#i only have one face mask and it doesn't have a nose bit

[transs3xualmagg0t]

why does this pharmacy not sell face masks girl yr a pharmacy

#maggot musings #for why #i only have one face mask and it doesn't have a nose bit #and i wear glasses so i can either be a dick or blind

[m-ayo-o]

going to the dentist after giving a bj~ doctor geto notices signs of palatal petechiae /bruising on the roof of your mouth/ on his sweet and shy patient !! 18+ explicit oral wc 2k

"Come in, sit down, Miss ..... And how was your weekend?"

You recline back on the chair, feeling a little nervous, filling your regular dentist in on the date you had on Saturday.

"Oh? Was he a keeper?"

"It went well, but I don't think it's anything serious..." you trail off. You were a little disappointed, despite the amazing evening you two had together, not to mention the great sex.

"Oh, that's a shame," he replies less than wholeheartedly.

He pushes his glasses up his nose and flicks through some paperwork, not keeping you waiting for long.

He turns to you, addressing you politely as always.

"Just a regular check up today?"

"Mhm" you nod a little stiffly, making him chuckle.

"Aw, you're not still nervous, Miss ....., you've been coming to me for months now."

You don't want him to take it personally. The whole process is just a bit intimidating. You were quite jumpy around dentists anyway, but after meeting such an attractive one your nerves have only got worse. You're constantly aware of where you're looking, trying not to embarrass yourself and focusing on not drooling all over him.

You shake your head, again, like a robot. He can see right through you and your petty crush that's becoming blindingly obvious.

"Here," he pulls his surgical mask over the lower half of his face, "how's that? Less scary now?"

You see his eyes are still smiling through his glasses and you can't help but giggle at his attempts to ease the tension. But you feel your face starting to heat up, especially under the bright light above your head.

"Just lay back and get comfortable, let me take a look, ok?"

You take a deep breath and tilt your head back, preparing yourself for his closeness.

His cologne is dreamy, his body is warm... and his eyes--

"Say, 'ah' please," he instructs you softly. His voice is so deep and calm he always makes you swoon. But now you have to show him the inside of your mouth... It makes you cringe so bad.

What if you didn't brush as thoroughly as you thought you did? What if there's a tiny piece of your breakfast stuck between your teeth? What if you need a filling!!?

Your worries are endless, but you open up, allowing his gloved fingers and metal tool to invade your mouth.

The smell of rubber enters your nostrils and you wince slightly at his gentle prodding motions.

"Flossing?"

You give him an awkward 'ah hah'

"And wearing your retainer?"

"Nn hn" you nod.

"Looking good. Open a bit wider, please."

He pokes around right at the back, checking your wisdom teeth.

"These been giving you trouble?"

"A-ah"

"Good a-and- oh-"

His sentence falls off and his words are caught in his mouth. You've never heard him stutter before, and he's blinking rather rapidly behind his glasses which appear to be steaming up a little. You give him a quizzical look, arching an eyebrow, wondering what caught his tongue.

"It- it's just a little... bruising. On your soft palate."

What an unprofessional thing to say. But he couldn't help it- it's just so shocking to think of a girl like you doing something like that.

But you don't understand the implications of his comment at all. He leans back and takes off his gloves, concluding your in depth inspection for today quite abruptly.

"Is it bad to have bruises there? It- it doesn't hurt-"

He sighs. He shouldn't have said anything, now you're just starting to panic.

"Is it something serious?"

"No, no," he tries to brush it off with one of his signature easy smiles, but you keep asking if you're going to be ok and if it's a condition, getting more and more stressed out.

He pulls off his surgical mask and sets his glasses on the counter, looking you up and down- he can't believe he's going to say something like this to you; his sweet patient.

"It's just," he massages his brow and pushes his black hair out of his face, "from... pleasuring a man."

"..."

"I'm sorry. I... didn't mean to embarrass you," he says, despite the unmistakable pink rising on his cheeks, "I shouldn't have commented and-"

"It's-- okay--" you start giggling.

Finally, the ice is broken by such a silly comment. You don't know why you're finding it so amusing that your charming dentist has just found out what you were really doing this weekend. But seeing his reaction- his flushed cheeks and the way his dark eyes are looking down- he's flustered. Your smooth talking, fine looking dentist is flustered!

"I-- I should be more careful-- of when I arrange my appointments-!!"

He can see you're not offended by his comment at all and that, in fact, you finally look comfortable now you're laughing hysterically in the medical chair where you usually sit so awkwardly.

"It's not a big deal, I was just a little... shocked," he muses, continuing to explain himself. He doesn't know what he's saying, as long as you keep laughing he doesn't care.

"Shocked? Oh, why would you be shocked, Doctor Geto? I told you I had a date!" You say with a smile on your face, watching his embarrassment grow.

You're starting to like this look on him, and he's loving every second of your cute giggling fit. However, he'd prefer if your conversation took a different turn.

"After a date- he must've been quite something," he dials up his flirty tone again.

You reciprocate, giving him a sly smile before saying, "It's not a big deal, Doctor Geto."

"Suguru," he replies with seduction seeping into his tone, "and maybe his wasn't..."

His eyes flick down south, drawing your attention to the tent in his suit pants that's been resting heavy there since the thought of you giving head crossed his mind.

He couldn't help picturing how pretty you'd look, and how you'd sound. Oh, just imagining the sounds are driving him to madness. He thinks he must be half mad, suggesting something like this with his patient. But his next appointment is in over an hour, and he's seen the way you look at him, knowing that part of the reason you're so shy is because you find him so unbearably attractive. He can tell he has an effect on you.

And he seems to be in luck, since you're feeling very enticed to take this flirtation further. You slowly but purposefully drag your eyes away from the sumptuous swell between his legs, up the well fitting seams of his shirt, and find the gorgeous outline of his face before locking eyes with him in the most seductive manner.

"Suguru," just hearing his first name pass your lips makes him twitch- he's gonna need more than a dick sucking at this rate, "I think what you have in your pants... is a very big deal."

Perhaps the biggest you've seen- through his clothes, anyway.

"Why don't you come over here and find out?" He replies without skipping a beat, beckoning you over to him.

You bite your lip and slink towards your dentist where he sits with his legs spread in his office chair. He watches your body move like a pendulum, until you reach him and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscle there.

"Get on your knees for me."

There's something in his tone- in his confidence- that makes you bend down and get between his legs without thinking twice. You look up and watch one of his hands reach behind his head where unties the neat bun of his black locks, letting them fall over his shoulders.

He reclines on his seat majestically as you unzip his pants, not wasting a second longer in starting to pleasure him.

The swell you saw through his pants? Yeah, it was deceiving. Now you've got it resting in your hand you can see every thick and juicy inch. You lick the underside up and down, really slow, making him sigh.

"Good girls don't tease." He chastises through bite swollen lips.

"'m not a good girl."

He lets out a little laugh, then tugs on your lip with his thumb, opening your mouth slowly.

"I'm about to make you one."

~

"You're so fucking gorgeous."

He's breathless from the way you're sucking him, pushing your hair back to see how he sinks in and out.

He lets you do it for a while, admiring you getting messy, finding the perfect rhythm to tease his cum out.

But he needs more.

His hand slinks to the back of your neck and he starts guiding you deeper.

"'m gonna put this pretty throat of yours to good use now, ok sweetheart?"

He warns you gently, with his hips starting to move when you nod and continue sucking on him.

"Your date didn't do it like this, did he Miss .....?"

He knows he didn't, from the bruises on your throat he can tell the man barely touched you back there. But it was enough for his keen eyes to catch- and god he's glad he did now he's in your mouth. He starts to build himself up, nearly choking you with his dick, and he can tell he's going to leave even bigger marks back there.

He uses your soft and warm throat to bring him up to the edge, grabs your neck and takes himself over with breathless words tumbling from his lips.

"That's it, told you I could make a good girl of you- sso fucking good, hm, taking my cum-"

Your whimpers and gagging noises coax out a loud groan from his chest, he fucks his cum in your mouth and slowly slides out.

He tastes salty and tangy, and a little sweet. You swirl your tongue up his shaft and over that swollen, leaky tip, cleaning every drop off him.

He tilts your head back slowly.

"Let me see. Oh, fuck sweetheart~"

He wants to go again.

You see a look in his eyes that tells you he needs it. You return a similar expression and stick out your tongue, showing him the mess he made, and he arches right over as if inspecting you again.

And he's pleased to see the bruises on the back of your throat have only gotten bigger, where his cock head was rutting into you.

You close your mouth and swallow, lick your lips and start to tidy yourself up.

Your dentist looks at his watch and, with less than 15 minutes left until his next appointment, decides that he can't go for another round today.

"Can I give you my personal number?" He asks as he finishes buckling himself up again and finding his glasses.

"Yeah, okay Docto- um, Suguru," you smile and pass him your phone. He adds his details and slips your phone back, bringing you closer, and places a soft kiss on your cheek. Despite just sucking the man off, his sweet actions get your stomach flipping and your cheeks heating up. You hold onto his chest and feel his hands on your back as his lips caress your face, finally landing on your lips. Your noses nudge each other gently and his tongue slips over yours before he releases you and tells you he's got to get ready for his next patient.

"Just text me, ok? I'd love to repay the favour."

He smiles and watches you reapply your lip gloss that smeared off.

"Mhm, I will Suguru," you chirp and place a sugary peck to his cheek and waltz out of his practice. You can't believe you just did something like that... but with him, you'd do it anytime.

You'll be sure to call your sweet dentist before your next appointment.

suguru | m.list

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #18+ content #suguru geto #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto suguru #jjk suguru #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto x reader

[bi-writes]

huhhhhh more bestfriend!roommate!simon x fem!reader because i want them to touch

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 4/?)

cw: nsfw (18+), suggestive language and content, mature language and content, kissing over the mask, simon "my girl cums first" riley, fem!receiving touching, praise kink, size kink, simon's thicc thighs need a warning, simon "the mask doesn't come off" riley

simon had a bad habit.

a nose-scrunching habit, a oddly pretty habit, a clouding habit.

you shut the door behind you, locking it. you dropped your keys by the door, slipping your sneakers off and hanging your jacket up. you had the day shift today, so simon let you walk home on your own. but he didn't know when you were coming home, and you suspect that's why he was outside on the balcony, a cigarette between his index and middle finger as he leaned against the wall.

you come up to the sliding door, narrowing your eyes before knocking on the glass. simon didn't move immediately, but you saw him turn his face away, tossing the cigarette onto the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his combat boot. when he turned to look at you, his mask was on, and there was a little apprehension in those dark eyes.

you gripped the handle of the door, sliding it open. he moved to stand in front of you, taking up the entirety of the doorway, broad shoulders taking up the width of the space.

"luv--"

"shut the fuck up, simon," you snapped. you reached over and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him inside. he had to maneuver his shoulders to slip inside, and you brought him right up against you so you could glare right up at him. "you know, it's one thing to come back from your boys' nights smelling like it, but in our home?! simon! how many times do i have to tell you that those things will kill you?!"

he sighed, shaking his head a little.

"trust me, luv," he murmured. "this isn't what'll kill me."

"you shut up," you reached up and gripped his masked chin, forcing his eyes on yours. your eyes were a little watery, and your bottom lip trembled. "don't say things like that. don't you dare."

the air was a little stiff. simon was a bit ashamed, averting his gaze. you leaned up and put both hands on his cheeks, putting his eyes on yours again.

"look at me, simon," you said lowly. "i...i cant tell you what to do. i'm not your mother. but i don't like it. its not good for you. i..." you looked down. "i'm sorry. i'm not trying to...i'm not trying to control you, i just--"

"its alright, luv," he quieted you. "it's alright, i know."

you sighed, dropping your hands to rest on his chest. your splayed your palms there, feeling the warmth of him. you held back a smile when you noticed him puffing out his chest a bit, flexing the muscles under your palms as you pressed against solid flesh.

"big, bad lieutenant riley..." you hummed lowly. "nothing can kill you, is that it?"

simon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side as he grunted.

"dunno what'll kill me, luv, but it won't be a bloody smoke."

you smiled wide finally, your eyes sparkling as you looked towards the kitchen.

"what do you want for dinner, simon? did you go shopping like i asked?"

"'f course i did," he said quickly, his tone nearly offended for even a hint that he you had doubted that he would do ask you asked. you let go of him, making your way to the kitchen. simon let his eyes wander. you were still wearing your uniform from the diner, pretty white and red stripes in the most adorable dress he'd ever seen. he'd curse the man who'd made you wear it the day he saw it the first time; his gaze that couldn't help but follow the valley of your breasts, the way the skirt fell over the curve of your ass--he felt like a teenager fawning over something so trivial about you, so physical and seemingly superficial, but you looked fantastic in it. his beautiful girl, the one he had known since she was only 17, how she grew and blossomed and before he knew, there was no other woman who could take up as much space in his mind as you.

simon had been to many dark places. the dark edges of torture, the narrow walls of being cornered by an enemy, the hot places where hell was just right over the cliff--he was a machine of order and sheer will, he had killed the parts of himself that never quite suited him for war, but somehow, this place with you stayed the same. it was the one constant he knew, the one constant that just never, ever changed, and for that, he was grateful.

you don't think simon riley believes in god. but he believes in you.

simon had been around the world. he had seen the worst of humanity, ripped his own right out of his chest, but none of it mattered as he sat down on the couch he had picked out with you. he remembered when you sent him the pictures of it, your voice on the other line of the phone as you told him how much you liked the pieces. he had been on deployment, and while he could care fuck all about what color the couch in your shared living room was, it was important to you so it was important to him.

"simon?"

your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"simon, could you open that bottle of wine? i need it for the stew."

domestic. fuck, this was too domestic, it was simple, it was calm. simon never flinched, not even when a bullet would hit the wall by his head, but fuck, the sight of you stirring vegetables in a pot in the kitchen of your shared apartment was making his head spin.

simon riley never missed his target. he set his sights on what he wanted, and with the ease and practice of a lieutenant, he crossed another name off his list.

and one could say that his pretty, little roommate, the woman who had been there before the scars and loved him even after them, was another target. your figure was in his sight, but fuck, his hand was shaking.

when the pot was simmering, you poured yourself a glass of wine and came towards him on the couch. simon was sitting, legs spread a little wide, his hands on his thighs as his eyes were fixed on the low hum of the television. you took a seat beside him after setting aside your glass, putting your feet up underneath you and leaning up against his arm.

"simon? everything alright?"

he turned to face you. a low shadow hung over his face, the hood of his jacket making his face appear even darker despite the mask he wore. you reached over under the hood and brushed a few strands of his hair off his forehead, tracing a small scar against his hairline. you smiled at him, running your knuckles down his temple. in the low light, you could barely see even his eyes, but simon spoke so much with just his eyes. they were beautiful. they were alive, had so much emotion, and you wondered always if maybe simon had learned to speak with them knowing it was the only part of him truly visible.

you lowered your gaze as he pressed his forehead to yours. his skin was warm, and you put a hand on his thigh to steady yourself. you swallowed, noticing how much smaller your hand looked next to his. he wore gloves, like always, but it didn't hide the size of him.

lieutenant simon riley. your simon. built like a fucking bear, a mind of impenetrable steel, eyes that had seen the nine circles of hell and wouldn't spill any of their secrets, simon riley who died and a ghost who brought him back and the woman that he dreamed about when they had taken everything from him except his goddamn memories--

he was kissing you. not in the way other men had kissed you, but in the way that simon riley would kiss you. the front of his mask met your lips, a touch of fabric that was warm and soft and melted your insides with a thousand unspoken words. he whispered your name against your lips, a quiet thing that felt like prayer. and maybe it was a sort of prayer, one that only he could make real, one that only he could make sound like faith and all the ugly, sorry truths that it brought with it.

but there was nothing ugly about this kind of prayer. it held no malice. it was pretty and soft and the only kind of word that ever brought him memories and not nightmares.

you were the one to press your lips to his. even through the fabric, it was like kissing someone for the first time. but not just anyone, simon. simon--simon who kissed your tears when you got stood up at a school dance. simon who promised into your hair that he would come back when you discovered the letters about his deployment overseas. simon who beat the manager at the first bar you ever worked at for following you home one night after your shift. simon who died when his family did and then came back, but only within the walls of your shared apartment and nowhere else.

simon, simon, simon--

his hand was under your dress. one gloved palm slipped up the back of your skirt, caressing one side of your ass as he guided you into his lap.

"simon--"

you choked on his name when you felt bare fingers slide over the edge of your panties. you reached up and cupped both sides of his face, whining as he moved his fingers under the fabric. your cunt was wet and glossy, and he pressed his face into the palm of your hand when he realized just how much time he had wasted being anything other than yours. and he had always been yours, but fuck, why hadn't he ever told you?

"youre so pretty, luv..." he smoothed his other hand up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging just enough to make you moan. "so pretty...so bloody wet...have you always been like this?"

you nod, unable to speak. his fingers spread your puffy folds apart, a soft wet sound that makes you cry. you want him to put those fingers inside of you, to make you ride his hand until you see nothing but white, but you just cant seem to form any words.

"oh, luv...youre a bloody mess..." he chuckled a bit. "fuckin' hell...let me see you--"

he picked up the skirt of your dress, his dark eyes flickering down. he cursed his breath, fisting the lace of your panties and ripping them right off. you whimpered as he tossed them onto the floor.

"christ, luv, can't believe i ever let this cunt be with another man. look at ya. it's fuckin' christmas mornin', aye?"

"you hate christmas--"

"dunno. could be more inclined if i got to have you in the mornin'."

"fuck you--"

"not yet, sweetheart."

simon never really thought you were much of a singer. but the crying and the begging and the moaning was music--and he was learning how to play you just right.

fingers teasing your cunt, he can feel the way your body aches for something more--something big and eager and warm, something that needs you badly, but fuck--you're so pretty with his name in your mouth and your cum on his fingers.

mine, mine, mine--

he grunted when you gripped his wrist, steadying his fingers enough so you could sink down on them. he groaned lowly, watching you tilt your head back and ride his fingers. sinking those gorgeous hips down again and again, putting his hand to use in a way that felt wrong up until now. fuck holding a sniper rifle and putting bad men to sleep--his hand was made to please you, that much was clear to him now.

you were so tight. grinding slow against him, dripping down his fingers, crying out when his thumb moved a gentle circle over your clit and his fingers slipped up enough to graze a pretty spot inside of you.

"nnngghhh--simon--"

"that's it, luv...'s it..."

you laid your forehead against his, nodding along to his words but your thoughts were only on the feeling of him. one finger, a second finger, a third--fucking up into you and feeling the squeezing of your soft walls and touching you in every way that made you dizzy and warm and cock-drunk--

"fuck, fuck, fuck--!"

you sobbed against his covered mouth as you came over his hand, a cloud of euphoria and pleasure and the soft thoughts of him that seemed to string together in some wonderful, hazy picture of him. simon was all hard lines, rough edges, the cut of broken glass or the wrong end of a gun, but it never mattered to you.

simon was the beginning and the end, of what, you weren't sure, but he was the beginning of something and definitely the end of it.

his eyes were on yours, dark, beautiful eyes that never lost their gentleness even when they should've been permanently black with his rage. simon was not angry. simon was not bent on revenge or eager to kill or smiling the face of death.

no, simon was in love. simon was so fucking in love.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut

[pathetichimbos]

Thomas cries a lot.

He's always been sensitive, every since he was a kid. The names other kids and hell, even adults called him cut deep every time he heard them.

Idiot.

Monster.

Freak.

Tears pluck at his brown eyes harshly as the majority of the schoolyard torments him, the teachers turning blind eyes to the mistreatment, too busy making their own comments about his mother and family to intervene.

"S-Stop--!" He hiccups, hands desperately covering his face as he shakes against the metal fence, "G-Give it back!"

"Come get it, Freak!" The little boy taunts him, holding the mask Thomas' mother made for him high in the air, the group of children around him erupting in laughter.

"HEY! What the hell's goin' on over here!?" Hoyt hollers as he yanks the bully up by his wrist, the kids mocking laughter interrupted as they scatter, "What the hell's wrong with you, boy!? Did your Daddy raise you to take shit that ain't yours!?"

Hoyt plucks the mask from the kid's hand as he shakes his head, wide eyed and scared at being caught red handed.

"That's what I thought, so why don't you scatter before I give him a call and tell him what the hell you've been doin'."

"Yes, sir!" The kid darts as soon as Hoyt lets him go.

"Little shit." Hoyt mutters, kneeling down to help Thomas put his mask back on, "Now, I done told you, Tommy, you can't cry everytime one of those little bastards says some shit to you. Man up, you're too damn old for all that whinin'..."

Thomas nods, wiping the tears from his red eyes as Hoyt takes him back to the truck.

Man up...

Man up...

That's what Hoyt and Monty always told him, their words not much kinder and cutting even deeper as they picked at him everytime he cried.

Over the years the tears eventually turned to anger, and isolation. Hiding himself away from everyone and everything around him, protecting himself from from harsh world around him.

...And then there was you.

Sweet, excitable, gentle you.

"...Tommy...!" Your voice is tired and sweet, clearly having just woken up when Thomas came in the room.

He watches as you stretch, waking up a bit more as you look up at him, a small smile on your face.

He's tired. It's written on his face, eyes droopy and shoulders slumping, standing over the bed, looking down at you.

"C'mere." You reach for him, hands grasping as you gesture for him to climb in bed.

He does as he's told, climbing under the covers and into your arms, melting into your warmth as he lays on top of you.

"Mmm..." You hum, relaxing as your arms wrap around him, your hands running up and down his back, sending shivers up his spine, "...My Thomas..."

He sighs at your words, melting even further against you as your hands gain rhythm and begin rubbing his aching muscles, working up and down his shoulders and back as he buries his face in your neck.

You lean your head against his, the smell of the shampoo you bought for him filling your nose as you continue rubbing his back, "...I love you..."

The arms around your waist tighten as he presses further into you, completely engulfing you in his presence.

How?

How is it possible for you to love him so incredibly, and so deeply that he doesn't even need to hear those words to know their truth? How could you possibly break down every piece of him, every broken part and hideous truth and still make him feel like the only thing that matters in the world?

You can feel him start to shake. He's been working so hard, for so long. He's exhausted, and worn down. His body is scarred and calloused. His mind is weary and weak.

And every insult, every hit, every bad thing that he's ever gone through was worth it, if it means he can feel this loved for the rest of his life.

You feel his tears before you see them, the quiver in his shoulders, the hiccups in your ear as he tries to hold it back.

"Oh, Tommy..." You mutter, kissing his hair as you rub his back, "It's okay, sweetheart, you can cry, I've got you..."

And for the first time in a long time, he does.

He cries into your shoulder, a shaking and sobbing mess as you patiently hold him through it, running your hands through his hair and rubbing his back as you coax him.

"There we go..." You coo as he pulls back, holding his face in your hands while you kiss his tear stained cheeks, his mask long forgotten before he climbed into bed, "Do you feel better, love?"

He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he relaxes against you again, feeling more relief than he has in years.

"Good..."

...Thomas cries a lot. After years of believing he was never good enough to be loved, of believing his place was being locked away in the basement, forever shielding himself from the world that hated him, he was proven wrong by a single person who loves him more than every good thing put together.

And that thought alone brings tears to his eyes.

#having thoughts #and feeling ways #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #slasher fandom #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin. 

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #fanfiction #ghost #zombie apocolypse au

[shotmrmiller]

singlemom!reader au~

Pathetic!Simon purposefully gets sick. He's seen the way you coddle your baby, and he wants a sliver of that attention.

(i will not go into detail on what he does, but be aware that temperature doesn't make you sick, bacteria and viruses do. good luck.)

Once sick, he covers his face with a black surgical mask and waits around the time you come home to step out, hoping to catch you in the lift.

Bingo.

"Oh my god, forgive me for saying so, but you look like death." He'd huff out a chuckle if he didn't also feel like it.

He can feel his throat itch, a tight pressure in his chest, and a wet cough claws out of his throat. Simon tips his head and moves to go around you but you're swiftly grasping his hand, dragging him back down the hallway.

"Absolutely not, you are not walking around like a living dead while this ill."

He's dizzied off of your touch, the small hand in his larger one slamming his pathetic, little heart against his ribs.

"Even your hand is hot to the touch! You, sir," a jingle of house keys as they're inserted into the lock, "are getting some much-needed rest. The baby is with her grandmother today, so it'll be just us."

He can't be blamed for the way his cock stirs at the thought of being alone with you. This is better than what he'd expected, truthfully speaking. Simon had just wanted your sympathy, maybe even a cup of homemade soup but this?

"Come, shoes off." He toes off his new balances as he watches you take off your coat, hanging both on the rack.

You flick your eyes to him and that look you give him makes his cock twitch. Your brows are furrowed, a worried look reflected in your pretty eyes, the corners of your beautiful lips pulled down.

Pity. His loins are on fire. You pity him, and he loves it.

"Simon, I think we should lie you down." Your fingers grab his own, leading him toward your bedroom.

Everything happens in a blur, maybe he's gone and gotten a little too sick, but it's all worth it when you tuck. him. in.

Unfolding the covers that lay on the foot of the bed, you gently pull it until it sits just under his chin.

"Right, you get some sleep and I'll make you some chicken soup. I've luckily got all the ingredients in the fridge already."

Would it be too much to ask for a kiss on the forehead?

The door softly clicks shut and he unloops the masks from around his ears and breathes in.

Your blanket smells like you— a heady, musky vanilla with an underlying twang of lavender.

His head spins, it's so rich in your scent, his painfully hard cock straining against the zipper of his trousers. His imagination runs wild as he fists it and presses it right under his nose, inhaling noisily.

Do you sleep shirtless under this blanket? Does it have the privilege of feeling your bare, soft skin?

He's always known that he's a bit insane, especially with his borderline criminal behavior, but what he does next, he really hopes you don't blame him for.

Simon pulls down his trousers just a bit and fists his cock from over the blanket— the touch as close as he's ever going to get from you.

He's been aroused since you laid eyes on him on the lift, the almost disappointed face you gave him was almost too much. Simon loves it, any attention is worse than none, but his spine tingles when you, and only you, look at him like he's a pitiful cur.

A stray dog that limps around, scrounging for food around the streets, tugging at the heart strings of others.

Sublime.

He curls into himself as he nears his peak, the material of your blanket sodden with his pre-cum, a souvenir of his time here.

And then your footsteps are outside of your door, your knuckles rapping on it.

"You need anything from me, Simon?"

Oh, love. Give him everything.

He choked out his negative, which you luckily mistook as him having a small coughing fit but in reality, your dulcet voice sent him careening over the edge at neck-break speed— gooey, viscous cum spurting into your blanket.

Simon's teeth audibly grind, keeping back any noises that want to claw out of his sore throat.

Drawing in a big gulp of air, his body loosens, sinking into the mattress as his eyelids begin to feel heavy.

Now, he can sleep.

He sincerely hopes this blanket is your favorite.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #cod #pathetic!simon

[caraphernellie]

cowboy like me // e.w. [chapter one]

summary: a modern day princess living under outdated royal protocol in which your own existence is forbidden. in a typical state visit to strengthen your country's relations with the united states, you find it harder than ever to keep your sexuality secret when you meet the president's daughter, ellie williams, and sparks fly.

wc: 2.1k masterlist

content warnings: fluff, angst, eventual smut. homophobia, governments, monarchy, politics. reader is specified as lesbian with she/her pronouns used for plot purposes i sorry, smoking, making out, femme! reader. u-haul lesbians fr. reader plays piano. ellie is a disaster lesbian lmaooooo. she's also super privileged and a bit of an ass. mostly based off of the british royal family in terms of royal protocol and all that shit, don’t kill me if things are inaccurate i’m not american, this chapter is more an intro to ellie's character and establishing tension

authors note: i'm so excited about this fic... but i might hate it in the morning so we'll see!! i've never read/watched red white and royal blue but it did inspire this fic (do not expect it to be anything like rwrb as i said i don't know what happens in it lmao). ellie's the president's daughter obvs. if your country doesn't have a monarchy just pretend there is one. if you're from the us then L 💀 play pretend

converse sneakers pelting across marble tiled floors with an onslaught of urgency, ellie makes her way through the halls. she stops at a mirror for a second, a muse in her mind– eh, good enough.

smoothing down flyaway hairs, ellie realises spending free time in the courtyard outside may not have been the best idea on a cool spring day such as this. the winter is still lingering, breezes battering the flag of red, white, and blue on the roof of the building as warm temperatures are still fresh. still- she needs as much a distraction as anyone else. as if procrastinating on something like homework, assignments, except the only thing ellie has done is make herself late to the introductory banquet of the royal family. all she knows is the president won’t be happy with her. 

bringing her wrist to her nose, ellie sniffs, though it’s less sniffing and more inhaling, trying to figure out if she has masked the smell of the cigarette she wasted or if she needs more cologne.

ellie’s caught by a housekeeper with her face stuck awkwardly into her suit jacket, furrowed brows as she inspects her own scent. pausing, a strained smile takes its place on chapped lips.

“he–”

“goodness, miss williams, you’re terribly late,” the housekeeper says, quickly approaching. “staff have been searching everywhere for you.”

“right,” ellie mumbles, straightening up her posture. “sorry. i’ll be on my way to the state dining room right now.”

approaching said room, ellie can already hear the fuss– loud and polite conversations, the snapping of photos, subtle classical playing over the speakers. christ, ellie thinks, how do i render myself invisible?

ellie’s worries ease the minute she steps inside, however, as the commotion isn’t around her own family today. it’s the royal family. and that realisation almost sparks up yet another mini freakout in ellie’s mind. she’s been looking forward to this for weeks, of course she has, a hot princess living in her home for an entire month..? that’s something she could get used to. but it’s real now, and just staring at you is sending a chill down ellie’s spine.

flash photography and yelling of the invited press is suffocating ellie as she ventures further into the room. she hasn’t even been noticed yet, thank god, so she decides to humbly busy herself at the table of finger food. until–

“ellie williams?”

a delicate voice smooth and sweet, ellie’s ears prick up to the sound of an accent unique and she knows exactly who this has to be.

fuck.

ellie makes quick effort to swallow the stupid cocktail frank she was eating and turns around, wiping her clammy hands on the ass of her slacks.

a princess standing right in front of her, of course these things only happen to ellie in her most cringeworthy moments. demolishing a table of finger food… what can she say? she’s an anxious snacker.

“ah-” ellie’s eyes meet your own and she gulps, extending a hand. “a pleasure to meet you, princess…”

get your head in the game, ellie. she clears her throat, putting on her famous, confident smile. and as you place your hand in hers, she acts purely without thinking, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. nobody was watching, but ellie drops your hand in an instant- is flirting with a princess the right move? even if it’s humorous?

your brain just about short-circuits, and ellie’s reeling. that was stupid, so stupid. acting on total whim.

the collar of ellie’s shirt feels too tight as she observes the split-second utter shock in your eyes, though she relaxes as you reward her a smile. and it isn’t that typical, media-trained smile, either.

“charming,” you murmur in response, eyes fixed on ellie’s piercing greens. however delighted you might be to be treated in this way by a girl like ellie, the way in which you hide it is effortless.

and charming, of course, is exactly what ellie is. messy, shirt creased and hair tousled and she honestly reeks of expensive cologne and faint smoke – but she has that handsome smile and that confident demeanour that the girls of washington d.c. fall for so easily.

“i hope so,” ellie says with an awkward chuckle, shoving her hands into her pockets. “that’s the aim of the game.”

you laugh similarly, politely, and make it as clear as possible to glance ellie up and down. “i’ll play.”

and the look on ellie’s face is plain silly at the least, her brows furrowed and eyes wide. “wh- uh..”

“say, it’s a little stuffy in here,” you say, gently fanning yourself, “you wouldn’t happen to know of any quiet spaces we could disappear to?”

ellie’s lips form a small o-shape as she processes the question. you want to be alone with her. a smirk crosses ellie’s face and she nods, “absolutely, your highness. my office.”

“would you be so kind as to show me to it?”

“of course, follow me,” ellie nods her head to the direction of the door. “we’ll have to sneak around.”

your heels click against the floor while ellie leads you down the hall, the sound a constant reminder to her that you’re actually walking alongside her. approaching a large door adorned by a gold plate with ellie’s name carved into it, she pulls a key from her pocket. and yet her eyes are on you the whole time.

the door clicks open and ellie holds it for you, only for her face to turn red when met with the sight of her office.

“excuse the mess,” she mutters, closing and locking the door behind the two of you. “i was uh, in here late last night. i had a speech to work on.”

“it’s alright,” you say, “some organised mess makes it homely.”

“right,” ellie nods. she’s beyond sensical thought now, just going along with anything you say. try harder. this is ellie’s issue, she eggs herself on too much, gets too overzealous, does things for the sake of doing them because her life has quite literally no direction if she doesn’t set herself these impossible dares. “just take a seat anywhere if you like. the couch is pretty comfy.”

ellie makes a pointless attempt to tidy some papers on her desk. she doesn’t necessarily do a lot of work here, though she enjoys being an activist, often writing speeches and finding causes to help others. though it did only begin in the first place as a way to increase the votes for her father’s party during the election- that doesn’t mean it isn’t genuine!

it’s just that ellie’s lazy ass needs pressure to do these things.

she gnaws her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, watching as you sit on the two-seater, eyeing the guitars along the wall of the office. “you play?”

“hm? no,” you say, watching ellie take a warm toned acoustic and sit beside you. “i’m a pianist, though.”

“pianist?” ellie chuckles, thumb stroking over each string of the guitar. “you’ll have to play for me sometime.”

you nod, watching intently as ellie begins playing a quiet tune. she can’t help but notice your rigid, straight posture. she can’t tell if you just have great posture, or if you’re uncomfortable.

but, noticing your eyes lingering over her nimble fingers as they pick at the guitar, ellie’s lips curl upwards just slightly.

she knows well when she’s got a girl worked up. she’d never expected the princess to be this easy.

“music is just beautiful,” you say with a small nod, again, that genuine smile small as ever on your lips insecurely. “nothing like it.”

“you think so?” ellie muses, and when you manage to finally stray your eyes from her hands, you meet ellie’s own soft gaze. “because i think… even the most beautiful ballad couldn’t compare to the solid view i got right now.”

you scoff, turning quiet as heat fills your cheeks. your brows furrow as you tilt your head a nod to the side, studying ellie’s features, searching for any hint of dishonesty. and it’s like she can tell that, with your gaze silently begging her to not be messing with you- she turns her expression more serious.

“you’re something else, williams,” you retort, though adjusting yourself a little closer. knees touch, and you don’t flinch away.

“yeah?” ellie grins. the room goes silent, ellie no longer continuing to play her tune. the guitar on her lap, she rests her chin over it. “something good, or something bad?”

there’s a more subtle smirk on her face now. she begins to move, setting the guitar down and leaning it against the couch as she shifts even closer.

“mmm…” you think for a moment, a smaller expression of interest visible across your features. “something that my head tells me is not a good idea, but my heart says is just fine.”

how the fuck did i get here, ellie wonders? she’s running on pure luck at this point. stumbled in late and somehow she’s got a princess way in over her head.

and ellie doesn’t leave you waiting a moment longer– the second you lean closer she’s grabbing your head and meeting your lips in a fervent kiss, one you gasp into and immediately lean into, hands falling into place with one on her chest and the other on the back of her neck.

pulling away breathlessly, ellie chuckles a bit and shrugs her shoulders, “eh- oops?” she looks almost embarrassed by her own reckless act. “sorry.”

there’s too much going on for you– just too much in your head. your first kiss, the first other lesbian you’ve ever met. her words get you weak in the knees, yet she gets just as flustered by her own actions which seem to only ever work on impulse. so you start laughing, and you can’t stop.

ellie herself laughs a little, watching you giggle at her pink face as you lean into the back of the couch and hold up a cushion to hide your face. it’s all snorting and snickering and ellie’s face is getting redder.

she snatches the cushion out of your hands and raises a brow at you, “if you keep being that cute i’m gonna–”

“sorry,” you laugh, “sorry-”

ellie can’t help but notice how much it seems like you really needed this laughing fit, the way it’s instantly relaxed you…

“that’s it,” she mutters with a chuckle, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. “c’mere.”

the yelp of surprise that ellie’s movement elicits has her beaming, holding you on her lap. she rests a hand on the back of your head, the other cupping your ass. it’s indecent, indelicate to touch a princess like that, and yet you’re not stopping her. ellie’s already found herself addicted.

because this time ellie lets herself just go, pressing her lips to yours. she swipes her tongue over your bottom lip, grunting as you gasp. with your lips parted she slips her tongue into the kiss. she isn’t just kissing you, she’s devouring. she’s making sure not to leave an inch of your mouth unexplored, nor will she allow it for your body, getting rather handsy. every pretty little sound you breathe motivates her to continue, pulling you back in every time you pull back for air.

a hand slides under your dress, gripping your thigh, the other squeezes your breast before gliding to the curve of your ass, and she slumps into the couch. her boxers are growing uncomfortably wet and she needs to do something about it, hold you down on her desk and–

a key turns in the door and her eyes snap open, as do yours. not a single word is said but the panicked look you share tells all as you move back onto the couch beside ellie, smoothing down your dress. she grabs her forgotten guitar and moves it onto her lap.

and in mere seconds, the door opens to reveal a housekeeper who had used the master key to get in. and she’s clueless, though a little discomforted by the taut smiles you and ellie offer.

“sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” she offers awkwardly. “nobody has seen either of you in a long time, it was requested by president williams that we search the place.”

“ah,” ellie muses, clearing her throat before her voice can come out as weak as it feels. “i understand. we’re alright, yes, sorry, um… we needed a quiet place.”

sitting there with that prim and proper posture once again, your leg crossed over the other, you stare at ellie, resisting the urge to reach over right now and fix her hair after having ran your hands through it with desperation.

this is going to be an interesting state visit.

tag list (msg me or find my tag list in my pinned post if u want to be tagged!!): @dinasvampgf

🙈🙈 omg this fic..

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #fem reader #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fanfic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x you #ellie x yn #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x yn #ellie fanfic

[bandgie]

Hate You So

prince!bangchan x fem!reader

MDNI 18+, fantasy au, enemies-to-lovers (kinda), oral (f!), cum swapping, brief overstim (f!), biting, brief thigh humping

ask here! notes: I am not taking requests, however, I am interested in this one with my own version ofc

3.2k words

There is never a dull moment with Prince Chan. His words are belittling, his eyes are full of scorn when he looks at you in all his ruthless beauty. Sometimes you wish you could ignore his piercing gaze, but he bores his eyes into the back of your head so harshly you feel it burning.

Even without his hatred, it would be hard to turn away from him. With full lips, plump cheeks, and strong nose, it really is hard to think of him as anything below attractive. Still, you know better than to approach him unless you wish to cry yourself to sleep that night.

A masked ball is the perfect opportunity for you to slip away. Pretend to be someone you're not, or perhaps it's to show your true self behind a false face. Not that it matters. A night like this allows you to put the puzzling hatred the prince has for you far behind your mind.

Drink after drink, spin after spin and you find yourself in the arms of the Viscount Felix. You can tell it's him from the way he adorns himself in jewelry, his hair the color of the sun itself. His deep blue robe stitched with silver treading in layers. It must be difficult to dance in heavy clothes, but he twirls you in his arms easily.

"Ah, isn't it the beautiful Duchess," he regards you with a sly smirk. His eyes peek out from his silver mask underneath.

You narrow your eyes, though you doubt he can see much of your facial expressions from your black mask. "How did you know?" To this, Felix's smirk widens to a smile. "Even behind such a clever guise, your charm seeps through the fabric."

You mock the sound of laughter. "Is this a trick of flattery to get my hand in marriage? To help you rise higher than a Viscount?"

Felix's eyes gleam with mischief. "You think too highly of yourself, dear Duchess. I simply wish to lay in your bed."

Now you laugh. Your voice is swallowed from the sounds of heels clicking on the ground and loud chatter. The two of you dance steadily despite the liquor running in your veins. Felix is careful not to spin you too fast or dip you too low. He may speak vulgar, but he is every bit gentleman in every other way.

"I think I'd like that very much, if I'm to be truthful," you say once you're swaying evenly in his hold. "I can't recall the last time I've been properly loved." Felix makes a sound of understanding, eyes darting to the people around you.

It's improper of you to speak in such a way. You are of high status, and talking like this not only in public, but to someone of lower ranking is foolish. Still, it's this potty mouth that gives you and Felix such a close bond. The fact that you can speak freely without judgment.

Chris does not share your sentiment.

He can hear your crass words from where he dances with his own partner. It sickens him to know that you openly express lustful desires, but it disturbs him even more that he finds himself jealous.

His partner is speaking, but he doesn't pay attention to any words she says. He strains his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation with you and the brightly hair-colored Viscount.

"Is that so?" Chris hears the deep voice of the man dancing with you. "Sounds like that is quite the problem. Has no one caught your eye? Do you think no one is worthy of seeing your wholeness?"

You react as if you tire of your dancing partner, rolling your eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. The person I have my eye on would rather see me burn, that's all." The smile on your lips falter. Despite his better self, Chris wonders who would turn down such an opportunity to spend a night with you. What a foolish man.

"And pry tell, who is this person?" Felix speaks as though he read Chris's mind.

"The Prince."

Ah, that makes sense. Chris can't count the amount of times he's upset you, the times he's spewed swears cruel enough to make your eyes water. He brushed it off as you being too sensitive, too emotional. But he knows deep down, it's so he doesn't get close to you.

Felix's eyes widen and his jaw drops. He looks at you with alarm, and some fear, then he hisses under his breath. "I am not one to tell you what to do and how to speak, but I highly suggest you refrain from speaking ill about the royal blood in their own castle."

He has a point, it's treason to speak how you are now. But the alcohol makes not only your thoughts, but your words careless. "So then tell me, what do you suggest? I tire of my lonely state. I think I'm up for any suggestions you have."

Before Felix answers, his eyes dance around the room one last time to spot any itching ears. Chris, despite being a prince, turns his head to finally acknowledge his partner and try to pick up on the conversation. Once Felix determines there are no listeners, he says, "Perhaps you should lure the prince into your sheets. You say you want love, but I argue hate is a much more fun way to spend the night."

A wicked smile finds its way to Felix's lips that you can't help but match. "Now look who's speaking ill" you say. "Plus, that's a terrible idea. I will regret it in the morning."

To this, Felix shrugs. "Then let him make sweet hate to you past sunrise."

☘︎☘︎☘︎☘︎

Chris should know his luck is thin. Only the universe would have him push you away so much so only for you to want him with the same intensity. It mocks him even now as you stand outside of his chambers when he wanted to get away from you as far as possible.

"Did you follow me here?" He questions you with authority. You swoop into a deep curtsy and bow your head, "Yes, your majesty."

You don't have to look up to know he's sneering at you, lips pulled back into a snarl. Felix, along with the bitter alcohol, gave you too much confidence. Sure you may not be of low status, but standing before a prince unnerves you.

Especially when you followed him with intentions.

"If you want me to ask why, you will be disappointed. Leave me." Chris looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to take those steps back. You never do, however, but instead pick your head up and stride deeper into his room, shutting the door.

His eyebrows furrow and a blush crawls its way up his neck. Chris tries to mask his surprise with anger. "Stupid wrench. Can you not listen to simple instructions?" His eyes that are filled with anger slowly dissipates when he sees you reel back at his words.

You fiddle with your hands nervously and you suddenly feel as though you cannot do this at all. How are you, a duchess, supposed to ensnare a prince who hates you so? Doubt clogs your mind, but you are already here. It would be far too shameful to turn away without even trying.

"Why do you hate me so?" That's not what you were supposed to say. You were supposed to sound flirtatious, experienced. Instead, you're meek and quiet. For a moment you doubt the prince even heard you, but the disheartened look in his eyes says otherwise.

He sighs, running his jeweled fingers in his brown hair. A prince is to never be vulnerable, to show weakness in fear of exploitation. In the presence of your teary eyes, however, none of that seems to matter.

Chris takes a deep breath, "I hate you for many things."

Your jaw drops. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. A foolish part of you thought maybe it was a misunderstanding, but there's no time to reply when the prince carries on.

"I hate that I think about you every hour of everyday. I hate that you live freely while I have to act accordingly." He takes a step to you. "I hate how you look at me with those hidden eyes. I hate it even more that I know it's you underneath that plain mask." Chris is close enough to reach for your face and he does just that. Gentle fingers undo the knot that keeps your mask on and he lets it fall to the ground.

"I hate that I know your voice, that I ache to hear it. I hate that I know in which way you walk, should you be in my castle." His fingertips ghost over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I hate that I dream of you and I hate when I wake from those dreams."

Chris traces the outline of your lips, watching how your tongue darts out to taste his fingers. He shudders.

"Worst of all," he leans close to your face, a kiss away from you. "I hate that it's only for one night that I will be yours."

You don't kiss him back at first. You can't even register his plush lips on yours. How they move steadily, sickly sweet. The prince tastes faintly of alcohol, but not enough to overpower his kiss. You come back to when his hands find your waist, pressing you closer to his warm body.

A part of you thinks maybe this is a test. That when you begin moving your mouth with his, he'd pull away and laugh. Chris doesn't do that though and instead groans against your lips when you finally reciprocate.

Shaky hands find their way to his styled hair, tugging on his curls to bring him closer. It doesn't take long before you're both chest to chest, one of his legs between yours as you stand, and breathing into each other's mouths. His kiss is bruising, filled with the overwhelming desire he claims to hate.

Chris nips on your lower lip, pulling it back harshly to hear you whimper. Then he kisses you again, messily sliding his tongue against yours. His lips travel down your cheek, your jawline, to your neck. You shiver at his warm tongue tasting your skin, hips rocking on his thigh.

The grip on your waist only tightens to keep pressure on you grinding on him. You feel him smile against your throat. "Humping me like a little bunny, aren't you?" He lifts his head to whisper in your ear, biting your earlobe. "Is my leg enough to satiate your lust?"

You shake your head, "N-no. It's not, my prince." Chris rewards your honesty by moving his hands from your waist. He lifts the many layers of your dress in bunches, holding them above your hips. You take the hint and grasp them in your own fingers, watching him descend lower...

...and lower... ...and lower...

The prince kneels before you, facing your core. You gasp, and despite dreaming about this with your hand underneath your nightgown, it's still an unbelievable sight. No royal blood is to kneel before another, let alone you of lower ranking.

"Prince Christopher!" You sound slightly panicked. "You mustn't! To kneel before...not even that! You must have drunken one too many glasses. I shouldn't have-"

You cut yourself off with a yelp. You feel Chris's teeth dig into the soft flesh of your thighs. He does it hard enough to see his teeth imprints when he pulls back. "You think of me drunk," he says it with accusation. "But how could I be drunk off wine when I could be drunk off this instead?"

Though you can't see him from the frills of the many layers of your dress, it helps ease your nerves when he hooks his finger under your panties. Your hips jolt when the cold air hits your bare cunt, but his warm breath quickly replaces it.

Chris trails kisses just next to your core, his hands planted on each thigh. His fingers makes shapeless figures, dancing closer to where you throb just before pulling away. It's bearable it first, his teasing. But then you start to feel yourself dripping, arousal seeping from your folds. His lips ghost over your clit, moving to the next thigh.

You tremble, trying to move your hips so his mouth catches your pussy. You're met with a chuckle, deep and quiet. It makes you more impatient, whining. "My prince please. I cannot bear it."

The prince pulls away from you completely, leaning back to look up at you. He looks silly beneath where you stand. His mouth red and curls messy from your earlier tugging, but his wet lips are frowning. "Are you, a duchess, telling me, a prince, what to do?"

Shit, you got too comfortable. "Of course not," your voice wavers. From fear or lust, you're not sure. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just-"

"You're quite the nervous talker, aren't you?" Chris's once pouting lips turn into a smirk. His observation makes you blush, though you're sure your face was already a deep shade of red since the beginning.

He smiles at your reaction, teeth gleaming in the candlelit room. "No need to fret, pretty duchess. I told you that tonight I am yours. If my mouth on you is what you desire, then so be it."

You watch as Chris dives forward to the empty space between your legs. His tongue darts out to taste you directly, going under your lower lips to collect your arousal. The warmth from his mouth makes you squeal, but his hands move to the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

It's hot, wet, and a little rough when he licks you. He trails his tongue upwards to rub soft circles on your nub before dipping back down. Chris moves his hands higher until they're under your hiked dress, gripping your arse. His fingers kneed into your soft flesh, forcing you deeper into his mouth.

There's a guttural moan that leaves him, sending waves through your cunt. Chris opts to suck on your flesh, pulling it only to let it go with a wet 'pop!' The sensation makes you shiver, legs buckling for a second before you regain your composure.

"This is..." the prince trails off. He buries his nose on your clit, sticking his tongue out to prod at your entrance. There's no doubt that the evidence of your shame is dripping from his chin, but he acts as though he doesn't mind. He hardly cares how your legs squeeze and how the hair on your pelvis tickles his face when he painfully pushes his face deeper into you.

This is divine.

You want nothing more than to grind on his face, hump on his tongue like the bunny he said you are. But your legs shake so much, your knees lock so often you see your vision go black for seconds. Finishing on the prince's face is something you could have only dreamt of. Yet here he is, seeming to eagerly coax a release from you. Surely he must be flushed himself, straining painfully in his trousers.

"P-Prince Christopher I- oh~ I'm so close. Do you want me to...should I..."

It's difficult to finish your sentence when you're so close to finishing in his warm mouth. You want to taste him how he's doing to you, you want to feel how his length would stretch you out. He must feel the same way, he has to.

But he only shakes his head with your pussy still in his mouth. "You should cum," he says breathlessly. "Let me taste this, drink you in. I've never had a cunt as pretty as yours."

Hot kisses rapidly peck on your clit. The prince spits messily on your already wet core, but he quickly spreads it all over your lips. Chris moves you up and down by your ass, encouraging you to ride his face. The idea of hesitating and passing the opportunity is behind you. You feel as though you might crush his head with the force of your legs, but he takes it all.

It makes sense why you're moaning, writhing under the tongue of the prince. But it makes you wonder why he's so loud himself. Groaning at your taste and whining when your hips shy away from his relentless mouth. You can hear him mumble mostly to himself. Mindlessly babbling soft words of praises.

"So good." "Pretty pussy." "Fuck. Ride my tongue, just like that."

Maybe he's trying to help get you to your high, but it makes you distantly wonder, nonetheless.

You whimper at the feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. It bundles and quivers until you drop the hem of your dress to reach down and grip Chris by the hair. He ignores how the layers surround him like blankets. You feel him gasp against your pussy when you slide your cunt up and down his face.

"S-sorry," you apologize pathetically. "Close. Wanna cum- fuck! wanna cum. Please forgive me." You mewl more apologies before vibrating with pleasure. Chris can't protest as you finish on his tongue, and he seems to rather like it with the way his blunt fingernails stab into the skin of your bottom.

You keep him there on your cunt as your body trembles with aftershocks from your orgasm. The prince obediently licks you throughout it all, collection your cream before loudly gulping it down. Your shaky hands finally release him from your grip, but Chris is persistent on giving your quivering clit final kisses.

Even if you try to move your hips from his mouth, he keeps you in place. "Your majesty," you struggle to find your voice from how much you were moaning. "Please. It's so sensitive."

He licks a fat stripe along your pussy to hear you cry out one final time. "You ask for me to taste you. You practically beg for me to let you finish on my tongue and when I do, you tell me to stop. Tell me, duchess, what is it that you want from me exactly?"

It's a simple question that has a simple answer, yet, saying it would bring complicated issues you know neither of you are able to face.

You. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you settle for saying, "T-to please you, if you'll have me." It's close enough to what you actually want.

Chris finally brings himself to his feet, reaching for your fallen mask on his way up. He hands you the fabric, but you're so distracted with his face that you gasp.

He's soaked in your juices, his face glistens in the rising moonlight coming from his window. It's almost offensive to look at, reminding you of how you lost yourself so easily.

The prince only smiles at your words, your shocked expression. "Don't worry about my pleasure, pretty duchess." He leans in to kiss you, eyes fluttering closed upon impact. You can taste yourself on him, the bitter flavor settling on your tongue and invading your senses. It brings a new wave of desire, of an aching want.

"There," he gives you a dazzling smile when he pulls away. A string of saliva mixed with your arousal connect your lips. "Have a taste of yourself instead."

#smut #skz smut #skz #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #skz chris smut #skz chris #skz channie #skz chan smut #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan fanfic #skz felix #stray kids bang chan

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ epilogue

note: im kinda sad to say, but this will be the final part of this series! im so so grateful for all the love and support for it, this was honestly so fun to write! i hope everyone enjoys and have a wonderful day/night!!!!<3<3<3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n

reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: your night in date with simon :)

warnings: domesticity, so much fluff, soap and gaz are wingmen again, tiny bit of light angst

ao3

【prev】

of all the things in this world that could be considered intimidating, flowers were the last thing simon would put on that list; but the brightly coloured flora seemed to have a paralysing effect on him as he stands in the tiny flower shop.

with a quiet, defeated groan to himself, he dials johnny's number and presses his phone to his ear.

"what flowers am i supposed to buy?" he blurts no sooner than soap picks up, not even bothering to greet him in his haste.

"hello to you too?" johnny mumbles, his confusion evident. a moment passes before he registers what simon asked, "oh! wait," he laughs, his voice getting further away as he lowers his phone to call out, "gaz, get out here! lt.'s buyin' sting flowers!"

simon considers hanging up then and there, but he's severely out of his depth and unfortunately, soap and gaz are his only hope.

"oh i see, he needs an expert opinion, does he?" kyle's teasing gets louder as he approaches soap, and he can hear the smile in both the sergeants' voices.

really, simon should've known they wouldn't let him off easy.

"christ alive…" he keeps his voice as low as possible, pinching the bridge of his nose in the corner of the small shop. "just help me, you pillock." the cashier has been staring at him since he walked in, and honestly, he doesn't blame them; a giant man in a mask isn't exactly the regular clientele for a florist.

"uh, probably their favourite?" soap suggests, the sound of gaz's muffled chuckling just about audible in the background.

"they don't have 'em." simon replies, his eyes darting over the vibrant display one last time in the hopes that the answer would somehow appear.

"nah, you want roses, mate." gaz interjects, and he hears soap make an agreeing noise.

simon hums. "aren't they too… cliché?" he asks, stepping over to the large display of rose bouquets. it's the classic choice, he's aware of that much, but whether or not you'd prefer something more unique was weighing on his mind. this was something he never expected to have to worry about.

"no! they're romantic," gaz insists, his amusement still very evident in his voice, "trust me mate, sting'll love them."

simon contemplates his point for a moment, staring at the deep red petals and trying to imagine the look on your face if he gave them to you. you'd been happy with a handful of squashed flowers he'd stolen from the flowerbeds on base, so he doubted you'd turn your nose up at them. it doesn't take him long to make a decision.

"alright, cheers." he mutters, grabbing a lively looking bouquet of a dozen from the display and making his way over to the cashier – who was quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been staring.

"you'll need to give us a debrief–" soap begins, but he's cut off by simon hanging up and shoving his phone back in his pocket. he gets the feeling he won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.

✹✹✹

it's only when he's standing outside the door to your room that the nerves finally start to set in. he can't help but feel like an idiot, fidgeting on the spot about to knock on your door like a lovestruck teenager, almost crushing the stems of the roses with his iron grip.

he knocks twice, before he has the chance to change his mind and back out. not even a second later, you're pulling the door open and regarding him with that warm look that has his palms sweating.

you're wearing casual clothes, and so is he, as per the agreement you made to keep this 'date' simple. it doesn't matter what you're wearing though; he's seen you covered head to toe in blood, sweat, mud, and whatever else, and you still manage to be utterly breathtaking in every way.

with a nervous cough, simon holds out the rose bouquet to you, hoping you don't notice the way his hands are shaking.

"wha…" you blink in surprise at the flowers, taking them from him and admiring them with a tiny smile. "you bought these, right? didn't just rip 'em out of someone's garden?" you raise a teasing eyebrow at him, your smile turning more playful.

"yes, i bought them." he grumbles lightheartedly, a smile of his own forming under his balaclava. the way you effortlessly diffuse the tension has his anxieties melting away.

"thank you." you breathe, softly caressing the vermillion petals. "they're lovely, i love them."

simon let's out a quiet sigh of relief at your affirmation. "good; cost me a tenner, they did."

the laugh you let out is like music to his ears. "well, i'm sorry to bankrupt you." you grin, turning back into your room and carefully putting the bouquet in the vase on the mantle. after making sure the arrangement looks nice, you come to stand in front of him again.

simon's not sure how to continue, the nerves from earlier resurfacing as the conversation fades. the way you're watching him expectantly, he feels the urge to take you by the hand – and as if you read his his mind, you hold it out for him. he places his hand in yours, squeezing gently and leading you the short distance to the kitchen.

he'd set the table earlier, having found an only slightly discoloured tablecloth buried in the back of the cupboards. it's a little sad, but it was the best he could come up with.

"wow," you tease, the same playful smile as before on your lips as you meet his eyes, "so fancy."

he snorts, ushering you over to your chair and pulling out for you. "only the best for your majesty." he preens at your happiness when you laugh again, glad for the mask covering what he's sure is an obvious blush.

he occupies himself by grabbing the two plates he'd finished preparing a minute ago, just before he'd met you at your door.

"i made spag bol." simon mutters as he sets them down on the table. he keeps an eye on your expression as he takes his seat opposite you, anticipation of whatever response you may have.

"fine by me," you say, an easy smile lifting your features. "it's almost the perfect candlelit dinner, all we're missing is the candle."

simon blinks. "you don't like candles." he replies, a hint of confusion in his gaze when he meets your eye.

"no," you smile fondly, looking down at your plate. "i don't."

a comfortable silence falls over the room as you both start to eat. the warmth and normality of it all makes simon’s heart swell with affection. he's happy, content, being here with you, even doing something as monotonous as eating dinner. you make it worth enjoying.

"how is it?" he asks once you've both finished, once again waiting apprehensively for your reaction.

"it's great," you give him a lopsided smile, resting your chin on your hand as you look at him. "thanks for cooking."

simon quirks an eyebrow at you. "you don't have to lie." he mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn under your intense gaze.

"okay, well, don't quit your day job." you chuckle, standing up and making your way over to the sink with your plate in your hands.

he huffs a small laugh, and joins you at the sink with his own plate. "you're crushin' my dreams here."

"sorry, chef." you grin and gesture to the washing up in the sink. "you wash, i'll dry?"

"if your majesty insists."

you turn on the radio for some quiet background noise, and the two of you start cleaning up in tandem. it's nice, how you can work together so seamlessly with no need for words. he's struck again by the thought that if he were alone this would be a chore, but with you beside him, he finds such a tedious job surprisingly pleasant.

simon hands the last dish to you, and as you take it your fingers brush against his hand. the way he flinches away from your touch is unconscious, and when he looks over to you he expects you to pity him, or be offended by his action – but your face holds neither of those things.

you're just drying the dish he handed you, the same content expression on your face that had been there all night, as if you didn't even notice.

"sorry." he mumbles, his gaze falling from your face to your hands as you work.

simon loves you. he shouldn't be afraid of your touch. he wants to touch you, and for you to touch him. he doesn't know why he reacted like that.

"don't be." you utter, soft and compassionate, and his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. for the third time that night, he's hit full force with how wonderful you are.

there's no judgement, no probing questions, nothing. you understood him, even though you had no idea why he acts this way.

you turn away, your back to him as you store the dishes in the cabinets. you hadn't been looking at him before, but now he was sure you couldn't see him, he feels his throat constrict with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

simon takes your free hand and you pause, still facing away as you wait for his next move.

he takes a small step closer, minimising the space between you, and rests his forehead against the back of your head. with his eyes screwed shut, he takes a deep breath and inhales the familiar scent of you. his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

you lean back into him, a quiet sigh escaping you as you squeeze his hand in return. neither of you say a word, but you don't have to. he feels how you love him in the way you never expect more from him than he can give.

it's the most peace he's felt in years.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness ,

@madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @batmanunicorns523 , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

[empresskylo]

Any ideas for ghost headcanons part two? 🥹😊 I love your personification of him!! Your writing is great!

(I also loved that konig brings you a tea or drink everytime he makes one for himself I like cried reading that)

more ghost headcanons!!! some headcanons mention reader being afab. some are nsfw. [previous ghost headcanons] (also thank you sm anon!!!)

♡ he's clingy af. but like, not in a needy way, more in a 'he just wants to be around you' way. he just likes to be in your presence. sometimes you think you might be boring him because you're just sitting there reading while he watches you, but he could leave at any time. he's choosing to just sit there in silence with you because he cant help but be around you.

♡ he kind of just hovers around you. he won't even realize he's doing it half the time. you'll get up to leave the room and he'll follow suit. "simon?" "hmm?" "why are you following me? I'm just going to the bathroom." "oh... I--I don't know."

♡ you stood up, stretching your arms above your head in a yawn. "i think i'm gonna go shower," you mumbled. simon got up from his seat, following you to the bathroom. "yeah, guess I could use a wash." you turned to him and raised a brow. was he inviting himself to partake in your shower? you stood a bit dumbfounded in the bathroom as simon began to strip his clothes immediately. in just his boxers he halted. "What?" he asked realizing you were simply staring at him. "you're joining my shower?" you asked. you weren't sure why, but simon's instinctual reaction assuming he was doing whatever you were doing surprised you. "don't worry, love. i'm not comin' on to you." he paused. "unless you want me to." you swatted his arm making him chuckle. he reached down and began to help you take off your shirt.

♡ he's a good cook. he's always enjoyed cooking though he doesn't get the chance to do it often. he got soooo nervous the first time he cooked anything for you. it's just something he finds really personal, so sharing it with another person made him feel a bit vulnerable. but of course, you loved whatever he made.

♡ his hair is always a mess. not only because of his mask messing his hair up, but because he's so used to having it on, he doesn't know what to do with his hair when it's not hidden by his mask. he doesn't like when it gets too long, but he also can't be bothered to cut it all the time so it frequently gets kinda shaggy.

♡ the same goes for his scruff. he gets kinda lazy about his physical appearance and so he doesn't shave that often. he doesn't usually like when he grows a full-on beard (it gets itchy under his mask) but he almost always has stubble. his hair grows so fast and thick too. like even if he shaved in the morning, by that night, his face is scratchy with stubble again.

♡ he definitely has body hair too btw (; he's got a slightly hairy chest. a nice lil happy trail. there's no way he'd every shave his chest either. he already struggles finding time to shave his face. he's just a very manly man. lots of hair....

♡ idk this is so random but he bites his nails. he does it a lot at night when he's laying in bed, just thinking. his mind tends to keep him up at night, thinking about all the shit he doesn't want to think about. it's a bad habit but it's the last thing he's worried about.

♡ speaking of bad habits, i think he's probably a smoker. not a heavy smoker, which would fuck with his lungs thus fucking with his stamina. but he likes the occasional cig. he more so smokes when he's extra stressed out. you'll often find him smoking outside the night before a big mission, his mask pushed up to his nose as he takes a hit. he smokes a lot with price too, who usually has a cigar.

♡ he is very handsy. maybe it has something to do with his trauma—he feels like you’ll disappear if he lets you go—but he always likes to have physical contact with you. he’ll walk past you and let his hand brush across your back. he likes to pull you into his side, his arm wrapped around your waist. he will aimlessly rub circles on your thigh when you sit next to him. he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it but he’ll slowly pull you closer until you’re on his lap. he wraps both arms around you when you sleep in his bed—you both always wake up tangled in the morning. likes to kiss your forehead, the top of your head, your cheeks, your hand, your fingers, just everywhere on you, whenever he can. But he doesn’t love pda. so that means he won’t kiss all over you when someone else is around, but his wandering hands still somehow find their way to you, holding yours or resting on the small of your back.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖

♡ likes to make you beg for it.

♡ he likes seeing you on your knees, absolutely a mess, pleading, begging for him to touch you. he enjoys making you work for it. he’ll let you suffer, bringing you to the edge just to stop and demand you tell him what he wants to hear.

♡ but that’s not to say he doesn’t like when you take revenge on him. you enjoy riling him up, making him shift his pants while you two are in public because you’ve been teasing the fuck out of him. and when you’re finally behind closed doors, you don’t let him touch you. you don’t let him anywhere near you until he falls to his knees and begs you for it. begs you to let him touch you. begs you to kiss him. begs for your permission to touch himself. begs you to let him take off your clothes. and only then, do you let him devour you, only giving you pleasure. no, he can’t come until you allow it. and honestly, simon never thought this would be his style, he definitely always preferred to be the dominant one. but something about you making him a helplessly devoted fool makes him revel in the way you can get him to succumb to you.

♡ likes to fuck you from behind (-: he loves getting a good grip on your hair, yanking you back into him as his other hand leaves bruises on your hips. and fuck if he doesn’t leave bruises all over you. your hips, chest, arms, legs, neck, just everywhere. and sometimes he feels bad after, thinking he was a bit too rough with you, but he always gets a weird swell of butterflies whenever someone else sees your bruises (knowing exactly how you got them) and seeing you get all flustered.

♡ and speaking of feeling bad about being too rough, he definitely gets dom drop (aka emotional exhaustion/feeling of guilt or depression after dominant sex). this makes him very clingy and cuddly after, always double-checking to make sure he didn't go too hard on you.

♡ he is also really good at aftercare. he will immediately clean you up, carry you to the shower, or bring out a warm washcloth. he helps you change into comfy clothes, brushes your hair, then pulls you into him so he can wrap his body around you and hold you as you both lay in bed.

♡ as much as he likes receiving, he fucking loves giving. he loves to go down on you. he fucking loves knowing he's the one making you come apart like that. loves knowing you're moaning his name because of what he's doing. goes crazy when you drag your fingers through his hair, tugging on him when he starts to suck on your clit. he often hums against you in pleasure, getting off solely from the fact that you're getting off just from his tongue.

♡ very possessive. and he often exhibits this during sex. he gets off on the fact that you're his.

♡ "say you're mine," he demands as he thrusts in and out of you. your mind is so lost in a haze you barely hear what he says. simon stops, making you whine before he speaks low and slow. "say. you're. mine." you shift under his weight, moving your hips around, making him growl. "i'm yours, simon. only yours," you pant. a sly grin forms on simon's face before he starts pounding into you relentlessly.

♡ my guy's got a bit of a breeding kink. (i don't think he necessarily wants kids. maybe in another life. but in this one, he's so committed to his job that he'd never be able to raise a kid. he'd feel especially guilty if anything ever happened to him, cutting his time with his kid short) that being said, he loves the idea of breeding you. he likes to come inside you till you overflow. likes the idea of him knocking you up.

♡ "gonna fill you up, yeah? i won't stop till you're fuckin' overflowing, love. you gonna be a good girl and take it all for me?"

♡ he's very talkative during sex. always mumbling something vulgar or demanding things from you. that, or he's muttering little praises.

♡ "you like that, baby?" "fuck, you're so tight." "god, i love it when you do that." "this feel good, yeah?" "you can cry all you want, i'm not stopping till you come again." "you're taking me so well." "tell me how much you want it." "say my name, baby." "fuck, you're squeezing me so god damn tight." "want me to make you come again?" "want me to stop, hm? no? then let me hear you beg for it." "don't keep those noises from me" "look at me." "don't you dare look away now."

#ghost #simon riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2

[jellazticious]

bing bong bootleg SS au

very long ramble under the C

stuff are subjected to change

The working title isn't solidified but I'm leaning on either Candy Castle or Pastry Castle

Tho I think I'm gonna go for pastry cuz it has the same amount of letters as castle much like pizza and tower have the same number too

The tower is a gingerbread castle. According to a friend of mine (It's Beefy, it's always Beefy go follow him) that Hispanics love their bakeries and yeah, I guess that makes sense. Not only do I have a theme based on the protag's culture but also the theme gets narrowed down to just baked sweets. Candy in general is too broad, I would die figuring out how to put every kind of sweet in it, and if I did it's gonna be really cluttered hooboy

Noise is called Theo because that's Peppino's name formula. Peppino is a nickname for Giuseppe so I thought I'd give Noise's swap a nickname to Theodore as the main name

Hazel Nutt is pretty self explanatory cuz Noisette means hazelnut in French

Their outfits are pretty simple to mirror Peppino and Gustavo's with just coloured shirts and aprons

Hazel doesn't get a mount because she would have Theo's prototype rocket skates. Just like Gus, she would have different stages of getting used to the skates per floor. First she gets blasted from end to end cuz she can't control the thrust. Second, she manages to turn it off but she's trying to keep balance on it. Third, she catches her breath now that she could stand still without moving or slipping. Next she would make a card castle, in reference to the very castle they're inside. and lastly she'd be holding a box of sweets without giving a shit about the scary floor.

To parallel the og Noisette, Hazel would smile bigger when Theo faces her direction.

Hazel is also Theo's delivery gal to match and switch with how Peppino WAS Gustavo's delivery guy

The "kick the rat" function would be Hazel swinging one of the skates and the cops grabbing Brick would instead hold a weapon detector that also functions as a magnet

Unlike Peppino, Theo is more aggressive than anxious. Imagine an injured cat defending itself from what it thinks is a threat

the name of Pizzaface's swap is Pieface for obvious reasons 😭

but HEAR ME OUT

both pizzaface and pieface are used as insults. pizza face is used for people with so much acne and pie face is used for someone with a flat face or dull expression. It isn't just a pun on what food the characters are made of. Pieface is also a reference to the trope where people headshot other people with pies. With the mech floating towards the protag, it would look like a pie is being thrown and targeted at Theo

Honestly drawing what food makes his face is so fun. Did you know that before the croissant smile it was supposed to be syrup shaped to a smile? The nose was a long whip of cream before turning into a cut strawberry for the mustache effect

Pizzahead's candy version would be called Gingerhead because of how ridiculous it sounds.

Gingerhead is based on Willy Wonka much like how Pizzahead is based on Ronald McDonald which is why he has more of a showman look than a clown look

okay side note, it just occured to me how ironic PH being based on Ronald is considering McDo's isn't a pizza place

actually Wonka doesn't even sell cakes and shit so, I guess it's fair game

Theo has the nickname Muffinman to reference the rhyme. but this time, it's the gingerbreadman chasing the baker

Next up is Mr S, who would be Peppino but he becomes rich. Mr S is the stage name he uses. He is a known celebrity much as Noise is but he is more of a boxer than a host. Like Dwayne Johnson or something. His name is partially a reference to ResEvil's Mr X, another absolute unit of a guy

also the reason why he doesn't wear a shirt. He's committing to the bit. If he needs to cover himself when he isn't playing a role, then there's his robe. He doesn't take out his mask most of the time tho

Mr S's mask is based on the Chef Raider design but also part of the scrapped superhero design much like Pizzano. Actually speaking of Pizzano, S is characterized so similarly to him cuz Pizzano is the only SS character who was actually written well to my standards. To be fair we've seen too much of Peppino to flunk characterizing him sksksk

Since this is Peppino that Mr S is based on, he's not as tech savvy or as self centered as Noise so he doesn't have robots that look like himself. Instead he has ants for a crew

the ants swap the place of rats. the rats in PT reference the new york pizza rat while ants just generally eat your food especially if it's sweet when left alone for five minutes

the ants come from Mr G, who would be Gustavo's swap with Noisette. He's Mr S's lawyer. at the end of S's bossfight, G would snatch him away with Click (the ant) because S would make a foul and embarrassing move on live camera

I can't seperate Gustavo and Brick so Click stays with Mr G instead of assisting Hazel

inside what would be Noisette cafe, instead of Mr G and Click being behind the counter, they would be sitting as customers next to Caraman. the barista isn't seen anywhere

Honestly when I'm writing everyone, my logic of swapping them isn't "make them switch places AND personalities" but more of "write every single one of them with the og personality because giving them a different lifestyle/role would drastically change their motives and how they behave"

I'm practically just swapping each character's place of birth

I mentioned this because it's kinda funny with Noisette and Gus since they play the exact same role of assisting Peppino/Noise so swapping them won't change much in how they act. They also have the same cheery and welcoming personality by default so Hazel and Mr G would act REALLY similar to their og

The only difference is that Gustavo can be threatening whenever Peppino fucks up. It fits right in with being a lawyer for the same goon

Now we got Mel Caraman who would become this au's Vigi. Lemme just say off the bat that Caraman is just as delusional as Vigi. He gets hired as a guard for floor 2 and took it way too seriously that he thinks he's some sort of sentinel. Hired as a guard but thinks he's an ancient guardian or something

his name vaguely references James Bond because you also VAGUELY get "caramel" out of "Caraman, Mel Caraman"

Caraman is a caramel apple but he's half glazed to form an eyemask. he's also got a stick poking out his head that stretches his chorro hat. the big hat makes him look cooler anyways. Bro I was so ready to settle for a shitty wild west mayor hat and I owe Beefy one for suggesting a new hat. I was gonna make him look like Doug Dimmadome with the short brimmed tall hat😭😭😭

but yeah Caraman doesn't have the same dignity as Vigi does. He can fight crime decently on normal circumstances and badass when he's full serious. But like day in day out he's so obnoxious about looking for crime that people get tired of him nor would they take him seriously

he would also be mistaken for a pepper

Next to last, Cam M. Bert or just Bert who would take place of Pepperman. he's an artist who appreciates the world instead of himself, a freelancer also. There was only a bossfight because he was coincidentally commissioned to make a mural for the castle the same time Theo busts in. He didn't like how Theo ruined some of his works with his rush to open the door

Bert is a cream cheese instead of a cheese slime. his beret is actually a little cherry to distinguish him from the other creams.

Bert is really chill and humble, He's like Bob Ross, whenever he can, he'd try to talk about how every beauty in the world should be immortalized through a canvas

In parallel to Vigi's delusion of thinking he's a human, Bert thinks he's actually a living painting (which is completely possible for someone to be in the PT world since Pepperman was able to do it with his own art)

instead of a :{ face that Vigilante has, Bert has a :3 face

the naming formula is taken directly from Vigi

Vig E. Lantte

Cam M. Bert

There is a type of sweet cheese that's really creamy called camembert which his name is a direct reference from. Here is a picture of a camembert since it's hella cute

Camembert cheese was also suggested by Beefy, brother thank you for not allowing me to name this cunt Creamlad

Mr Lardo would be in place of Mr Stick but his motive is that he's collecting Theo's money on BEHALF of Mr Stick. They're probably the only ones who completely stay intact because there's not much canon info of Stick WITHIN the game itself I also feel he's a crossover character from his own "series" with how long McPig has him prior to PT so I just swap the character who makes the "cameo"

The toppins are still called toppins because they'd be used to decorate a cake or pie. They would be

Strawberry - Mushroom

Cream - Cheese

Cookie - Tomato

Icing (in a piping bag) - Sausage

actually I dont know yet for the pineapple but I'll get to it. I've only been figuring out this au since four days ago....

Lastly (of the characters), the Faker in this would be mechanical to match the original Noise's familiarity in robots

Fake Theo (temp name) would be engineered to be "Theo but way better" while actually being succesful with it. Faker would also sort of look like a mini figure of a ballerina. Referencing The Nutcracker

Opposite to Fake Peppino, Fake Theo is more graceful than terrifying but it's so uncanny how unnaturally pretty it is

and now some misc stuff

Title of the final level is When The Cookie Crumbles

the pepper pizza will be replaced with an extremely sweet pie and the immunity is caused by the sugar rush from it

Pizza Time is called Crunch Time

Pillar John would be a giant graham cracker since the walls are made of cookies instead of bricks. Gerome however, is a solidified bar of brownies. like a shittily made brownie that it just turned into a construction brick

Snotty is a pure white cream cheese and that's cuz he's actually made of glue. His name is Sticky

Pigs would either be bears or rabbits with how many times those two animals represented sweets

I'm gonna be clear with everyone here. I literally made this au cuz I'm going insane trying to make swap stuff with Pascal/Stefano when the au itself is so empty. sure it's colourful but it's so empty like I can't draw SS characters outside of poses

I tried like doing fanon modifications as I always do then there's so much I "modified" that at this point it's not Sugary Spire anymore. Just straight up a completely different au. The only similarity is that it's a swap au with sweets

it is what it is yknow. this is my life now. I said fuck it and went with the flow and boom, new personal au that I poured too much into

basically I blame Pascal for this

#Pizza Tower #tagging them as their og until I solidify the au #Pizzaface #Pizzahead #The Noise #Peppino Spaghetti #Noisette #The Vigilante #Pepperman #Gustavo and Brick #i drew this #Cookie Castle

[grandlinedreams]

Ok I loved the whole reader is Kid’s/Killer’s sister. And I can just imagine her and Kid not getting along, and when the heart pirates and kid pirates run into each other, reader and Kid are like two cats fighting. Then Killer picks reader up under her arms like a kitten, and hands her to Law, all like, “this is yours”.

Could you make this happen please? 😭😭

I told myself I wouldn’t send anymore requests till they went down a bit more, but this scenario wouldn’t leave my head, and I wanted to see it come to life with your words. Asdfghjkl I’m sorry 😅

LMAO YES i loved writing it 🥺 but also don't apologize bb, I got you!!

[Heads up!: semi/non-canon compliant (idk either around Sabaody or in the 2 year ts), established relationship, sibling antics (Reader and Kid), cursing, silliness]

You love your brother, you swear that you do. You've stuck with him through thick and thin and at the end of the day, woe to anyone who tries to hurt him while you're around.

That being said, however, that doesn't necessarily mean that you like your brother or his general attitude towards anyone that isn't part of his crew.

Part of you gets it, truly ㅡ there's been plenty of skepticism and mockery when it comes to Kid and his goal in life. Finding the One Piece is a pretty lofty ambition, but you have no doubts your brother has the determination it takes. He's hostile because of it though, less keen on asking questions and more on the offensive ㅡ and his attitude towards Law's crew is no different.

Perhaps it's made worse, actually, for the fact that you're currently in a relationship with Law. Something your brother knows, and hates. Which is why you've found yourself, predictably, in another argument with him.

Anger boils in your veins as you raise your voice to match Kid's. "Stop treating me like I'm an idiot! I'm a grown adult!"

"Then act like it, damn it!" Your brother snaps back. "I don't have time to babysit you anyways!"

"Nobody asked you to, youㅡ" You yelp as hands hook under yours, your feet leaving the ground as you're lifted up. You know who it is, the only one besides Kid who'd dare to lift you like this in the first place. "Killer, put me down. Now."

The masked pirate ignores your demand, unbothered by the way you squirm in his hold before he sets you down in front of the Law and a handful of his crew, who've been watching this shitshow go down silently.

"This one is all yours," Killer tells Law, hand on your head and ignoring the way you swat at his touch, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in annoyance. "For now."

"You can't just hand me off like I'm a package," you grumble, "are you that desperate to get rid of me? I didn't even do anything wrong!"

"Not getting rid of you," Killer cuts in, "just giving you some time away from Kid. I think you both need it."

Ever the voice of reason against his captain, Killer has a point ㅡ you could do with a couple weeks (or more) away from your brother and his crew, and who better to hand you off to?

You're sure Kid could think of better (or worse) people to leave you with, but all he does is scowl, silented by the firm steer of Killer back the way they'd come.

You watch your brother and his crew retreat, the scene not unfamiliar even as you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "How mad do you think they'd be if I stayed with you permanently?"

You don't raise your voice and it's not quite an intentional needle to Kid, but he still comes to a halt and glares at you over his shoulder. "I heard that," he snaps, "don't even think about it!"

You adopt a face of innocence that lasts just long enough for your brother to turn back around, then glance at Law, who tilts his head. "The offer does stand," he says, even though there's a teasing gleam to his eyes that you grin at.

"I don't think I'll be truly leaving my crew anytime soon," you say as Law's own crew heads back towards the Polar Tang, and you wait until they've gone to snag your fingers in the front of Law's shirt, tugging playfully. "But I could be convinced to stay a little longer."

#ㅡmine. #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #–ml: law.

[ddejavvu]

It says requests are open so how about reader getting caught while watching spencer reid edits?

His footsteps are masked by the suggestive song playing from your phone's speakers, but you're aware of Spencer's presence as soon as he leans over your shoulder, his slightly frizzy hair tickling your cheek.

"What's that?" He asks curiously, at the same time that you smash your finger over the lock button of your phone, the music cutting out abruptly.

"Nothing!" You insist, heart pounding in your chest, "Jesus, Spencer, you scared me."

"Was that a video of me?" He presses, but there's no accusation in his tone. You're extremely thankful that his aversion to technology has steered him away from TikTok, because he doesn't seem to have caught that you were watching an edit of him.

"Uh- sort of," You admit, feeling too cornered and guilty to lie to your boyfriend who rounds the couch and sits beside you, "I didn't make it, though."

That's worse. You want to backpedal, you want to take the words out of his brain where they're turning like gears and smash them to bits on the ground. His brow furrows, and his nose wrinkles slightly, "What?"

"It's nothing," You shake your head, waving away his concern and wishing you could do the same thing for your embarrassment, "Just drop it, Spence."

He looks like he's going to. He doesn't look like he wants to, because his scrunched brow perpetuates and he gnaws at the inside of his cheek. After a moment of deliberation between respecting your wishes and satiating his own curiosity, he chooses your least favorite option.

"So- someone else made that video? Of me? Is it- like, online?"

"Spencer!" You gush, cheeks ablaze as you whine at him petulantly, "Please, I don't wanna talk about it."

"I do!" He insists with an incredulous laugh, "I don't understand, you found that online somewhere?"

"Yes," You groan, "On TikTok, Spencer."

"I don't have a TikTok," He informs you, like maybe you're confused, "Who posted it?"

"I don't know!" You cry, launching yourself forwards so that your face lands unceremoniously into his lap, "Spencer, it wasn't me, I don't know who posted it, I just saw it."

"I heard the sound repeat 5 times," He admits, a gentle hand on the back of your head stroking through your hair, "I came to see why you liked that part of the song so much."

"Oh my god," You groan, the fabric of his joggers doing very little to cool the heat from your burning cheeks, "I'm gonna throw my phone in the garbage disposal."

"Where was the footage from?" He kindly directs the conversation away from you, and you rise out of his lap to glare defeatedly at him.

"Press conferences," You mumble, "And news reports."

"Weird," He mumbles, reaching for your phone, "Can I see it?"

"No!" You shriek, but he's got a hold of the device before you can stop him, and one thing you've learned about him is that he has incredible grip strength. You think the only way you'll get it back is by beating him up, and you wouldn't even if you could.

He knows your password and bypasses it too easily. The video starts once more, and his lips curl into a faint smirk as he realizes just why the editor had chosen the sound that they had.

"You're watching porn of me," He discovers, and you let out a desperate wail at the term he chooses to use, "You really liked this enough to watch it five times?"

"Spencer turn it off- no, not the comments!" You watch as his thumb descends upon the button with no hesitation, any chance of your dignity surviving flying out the window.

"Until the room stinks," He reads with narrowed eyes, then glances at the red heart beside the comment, "You liked it?"

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

[starry-bi-sky]

part five of "clone danny"

Danny returns home later that night with a dislocated shoulder from Skulker and his fair share of scrapes and bruises after facing off with a handful of ectoplasmic animal shades. (All of them stuffed inside his thermos with Skulker that he'll toss in the Zone tomorrow after school.)

He shoves his mask back into his pocket, and hides his bat in the bushes at the side of his house under his window, then rounds back around the front to go through the door.

...Mainly because if Bruce Wayne was still awake, it'd be suspicious if Danny made it home without ever using the front door. He sneaks back in, and slooowly starts closing the door.

"You're back late." Says a surly, young voice that startles Danny into slamming the door instead.

"Fucking--!" He cuts himself and breathes in slowly, trying to slow his elevated heart rate before looking over his shoulder to see who the hell scared him.

Glaring at him like an upset parent would, with eyes cutting like sea glass, is Wayne the Sequel... or perhaps he was the seventh sequel. Danny is silent for a moment. "...You're up early." He says, maybe a bit petulant. "Does your dad know you're up this late?"

"Father permitted me to stay up and wait for your return, actually." Damian sniffs, and if anyone could make 'scowling' into a vocal tone, Danny would have thought it'd be Sam. But Damian beat her to it.

Danny turns around slowly to face him, arms crossing. "Yeah, uh-huh." He nods slowly, "Like I'm gonna believe that. Do you normally sit in a random stranger's kitchen and interrogate them when they get home?" He tilts his head for good measure.

"No." Damian says. (He is, in fact, lying.) His eyes narrow at Danny as if he had committed a terrible crime by being in his presence. He looks down to Danny's hands. "Father said you left with a bat. Where is it?"

"I lost it." Danny replies, biting the inside of his lip to prevent himself from smiling.

"You... lost it?"

"Yup." He says blandly. "Whoops."

-------

Danny goes up to his room immediately after that and collapses on his mattress to pass out for the next three hours until his alarm goes off.

Much to Danny's luck, Bruce and his son are literally only there for a few days, and he spends as much time during it to avoid them like a plague (while also dealing with his dislocated shoulder, which should reliably heal in half the time thanks to his ectocontamination). Damian does whatever during the day since he doesn't go to Casper High.

Something to note as we get out of the 'fic'-y part of this post -- Daniel J. Fenton was, largely, the sexual awakening to many people in his grade in Casper High School, including many A-Listers. However he is still "Daniel Fenton" so many of his classmates will take that fact to their grave. And to their personal friend groups.

Does this have any impact going forward? Not really so far, no.

Dodging a Wayne-sized bullet doesn't mean that Danny can dodge the Wes-sized bullet, and finds himself nearly nose-to-nose with an irate Wes Weston who demands to know where he was last nice.

Of which Danny, not needing to drop his smartass comments in front of the guy who already knows his ID, responds by calling him a jealous ex and sidestepping him completely. following up with if Wes isn't careful, then Danny might just think that Wes has a crush on him

(Wes does, in fact, have a crush on Daniel J. Fenton. He will take this secret to his grave.)

Ellie shows up in his kitchen, sitting on the table with her legs crossed while chatting amiably with Bruce Wayne a few days later when Danny returns from school. When Danny asks how she got inside (the door is typically locked), Ellie smiles toothily and fangily, and happily tells him that she came in through the window. And that he needs to tell his parents to invest in locks. She has long hair the same length as him. It's like looking into a mirror, one he is welcome to see into.

It is endearingly Ellie-like to know that she all but broke into his house, and seeing his sister-clone-twin relieves some of his tension. Only a little though when Bruce Wayne was still in his house.

Normally he sits and talks for hours with Ellie. But instead he takes it to the stairs, telling Ellie that he'll be in his room when she's done talking to Mister Wayne. He is a stubborn ass who doesn't even bother to ask where Wayne the Sevquel is.

(He runs into Wayne a one or two more times the following nights. Wayne asks him where his bat is on the second night, his son says he lost it. Danny agrees with him, and Wayne asks with a touch of concern what he'll do if he comes across a ghost.)

(Danny shrugs and says he hasn't before. And comes back home with a bruise the size of a large cat on his hip and a couple more along his torso and legs. his knees hurt from rough jumps with poor landings. Damian is waiting when he gets home. They exchange a few barbs and Danny hightails it up to his room.)

(Danny's face is obscured by the lack of lights and the shadows in the corner. Its the only reason he feels even a modicum of comfort in exchanging a few words with Wayne.)

(Ellie is waiting outside for him the day she meets Wayne, and asks him if Wayne knows. Danny says he wouldn't be avoiding him if he did. Wayne probably wouldn't be as nice as he was now if he knew.)

("You don't know he won't be nice after finding out." Ellie points out while he's digging his bat out from the neighbor's bushes this time.)

("He's not me, Ell." He says, frowning. "We don't know that.")

(Ellie sighs sadly, and Danny feels a tinge of guilt. "You can tell him if you want," he offers, "you don't have to hold back on my behalf.")

("I want to tell him with you, though. C'mon, we're twins.")

(That night Danny avoids breaking his other arm after a run in with a large ecto-serpent. Ellie nearly rips out its tongue for it. She's more ghost-like than he is. Possessive and violent and very, very passionate. As if he wouldn't do the same if pressed.)

(Ellie gives Danny a piggyback ride home, the wind filtering through the grills of his mask and force-feeding him the taste of freedom. Damian is there while they sneak back in, stifling their laughter under the meat of their palms.)

(Danny may or may not have reached out and ruffled his hair in his joviality when he passed him by. Grinning painfully when Damian bats at his hand like a disgruntled kitten. His hair feels like feathers and the sensation sinks itself deep into Danny's star-in-the-sky sized core-obsession like a suggestion.)

(He might regret it in the morning. It will fade in time after the Waynes leave.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #danny phantom au #dpxdc #dp crossover #no funny tags rn folx #masterpost when #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton #ellie having the scary dog privileges is top tier choice on my part personally

[biblio-smia]

“Could you please come and get me?” Mike Schmidt x fem reader! congrats on 800 <33

thank you 🫶 | part of v’s 800 follower celebration!

mike sighs as he collects his things, head down as he heads out of the employees only area to avoid quizzical stares from anyone with their eyes on him.

it's not like mike will have to see any of them again, anyway.

mike shrugs his zip-up on as he steps outside, cold air dissolving the warm heat that's been brewing inside of his chest. he's searching the half-empty parking lot for his beat-up honda when mike remembers why he won't find it.

mike buries his face in his palms, rubbing his face as he groans. he'd almost forgotten that his car hadn't started this morning and he had been forced to ask you for a ride. now there'd really be no way of hiding this from you.

well, better not to delay the inevitable.

mike pulls out his nokia and dials your number, smartphone pressed up to his ear while he listens to it ring. he bites the inside of his cheek, eyes staring blankly ahead, wondering what he's going to say to you.

the line clicks when you pick up, a sweet greeting pulling mike out of his own head.

"hey, honey." your voice chimes. "did you forget something?"

"what? oh, no, no..." mike takes a breath, clenching his fist for some sort of grounding. "i... got fired."

mike waits for an audible reaction, a sigh or a groan, but the lack of one doesn't stop him from imagining disappointment all over your face.

"could you please come and get me?" mike asks a little quietly, trying to mask his embarrassment.

"of course i can. you don't need to ask. i'll be there soon, okay?"

"okay."

"hey, i love you."

"yeah," mike says, and before he can regret not saying it, "i love you, too."

you're pulling up quickly, though mike wouldn't have noticed if you'd taken ten minutes or thirty. he's quiet as he opens the door to the passenger seat and climbs in, guilt and shame keeping him from even attempting to start a conversation. mike doesn't even want to look at you, scared he'll see something that'll break him worse than being let go ever could.

you let mike sit in the silence, knowing that asking him about it won't get you anywhere good. your driving is poorer than usual today, stolen glances at mike taking a little bit too much focus away from the road.

by the time you're home mike is more receptive, pressing a kiss to your cheek and thanking you for picking him up. you know he won't listen no matter how much you tell him you don't mind so you hum.

"are you hungry?" mike asks as he steps into the kitchen, digging out ingredients to make something to eat.

you're not really but you let mike make something for you anyway. "yes, please."

mike sets the two plates down on the coffee table in front of your seat on the couch. he can tell something's coming as he sinks in the spot next to you, not bothering to reach for his food. mike turns to face you, shadows on his face making him look so much older.

you cup mike's face and he leans into instantly, the intense feeling of missing you all of a sudden rushing through him. he turns his head to kiss your palm, muttering apologies that tickle, his arms keeping you at a distance that manages to comfort him.

"i know you're not mad or anything," mike begins hesitantly. "i mean, you're not... right?"

the corners of your lips tug upwards. "i'm not."

"i was just... scared you'd be disappointed. or something." mike fights the urge to hide his face, forces himself to look at you. a piece of his heart heals when he sees you smiling at him, so much love radiating off you it makes him gulp.

"i'm not. could never be." your hands move to the back of mike's neck, your fingers venture slightly into his hair. "it's their loss, anyway."

mike laughs. it's true, in a way. not a lot of people were willing to work the hours he was.

"there's that pretty smile," you grin, leaning in to bump your nose against mike's.

"that one right there?" mike asks, smoothly poking your bottom lip.

you laugh, which only makes mike smile harder. he pulls you in gently, trying to fit in everything he couldn't say.

it's not perfect, but with your help, it's so much better.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #v + mike #v writes #v's 800 follower celebration

[19burstraat]

Ok we all know guild me, build me exists due to my artistic abilities being very lacking in the visual arts, so rather than drawing the crows in the komedie brute, I had to write kaz in. however I had ideas for the others that I couldn't get into a fic, so I've put em down here

Kaz: (description ripped from guild me, build me):

a heavy black cape, sewn with stolen chains and jewels so that it jingled upon every movement (...) It was marked up and slit here and there, on the edges and at the collar, to give the impression of crow’s feathers, and it was made of some kind of shiny, velvety fabric that had the oily shine of crow’s plumage. The gloves were the same material, thinner and more embroidered than Kaz would have ever entertained, and the cane was a plain, inaccurate copy– (...) the mask; a silver crow’s head (...) crooked over the eyes and nose, almost like a Kaelish plague mask. But it left the mouth unblocked; of course it did. Dirtyhands needed to talk.

Inej:

Light and flimsy dark (doesn't have to be black; could be blue or grey) fabric for the veil and cloak. Has an element of spiderwebby fraying to it which is a nod to her being... Well, a spider lmao. But also meant to look ghostly and insubstantial, can sometimes see a metal shiny suggestion of knives underneath it. The veil can be parted just down the side of her face, so you can occasionally see a bit of her face, but never the whole thing. Would not be a practical costume to climb or spy in; too long and bothersome, the same way Kaz's Dirtyhands cloak would not be practical to pickpocket in. Sometimes productions get her a few cheap sheath knives.

Jesper:

Rabbit head mask, short cloak in some batshit colour like green or pink, lined w rabbit's fur and threaded with gambling chips, 'lucky' rabbits feet, coins, and stray bullets. Adornments tied on loosely so they swing everywhere when he moves. This way there's also a real risk of the Kaz and Jesper actors getting tangled together if they interact, which is not symbolic, just funny. This is our get-along Komedie Brute costume :) (we are stuck)

Wylan:

A once-fine red cloak with a high ruffly collar-- now tattered and singed and gone to seed. Little bits of wiring or string or pouches of powders etc sewn into it; sneakily embroidered with the Van Eck laurel around the edges. Mask, while elaborate and matching with the cloak, only covers the top half of his face, as if he's not quite as all-in as the others. For similar reasons, the cloak is half-length.

Matthias:

Wolf's head mask ofc, white fur cape a lot longer and more substantial than Jesper's, with heavy furring around the neck (made to bulk out the actor if they're not the right stature, which most will not be). Likely they also weight his boots to make his tread sound more imposing. Possibly a wig if they can afford one, since Druskelle are known for the long hair.

Nina:

Porcelain-doll Venetian style mask (you know the ones!) with a single black tear-- referential both to that bit in CK when they identified themselves that way in the crowd of Mister Crimsons, and the Queen of Mourning thing. Mask is covered with a very light veil, and she wears a long heavy silk cloak with a bit of a hint of a kefta, but not enough to get the Komedie Brute in shit from Ravkan Grisha lmao. Entrance usually heralded with a blue corpselight.

I imagine dependent on the production and the costumier they could look great and beautifully elaborate, or they could look cheap and shit lmao.

Bonus: I got bored and made a mock-up of a page of a Komedie play. I edited over the first folio for this, yes. Sorry to the Big W.S.

#right I think this is all right now. finally #fuckass blue site so glitchy it posts my shit early. #six of crows #soc duology #my fics #my post #grishaverse