realised it before but several of his top buttons are undone, showing more of his skin at a formal event than he had previously.

You swallow, "Oh, uh, yeah he is. Ignore him"

Sara smirks, "Girl, he wants to fuck you. Can you not see that?"

You turn urgently to her, cheeks ablaze, "That's not true"

Sara hums smugly, "Denial is a river in Egypt. He looked like he wanted to tear Jace's head off when you hugged him"

"Jace is just a friend"

"Oh good, so he's available?" Sara raises her eyebrows.

Now it's your turn to smirk, "Are you after him?"

She shrugs, "he's not bad looking. Guy like him might look harmless but I bet he's freaky between the sheets. With a massive c-"

"Sara!" Cregan interrupts, seeing your screwed up face, clearly having heard everything, "Can we have a moment alone?"

She doesn't even need a second, before she prances off in Jace's direction, giving him the big eyes. Cregan leads you to the bar by the small of your back, and you can't tell if he's oblivious to how intimate that is, or if it's intentional, but when he does it you can't help but look in Aemond's direction, who's being hounded by Baela, but clearly not listening.

Cregan smirks in Sara's direction, "Poor guy. Being in Sara's sights is never good"

You laugh, "She'll eat him alive"

"Quite literally I think" Cregan chuckles in return.

There's a pause as you lean against the bar.

"How's life with the Targs?" He asks, one large hand encircling a pint glass effortlessly.

You shrug, "Has it's trials and tribulations, but otherwise they've treated me well enough"

Cregan looks around before leaning forward, murmuring in a hushed manner, "All I would say is, be weary of the big guy"

You cock your head, "You mean Otto?"

He points his finger like you've hit the nail on the head, "Yeah, him. I heard he's a right fucking stickler"

You nod, "He's very particular" you smile, reassuringly, "I manage though"

Cregan is about to open his mouth when Aemomd steps forward, his tall stature rivaling Cregans as he makes himself known. The Northern man fakes a smile, nodding in greeting, but neither says anything.

Before you can inquire, Aemond's hand encircles your forearm, "We're leaving"

"What?" You ask wide-eyed, wondering from where this rudeness has come from.

Aemond tugs you away, and you wave goodbye to Cregan as well as Baela and Rhaena, whose eyes you catch across the room. Sara wiggles her eyebrows.

Aemond doesn't reply, so you fight against his grip, to no avail, "Aemond let go of me. Now"

It's clear Aemond is not listening, and if he is, he doesn't show it on his face. He even stops by the lift, pressing the buttons hurriedly, but once he sees which floor it's coming from, he grumbled and drags you instead up the stairs.

"Aemond, what the fuck is wrong with you!"

"Not having that northern cunt cosying up to you" he murmurs low, dragging you up the four flights of stairs to your floor. Luckily there's nobody there to see you both, it's so late at night.

His face is stoic, lips flat in a line, seething underneath.

"Are you fucking for real? Let go of me!"

It's only when you're in the hallway, stood before the hotel room door that you manage to pull your arm free of him.

"Are you fucking deaf?" You quip angrily, "what the hell was that Aemond?" You push against his chest as hard as you can, but he's built like a fucking brick wall and doesn't move an inch. Doesn't even lose his balance a little.

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Do I have to repeat myself? I'm not your fucking girlfriend Aemond! Stop treating me like one"

"You'd rather me let you have the likes of Cregan fucking Stark trying to get into your-"

"So what? What right do you fucking have to boss me around like you own me?" You retort, "besides he was just being nice!"

Aemond chuckles, "Oh yeah, just being nice. He only had one thing on his mind" he smirks, his gaze raking over your dress, "dressed like that, who knows what he was thinking"

"Excuse m-"

Down the hall, a room clicks open, the shadow of it moving barely before Aemond tugs you inside the hotel room out of view. He shuts the door and locks it quickly, his fingers once again curled around your forearm.

"I swear to god, if you grab me more time-"

Aemond scoffs, releasing and facing you, dwarfing you with his form as he approaches, "Or what, princess?"

You swallow, backing up somewhat when he takes his calculated small steps towards you. His chest level with your eyes, you see the chain poking out beneath the undone buttons, the slightest bit of skin…

"Don't call me that"

"Who can blame Cregan fucking Stark anyway? With you dressed like that" Aemond responds, invading your space even further.

Your throat goes dry, "What?.."

"The second I saw you in that flimsy little thing, all I've been able to think about, is how I'm going to take it off"

Through your fierce blush, you clench your hands, your core doing the same involuntarily, "you're delusional"

He hums a laugh, "You're cute when you're trying to be angry, princess"

You feel how short your breathing is, how your chest goes all tight. It feels like being hunted, when he looks at you like that. That mischievous glint in his good eye.

"What is your fucking deal, hm?" You retort, feeling a last rush of courage, "Does it give you some sick satisfaction making my life hell? First you hate me, then you're indifferent, then you're hating me all over again and now you're acting like th-"

His hand claps around your waist, squeezing painfully, tugging you towards him in a deep, near-desperate and dizzying kiss. Much like the first one in the dressing room, it's urgent, his lips prying yours apart to slip his tongue into your mouth, humming deeply at the contact with yours. His other hand quickly finds the back of your head, anchoring you with him and chests touching only barely.

Everything dissipates, he's a good fucking kisser annoyingly, and he sucks briefly on your lips, making the blood rush to them so that they're swollen from his attention.

Your brain, lost in the brief act of passion, kicks in finally and your hands push him away. Your lips part from each other with a wet click, your face noticeably flush. Aemond too, looks slightly flushed, but wears a smug expression.

"What the hell was that"

"You reciprocated" he answers matter-of-factly,

"In your dreams"

He hums, "So stubborn. Are you always like this?"

"Fuck you"

"In the dressing room, you were so intent to continue" he replies, stepping forward slightly from when you'd pushed him, "If we weren't due to perform, nothing would have stopped me from fucking you right on that table in your sparkly little get-up"

You can't deny how the air gets sucked out your chest when he says that. Hate and lust are head to head inside you, battling for dominance.

"You'd like that wouldn't you…"

It's the way he says the words, so low and calculated, with that lazy smirk. His lips just as kiss bruised as yours, the few strands of hair that fell from his bun, disheveled.

All of your pent up hormones from not having slept with anyone for ages, the memory of what he did in the dressing room, as well as the sight of him right here, giving you that fucking look…

Every fucking look he's given you the past few weeks.

The memory of his hand on your thigh, squeezing.

Every hand against the small of your back…

…something snaps.

"Fuck it" you whisper, advancing on him again, both hands cupping the sides of his face and kissing him fiercely again, putting all those bottled up emotions, good and bad, behind the intensity of it.

You feel him smile smugly against you, his hands rested on your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, "Fucking knew it" he murmurs between the breaks of both your hateful kisses.

One hand sliding round to the back of his head, you card your fingers into his hair, inevitably ruining whatever style he had it in, to pull him closer to you, intensifying the neediness of his lips against yours. You swear he moans at the tugging of his hair, but you don't even hear it, too concentrated on his teeth as they nip at your bottom lip, nursing the area with his tongue afterwards.

A full body shudder erupts through you, sending a gush of arousal straight between your legs. It makes you feel weightless.

As if that weren't enough, Aemond's hands drop, cupping and kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing near-painfully. The unexpectedness of it makes you gasp into his mouth as he pulls your core that bit closer to his hips, where you can feel the evidence of his arousal hard in his dress pants.

Your hands can't help but explore him as well as he is for you, running across the planes of his well-muscled chest, feeling them strain under your touch like he's holding back. Your fingers run over his chain, dipping to undo the buttons with dizzying speed.

"Eager, are we?" He whispers cockily between kisses.

You shoot him a scathing look, punctuating your words with the rough undoing of more buttons.

"Do you ever shut up"

He doesn't reply, too entranced by the softness of your touch on his bare pale skin as it's revealed button by button. His own hands trace up your middle, over your ribs and straight past your breasts to the straps of your dress, tangling his fingers into one and them and pulling it over your shoulder. Not quite enough to expose any intimate part of you.

Fuck, he's teasing you.

His lips migrate past yours, his nose ghosting over your cheek to your neck, where his lips tease the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses, teeth nipping at the space where it meets your shoulder. It's rougher than anticipated, and a soft breathy moan slips out, only serving to spur him on.

His one hand on our waist pushes you back, your knees hitting the mattress sending your body against it. He follows you, cushioning the fall and looming over you, using one of his knees to edge your legs apart for him.

In the heat of it all you've managed at least to get his shirt entirely open, shifting the fabric from his shoulders, shamelessly appreciating the shape of him. Your fingers trail that little bit of hair leading beneath his belt, feeling how the muscles of his abdomen flex with the contact, hearing the whisper of a low moan in his throat.

It's only when your hand begins to massage the very obvious and, you hate to say it, impressive bulge of his erection, that Aemond lets out a shuddered quiet moan, his breath fluttering against your neck.

You smirk, "Eager, are we?" You tease, echoing his previous words.

It's like a switch flipped and Aemond rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours and pinning them above your head in a very sudden act of dominance. He revels in the shocked look on your face, his black shirt now forgotten on the floor.

"Keep them there. You won't like it if I have to ask twice, Princess"

His voice send a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you visibly swallow nervously, watching his hands dip to your thighs and pushing the fabric of your dress up to your hips.

You jump in your place as Aemond's hands brace your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

"You have no idea what you do to me" he murmurs against you, wrapping the hem of your underwear around his fingers and tugging them off your legs. The motion, as quick as he does it, leaves your lungs breathless for a moment as he descends and kisses the now bare skin on the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

"Aemon-"

Aemond's tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core, making everything seem just too much to bear. Too much and yet too little all at the same time.

"Fuck, baby…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you, as deep as they may be, to make you fall apart.

The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep quiet with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…Aemond…"

It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What happened to that smart mouth, hm?"

Before anger even has a chance to reach you, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, effectively trapping him there, a slew of desperate moans filling the silence in the room, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

" - ah, fuck, Aemond - "

He grins, "Fuck you're soaked for me…" he muses, increasing the intensity, pistoning them inside you, "...come on, baby…"

He finds that spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory.

"There it is…"

Logic, reality, everything is just absolutely gone. Mind blank, and all you're able to think is just him. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers bullying your g-spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

Your crane your head to him, looking up as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the lewd action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

His hands drop to his belt, "You look so fucking perfect like this" he says, the sound of the leather slipping from his dress pants sending a bolt of arousal back to the place you need him most.

"Don't look at me like that" he smirks, his fists closing around the buttons, "the first time I make you cum, it's going to be on my cock"

You would think of some kind of quip, but Aemond tugs his underwear down, his cock springing free, and his hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Aemond is big. Perhaps bigger than anyone you've had before. He is slightly curved, leaning slightly to the right, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swipes whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. Your breath is momentarily stolen once you realise how his large hand encircles it, making it clear how thick he is on top of all that.

Annoyingly, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen.

As a last ditch attempt to keep up appearances, your eyes meet his.

"What makes you think I'd let you?" You challenge, "you've not apologised to me yet"

Quite unexpectedly, he smirks, laughing lowly.

"Oh, Princess" he whispers, one hand pulling the rucked up fabric of the dress at your waist and removing it, tearing the fabric over your head and leaving you entirely naked and exposed. The sensation of the fabric and cool air has your nipped harden to attention, and Aemond sighs appreciatively as he kneads one breast in his palm.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, "I am sorry" he muses condescendingly, before closing one nipple around his lips, tongue swirling against it. You're unable to do anything but press your lips together to stifle a moan.

Aemond pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet still feels so far away.

He reaches away for a second to go for his wallet on the bedside table, but your hand moves quickly to capture his wrist. His piercing gaze looks down at you questioningly.

"I'm clean…" you say, face hot with embarrassment, "...and I'm on birth control"

Aemond grins wolfishly at the admission, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck, "Someone's prepared"

You gasp when he drags the head of his cock up your folds, parting them only slightly.

"You just want it raw, don't you?"

From this action alone you can feel how wet you are, and when he taps his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, it's obvious when it smacks wetly against your skin.

"Now baby, it's just you and me. I want to hear you when I fuck you. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you.

"Just fuck me" you plead, annoyance colouring your tone.

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside.

"I'm going to fuck that little attitude right out of you"

Fuck.

Aemond bottoms out inside you, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his bearings. He breathes in shuddered bursts against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight…can feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you aggravatingly perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Shit-Aemond…" you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "...please…"

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely"

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Aemond's slams back inside, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, when was the last time someone fucked you, as in properly fucked you, like this? Probably longer than you'd like to admit. That Highgarden guy left you high and dry, and even the guys before that, they probably thought girls had one hole, so knew little about how to pleasure you.

It's clear Aemond doesn't share this trait, and your thought process is immediately zipped from your past sexual encounters to right now as Aemonds thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal on it to circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Stubborn and a brat?" He muses, applying a delicious amount of pressure to that needy bundle of nerves, "I thought I made myself very clear, Princess. I want to hear you"

He punctuates his demand with two particularly harsh thrusts, your arousal sounding almost pornographic in nature.

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Aemond hums appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the mattress. It's here that is the first time you see Aemond let his face show what he's feeling. That smug, cocksure smirk he has worn since arriving back at the hotel room drops, and his jaw slackens, his eye hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck-baby, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "shit-feels so good. Been dreaming of this for fucking weeks"

"Aemond-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Aemond leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling arousingly above you.

You feel him grab your face, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

His expression is serious.

"I want you to look at me when I make you cum"

Your hand joins his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is, "fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Aemond is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being edged twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Aemond buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Aemond fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant bullying of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, baby, I've got you" he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

"Fuck-where-"

"Inside me…please"

Aemond feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. Aemond says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his all-body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to fell your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Aemond stills, his cock softening within you.

You don't have time to consider what at all he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, significantly softer than anything you've both done since arriving back to the hotel room. It shocks you, the intimacy of it.

What had you expected him to do? Get up, pull on his clothes and leave?

Maybe.

You had no expectations with Aemond. So for him to do this, had your chest constrain almost painfully.

What did this mean?

Did he just want a quick fuck?

Had he done this with Floris?

What did it mean for your partnership?

You're almost disappointed in yourself that these are the first thoughts on your mind.

And yet despite the pleasure running hot through your veins even still, as Aemond props himself up to look down at you, his chest heaving with hurried breaths, there's something on his face, in his expression, that you just cannot read.

There's an uncertainty in not being able to read him.

And underneath that hum of pleasure, through your rapid heartbeat, there lies something that hurtles you deep away from it all.

Doubt.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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cordeliawhohung · 8 months

Text

Smoldering Butterflies

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part two of "soft spot"

You've been haunting Simon Riley for awhile now. Even with the distance, he keeps you in his back pocket.

Warnings: slight references to the violence in the previous part, other than that mostly fluff, soap gives reader a nickname, soft ghost, slightly domestic ghost?

wc: 6.2k

Careful eyes watched Simon as he sat towards the back of the plane.

Military transport aircrafts were always miserably loud, which made for poor conversation, yet the man was completely content sitting away from his comrades, staring down at his hands. More specifically, the item in his hands. A small, black handkerchief that was patterned with silly, cartoonish dogs. It wasn’t unlike him to be quiet. However, the new item was rather odd for him to be lugging around, and his two sergeants were very quick to take notice.

“Think he’s got a kid?” Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick questioned. He was leaned far over to his left, looking at Simon, or as he was better known in the military, Ghost.

Though it was difficult to hear him over the humming of the engines, John “Soap” MacTavish chuckled as he shook his head. “Sure hope not. Have a hard time imagining him around a kid.”

Gaz tilted his head to the side. Simon continued to look at that silly piece of cloth, gloved thumbs rubbing over it gently, and almost longingly. It was as if he was lost in thought.

“Naw, I think he’s got someone else waiting for him back home,” Soap commented, turning his attention to Gaz. The red lighting inside the airbus made it feel like his eyes were going to melt, but he wore a sly grin anyway. “He’s got a spook.”

“A spook?” Gaz repeated incredulously.

Soap nodded and hummed, a sound that was quickly drowned out by the engines. “We call him Ghost. Thought it’s fitting if his lass gets an equal nickname.”

“If there is a girl,” Gaz corrected.

Soap looked back at Simon just in time to watch him fold the handkerchief. It was neatly done, a perfect square, and once he finished, he leaned to the side, shoving it into his back pocket. One could argue that he took such care in folding the cloth because he was a military man. They did every single thing in their life with care. Soap would argue otherwise.

“Oh, there’s a girl, alright.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Winters in London were miserable. Take that gloomy rain from the rest of the year but drop the temperatures a few degrees, and that’s where the weather stayed. Though it would get close to freezing, it was hardly ever cold enough for it to snow, which meant that not only were you cold, but you were cold and wet.

It was times like that that made you regret finding an apartment so close to work. It wasn’t far enough away to rationalize taking a bus or train, and you didn’t have a car to drive yourself, so you were stuck walking just on principle. Your knees and thighs had turned into ice from the moisture and frigid air. Rainwater was threatening to soak through the fabric of your shoes with a single wrong step, and your toes were beginning to feel the effects.

Still, you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and tugged your coat closer to your body as you pushed onwards. The droplets of water plummeting from the sky made it difficult to really look around while you walked, as every time you tried one would inevitably land in your eyes. Even the hood of your coat only offered so much protection.

The very moment your apartment building came into view, you rushed up the stairs. Rubber squeaked on the wood of the stairs as you rushed up to the second floor, glad to finally have some cover from that relentless trickle of water. Despite how counter intuitive it seemed, once the door shut behind you, you quickly made your way into the shower. Warm, steaming water washed over your body, washing away the grime of the money you dealt with that turned the tips of your fingers grey,

There was something so renewing about a shower. It washed away more than just the filth on your body, but the stress in your muscles, and the dissonance in your thoughts. For a moment there was nothing in the world to worry about.

Until you stepped out of the shower. Until you got dressed in your pajamas. Until you walked out of your bedroom and into the living room and remembered just how alone you were. Alone and yet haunted all at the same time. Despite how many months it had been since you had broken up with your ex-boyfriend, there were reminders of him everywhere. A cardboard box sitting in place of the glass base lamp he had shattered. Poorly matched paint that covered a small area in the wall near the entryway. Raised skin on the corner of your lip.

He was everywhere you didn’t want him to be.

A knock on your door startled you out of your depressing daydream and your head snapped back towards the entrance. It wasn’t extremely late at night. The sun had long since set as it normally did in winter, yet it was no later than seven. Still, it was odd for someone to come over so late in the evening, and you would be lying if you said that your heart didn’t instantly jump into your throat at the sound.

Taking care to avoid the squeaky parts in your hardwood floor, you slowly crept towards the door as you held your breath in anticipation. Leaning forward, you pressed your face near the door as you gazed through the peephole that peered into the hallway right outside of your apartment. The very moment your brain registered the figure on the other side, your hand instantly flew to the lock.

After undoing the deadbolt on the door, you flung it open, the force of it sending a breeze your way that tugged at your wet locks of hair. Beyond the door was none other than Simon Riley. His tall frame had made it difficult to make out his face (or in this case his balaclava), but you could recognize him from his build alone. He stood in front of you, hands shoved in his pockets and dark eyes trained on your face. His balaclava was dotted with droplets of water, and for a moment you almost thought it was sequined with how it reflected the dim lighting of your apartment.

It wasn’t until you looked him over that you realized how disheveled you were. Hair still damp and unbrushed, loose pajamas so big on you that you basically swam in them, large house slippers. It was certainly very much different from your normal attire that you wore when you were at the bank.

“Simon,” you exclaimed softly as your hand fell from the doorframe.

After the little incident at the bar back in October, Simon stayed around until the end of November before he had left suddenly. This wasn’t new behavior of course. Being in the military meant that he was often getting deployed or sent on missions. Luckily they seemed to be rather short compared to what you had expected, but still, it was nearing the end of January. Months had gone by since you had last seen him, and despite the odd friendship that had bloomed between the two of you, you had no way to contact him outside of seeing him at work.

“It’s good to see you,” you said. Reaching a hand up, you ran your fingers through your damp hair, digits getting caught on the stretchy strands. Yet you tried to tame them anyway. “Do you want to come in? Warm up a bit?”

Simon shifted, the heels of his boots squeaking on the floor as he did. Despite the fact that you could only see his eyes through his balaclava, he was quite expressive. Or maybe you just had a knack for reading people. He looked almost apprehensive. Maybe not quite apprehensive, but a little guilty at least.

“Don’t waste your evening on me,” he said. His voice sounded gruff and worn as if he spent the better part of the last month or so doing nothing but barking orders. Which, in hindsight, he certainly did. “Just figured I’d check up on you. See how things were going for you.”

As he spoke, you saw his eyes unmistakably wander to the scar on the wall not too far behind you. He was actually the one who helped you patch it up in order to hide it from your landlords. It was faint, and the hardest part of it all was trying to find the perfect off-white color that matched the rest of the walls. Still, both you and him knew what exactly to look for, and it had become quite an eyesore.

“Please,” you insisted, stepping aside slightly. “I was just about to put the kettle on, and it’s freezing out. It’s no trouble at all.”

There was a short pause between the two of you as Simon mulled your proposition open. The longer he stayed quiet, the more you studied him. His eyes seemed… darker somehow. Was he wearing makeup? Slight eyeliner? No, it was much too smudged for that. What was it that soldiers wore sometimes? Or even football players? Eyeblack? How long had he even been home?

“Alright,” he finally spoke, taking a careful step forward through the doorway. “Won’t keep you long.”

The freezing cold was practically radiating off of him as a few stray drops of rain wicked off of his jumper. He hadn’t even worn a proper coat, and he looked soaked to the bone yet if he was cold he had done a good job at hiding it.

Once in the entryway, Simon knelt to the ground as he undid the shoelaces of his boots. It was odd seeing him be so low compared to you, but you tried not to let your eyes linger on him too long as you took a few steps backwards, giving him some space as you walked into the kitchen.

“When did you get home?” you asked as you grabbed your kettle. You had learned long ago that when you and Simon conversed, it was you who did most of the talking. However, that time around, you were hellbent on changing that.

“This morning,” he answered, voice still a little gruff. It sounded almost as if he had a frog caught in his throat.

Running water sounded from the sink as you began to fill the kettle, and Simon’s boots gently thunked against the side of the wall as he lined them near your shoe rack in the entryway. You stole a glance at them, and did a double take at the utter size difference between your shoes and his.

“Late night, then?” you asked, somewhat teasing as you set the kettle on the stove. A few clicks later and the heat turned on, the electric coils burning bright red.

“Something like that,” he mumbled. He turned around to face you, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. God, he was almost as broad as the damn thing.

Nodding your head, you attempted to run your fingers through your still damp hair once more before instantly giving up. “Feel free to take a seat in the living room. I hate to make you stand around, I’m sure you’re tired,” you said, gesturing to the lone couch that you could hardly make out from the doorway of the kitchen.

Simon leaned back, glancing to where you gestured. He looked like he was going to deny your offer for a moment, but he did a double take as something seemed to catch his eye.

“What’s in the box?” He took a step into the living room, the floorboards squeaking underneath the sheer mass of his body.

“Oh, that?” you asked, peeking into the room yourself. “I bought myself a new lamp. I tried to glue the glass base of the other one back together. You know, like with gold glue? Thought it would look neat. Didn’t really work out, and I was missing a few pieces so I figured it was easier to just buy a new one. Haven’t quite gotten it together yet, though.”

So much for trying to get Simon to do the talking. Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you ducked back into the kitchen as Simon approached the box. While the water boiled, you began to rummage through your cupboards, finding painfully little. Rent had become much more difficult since you were the only one paying it for the last few months. Though, it wasn’t like your ex had helped out much anyway, he at least kept the kitchen stocked; something you found to be increasingly difficult. Still, you managed to find a box of breakfast tea at least.

“You alright with breakfast tea?” you called, double checking to see how many bags you had left.

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. Plain.”

Plain? You thought it was a joke that men in the military liked their coffee black. Perhaps that extended to tea as well. Either way, the very moment the kettle began to whistle you took it off the stove, instantly soothing its screech. Once you got the tea bags soaking, you heard the distinct sound of cardboard ripping coming from the living room. Leaving the cups behind to steep, you stood in the doorway where you found Simon sitting on the floor with the box that belonged to your new lamp.

Several parts and pieces already laid out in front of him, all in their own separate packaging bags. A small piece of paper sat in his hands as he carefully read through them. Dumbfounded, you stood there for a moment, watching as he began to put the parts together for you.

“Simon, you don’t have to do that,” you insisted. Though maybe it was a blessing in disguise. That damn box had been sitting on your side table for weeks.

For a moment he didn’t respond to you, as he was too caught up with reading over the instructions. Even with his face turned slightly away from you, you could make out just how much he was squinting at it.

“Where the hell did you buy this from?” he asked, reaching his hand up to remove his hood, fully exposing his balaclava.

“Ikea.”

“Fucking hell,” he grumbled before tossing the instructions to the side. “Useless…”

Without the help of instructions, Simon continued to put the lamp together. Really there weren’t too many pieces, as it was just a simple table lamp, but even from a short distance you could make out about twenty screws with several different sizes. The scene of it all was odd. With his balaclava, Simon looked like a robber. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had given someone a heart attack in the lower lobby of the building. However, instead of robbing you, he was putting together your side lamp.

You chuckled to yourself before returning to grab the tea. After fixing yours up to your liking (and leaving Simon’s painfully plain) you meandered into the living room where you left his cup on the coffee table that sat in front of your couch. You took a seat, warming your hands around the cup as you watched Simon work. It was a little endearing how seriously he was taking it. Brows furrowed, eyes steady, hands moving.

How did the two of you get to that point? Going from strangers, to… whatever you were in that moment? What sparked it? Was it the day you said he didn’t have to remove his mask at the bank? Or the night he hit your ex so hard his jaw nearly splintered? Maybe it was something else. Something more simple. So simple that it was complicated.

As you sipped on your tea, the warm liquid pooled in your stomach, almost making you shiver in delight while you watched Simon work. Over the course of him working on screwing the lamp together with the allen wrench, he had slightly rolled up his sleeves, revealing part of his forearms. Something of a sleeve of tattoos covered his left forearm. Skulls, smoke, and dog tags with barbed wire for a chain were some of the things you could make out on his mural-like tattoo. On his other arm, you noticed a fresh cut. A tender bruise formed around the edges of the angry red scrape, and it was so deep you were surprised that he hadn’t gotten it stitched, or at least bandaged it.

“What happened to your arm?” you asked, tucking your legs underneath yourself.

Simon turned away from the lamp and glanced at you, head tilting to the side in a way that sent butterflies scrambling in your stomach. Every time he looked at you, you felt like your skin was going to catch on fire. Not because his gaze was angry, but because of the heat that boiled inside of you, threatening to burn those butterflies in your stomach until they were nothing but ash.

“Right,” you said with a breathy laugh, looking down at your cup. “Stupid question, I suppose.”

Something of a chuckle left Simon as he stood from his spot on the floor. It felt like you had to crane your neck back just to even keep looking at him. But the lamp was finally put together, lightbulb, lampshade and the works. He placed it on the side table before plugging it into the wall, and you excitedly placed your half drank tea on the coffee table next to him before leaning over and twisting the switch. Warm light poured out of it, illuminating the darkened corner of the living room.

“Would you look at that,” you beamed, leaning on the armrest. Really, it wasn’t anything spectacular. It was just a lamp, afterall. But it felt like, in a way, you were getting a part of your life back. You looked up at Simon, his dark eyes trained on you. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he responded simply.

For a moment, things suddenly became tense. Simon continued to stand next to that lamp, eyes flickering away from you and to the window behind you. It felt weird having him back in London. You were used to him vanishing without a trace every now and then, and you tried not to worry, but this time you had. But knowing the kind of man he was, you knew he didn’t want you to.

You swallowed a lump in your throat as you glanced back at the coffee table. He still hadn’t attempted to drink his tea at all. Really, you weren’t sure why you had expected him to. Afterall, he never took his mask off. Perhaps that was why he had asked for it plain; he didn’t want to waste any milk or sweeteners.

“I missed you,” you suddenly blurted out.

This sudden revelation that left your lips surprised not only you, but Simon as well. You saw it in the way his eyes landed on you. How they flickered over your face. How they lingered on your lips. They always lingered on your lips. But you knew it wasn’t in the way that you wanted them to. Your tongue swiped over the corner of your lip, of the painful reminder of that night all those months ago.

“I never used to worry about you,” you continued, shifting in your spot on the couch. “We knew you were in the military, so when you’d disappear without notice I would just assume you were out saving the world or something. But I… I worried this time.” You paused for a moment, feeling the embarrassment already eating away at your chest. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m glad you’re back.”

For a moment you didn’t think he was going to answer you. Simon’s eyes were trained on you in a way that both confused and excited you at the same time. Yet he did speak, his mouth dancing underneath the cloth on his face as he did.

“Of course I came back,” he said as if stating a fact. “Had to make sure you weren’t getting into any more trouble.”

You laughed, thankful for his teasing tone. It was comforting to know he wasn’t put off by your awkward ramble, or if he was he was at least good at hiding it like he was with everything else.

“Yeah, well, I think you scared off any trouble that would find me,” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Brute force will do that.”

Simon was… funny. In his own weird, and maybe a little dark, way. Either way, you appreciated it, despite how dry his humor could get. He was a strange man, and you oddly found yourself wanting to know more about him. Even with that nagging feeling in your stomach that told you to keep your distance, there was something just so alluring about him.

“Do you want to catch a movie this weekend?”

Once more, your mouth was opening and spewing out words before you even had the chance to think it through. Sometimes you hated how much you talked. How you would just say whatever was on your mind without any regard for how it would come across, or even how it would affect those around you. How you hadn’t annoyed a quiet man like Simon was beyond you.

“What? Need protecting?” Simon asked dryly.

You grinned. “You never know when trouble is gonna find me.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“So, what rank are you?”

“Lieutenant.”

“Is that good?”

“Good enough.”

Maybe you should have bothered to check the movie showings that weekend before inviting Simon out to watch one with you, because the one you two got stuck watching was absolutely atrocious. Not even a few minutes through the movie you had gotten bored and ended up whispering facetious jokes to Simon throughout a majority of it. Really, you weren’t quite sure if he enjoyed himself that much throughout the movie, but as he walked you back to your apartment, he seemed to liven up a little.

It was one of the rare nights that it actually snowed in London. Even though the temperature was quite literally freezing, you would take the fat, fluffy flakes of snow over the skin biting drops of rain that normally assaulted the city. And god, was it beautiful. Sparkling, glittery snow dusted the entire city, and there wasn’t a single bit of wind to add to the frigid chill. It was the type of scenery you’d find on a postcard.

“Does that mean you get to lead other soldiers?” you continued as the two of you came upon your apartment building. Taking care not to slip on the slick snow, you rushed up the steps, unlocking the entryway door for him before climbing up to the second floor.

“Sometimes,” he explained simply, following behind you with long, slow steps. “There are others I have to answer to.”

You hummed as you came across your door. Cold fingers fumbled with the keys as you shoved it into your lock where you twisted the door open moments later.

“And then, what branch of the military are you in? Army?” you questioned further as you entered the warm embrace of your apartment.

Simon paused for a moment, not answering your question until the door shut behind the two of you. “SAS.”

Your brows pinched together as you worked on getting your snow boots off of your feet while Simon did the same. Despite the fact you asked him so many questions about his line of work, you weren’t really versed in it at all. “What’s that mean?”

“Special Air Service,” he explained simply. “A branch of the army. We specialize in stuff like covert surveillance and hostage rescue.”

You were about halfway into the living room when Simon explained this, and you found yourself quickly pausing to jump and turn around. A huge grin was plastered on your face as you worked on shrugging your coat off of your shoulders.

“I knew it!” you exclaimed with a giggle, tossing your coat onto the hook on the wall. “High priority missions! Secret agent shit!”

“You make it sound more interesting than it actually is,” Simon said softly as he entered the living room behind you.

Playfully rolling your eyes at him, you turned away and walked towards the couch. You sank into the cushion, though not very far. They were much too firm to be completely comfortable, yet it was the only furniture you had in that room.

“It is interesting. You guys sound cool,” you said.

“I never said we weren’t cool,” Simon said, a slight gruff, yet teasing tone in his voice.

He ventured further into the room, standing on the other side of the coffee table. You were certain that if there was a chair there, he would have taken that rather than the seat next to you. Despite how close the two of you had gotten, there was still something a little off about Simon. Like he was hiding something. Not in any nefarious way. More in a guarded way. It was like he kept building up a wall of sorts. For every brick you removed, he added two more.

But his eyes gave him away. It’s what made you trust him so easily when he had first walked into your work all that time ago. They were intense, and sometimes intimidating, but never before did you see a single sliver or glint of anything wicked. Perhaps there was a sense of brokenness to them, but in that world, who wasn’t shattered?

“Is that why you wear a mask all the time?” you asked softly. “Because of work?”

For the first time since you had known him, you saw Simon freeze. Really freeze. It should have been expected, though. The subject of his mask wasn’t exactly one he had ever seemed all too interested in divulging in. Really, you didn’t know what even possessed you to ask the question in the first place. Maybe a part of you was just hopeful that he would be a little vulnerable with you.

“Something like that,” he responded after a beat.

Of course. Something like that. You quickly learned he gave that answer to you when you were hitting the answer close to home, but not exactly making it there. Like you were stuck on the outside of the house, trying to look through the window with the curtains drawn closed.

“Do you ever… take it off?” you then asked.

It was a dangerous question to ask, and you knew it, but as of late, your filter had become painfully nonexistent. You had gotten comfortable with him. Too comfortable. Something had happened between the two of you that left your mind spinning months ago. Friends but not. Maybe something more. Maybe something less. The line was so blurry at that point all it did was add a dreamy glow to the situation you found yourself in.

“Never,” he answered firmly.

Delusional. That’s what you were. Simon was never anything short of being a gentleman towards you, but god, what were you thinking? The man seemingly never showed his face, always wore a mask, and was in the special forces. He had probably killed someone before. No, he certainly had. You still remembered the way he punched your ex at the bar. The squelching sound of his jaw cracking and teeth sinking into his flesh had echoed in your ears for days.

But they were the same hands that you had patched up. The same ones that put together your lamp and held open the door for you at the cinema. Did he even like movies? Why did he even go with you?

“Why not?” you asked so softly the words hardly left your lips.

He tilted his head to the side slightly as he shoved his hands into his pockets, and it reminded you of something that a dog would do. “Do you want me to?”

Your answer was caught in your throat and it burned like poison. Yes.

“I don’t know,” you said instead.

Even without his thick work boots, Simon’s footsteps on the hardwood floor were noticeable as he carefully maneuvered around the coffee table. You both watched one another carefully, eyes never flickering away for even a second as he slowly sank into the cushion next to you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he smelled faintly like something fresh. Cedar, perhaps? And vaguely like the cheap popcorn you had indulged in at the cinema.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“Why?” you asked.

“You always ask so many questions?” He wasn’t irritated. It was mostly a plain question, with a slight hint of amusement.

“Always.”

You stared at each other for a moment. He was so close, yet so painfully far at the same time. God, those butterflies in your stomach were nothing but ash by that point and even in death they still smoldered.

Trusting him, you finally closed your eyes. Your vision wasn’t exactly plunged into darkness. The dim lighting of your living room bled through your eyelids, showing you only the red color of the blood in your body. You stayed still, as if you would scare Simon off if you moved so much as an inch.

Then came the unmistakable sound of rustling clothes, and it didn’t take you long to realize what he was doing. Removing his balaclava, Simon tossed the cloth onto the couch next to him, his movements echoing in the couch as you felt it move underneath his shifting weight. You had to remind yourself to breathe as he sat there, seemingly fixing his hair for what seemed like forever.

After patiently waiting for him, his fingers brushed against the back of your hands, almost making you jump. Instead, you found yourself holding your breath as you felt his thumbs drift to your palms as he carefully raised your hands off of your lap. Instinctively, you closed your fingers around his thumbs and he paused for a moment. He didn’t say anything as he raised your hands higher up, and you felt your hands brush against the unmistakable feeling of his face.

Slowly, afraid of going too fast, you let go of his hands to gently cup his cheeks. His hands fell away from yours, allowing you to explore him with your eyes still shut tight. Each move you made was careful and soft. Fingertips ghosted so carefully across his face, taking notice of the slight stubble on his chin. As you moved up, your right hand came in contact with some rougher skin. It was uneven, slightly raised off of his cheekbone, reaching all the way back to his hairline. Another one was further up, cutting vertically down near his temple and slicing part of his eyebrow.

As you continued, your movements became a little more brave. His nose was strong and angled with a noticeable bump on the bridge. You traced down to the tip of his nose, taking note of how it wasn’t exactly straight. Almost there, but not quite. Then you went lower. Another scar sliced the top of his lip, a deep one that created a small crevice of sorts. His breath was warm on your fingers as your thumb moved across his lower lip. You could feel how tense his muscles were in his face, as if he was pressing his lips tightly together. Like he was afraid something would escape him if he didn’t.

A small huff escaped him as your fingers started to dip below his jaw, and his hands came up to ensnare yours. Thumbs pressed gently into your palms and fingers firmly on the back of your hands, he held them there for a moment, and you could feel your face begin to heat up.

“Sorry,” you apologized, fingers retracting from his face and wrapping around his thumbs once more. God, it was crazy how big his hands were compared to yours. How you could make a complete fist around his thumb and the rest of his fingers could still engulf your hand.

“Didn’t think you’d wander so far so quick,” he quipped, and you would have rolled your eyes at him if they weren’t already closed.

“Your ID doesn’t show the scar on your cheek,” you stated instead. One of your hands loosened the grip on his thumb before slowly slipping away from him. The pads of your fingers gently ran over the thick tissue of his scar. You wondered if it looked as deep as it felt.

“I heard some women find scars attractive,” Simon said, his dry humor showing.

A choked sort of laugh rumbled in your chest and you gently shook your head. You sucked on the side of your lip slightly, teeth biting into the corner of your mouth where you knew your own scar laid just behind it.

“Maybe if they’re on men,” you said with a sour chuckle.

Within an instant Simon’s fingers were cupping your chin. Similar to what you had done to him just a moment before, his thumb swiped over your bottom lip, lingering for a moment on the scar there. You could feel your heart threaten to break free from your chest.

“A few more and you’ll look as dashing as I do,” he said, fingers still lingering on your skin.

Your head tilted down some and you shook it slightly in disbelief. “You’re awfully confident for a man who hides his face all the time.”

“I’ve earned it,” he retorted bluntly.

His grip on your chin tightened some, not enough to hurt, but enough to get you to lift your head back up. Your eyes fluttered for a moment, threatening to open, yet you quickly squeezed them shut. He was awfully trusting of you in that moment, and you weren’t going to break that.

“Have you?” you asked, trying to ignore the way your voice was breathless.

He shifted forward slightly, and he was so close you could feel his breath fanning across your face. Your grasp on his thumb tightened even more, and you found your breath becoming increasingly difficult to control.

“Wanna find out?” he asked, his voice lower than it was before.

You weren’t sure how it happened, or who closed the distance, but your lips collided with Simon’s in something so unexpectedly soft it stole your breath. Those smoldering butterflies in your stomach resurrected with a vengeful fury. With wings of fire they thrashed around in your stomach as Simon’s hand fell away from your chin. He pressed his hand against yours, as if reveling in your touch on his cheek.

Never in a million years would you have expected something so soft and sweet from a man like Simon Riley. With his brooding stare and intimidating figure; masking up in a way that always left everyone on edge. God, your sweet tooth was insatiable, so much so that it was Simon who had to be the one to pull away.

You had to hold back your protest as the absence of him left your stomach churning. His hand pulled yours away from his face, but he still held it in his as he lowered your joined hands towards your laps.

“Still keeping your eyes closed even after all that?” he asked, the baritone of his voice rumbling you to your core.

Taking his invitation, you finally opened your eyes. Of course his face was the very first thing you were met with. In an odd way, he looked exactly how he felt. A strong, slightly crooked nose, deep scars on his cheek and forehead, and strong brows. His lips were slightly turned downwards in a neutral expression, but a light shined bright even in the umber of his eyes.

A smile broke out on your lips, one that continued to spread and spread so much so that one nearly appeared on his own lips.

“There he is,” you said softly.

“Been here the whole time, sweetheart.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Spring came just in time to send Simon off on another mission, though it was already blistering hot in the desert he found himself stuck in. The morning sun rose dully off the horizon, and he stood facing the scene. Without any clouds, the sunrise wasn’t anything spectacular, but he wasn’t focused on the sky at all.

That goddamn handkerchief. He couldn’t go anywhere without it, but damn, he wouldn’t dare to leave it behind. Not when it was the only thing that he had out on the field that reminded him of you.

“How’s Spook?”

Confused, Simon turned around, annoyance evident on his face even from behind his mask as he faced one of his sergeants.

“What the hell are you on about, Johnny?” he questioned, eyes settling on the Scotsman.

Soap motioned towards the handkerchief in his hand. It was the same one he had spotted Simon holding on their last mission while flying back home. He had meant to ask his lieutenant about it before, but never got the chance. The shit eating grin on his face was the only hint Simon needed to put two and two together.

“Spook,” Soap repeated, hands reaching up to rest on the straps of his vest. “Your bird.”

Shaking his head, Simon carefully folded up the handkerchief before placing it in its home in his back pocket. He huffed as he walked past Soap before muttering, “Comedian, you are.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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ghouljams · 30 days

Note

Has Love ever held Bug for Birdie for any reason and has Ghost seen her if she did? I just want to watch Professor Ghost have a moment when he sees how sweet Love is with a baby.

Love and Birdie don't have many opportunities to cross paths, HOWEVER, you're so so right about Ghost seeing Love with a baby bestie and I'm going to make it happen.

Ghost follows after Gaz, the two men discussing last night's footie match as they weave through the education department's halls.

"You coming for dinner?" Gaz asks, "Soap's already invited himself."

"Not doin' anything else," Ghost hums, eyes scanning the various posters pinned around the halls. Children's drawings and calls for volunteers, internship opportunities. The education building has always given him a sort of squirmy feeling in his stomach. He can't help but think about his nephew, what grade he'd be going into, whether he'd be doing well. Gaz smacks his chest to pull him from his thoughts.

"Giving you a ride, may as well stay." Gaz grins, and Ghost rolls his eyes.

"Just don't go handing me the baby again," Ghost tells him as they turn the corner to Birdie's office. Ghost stops short, gaze sticking to Love as soon as he sees her. Gaz grabs his shoulder to stop him from turning around.

Love smiles, grins really, lighting up the hallway as Birdie chatters away about something. She's bouncing Gaz's baby in her arms, the infant's head tucks against her shoulder as she rocks and bounces. Birdie spots them and waves, Ghost has to force his feet to carry him forward as Gaz drags him into the thick of it. There's not much that scares Ghost, but babies? Terrifying. His eyes stick to Bug, the tiny thing has their fingers wrapped around Love's necklace, the rest of them lax and sleeping against her shoulder.

Birdie says something and Ghost grunts, his eyes moving from the baby back to the woman holding them. Love glances at him, cooing softly at Bug when they start to fuss. When he'd thought about marriage he hadn't imagined kids. There were certain things, specific dreams, that always seemed off limits to him, parts of the Riley lineage that were cursed. It had felt like a noble sacrifice to have the name die with him.

But there was Love, there was a baby, a future, sleeping under her gentle hand, and there was a warmth in Ghost's chest that he hadn't felt before. "You like kids?" He asks. Gaz and Birdie discussing evening plans beside them hardly seem to hear the question.

"They're alright," Love hums, "I never think I want any until someone puts a baby in my arms, then it's like all bets are off." She laughs, the motion of it hardly jostling the infant. Ghost watches the way her hand smooths over Bug's back, gentling every soft breath the infant takes. "What about you?"

"What about me?" The question catches him off guard. Love raises her brows.

"Do you like kids?" She bites down her teasing smile, her teeth tugging at her lip. Charming, every inch of her seems tailor made to tug at his heart. Ghost reaches to uncurl Bug's tight fist, easing the chain of her necklace out of the baby's grip.

"This one's ok," Ghost supplies, settling the necklace back against Love's chest, "Liked my nephew."

"It's easier when they're your kids," She tilts her head for him, her skin prickling at the touch of his fingers. Ghost wonders if his hands are that cold. He hums.

"It is."

"Do you want kids?" Love asks. Ghost's eyes dart to her face, she isn't looking at him. Ghost looks at the baby, glances at the way Birdie smiles and leans in to kiss Gaz, a picture of familial bliss.

"I didn't used to," Ghost answers after a moment. That feels like the truth. He didn't used to, he didn't think about them, but now all he can think of is Love and babies: how pretty she'd be with one of his on her hip, what they'd look like, if they'd have his hair or if they'd have her eyes. If they were with her... maybe he does want kids.

He should start looking at houses again. They're going to need a yard, and more than just the main/guest bedrooms. He could do it. What's one kid?

Actually one kid might get lonely, things were always better when he had Tommy.

What's two kids?

Unless they're fighting.

Ok, three kids. Three kids, Ghost can handle three kids if they're hers too.

#simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod simon riley #simon riley x oc #oc: love #professor au #Notice that the man has not said a fucking word to Love about this #He ran into her. saw the baby. decided they were having three kids #Ghost is king of delusional city #actually Konig is but he's not in this one

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ghostehe · 5 months

Text

in this life and all the others !!!

alternatively — ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ john price prepared his daughter for everything and that included him being gone. what he didn't prepare himself for was her being gone.

simon riley x fem!price!reader — 𖦹₊˚⊹☁️

warnings — ⋆｡°✩ language. kinda ooc!simon but idgaf. reader may have some specific traits, sorry for self projection, it WILL happen again. kidnapping, allusion to death, blood, wounds, the usual yeeyay with their line of work. john is going through it. reader and ghost are already together.

author's note — ⋆｡°✩ hiii :) my first time ever writing for this fandom and i'm reallllly excited!! i hope you like this <3 fair warning, the reader's sense of style, hair length description, possible field of work may be specified so if that's not to your preference, i'm really sorry for it :( if you would like me to do something like this with some specific points and all, you can just ask me!! i'm sure i'll be able to work with that!! thank you so much for reading, i already love each and every one of you <3

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

it felt wrong to admit it now but when your mother first dropped you at your father's house, he didn't — well, he didn't exactly want you.

it wasn't as if he didn't love you, he did — you were his daughter. but his life had enough chaos to last him a lifetime and he was just fine with staying in touch with you through screens and only seeing you alternately on christmas, that too if the circumstances allowed him too

sure, he wouldn't be there at your parent teacher conferences or have you show him your report cards. he wouldn't get to see you perform extraordinarily in your extracurriculars or have you run towards him with whatever prize or trophy you'd get. he wouldn't always be there at your birthdays and sometimes, he might even forget to mail you a present. he might not get to see you grow up and he might only be just your father and never your dad.

he was fine with that.

so, what would it matter if his heart broke a little when his ex-wife, your mother, called him the night after they had signed the divorce papers and asked him to talk to you because you wouldn't stop asking for your dad? why would he be second guessing himself after hearing your small voice breaking in between as you asked him to come back? why did he get the sudden urge to drive to your mum's house and pick you up and apologize and let you choose the colour of the walls of your room in his house — your home?

but sure, he was fine.

he assured you that he was just a call away, told you to be good for your mom, eat your veggies, be nice and kind and then bid you goodbye. he tried hard not to pay attention to your cries as your mum took the phone from you and apologized to him, explaining that you just missed him.

'she just misses you, john,' and he was ready to break down then and there. you needed him, your dad, and he was refusing to be there. refusing to let that shadow of his work even fall on your shadow for a second. refusing to let you be a soft spot for him because that was the most dangerous thing a person in his line of work could ever have.

'she'll get over it soon, forget her old man and all,' he tried to laugh it off but his voice broke and before your mum could say anything, he hung up.

the next time he saw you, you were at his door, standing with your luggage behind you and your mother. he noticed that her own luggage was still in the cab and it didn't take long for him to figure out what was coming. he had tried to explain himself, explain why exactly he wasn't cut out for this and that he was very happy with seeing you every other weekend. all while you stood near the staircase and stayed quiet.

your mum left and left you behind with a father who didn't even remember his daughter's favourite colour.

he remembered the look on your face and the way you tried to make yourself as small as possible, taking the least amount of space you could. you had just turned ten, your birthday being one of many that john would eventually come to miss and he looked at you like you were still that same one year old baby who pulled herself up and walked to her dad.

he grabbed your luggage and one of your hands and walked you up the stairs and into one of the rooms down the hall. it was mostly empty, a twin size bed and a dresser drawer spread out with a wardrobe in the corner but he figured you'd be fine.

if he saw you pause at the walls being your maybe-favourite colour, he didn't say anything.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

"what do you mean?"

"john — "

"stop, just — stop," john took a deep breath, exhaling shakily as he broke eye contact with laswell and looked away. his hands ever so slightly shaking came up to fix his signature hat as he pointedly ignored ghost's gaze piercing him from where he was listening to everything at the back of his office. "what do you mean?"

"we're trying to locate — "

"that's my fucking daughter and you swore that this wouldn't ever catch up to her!" john snapped, his voice firm and sharp as he desperately tried to hide the tremor in his words. "you — you guaranteed that my line of work would never catch up to her and that she'd be safe and she'd be fine and now she is — "

he cut himself off with as soon as his voice cracked, looking away as he shook his head, shaking the concerned and empathetic eyes of kate and the blank stare of his lieutenant. deep down, he knew that she was doing everything she could to locate you — the whole base was. with soap leaving no stone unturned as he investigated the residence, gaz checking the cameras installed out the place and the street to find a trace of anything, kate herself flying down to the base to do everything she was capable of doing and ghost doing... something, everyone was on it.

but still, you were his daughter.

his daughter. the one who always waited up for him ever since you learned that your dad would be away for a while but he'd come back. the one who called him 'old man' but cried and got upset whenever he tried to have the 'when i'm gone' conversation with you. the one who made cards for every single occasion, cards he still cherished with his everything. you were his everything and you were nowhere to be found.

in a way he blamed himself, he always did. whether it'd be you catching a fever or not having all of your project supplies, he'd always blame himself. he'd continue to do it until someone — more often than not, kate — came by and knocked some sense into his head, told him that one shortcoming doesn't make him a bad dad.

his eyes glanced around the room, anything to prevent him from looking into the empathetic gaze of kate because it felt like she had already accepted that you were gone. you were not, you were just taken — taken from him and he needed to get you back.

he locked eyes with simon and took in his appearance for the first time since he came into the room. truth be told, nobody really saw him coming in, nobody even called for him to be in here. he just showed up and john knew that it would be futile to get him to go out — not that he wanted him to go. it was weirdly comforting, having simon in the same room as they discussed what to do next. maybe it was because they both had the same goal in their mind, get you back or maybe john had just grown familiar with his presence after countless mornings of him descending down the stairs to see him and you at the breakfast bar. whatever it was, john was grateful simon stuck around.

looking at him, everything was the same, not one thing out of place but john knew different, he knew better. he could see the small specks of blood decorating his infamous skull mask and the empty holster attached to his thigh. he could barely make out the dark spots on his glove but if he strained his eyes enough, he'd find them.

he wasn't looking at simon, he was looking at ghost.

john knew that ghost hadn't expressed one percent of what he actually wanted to express. he knew as soon as he stormed out of the room when laswell broke the news to the team and returned a couple hours later, gloves discarded somewhere and his knuckles stained with blood. he kept his mouth shut, mind running haywire as he tried to plan out anything, anything to get even a sliver of news about your whereabouts.

he could feel kate stare at him with calculating eyes and something akin to guilt swimming in them. he could feel simon stare at his form as he paced around the room, hands fidgeting as he fought the urge to call soap and gaz every minute.

kate's gaze didn't bother him, simon's did because it mirrored his hopelessness.

he was so lost in his own guilt and desperation and defeat that he didn't hear the footsteps thundering down the hallway, not until they were right in front of them and the door slammed open. it was only then he looked to see soap panting, a small piece of paper in his hands and he pointed to it back and forth and for a moment, john could feel the sickening sense of hope swell in his chest.

gaz was right behind soap, seemingly in a better position to speak than the latter and plucked the piece of paper from his teammate's hands and held it out for john to see.

"what — "

"we managed to trace the owner of the car that was seen going around your block more than eighteen times," gaz informed, eyes flickering to ghost who had now made his way towards their small group and back to his captain in front of him. "the car was brought under a very... creative way, three shell companies and we traced each one of them back to a single corporation."

"they have these warehouses, right outside of the town," soap continued, taking notice of the desperation in his captain's eyes and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "it's a very good chance she's there."

"how sure are you?" it was the first time ghost opened his mouth ever since he joined john and kate. his voice gave away nothing and to anyone, it must have sounded like he was just talking about any other mission but john knew that it took everything for him to keep his voice steady and strong.

"damn sure, lt."

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

john remembered the first time he had the 'when i'm gone' talk with you.

you were eleven, and it killed him inside when he realised that he would have to make you understand the risks in his line of work.

he remembered the way you threw him the dirtiest look you could muster, the most withered glare set on your face as soon as he said the words and he had to stop and blink in surprise because goddamn, his daughter was scary.

he remembered the way you shook your head at his every 'understand?' the way you tried to run off to your room and you would've, if not for his arms shooting out to catch you before you could bolt. the way you told him to be quiet as politely as you could when he continued, denial in your eyes at the prospect of your dad going away and not coming back.

he remembered his heart cracking in two when you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and he almost stopped himself, cursing himself in his mind because you shouldn't have to sit here and listen to him telling you what to do in case his dog tags came back and he didn't.

you managed to get yourself free from his hold and rush upstairs to your room and he didn't have it in himself to call you back down and you both left it at that.

the second time he tried to have the talk with you was when you turned eighteen and he got shot on a mission.

the way you looked at him when he woke up in the hospital still haunted him on nights when he couldn't sleep and he knew that he was basically torturing you with this. going away and not providing any guarantee that he would come back but he couldn't.

he could leave tomorrow and say that he'd be back in time for christmas and there would still be a chance that he'd end up coming back home in a casket.

he couldn't give you the security of his arrival but he could prepare you in case anything ever happened and he did. he set apart bank accounts for you, under a different name and a different address. he brought two different apartments in the city, under a different name and a different address. he brought a small house and trusted that you would make it a home, under a different name and a different address. he made sure that you would be okay if he left, after he left and he knew he did a damn good job with it.

you didn't do the same.

he prepared you on how to live if he went away before it was time but he never prepared himself for if, god forbid, you were gone. he never had to because what kind of father would want to come to terms with the knowledge that their kid could leave before them?

"hey — hey, honey," he brushed the hair out of your face, his facade slowly crumbling away with his fingers came back stained with blood — your blood. his gun lays discarded next to him and he almost wants to go back and bullet a few more bullets in those bastards' heads for your condition. "you still with me?"

"dad..." you whispered, eyes fluttering close with fatigue and blood loss as your head rested against the wall. he could see the way you forced your eyelids to stay open, your grip on his hand weak and so delicate that he wanted to scream.

"i'm here, i'm here," he murmured, stroking your cheek to keep you awake while you both waited for the clear signal from the rest. his hands were shaking and he was sure that his heartbeat could be heard by everyone else on the comms but even then, he had to be strong. "i'm here, my sweet girl."

"you know," you forced these words out, eyes unfocused and dazy as you made an attempt to smile at his terror stricken face, "now's my turn to do the 'when i'm gone' talk. you already had two chances."

"NO! no — no, no," he shook his head, eyes blurring ever so slightly as the chaos over the comms became white noise to him. "we will never be having his conversation. ever. i'm supposed to go first and it'll be me. i don't care if i have to fight the fucking grim reaper for this, it'll be me and never you, you hear me? never — never you."

"when i'm gone," you continued as if he didn't practically tell you that he'd fight the devil if you went first and held onto his hand just a little bit tighter, as tight as your wounds would allow you to, "i want you to continue to invite simon around."

"darling — "

"no, please. i know you both and i know you'll just go away from the things that remind you of me and i don't want that," you talked quietly, your voice dipped in pain and john used his free hand to apply more pressure on it and when you didn't really wince or made a move to recoil back, his panic grew. "you both will remind each other of me and i don't want that to just hurt you more. invite him over, have tea, talk shit about me and — and just, keep him company. keep yourself some company."

"none of that is happening because you're not going away," john spoke sternly, his eyes determined and so confident that for a moment, he himself believed that you'd walk away from his alive and breathing. "we have years ahead of us and someone needs to be with me to make fun of riley for liking that stupid sitcom."

"i want you to be happy, dad," you continued, eyes fluttering close and stay shut for me even a longer time now and john panicked. "always happy."

"only when i have you," he shook you awake, your eyes shooting open at the motion and he almost cried in relief. he set you firmly against the wall and withdrew his hand from your grasp to talk over the comms. "lads, how's it looking?"

"positive, i believe. how's our miss soldier doing, sir?" gaz asked and john heard the occasional shower of bullets from his side and figured they were still stuck in the crossfire. "any damage to that billion dollar outfit of hers?"

"well, it's stained with blood now, so," john replied dryly and could feel gaz draw in a sharp inhale at that and figured he'd be out of the harm's way soon. "keep me updated."

he knew ghost was nearby, could feel his boots echoing in the almost empty hallways down the corridor and knew that you both were safe and secure. it was only when he looked away from the corner and back towards you that he noticed your limp hands and the way your head was slumped forward. he hands shook as he cupped your face and called out your name, almost hopefully.

"darling? honey, you gotta wake up," he spoke, almost inaudible and his own voice sounded foreign to him. it sounded too hollow and he hated that it looked like he had already accepted that you were gone. you were not. "come on, love. don't do this to your dad."

his hands were shaking terribly and blood smeared across your cheeks but he didn't care. all that he cared about was that you were there, still and so silent in his arms and you were not answering him. his could feel his heart break. he could make out exactly where it hurt him physically as he repeatedly called out your name and you did not respond.

heavy footsteps sounded from behind him and he didn't have to turn to know that it was simon — ghost, in that moment. he didn't have it in himself to turn. partly because you were here in his arms right now and if he turned, you being gone would be reality and he didn't wanna face that. partly because he didn't want simon to see you like that. blood trickling down the side if your head, face smeared with blood and a wound in the abdomen. no, john wanted simon to remember you happy, smiling and alive.

he wanted simon to have that much, even if his own last memory of you was you begging him to stay happy after your death.

and he thought about it. as he cradled your body close, rocking back and forth, he thought it was simply impossible. as if he'd ever be happy again without you here.

he didn't notice simon walk closer, didn't see him walk around to crouch in front of him and only realised that he was here when he called out his name. he couldn't even hear it clearly, high pitched ringing in his head and blurring images in front of him, the feeling of your blood on your hands, it was all just too much.

" — tain? captain?" simon called out, his eyes locking with his and john knew that it costed ghost his everything not to stare at you. his skull mask laid discared next to him, his signature balaclava in its place as he kneeled down. john could see the way his hold on his gun was too loose and the way his hands were trembling just the slightest bit as placed his gun back in his holster. "we need to get out of here."

"doesn't matter," john replied, his voice not giving away the turmoil in his heart and the war that was going on in his head. "she's gone, ghost."

"cap — "

"my daughter, she — fuck, my kid," john exhaled shakily, his hands carefully pushing away the strands of your hair out of your face. "lord, i don't have a child anymore."

"captain — "

"you don't get it, i'm not a father anymore!" john exclaimed, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence as reality settled in. the weight of it seeped into his bones and he knew that he would carry its weight for the rest of his life. until he saw you again. "i'm not a dad, anymore."

he couldn't let you go, couldn't place you down and let you be gone from him. he couldn't accept it and why would he want to? what kind of father would he be if he just accepted that he was never going to hear someone call him 'dad' ever again? he'd never hear the words 'i love you, dad' or 'good morning, dad' or see your face smiling at him after he came back from a particularly long and stressful deployment or have you hug him whenever you got a nightmare or drink tea with you and simon as he joked about your relationship with his lieutenant. how was he going to accept this cruel and wretched version of reality?

"you'll always be a dad, captain," simon spoke quietly, his hand reaching out to smooth your hand down and just like his own hands, john noticed that it shook. "always gonna be her dad."

john couldn't do anything except watch. he tried to move, his mind screamed at him to move but his body caged him down. the dead weight of you — his daughter — weighted him down and for a moment, he was so sure that he'd feel this weight for the rest of his life. because, how was he supposed to forget the way you asked him to be okay after you? how was he supposed to be okay after you?

how was anyone supposed to be okay after you?

he blinked, eyes stinging with tears that he refused to let down and looked towards simon who was too quiet. john looked at him, watched him as he leaned down until his forehead was pressed against yours and felt an invisible knife twist around his heart. he could see the balaclava move and figured he was saying something to you but the ringing in head refused to let him hear anything, though, he thought that he heard the words 'come back' and 'don't do this to me' and felt his heart break some more. he had never — never — seen his lieutenant look so hopeless. so defeated. not when he found out that you both had broken up for some indefinite reason, not when he got injured on a mission and the only thing he asked for was you, not when you had made it your mission to paint his nails and only relented after his nails were a shade of wine red.

no.

john had always seen ghost so full of life around you. he had always seen his eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke to you in low tones, always seen his shoulders dropping from their usual tense posture whenever he was around you. he had always seen him as simon around you.

john looked at him and realised that not only did he lose his daughter, simon lost the love or his life. he lost the one thing and one thing only that made him the happiest. he knew simon loved you even though he hadn't said the words out loud out, he knew he loved you. it was evident in the way only you were allowed to hold onto his mask for him as he adjusted his balaclava, in the way he always listened to you speak about anything and everything under the sun and never once interrupted you, in the way he always brought back something for you from his missions, ranging from a rock to a dried flowers.

john looked at him and realised that at any cost, he'd have to make it through this, for simon. for your promise.

for you.

he nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything and moved to stand up, your head lolled against his shoulder as he placed his hand under your knees while the other wrapped around your shoulders. he stood up as carefully as he could, as if any movement would cause you discomfort and held on tighter to push himself to be on his feet and — you whimpered, your wound pressing against his vest and your dad stilled, frozen alongside simon whose eyes shot towards your face as you stirred, your expression scrunched up with pain.

it didn't take more than a second for ghost to abandon his gloves and check your pulse as you went still once again, forcing his hands to stay still. john pretended not to hear him whisper 'please' under his breath as he placed his hand on the side of your neck, mainly because he knew he would break down if simon didn't hold himself together.

he looked at ghost who nodded and then he was already off, walking swiftly in front of john and you as he put on back his gloves and drew his gun to clear out anything that could show up, making a path from their corner to the evacuation point. john walked as fast as he could without jostling you and mumbled rapid apologies as you groaned in pain.

"we're heading out," ghost informed soap and gaz who were on the other side of the floot, drawing out any left hostile parties left. he filled them in your condition and in less than thirty seconds, they were running towards the three of you, panting and guns drawn. "she has already lost consciousness and we need to get her back."

john could only walk wherever ghost turned, his movements a bit too robotic and as they cleared out the building, the only thought he had was you, your safety, your life.

he doesn't remember much of the ride home but judging by the blood — your blood — on his hands and clothes, and the number of times gaz asked him if he was okay, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

"so, i pass out from the pain and blood loss and your first guess is that i'm dead?"

"well, when you put it like that — "

"there is no other way to put it!" you laughed, instantly regretting your decision to do so as the action pulled on your stitches. "fuck — that's a bit dramatic, don't you think? did you even check my pulse?"

"listen — i was not thinking. my girl was just laying there in her own blood, what was i supposed to do?"

it's been more than a couple weeks since you've been discharged from the hospital, stitches in your abdomen and the side of your head but it's mostly inconvenient rather than painful if you could be honest and john and simon both know this because you have expressed this opinion far too many times.

john and simon both disagreed.

you wish you could say that they had toned the whole scary-guard-dog thing down ever since you got discharged from the hospital but you'd be lying. if anything, their protectiveness dialled a few notches up. if your dad was busy with something, simon stayed with you and vice versa.

now, your dad was protective. you had always known this. if you thought that there was no way he'd be able to get more protective than he was before this whole ordeal, you thought wrong. you weren't allowed to get up from your bed unless it was to stretch your muscles — (simon volunteered to help you with that. you dad threw his boot at him. thrice and then one more time for good measure.) — or to use the bathroom. you were on strict diet for the first week, mainly consisting of fluids and lots of proteins alongside the years' worth of medicine you had to take. he stayed home, officially on leave until he was sure you wouldn't collapse after standing for more than seven seconds and then he stayed for an extra week simply because he wanted to.

("i think i can pick up the remote without popping out my stitches."

"'m not talking any chances, kid.")

and then, there was simon.

if you thought that there could be no more increase in the protective measures after your dad, simon set out to prove you so wrong.

he stayed with you even after your dad went back to the base and that meant he stayed with you. you couldn't move an inch without his hand coming up to stabilize you — you told him you didn't need it, he disagreed — or just straight up pushing you back to sit down, gently and doing whatever you were out to do. it made your life just a tad bit difficult but you knew this was coming from a place of love — and fear.

"i'm okay," you smiled softly at your boyfriend, hands intertwining with his as you both laid on the couch while your dad worked in the kitchen, occasional shouts and gasps announcing his continued presence. "i'm okay."

"the fuck? you are not," simon's eyebrows were furrowed and you fought the urge to lean up and kiss the spot until he relaxed, partly because it would put pressure on your stitches and you did not need another lecture on basic medical knowledge by your dad and your boyfriend again. "don't make me tie to your bed."

"don't threaten me with a good time," you laughed softly at his blank stare, squirming away as he poked one of almost healed bruises. "fuck you."

"you're injured, not now," you could practically feel the smirk behind his mask and gave him the best unimpressed look you could. "stop lookin' at me like that."

"when was the last time you slept?" you ignored his advances and slapped away his hand that was coming up to tug you towards him, looking him in the eye. "you look worse than me."

"i'm breaking up with you."

"no, you're not."

"no, i'm not," simon sighed, his hand coming up to run through his grown blonde hair that he had intended to get cut — not by you because he doesn't trust you with scissors anywhere near his head. "i slept last night."

"liar," you narrowed your eyes at him, taking in the dark circles around his eyes and the way his eyes were droopy and how his eyes remained close when he blinked. "i heard you watching that movie you told me you hated."

"i was not — "

"simon," you sighed and he stopped speaking, knowing he was in for a lecture from you about his sleeping habits and his biological sleep cycle — something you wasn't even sure existed in his body. "love, why haven't you been able?"

he stayed silent, his hands fumbling with your hands and twisting your rings around your fingers. he almost smiled when he noticed the ring that he had made for you on your ring finger, a small 's' in the middle with a semblance of a tiny heart next to it.

"haven't been able to," he replied finally, his voice gruff with faux annoyance directed at your ability to coax answers out of him just like that. "too much going on."

you knew what he meant by that. the last couple weeks have been hectic to say the least and you couldn't help but feel guilty about being a part of the reason for your boyfriend not being able to sleep. "i'm sorry."

"shut up, what for?" he rolled his eyes and placed a fleeting kiss to your cheek, very near to your mouth before leaning back. "i'd take a few sleepless nights over your bleeding out any day."

you didn't say anything, just tugged on his arms firmly enough to make him get the hint and settle back into the mountain of pillows you had brought down from your room. he looked at you, a confused look in his eyes but complied as you pulled him towards yourself and wrapped your arms around him, smiling when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and finally, relaxed. he pulled back just for a moment, one of his hands coming up to squeeze yours when you frowned at the lack of contact while the other one pulled away his mask, leaving his face bare.

you had seen his face many times but each time, you found yourself falling in love more and more. you knew each and every scar that adorned his face, every inch of uneven skin. you had spent nights kissing all that he thought made him ugly and promised him that he thought so wrong. you said nothing as he looked at you once again, eyea squinting at you playfully before he was back in your arms.

"i love you so much, you know that?" you whispered, your hand playing with his hair. you could feel him press feather light kisses to your neck, his breath fanning over your exposed skin making a trail of goosebumps and you didn't mind it one bit. "you know that right?"

he hummed in reply, pressing himself as close to you as he physically could. you didn't stop playing with his hair, knowing how much it relaxed him and soon him, he went completely still next to you, his grip on your loosening just a bit as he went slack. you couldn't help but admire him when he was like this, his face free of the usual scowl that he pulled up with him at every table, the furrow of his eyebrow that you always kissed, the frown that he had whenever anyone spoke, it was all gone.

you didn't hear your dad come in, a tray of three steaming cups of tea in his hands and settled it down on the centre table, proud of himself. he picked up your usual cup, strawberries drawn on it with a few daisies in the middle spaces and gave it to you, smiling softly before turning to look at simon — who to his surprise, was fast asleep against your shoulder.

"he's knocked out," john remarked, making a mental note to make another cup of tea for simon whenever he woke up and settled back into his designated chair adjacent to yours. "never saw him this... relaxed."

"yeah, well," you sipped out of your cup before placing it on the side table, eyes flickering to simon's still figure before looking back at your dad, a small smile on your lips, "he's been pretty set on not letting me lift a finger."

"he's worried about you," your dad nodded and you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter. "never seen him so out of mind. you know he loves you, right? he would fold the earth in the half if anything happened to you."

"i know, dad," you replied, eyes locked on simon as he slept next to you. you could see his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, his lips slightly parted as he breathed in and out evenly. "i don't even know how i'm supposed to tell him just how much he means to me. i don't know where to begin."

"he knows," he stated, sipping out of his own mug — with small yellow crowns — and setting it back down. "you'll both make it, you know? don't need to see the future to figure that out."

you knew what he was talking about.

you'd make it. of course, you would. it was simon who held your hand randomly while you walked around your town. it was simon who made sure that you were always stocked up with your favourite candies and chocolates. it was simon who learnt how to make paper rings because you were singing that song about how you'd marry him with paper rings. it was simon, always.

and even if this lifetime was enough for you, you knew that you'll find yourself falling for him in every other life. in all the universes out there, in every version of reality, you'd find yourself in love with him. you knew this much, you felt it in your bones.

maybe in another life, you would've seen him from across the bar and he would've sent a drink your way. maybe you would've ran into him at a coffee shop and he would've asked you your favourite blend. maybe you would've been childhood friends and he would've always been in love with you.

it would always be you and him.

"yeah, i know."

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

absolutely love your writing 😭 you write law so in character its so good. i want to see laws reaction to reader accidentally (or not) discovering his nerdy sora comics collection. ty 💛

Hi!! Thank-you so much, that's an honor 🥺 I'm a lil obsessed w him istg (more than a little but anyways) here you go, I hope you enjoy it!!

You're acting weird. To be fair though, in a crew as diverse as the Heart Pirates, "weird" is a subjective thing and depends on who Law is meaning.

You're acting weird for you. There's an odd jumpiness to you now, specifically whenever Law is involved ㅡ and he wonders if he's done something wrong.

Your relationship is still fairly new to you both, still trying to find the perfect balance between professionalism and something softer and more intimate.

Law mentally filters through your interactions (both as crewmates and not) and when he comes up with nothing, he decides to ask you.

"Have I done something to upset you? I'd like to know so I can fix it." He watches confusion flicker across your face, then guilt.

"No, you didn't do anything." You bite your lip, a habit he's been trying to break you of. Instinctively, he reaches to press his thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it free of the worried knead of your teeth. "Promise you won't be mad?"

Now it's Law's turn to be confused. "It depends on what you did," he answers honestly and immediately kicks himself for the way you shrink back. "As long as it has nothing to do with the integrity the Polar Tang and you haven't sold us out to the Marines, it can't be that bad."

That at least gets a ghost of a smile from you. "As if I'd ever do either of those," you tell him, a hint of pride in your voice. The Polar Tang is your home, and the Heart Pirates are your family.

"Continue," he prods gently, and the nervousness returns to your expression. He gives you a moment, watches as you steel yourself before you blurt in a tumbled rush of words,

"I maybe sort of accidentally found your Sora Warrior of the Sea comics."

It takes him a long moment to parse out what you've said, and you watch as his expression shifts to an unreadable one, brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," you say, feeling even worse than you have the last couple of days. "I didn't mean to, honest. Bepo needed a copy of a report from a few days ago and I thought I'd seen you put it in one of the drawers andㅡ" You halt, voice wavering. "I'm really sorry."

You mean it. He knows you do, knows you'd never breach his privacy without good reason ㅡ even as close as you are now, there are things he's not ready to talk about, or show.

In the grand scheme of things, the discovery of his carefully curated collection of beloved comics is not the end of the world. Hardly a punishable offense, even though you're clearly expecting him to be pissed.

"It's okay, [Name]." He watches as you visibly relax, though there's still a nervous edge to you. "I'm not upset, just...surprised."

"Understandable," you mumble. "For what it's worth, it's a nice collection. I wanted to get into it when I was younger, but I never got a chance to."

He perks up a little at that, latches onto the opportunity you've given him. "If you'd like," he says, "we can read them together. If you want, I mean."

Another little flake off that careful barrier he's built around himself, another soft spot exposed ㅡ trusting you not to abuse it. As if you ever would ㅡ his trust in you is one of your most teasured things.

"Law?" He looks at you, taking in that wonderful smile he'd do unspeakable things to protect. "I'd love that."

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: law.#last post for tonight so i don't spam the tag wkdkdjd goodnight!

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undeadcannibal · 11 months

Note

Your honor I'd like to propose an amendment to the 🍆 head cannon post:

Curvature and distinguishing colors, features? Are they darker or the same shade? Lighter? Hair color? Texture? Who's got a lean? 🥎⚾s?

Summary: More requested ‘N.SF.T’ headcanons for Task Force 141, Los Vaqueros, and König~ Part 2 of this post here!

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Price, Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Alejandro, Rodolfo, and König.

Warnings: explicit content!

A/N: Never did I expect for that other post to become as popular as it did. I’m happy y’all enjoy my gross and overly-detailed headcanons. Also, please note, if any of you happen to not like or find any of my hcs to be gross or not what you expected, keep in mind they’re just my headcanons. Don’t take ‘em seriously, dudes. Weird and rude replies will be deleted. ( Gif credit: xxx )

Gaz―

Not much of a curve to it, honestly, he’s pretty straight curvature wise. Distinguishing colors? I’d say his foreskin is the same as his skin tone overall, tip-wise? I’m thinking it’s a bit darker than the color of his lips and flushes an even deeper color when he’s fully aroused, mhm. Hair color of his pubes is dark and also has a some curl and texture to it when he does let it grow out for some time. Balls, too? Hm... I’d say Kyle’s sporting a nice, snug set he prefers to keep smooth and clean more often than not.

Bonus! Kink headcanon is that he adores you paying extra special attention to his balls. Worship them and he’ll be cumming all over your face in no time~

Ghost―

Slight upward curve that stimulates you in the best of ways. IDC what anyone says, man has a mouthwatering cock with a nice flesh-pink tip and anyone can fight me on it. Probably slightly darker than his overall skin tone but not by much. Pubic hair stuff... I’m torn between him being a natural dirty blond or brunet. (I can’t remember where I saw the fanart from, but someone has a headcanon that he bleaches his brunet hair blond and oof, I’m in love, also give him long ass roots since he can’t keep up with his root touch-ups while out on missions) Straight-ish texture to his hair as well, grows pretty smoothly altogether. THIS MAN has a thick vein running down the middle of his shaft, my lord. And finally, for his balls, I’m thinking he’s got a hefty set that he’s quick to push you down to so you can pay them some attention, expect some light tickling from the hair there, too. uwu

Bonus! Kink headcanon is he struggles with being submissive and prefers being dominant the majority of the time due to his trauma. He doesn’t like the idea of submitting to someone -- he’s far too afraid of what kind of consequences it could possibly have for him. This doesn’t mean he’s a sadistic or strict Dom. If anything, he’s hyper aware of your reactions to every little thing he does, also refuses anything hard or physical against you, he detests the thought of causing his partner pain.

Price―

Leans ever so slightly to the right, isn’t too noticeable though. Since he’s circumcised in my previous post, could probably notice a scar that separates light flesh-tone color of his shaft from the faint pink of his tip. Also, despite him preferring to trim his facial hair specifically, I’d see him as going fully natural bush-wise. Man’s got a lovely cushion of brown hair that’s got just the faintest amount of gray speckled throughout. While he looks very textured, I personally think his hair would be soft af. Large set of balls that droops a bit lower now than when he was younger~

Bonus! Kink headcanon for John is - if you’re willing - he’d love to use you as an ashtray when he’s smoking. He’d light up, take a few puffs, than order you to open your mouth so he could tap the ashes off onto your tongue. Ordering you to keep your mouth open so he can see the black and grey specks of ash decorating your tongue before having you swallow.

Soap―

Has just the slightest upward curve to him, definitely jokes it’s great for helping stimulate his partner’s g-spot. Also knows all the best camera angles for top-tier dick pics. Shade darker than his natural skin tone and also has a smidge of hair going up the bottom of his shaft. Doesn’t mind in the slightest though. As mentioned before, he prefers going all natural and doesn’t shave or trim much. Lord, the amount of hair this man has. Has treasure trail, hair thighs, ass, groin, everything. Sorry, I love hairy men, what can I say? Also, when he’s super pent up, his tips turns a deep ruddy shade you love to see every time. Balls are on the larger side with one being slightly smaller than the other, also very sensitive and will have him turning into a whimpering mess if you pay special attention to them.

Bonus! Kink headcanon is he takes every spare chance he can get to take and send nudes and videos of him jacking off. Doing his best to make those sounds you love whilst trying not to get caught by anyone. Those moments are for your eyes and your eyes only~

Rodolfo―

Sobbing because his cock is the same gorgeous shade as the rest of his skin, although can see the head of his cock and his balls being a tad darker. Maybe has a tad lean towards the left. Has trimmed dark hair that feels amazing beneath your fingertips. Balls are a bit on the larger side. Run your tongue over them and his dick will be twitching above your face in no time, also will draw up tight to him when he’s cumming~ Please spread this man’s thighs apart, he’s got beauty marks for days and will fucking tremble if you kiss and run your tongue over them!

Bonus! Kink headcanon is he’s got such a praise kink when it comes to his partners. The hottest thing in the world for him is for him to be showering his partner with compliments, feeling them clench tightly around him as his words register in their pleasured-addled minds.

Alejandro―

Much like Rudy, he’s a beautiful shade of tan all throughout, and his cock head is just as flushed and ruddy when he’s aroused. Much like Rudy, has a lean but his is the exact opposite, veering to Also is hairy just like Soap, but nowhere near to the same degree. If anything, man’s sporting a thick bush, hairy thighs, and legs. Also another man sporting thick veins throughout the length of him that he’s more sensitive about being touched than he’d like to admit. Large set of balls that do sag a bit but doesn’t mind in the slightest definitely likes to teabag his partner as a result if they allow him to

Bonus! Kink headcanon for our man is that he’s a sucker for sloppy oral, giving or receiving, but especially receiving. Nothing excites him more than seeing how ruined and messy he can make your face as he fucks it.

König―

Doesn’t really have much of a curve or lean to him, but rest assured he’s got veins for days lining his shaft. And, if you run your tongue along them, he melts on the spot. Perfect male whimpering audio material <3 The color of him is noticeably darker than the rest of him. That, combined with his beautiful sandy colored curls make for a mouthwatering view. Also has large, yet tight balls that are far more sensitive than he’d like. Overstimulate the big guy right now!

Bonus! Kink headcanon is that due to his size all around, he’s grown to have a liking for size difference with his partner being smaller than his. It’s pretty easy given his height, but more so it drives him feral to see his cock bulging his partner’s belly out with every thrust he gives.

#john price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #könig x reader #call of duty x reader #task force 141 x reader #los vaqueros x reader #cod headcanons #headcanons #'nsft'#opened mail #requests #my writing #lordsexmachine

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soapisahimbo · 1 year

Text

NSFW ABC - König Edition

I am all for this fucking bandwagon, and I am jumping right up on it with some smut about our favourite Austrian giant, König!

This posts contains heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

If you like this and want more, I already have nsfw alphabets about Soap, Alejandro, Gaz and Ghost in the works, so don't you worry!

Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

warnings: senseless smut, könig is kinda obsessed, tried to keep it genderneutral but female anatomy might be hinted at, mentions of throatfucking (könig might be bi tbh), longer than it needs to be

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Needs reassurance that he didn't go too far, that he didn't hurt you and that you want him to stay. He's bigger than above average, and while he tries to control himself, he sometimes loses himself in the heat of the moment, and the heat of you.

Has a tendency to overstimulate you without intending to, and can grip you a bit tighter than he means to, so he spends some time kissing any bruises he can find as if to say sorry, and massages any sore muscles that might be making themselves known when the high is wearing off. He'll happily carry you into the shower and help you wash off, careful not to rub any areas that might be sore or sensitive (anymore than he has to, at least). You might need to convince him if you want to massage him too, because lord knows he needs to be taken care of as well, but if you get the chance to, he'll probably fall asleep in minutes.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

With his anxiety and experience with getting relentlessly bullied when younger, his perception of his body is a bit skewed. He's trained to be a soldier; his body is meant for fighting and killing. While acutely aware of his own size, he has never really taken the time to actually take a proper look at his body for anything other than to check for wounds and scars, and even though he has received a number of compliments in his adult years and enjoyed them, the concept of being confident solely in his physical appearance is a bit foreign to him.

With you, however, he has indeed found himself some appreciation for his body - you shower him with compliments any chance you get, but he has specifically grown a new fondness of his hands. He loves the way your skin feels under his palms, how you sigh and shiver and moan when he finds all the right spots, loves squeezing at your softer parts and seeing the flesh bulb out between his fingers.

Speaking of softer parts, while there is probably not a single millimeter of your body that he doesn't want to lay all of his love onto, he must admit that he has a specific weakness for your chest and thighs. Even if you don't have big breasts, he still loves to run his hands and mouth over them, making circles over your nipples with his thumbs and tongue. As for your thighs, he will sometimes spend an extended amount of time doing nothing but stroking, kissing, licking, sucking and biting them. He doesn't move to eat you out (although it will more often than not lead to that), he's not doing it to tease you, but there's just something about the softness and the warmth that has him lose track of time. Loves the way they squeeze together around his hand or head or hips when you cum, and will sometimes make you cum for the sole reason of watching them quiver.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

This is actually something that used to embarrass him to no end before he got with you, because he cums quite a lot. He makes a mess and he doesn't like it. The first time you had sex without a condom, he had you on your back, holding the back of your knees to keep your legs spread. He intended to pull out to stop himself from coming, because it was happening quicker than he anticipated and he wanted this to last, but to no avail. He came all over your hole, and at the twitch of his cock, a couple of spurts shot up along your torso, leaving trails from your pubic mound all the way up to your neck.

He apologized profusely, on the verge of tears because he thought that he had ruined everything, that you'd be disgusted, but when you ran a finger through it and brought it to your mouth to taste, his brain short circuited and he almost came again from the sight alone. Nowadays he takes it upon himself to lick it off of your body, or from between your legs after he's watched it leak out, only to then crawl back up to your face and kiss you deeply to share the taste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

He had woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, nothing crazy. But when he came back to bed, you had shifted in your sleep. The cover had slipped off of you, you were naked and your legs were spread. There were hickeys forming along the inside of your thighs, and he could tell that there was still some stickiness left from your prior session.

The more timid side of him told him to just tuck you in and go back to sleep, but he couldn't look away. As if in a trance, he knelt down on the mattress at the foot of the bed and stared, feeling himself get hard. He wanted to dive in, but you were sleeping and he didn't want to disturb your peace, and as if on autopilot, he wrapped his hand around his dick, pumping it to nothing but the sight of you. He got close embarrassingly fast, leaning his weight forward on one hand and gripping the sheets, as if to get closer while also keeping himself at bay, biting his lip to keep quiet, salivating.

He quickly realized the mess he'd make if he came now, so he rushed back out into the bathroom and stepped into the shower where his cum could easily be rinsed down the drain. When he came back, you'd rolled over on your side and snuggled into the sheets. He still hasn't told you and it still pains him, because he hates keeping secrets from you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

Contrary to popular belief, not a virgin. At least not to the full extent. Has had both men and women offer to help him blow off some steam when his adrenaline is still running high, and has taken some of them up on that offer. Never actual sex though; any time that he has actually snuck off with someone, they've usually gotten down on their knees and offered their hands or throats to him.

He may or may not have had a dick or two in his own mouth before - they're oftentimes much smaller than he is, and he's never really had any trouble taking them.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Might not have one single specific favourite, but has learned to enjoy the way he completely covers you when he has you underneath him, because it makes him feel like he's protecting you, regardless of if he's fucking you in missionary or if you're lying face down, ass up. Likes leaning over you as closely as he can, and often pushes your knees up to your chest or angling himself in an attempt to get deeper into you. Sometimes, when he's starting to lose himself, he'll fall over a bit and bury his face in the pillow next to your head and moan almost helplessly into the fabric. It would make you smile if you weren't usually right there on that edge with him.

Also loves it when you get on top to ride him, because he gets to watch you from a whole new angle. He'll happily sit back and let you pick the pace, watching you fuck yourself on him with an awed gleam in his eyes. He'll be happy to have you either way.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Tends to be a bit more serious due to his nerves, but your sex life is not without it's funny moments, like when you knock your heads together or fumble with the belt, or nearly fall over when trying to take your clothes off. He ran his hand over your waist in a way that tickled you once, and when you giggled he couldn't bring himself to stop, a beaming grin on his face as he told you to make that sound again. Every now and again, you'll tickle each other, even when he's balls deep, just because it gives a sort of domestic reprieve in what can sometimes be an overwhelmingly hot and heavy moment.

The two of you have also laughed yourselves into a tummyache a number of times, usually because of something that caught both of you completely off guard, like the time you broke a small cot that belonged to someone else. He was petrified at first, but once you'd started giggling, he couldn't keep it together. Eventually you both had reached full belly laugh, and you both just laughed for a long while before he eventually gathered his senses, buried his face in the skin of your neck, and with another chuckle he pulled you into him and started fucking you again, the sound of your laugh still hanging around the edges of your surprised moans.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Doesn't actually have a whole lot of hair. It's thick, and enough to cover his pubic mound, curly and dark, but it's not like an absolute jungle. Prides himself on his personal hygiene and might go for a trim if he ever feels like he needs to. Has a happy trail that you love running fingers and kisses along, making his legs feel like jelly every time.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

Holds you close, like he wants to sinks into your very skin and stay there forever. Strokes your cheek, looks you deep in the eyes and has a deep red shade spread over his cheeks when he tells you he loves you. He will probably be on the verge of tears if you return the sentiment. He often stops moving just so he can lean in and kiss you deeply and hungrily, as if caught off guard by a sudden and intense desire for it.

He's also really big on nonsexual intimacy, loving to stand in the shower with you with no other purpose but for you to mutually care for each other, or just resting his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat as you stroke his hair.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He wants to save himself as much as he can for you, but when deployed and sent somewhere far away from you, he can't help himself. He always goes out on his mission with a laser-like focus, but every now and then, on the calmer nights, he can't stop the thoughts about you, about how much he misses you and how he wants nothing more but have you in his arms again, and once these thoughts have turned to the more unsavoury side, he needs to find somewhere private to relieve himself, lest someone on his team notices what's on his mind.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

While he at times can enjoy the sheer size difference between the two of you and how he can use it in the bedroom, it wouldn't be to the point of a kink. You suspect he might have somewhat of an oral obsession however, considering how keen he is on keeping his mouth and tongue on you.

Surprisingly likes it when you tie him up, even though he acts like could positively die if he doesn't get to touch you. Will praise you endlessly, and you think he's about to ascend to some other realm if you praise him as well.

He also catches you off guard when you're out in public and he leans in to whisper that he wants to find some hidden spot somewhere and eat you out. Likes overstimulation, both for you and for himself. He likes being overstimulated because he wants nothing but to be good for you and because he feels almost like a new man afterwards. When he overstimulates you, however, it's usually because he can't bring himself to stop once you've started cumming.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Somewhat into semi-public stuff, although he still wants to make sure that no one will see you. Other than that, your very own bed is where he likes it the most. Isn't adverse to fucking you on pretty much every other surface in your home, though.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

Anything you do with any sort of sexual intention will have him melting into an absolute puddle. If you asked, he'd be on his knees for you before you'd even completed the sentence. If you simply tugged at his clothes, he'd have undressed himself in the blink of an eye. He's incredibly attuned to you whenever you're nearby and he's ready to throw himself at you at any chance he can get. Be kind to him. He can only handle so much before he breaks.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He will never, by any means whatsoever, ever hurt you or degrade you, or do anything that even closely relates to it. Not even to save his own life. The bruises he unintentionally leaves on you from time to time already stress him out enough as is, even if you tell him you don't mind them and that they barely even hurt. If you tell him that you want him to inflict some pain on you or degrade you, he'd flat out refuse. Even as a soldier, it goes against every grain of his very nature to hurt someone he loves. If he ever truly did hurt you, he'd never forgive himself.

Doesn't want to be hurt or degraded either - reminds him too much of his childhood. Any other bodily fluids outside of what usually comes with having sex is also an absolute no-go.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Believe it or not, but König doesn't really like recieving blowjobs. He's big, and quite a bit more than just a mouthful, and usually when anyone tries to suck him off, even if they are capable of swallowing all of him down, they tend to end up scraping their teeth along the length of him and it doesn't feel good. He'd prefer a handjob in that case. That doesn't mean he doesn't like it when you use your mouth on him, though. Kiss and lick up the sides, tease the ridge just under the helmet, suck on the head and tongue the slit while you work your hand up and down and he'll be crying out your name to the heavens like it's the only thing that could ever save him.

Going down on you, though, is as far as he's concerned an absolute want and need.As mentioned before, he loves the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head, and it's also one of the few times where he actually appreciates his stature, because his hands can still easily reach the rest of your body. It's a bit too easy for him to lose himself in you, however - he tends to get "drunk" off of you and you swear it's like he forgets to breathe. Even with a tight grip of his hair, it takes you a lot to pull him away from you, and when you do, he sucks in a deep lungful of air, only to try and get his mouth back on you. If you by some miracle manage to hold him off, he'll start whining, and between the lust and overstimulation, you rarely have enough strength to actually hang on for long.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

Surprisingly soft, even when he's fucking you senselessly. Never slams into you, no. Tends to start off slow, to make sure he's warmed you up enough, but picks up the pace once you start begging him to. Keeps a steady, heavy pace, and even though he doesn't necessarily fuck you hard, you feel like every thrust drives the air out of you.

Once he gets close, however, he picks up speed and strength, almost reminding you of a human jackhammer. When he cums, he pushes himself as deep into you as he can, staying there while you feel his cock pulse, and waits only a moment before he begins to grind his hips into you, relishing in the sensitivity as he pumps you full.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He would prefer to take his time with you; he needs to warm you up and stretch you out properly before he can actually fuck you. If you are going for a quickie, it's usually because you don't have access to the safety of your home at the moment, and if you (or he, for that matter) can't wait, he'll pull you along to find a secluded place somewhere and the two of you will make a mess out of each other with your hands and mouths instead.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

As mentioned before, can go for something semi-public, but he doesn't by any means want the two of you to get caught. He's up for anything you want to try, as long as there's no risk of either of you getting hurt or as long as it isn't out of this world.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He has finished quicker than intended at times, but if he does, he simply finds some other way to please you. Can last a good while, and you usually end up losing count of how many times you cum. He'll try to go for as long as you can, and he's kept you up at night a fair number of times.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

The idea of toys hadn't really struck him, until he asked you what you did when he was away and you decided to show him. Blushing heavily, he asked you about what they were, how you used them and if they felt good. When your response is "not as good as you," he feels like his heart skips a beat and almost needs to physically restrain himself from throwing himself over you. After much blushing and stammering, he eventually turns to you and asks if you can show him how you use them. He watches closely and learns, and it's like you've given him a whole new world to explore (and new ways to render you completely mindless). He will use the toys on you until you're practically crying for him to give you a break, even if his cock sits painfully hard in his pants.

Once you suggest that you can use them on him as well, you thought he'd throw his neck out with how fast he snapped his head towards you. You showed him things he'd never even considered, and after the first time you'd use a vibrating wand on his cock, he was sure he'd never be the same again.

You tell him about dildos and how you can use them as well, and he finds himself wondering what it would be like if you used one on him. Tends to be the one fucking you, but the idea of you fucking him (with a real dick or no) does more to him than he'd like to admit.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

He doesn't mean to tease, honest! He just loses himself in you, loses track of time. If you whine at him and try to scold him for it, he'll apologize breathlessly, but sometimes he can't bring himself to move on. He's just fascinated by you, smitten by you.

If you want some payback, he's not hard to tease. Will whine if you hold back, beg if you stop. If you edge him, he'll do a mix of the both, his words slurring and his languages mixing together into a near unrecognizable mess. But you usually find it in yourself to be merciful. Usually.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

Quite loud - the volume of his moans are usually on par with yours. He moans sweet things in your ears, trying to stay coherent, but it usually turns into a mess of English, German and Austrian German. Starts to ramble, and the words you are able to understand are usually somewhere along the lines of "ah, fuck, scheisse, you feel so good, ah, so fffuu-uhuh-ckinggood, I don't want to stop, I can't stop, m-my love, please, liebling, you take me so well, please don't stop now, I beg you, don't stop, I- ah!"

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

As far as blowjobs go, there's only ever been one that has been able to take all of him in their mouth - a man almost his own size that offered to go with him to the men's room back at base during some downtime right after a mission. The man had happily gotten down on his knees, opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out and let him grab him firmly by the head and throatfuck him against the stall door (König can still remember the sounds - if anyone else heard them, they never made it known). He would enthusiastically offer himself up a few more times, to the point where it almost became routine after missions. But then one day the man was gone and König just didn't see him again.

He's confessed this to you, worried that you might not want to be with him anymore, but you jokingly/not-so-jokingly suggested that maybe you should find another guy who can take him like that again, and his mind has been running wild ever since.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

He is most certainly big, definitely, however he is not wielding some sort of horsecock. Sits somewhere around 7-8 inches, thick enough to stretch you out and fill you up, but not so thick that you feel like you're about to split in half.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Wants you nearly constantly, but usually leaves you to initiate. He can only hold off for so long, however, and once he's at his whit's end, he'll start touching you, running his fingers along your arms at first, then your waist, then his hands are gripping at your hips and he's breathing heavily into your ear, whispering to you how badly he wants you, will you please let him have you?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

He will actually fall asleep rather fast if you tell him to lay with you for a bit longer before you clean up, which is why he usually declines. He wants both of you to be clean and fresh so that you don't have to deal with the icky and uncomfortable clean up that happens if you let it dry. Once clean, though, he'll happily crawl back into bed with you and either have you rest on top of him like a little blanket, or lay his head down onto your chest, and he'll be out like a light before you know it.

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