#like hes all for using spit just you know under different circumstances

[freedomfireflies]

Our Place*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where Harry invites you back to his apartment for the first time and it doesn't go as planned.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, angst (happy ending), use of a safe word

Harry’s apartment is nicer than you expected. 

The furniture is cozy, the décor is unique, and his bedroom is well kept. He even has fresh flowers on his kitchen table. 

It surprised you, even though it shouldn’t. Harry doesn’t seem like a dirty guy, but truthfully, you were still shocked to find he had both sheets on his bed and no clothes on the ground.

You take in the tiny details of his life as he kisses down your neck and slips his fingers into your jeans. He’d wrangled you onto the bed only seconds after you walked through the door. He didn’t want to give you a tour of the whole apartment. Just the bedroom. Which you were more than all right with. 

He’s oddly desperate, given the circumstances. Maybe he always is, but tonight feels different. Tonight feels…hopeful.

“Shit, Tink,” he groans into your ear when he feels how wet you’ve become. “S’this just because you rode my bike?”

You gently swat the back of his head. “Stop it.”

“What?” He noses under your jaw. “Felt you squirming back there, Princess. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how you were trying to get yourself off to the vibrations?”

You wince. You didn’t even realize you’d been doing it. “I was not, I was just…the adrenaline was a lot—”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs and something about it sounds like honey. “S’fine, baby. You know I don’t mind.”

“Well…I wasn’t—”

“Sure. Can I fuck you now?”

You huff. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rips your jeans down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and somewhere onto the floor. The warm air feels good and it’s then that you realize he’s right. You’re soaked, all the way through your panties.

But instead of taunting you further, he only tugs them aside and pulls his cock out. 

“I think…” he murmurs as he lines himself up, “…it’s high time I got you pregnant.”

Your mouth falls open in a moan as he drops a glob of spit onto your clit and pushes in.  

You’ve noticed that his breeding kink makes an appearance more often than not these days. Which you aren’t exactly complaining about. After all, you have one, too. Mostly thanks to him.

But it surprises you all the same as he starts to work himself in and out of your tight cunt, whispering the filthiest promises. 

“Think I won’t do it, hm? I will. Swell this pretty belly with my cum. S’what it was made for, wasn’t it? To take me. Have my babies. Gonna stretch you so pretty…get your tits leaking. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, Princess?”

You try to respond but how can you? You feel as though you’ve been fucked dumb. Unable to hear anything past the pounding of blood in your ears.

His glasses start to slip down his nose. He almost always takes them off—they’re mostly for reading anyway. But you like the look of them. Like how studious it makes him seem...how scandalous.

So, you nudge them back up. Desperate to see him exactly the way he always is.

He smirks. “You all right there, Tink?”

You nod weakly. “Yes…yeah. M’fine.”

“Thinking about what I said?” He kisses down your chest. “Thinking about calling me Daddy for real? Having our babies?"

Our. A word you didn’t think belonged to you. Because Harry doesn’t belong to you. And you don’t belong to him. You’re two separate people. Even when you fuck, he’s in his world and you’re in yours. You weren’t meant to be an “our.”

You chalk this up to a slip of the tongue. Something you say when you're threatening to breed someone. And you choose not to give it any power. Because you know what happens if you do.

The fucking gets harder. Faster. He’s chasing a high. In fact, he's been chasing it since earlier in the bar when he saw you with another man. And you know he’s trying to hold off for you, but he wants to cum. He wants to paint your belly with his seed and fuck it back in. Wants to make good on his word even if he shouldn’t.

Your nails scratch down his back, damp and covered in sweat. But his muscles feel good in your hands and you whimper as you hike a leg over his hip and bury him in your pussy.

In your lust-filled haze, your attention drifts. Head rolling to the side as you focus on the soft grunts in your ear. 

But then, your eyes find something on his dresser.

Your heart stops.

In fact, everything stops. Your breathing, your noises, your gentle rolls to meet his thrusts.

It all stops. And you whisper, “Red.”

He quickly falls still. A rather impressive feat given how anxious he is to find release. From 100 to 0 in only seconds, and you almost feel guilty as you sense him glance at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks through labored inhales. “What…what happened, what do you want me to do?”

But you don’t look back. You keep your focus on the piece of furniture in the corner of his room and you will yourself not to cry.

Eventually, he looks, too. And when he realizes, the air in the room shifts.

He lets out a soft sigh and drops his hand to your hip. Squeezing it once. “Tink…”

You say nothing. Tears are pooling behind your lashes and your chest feels tight. 

“Tink,” he tries again, firm. His grip tightens on your waist. “Tinkerbell—"

“She’s beautiful,” you breathe. You take in a soft gasp. “Oh, my god, Harry, she’s…she’s so beautiful.”

He’s quiet for only a moment. “Yeah. She was,” he agrees gently.

You can’t take your eyes away from the picture frame. The guilt is so much worse now than it was before. Your heart is in your throat, in your ears, lying on the floor next to your jeans. 

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. In his bed—their bed—fucking the man she died loving. While he promises to get you pregnant and give you his babies.

And how is he so calm? How the fuck is he looking at her picture while still inside of you instead of screaming at you to leave his apartment? How can he be okay with cheating on her with you?

“Princess,” he says again, and grabs onto your jaw to force your focus back to him. “Talk to me, what do you want me to do?”

Your lashes flutter. “What?”

“You said red,” he reminds you. “Which means we stop. But I need to know if you’re in pain or if I can pull out?”

It takes a moment for you to blink the fog from your mind and understand. But when you do, your stomach wrenches. “I…wait, shit, I…I want you to finish, I just…I saw her photo, and—”

“I know,” he interrupts softly. He gives you a gentle smile. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been there. But red means stop. And we’re gonna honor that. No matter why you said it.”

You whimper. “Harry, wait—”

“I’m gonna pull out,” he says, ignoring your plea. “And then we’re gonna talk—”

“Harry…Harry come on, you can’t—”

But he does. Even though he winces as slips himself out, teeth gritting together to keep from coming. 

But once he’s out, he delicately closes your legs, and sits beside you. “Okay,” he begins. He keeps your eyes on him. “What’s going on up there?” 

He nods at your forehead and you want to cry. “Nothing, I just…I…”

“You’ve never seen her before.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see her now,” he says for you. “Especially when we were fucking.”

You sniffle. “It felt like we were cheating. Like I was helping you hurt her. And then…and then I got worried that maybe you only brought me back here so you could pretend I was her. You know? With all the stuff about…about babies…and us, and…and—”

“Okay, breathe,” he instructs. He cups your cheek and presses his thumb to your trembling lips. “Breathe, Tink. Slow.”

Forced to obey, you suck in shallow gasps for air until your heart rate slows and your head doesn’t feel so dizzy.

Pleased, he says, “I know you’re not her, Tink. I don’t want you to be.”

Your expression softens.

“I brought you here because you’re the only person I want to see in the place she once lived,” he continues. His voice is strong. Steady. Like he’s given this far more thought than you anticipated. “After she died, I left it the same. I didn’t touch anything. Not the furniture she picked out. Not the dumb, cute little bowls she insisted we buy. Not the coffee pot that doesn’t work but she loved because she swore it made her coffee taste better. None of it.”

The tears fall down your cheeks, fast and without mercy. 

“I didn’t invite people over because I wanted to pretend she still lived here,” he tells you. “I wanted it to still be our place. Not just mine. And the thought of bringing someone else back here felt…wrong.”

You grab onto his wrist to keep his hand close and he smiles. 

“And then you,” he murmurs, dipping down to nuzzle his nose against yours. A display of affection you’d never expect from him. “And yeah, you’re annoying, and I hate you. But she would have fucking loved you.”

You nearly sob. 

“I want you here,” he says. “I want to talk about getting you pregnant and having our babies. I want to fuck you on this bed and I want to make you cry for a very different reason.”

You laugh through the tears.

“Look, I don’t believe in guardian angels and an afterlife and all that shit,” he admits. “But sometimes, I swear she sent you to me. And yeah, I probably should have moved the picture first. That was my fault, I haven’t had anyone in here in a while. But…you’re not her, Tink. You’re you. And that’s exactly who I want you to be.”

You can’t stop the next wave of emotion as you sling your arms around his neck and pull him close. He chuckles in your embrace but doesn’t fight you. He holds you, too. For as long as you both need.

“I hate you, too,” you finally whisper.

He smiles.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“…can we please finish now?”

He leans back to see you. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You kiss him. “After all, you promised to get me pregnant. And I can’t leave until you do, Daddy."

The groan against your lips is delicious and devious.

And it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“As you wish.”

WHY DID THIS MAKE ME WANT TO CRY!!! ALSO HI I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

Previous Part:

~ The one where Harry gets jealous (again)

~ Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin

@justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda

@vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach

@lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana

@dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley

@myalovesharry @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus @kirstiea05 @lovrave

@nuggetdean @triski73 @finelinesss

#harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles one shot #nerd!harry #smut #imagine #concept #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry and tink #engineer!harry #dom!harry #softdom!harry #enemies to lovers #angst

[murdrdocs]

thinkin abt messy audible sex w stiles

It’s like your senses are heightened, the ability to take in absolutely every single thing happening around you a new addition to your usual life. Maybe, if you weren’t in these specific circumstances, you would be a little freaked out. Heart racing for another reason, a different type of overstimulation seeping into your body and sending you running instead of chasing the sensations. 

But with Stiles above you, left hand pressed into the pillow under your head, right hand gripping your bare hip like his life depends on it, you’re able to use your enhanced-like senses to your advantage. You’re able to smell the remnants of Stiles’ cologne and your perfume as your combined sweat washes it off, replacing the traditionally pleasant scents with untraditionally aromatic smells of sex. You’re able to feel Stiles’ silky soft hair under your fingertips, and the easy way his cock slides in and out of your welcoming walls. But most of all, you’re able to hear the sound of you and Stiles together, the wet squelch of your cunt taking his inches with each thrust, the near silence of the refusal to let him go as he pulls back. 

When you’d first started a couple of orgasms ago, you could barely hear all of that, your moans and Stiles’ praises drowning the sound out. Then after your third orgasm, you’d gone silent, your euphoria rendering you speechless, soundless even. It’s then that you could hear it all, Stiles noticing first as he shushed you with a just as audible kiss. 

“Listen to that. You hear that?” He waited for your response, amber eyes flickering between each of yours. When you did hear it, mouth dropping a little as your eyes hazed over, he smirked, a curt amused chuckle falling from his lips before he kissed you once more. “Making fuckin’ music, baby.” 

Usually, Stiles fucked you with as least some sort of percision, some technique that he'd picked up which always made you mess. But you were already a mess, and Stiles' style of fucking you tonight was messy. Uncoordinated thrusts that had you wanting more and less. Fingers added along with his cock, the slightest stretch having you seeing stars. Circling your clit and spitting on it and even fucking speaking to your cunt. He's like a different person.

You were fucking gushing around him, a product from the first orgasm Stiles had given you with his fingers, then the second with his tongue, and the impending third from his cock. You’ve been in a position similarly to this one before, but your abundance of arousal was unusual, probably an effect of Stiles’ new haircut and particularly cocky attitude today. 

Both had you wanting him more than usual, trying to keep your hormones subdued even though it made them worse. Pretending like you didn’t want Stiles eventually had you pressing yourself against him when you were alone, close to begging for him to touch you but you’d never have to beg Stiles, he thinks it’s a privilege to have you like this. 

To him, his form of heaven is bringing you to the edge again and again. It’s why he’s bolstering right now, chattier than usual as he praises you for even being this wet for him. It starts off as praise, and it starts with him talking to you, but then you feel as if he’s talking more to himself. 

“So, so good for me, sweetheart. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you? Think about you all day. My girl. Letting me treat her like a little slut. Don’t even know what to do with myself most of the time. Can’t do anything but jack off, thinking about how good you taste, how good you feel.” 

And as much as you like hearing Stiles talk, you just need to hear what the two of you sound like a little more. So you bring him down to you, nails digging into his scalp to silence him even as you push your lips to his. Then, you pull back enough to speak to him, a commanding, “listen” let out into the air. 

Stiles smiles against your lips, and then he listens.

#stilesworld! #I feel vulnerable putting this out there erm #but likeeee tehe #inspired by that one post #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski smut #celeste writes misc

[lvlyghost]

I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH 😩❤️😍 the way you characterize ghost is so good I can't 😭❤️ I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something for me since your writing style is sooo good frfr

How about ghost and reader have an argument that was started by ghost and he goes a bit too far breaking the reader and making them cry and be just a shell of themselves how would he feel when he sees the readers state and how would he fix it with a happy end please

Broken Wings

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: After a night out, things seem to take a turn in your relationship with Ghost.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tw: angst, hurt/comfort, self doubt, jealousy, probably ooc!simon, curse words. lots of grammar mistakes, poorly edited you know the drill🐝

A/N: i loved this request sooo much, though i did have a lot of trouble when writing it since i wasn't feeling too inspired. also had two different stories but ended up deciding to post this one i might post the other one idk, hope you like this anon! I did try my best🫶🏻🤍🩷✨corrections are appreciated; remember english isn't my native language 🐸

Masterlist✨

"I like you." You said with big bright eyes.

"But no one can know about this. Just you and I. That's enough." He answered, hand tracing the side of your face.

You blink rapidly. You have always been daydreamer. It caused you tons of problems although you tried to do your best when you were out on missions. Ghost is walking ahead of you, boots sinking in the sand beneath your feet. The waves crashing on the shore is something you like listening to and seeing too but under different circumstances. Both of your gear clink with every step you take, it's the only sound as well as the sea that swallows the tense silence that falls between the two.

Things have been rather... strange since two days ago and you've tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't weird for Ghost to push you back every now and then, he was a complicated person and you couldn't be more different from one another.

You were the sun and he was the darkness that came at night or so he had said one night at the common room back at the compound. He was stoic, grumpy and hardly found himself enjoying somebody's company. You on the other hand, even though you wouldn't consider yourself the most outgoing person like Johnny, still you liked talking unlike him. You loved going out with the task force. And most importantly you loved when Ghost joined because you loved him, you loved having him around, despite his gruff responses or annoyed looks.

You jog though your legs shake and tiredness sets in your body.

"How much farther until we get there?" You ask, ignoring the fact that his frame goes rigid when you speak . He doesn't acknowledge you at first. All you hear is a small sigh leaving his lips. You kind of wish he wasn't wearing the damn sunglasses so you could see his eyes.

They always said a lot.

"Thirty minutes. Give or take." The answer is short and cold, breaking your heart a little more than before. Still, you decide to try again.

"Sir, is something bothering you?" Before he can stop it he scoffs, shaking his head. "What?" Brows furrowing on your features. "Simon..."

He stops all of the sudden, turning to face you with a tense stance.

"First of all don't bloody use my name out here. Secondly it's your own fault we've been walking for hours. So don't go asking if something's bothering me, Sergeant."

Taking a step back you open your mouth.

"My fault? I was doing my job!"

"Didn't know your job was to get your fucking head blown off!!" He seethes. "Fucking hell you can't be this reckless and expect me to clap at your poor acting on the field." Your heart begins to race, he had never said such things to you. Taking a small step back your grit your teeth, you hated that his words were making your eyes blurry. This was the Simon you never wanted to see. And yet there he was. "Now we lost the damn intel thanks to you." He spits. But something isn't adding up.

"It's not just that. You've been acting strange for a few days now, Ghost. Don't come and tell me it's just because I did what I was supposed to do!" He stiffs yet again. Jaw clenching so hard you fear he might break it. "Not missing the way you avoid me ever since..." you close your mouth shut. "The pub..." he shifts his weight from one foot to another. The waves are increasing and now reach your feet, dampening your boots. And then you remember him storming off the local pub before he even finished his own drink. Everyone had heard the hard slap to John's arm when he had tried to calm him down. God why didn't you pay more attention to that moment? Because you both had agreed to keep your distances? And going after him was out of discussion? Then the next day you'd barely seen him, just for a short moment during debriefs and that was it. The moment you had gotten up from your seat he was gone. And today you were supposed to go to a special op that had soon become a problem that eventually led to the two of you in the middle of a beach, it was a cloudy day and if it weren't for the heavy layers you wore you're certain you'd be shaking. Sometimes –and you were ashamed of it– you were oblivious to many things and it seemed that Ghost's anger toward you was one of them this time. "What happened?"

He inhales deeply.

"It's over. That's what happened."

Your heart sinks and you swallow hard. Your whole body loses color when he mutters those two words. Out of all the things, all the possibilities you thought he'd say to you, he decided to end everything. Shaking your head you try to touch his hand but he doesn't let you.

"Ghost where is all of this coming from I don't understand!" You choke out. "We were fine..."

"No. You were fine. If I wasn't enough you should've just said so."

"Stop... you... what the hell are you talking about???"

"Nothing that matters anymore. Keep walking and don't say another word. That's an order."

He turns and keeps walking as if nothing just happened. As if he didn't just completely broke your heart.

'You were fine'.

What was that supposed to mean? You think, walking a few meters behind him, scared to even say anything else; to even try to grab him by the arm and force him to talk. It would only make things worse right now.

By the time you reach the safe house it's started to rain the silence between the two is deafening and tense. Ghost's cold demeanor and hurtful words have left a scar. Never in a million years would you think you'd be here, with a broken, shattered heart and no explanation from his part.

Words that pierced through your soul.

That day something died inside you. And he was the reason.

-

Two weeks, three days and seven hours.

That's the time that's passed since that day at the beach. Two weeks since Simon broke you and gave you no reasons.

You're a disaster.

You barely eat or get any sleep. There's dark circles under your eyes and you're sure you've lost some weight too. Ghost has been gone on a mission alone with Johnny for a week now, which left you with a lot of spare time to think about the two of you.

More tears stream down your face when you remember that day. Had you missed something important? Was Ghost's mind somewhere dark? Somewhere it shouldn't be? God knows he was... difficult to say the least. But every single time you tried, tried to be there for him. Did those late nights at your home meant nothing? Had he not seen the way you looked at him? Had you not shown him enough of your affection? Everything you'd do for him if he simply asked?

Getting up from your bed you get ready for another day. Not bothering to lace your boots just shoving them inside your shoes you walk down the hallways until you get to the training room. Gaz is talking to John in the far corner, the Captain's arms are crossed over his chest while Kyle frowns and shakes his head. You don't to even go and salute them as you normally would do, instead you put your earphones on and hit the treadmill.

It doesn't last long though; after one minute someone stops it by pressing down the off button. Your brows knitted together as you stop, turning to look up at Gaz who smiles politely.

"Sorry for that, sweetheart. You okay?" You nod, but say nothing more. "Come here." He pats your shoulder and helps you down from the treadmill. If you could smile now you would. But no even the faintest, softest grin leaves your lips. Gaz takes a quick glimpse at your face and rubs the back of his neck. "You know, Soap and Ghost just got back. Heard Lt. was asking about you."

"Oh." You murmur. "Okay." You don't move nor dare to meet his eyes. "I'll just head back to my room."

"Uhmm. I- what I meant is he's looking for you..." Shaking your head you walk away, not having the energy to face Simon right now. And why did he need to see you? Made pretty clear that you two were done, therefore was no need to see each other unless it was work related.

-

"You really do like it here don't you." Your body goes rigid. This was supposed to be your safe place. The roof of the armory was rarely visited by anyone at this hour. Simon's voice seems softer than ever before but you don't answer. Not even turn to acknowledge him. You hear muttered words and then he crouches down to your level. "Price said you're not eating. Do we have to send you to the military counselor now?" How dare he? After all he caused this. You know he doesn't mean it in bad way, somehow he cares for you deep down. Your hands ball into fists, fighting the urge to snap at him, to push him down and just break him the way he broke you. But you don't because you still love him, and could never bring yourself to hurt him. Simon is staring intently at you, waiting, hoping for any sign. He knows he shouldn't be here. Bloody hell he knows you shouldn't even look his way never again. He deserves it. Every bit of it. "Talk to me, love. Please." It's a low whisper. A plea.

"What do you want Ghost?" You ask softly. Simon leans closer, sitting down with his legs propped up against his chest and arms resting on his knees. It's a funny look for someone his size.

"Jus' wanted to see you." You scoff playing with your hands, refusing to lock eyes with him because if you did you'd be done. "Wanted to explain..."

"Then just do it!" You sob. Your lower lip trembles. "And then leave."

"Fine." He agrees. "But I'm not leaving. I- I made a mistake, and took it out on you okay? I was scared."

"Scared?" Your head snaps to where he is sitting. It's painful just to look at him. "Why would you be scared Ghost?" You retaliate

He grumbles, never fancied when you called him that when you were alone. Quite the contradiction given the fact that he told you not to call him his name that day at the beach.

"Because I saw you." He points out. "That night. Everything you're missing for being with someone like me. Can't even show proper affection because it's not me... and you deserve more than that. More than me."

"Ghost..."

"No. Lemme finish, love." He swallows. It's always amusing how controlled he seems. "I lost it, yeah? You looked so happy. How on earth do I deserve you, on what universe do I deserve ya'?"

Sucking in a sharp breath you recall the moments that preceded the events. The sound of music blasting through the speakers, when you joined the rest of the soldiers on the other side of the pub. Private Miller had slung his arm over your shoulders in a friendly manner. You laughed and drank too much that night, it was joyful. Everyone was there, your team. You never thought he felt that way about it.

"Oh my... Simon." You cover your mouth and cry silently. He hesitated for a moment before pulling you close and into his lap. "Should've known something was wrong. Forgive me... I should've stayed with you, follow you after you left." You cry out.

You were scared too, for very different reasons. That he'd get tired of you eventually, that if you weren't cautious enough your secret would be known. Both would get suspended thus separated and discharged.

"No, love. You shouldn't have to go running after me. I should be running after you. Now forgive me, say you will. Or else I might just lose myself for good." You cradle his face in your hands lifting the balaclava just above the bridge of his nose. Thumb tracing his lower lip. Your tears have dried.

"I've missed you so much, Simon. All you gotta do is talk to me, always." He tightens his grip around you. "You think Price would let us go home tonight and not ask questions?"

His chuckle is short and soft.

"Yeah. I think he's known for a while now."

#cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost modern warfare #cod simon riley #call of duty ghost simon riley #cod mw ghost

[slashers-and-rats]

sleeping beauty.

billy lenz x gn!reader | nsfw | con!noncon, somnophilia, thigh fucking

a/n: in this, there’s pre-established kink rules, such as when he can and cannot fuck you while you sleep, but i explain it anyways. just letting you know.

billy was quiet. he was a looming figure in the dark, casting a long shadow over where you laid in bed, the shape stretching across your sleeping form.

billy hadn’t been feeling too good. he had been cooped up in the attic. he didn’t usually sleep there anymore. you had been so kind to him, so soft and caring. you provided him his own bed, his own blankets, his own space to be himself downstairs with the rest of society. the house was big enough for the two of you. you had spare rooms, you had extra food, you had everything billy needed to be a “normal” person. but he wasn’t. he still had days where he crept back up into the attic, hiding away like a rat, scratching at the floorboards and watching you through holes like he used to. he liked the dark, he liked being isolated, he liked being able to tear at his skin and writhe on the floor and spit the most vile words in the comfort of his own… home? room? floor? whatever the attic was to him.

but at some point, he needed to slink his way back down that ladder, he always did. and he always found himself back here, back in your presence.

billy stared at you. you were so unlike him. you were smooth, sweet, soft and plump. like a marshmallow. he reached down, pressing his fingers into the surface of your skin, and watching the indents form. the way his fingertips sunk down against your flesh, it made him feel like he could keep pushing and you’d consume him. he’d love it. he wished he could crawl into your body and stay there, safe and sound inside of your rib cage, right next to your heart. he’d listen to the beating to lull himself to sleep. usually that’s what he did. usually he fell asleep right next to you, skipping over his own bed out of preference for laying with you and cuddling against your chest, listening to the thumping of your heartbeat. today was different.

you shifted in your sleep, rolling over slightly so that your front was more exposed to his prying eyes. billy licked his lips, running his fingers down your arm and over all the hills and valleys of your body. he was hunched over you now, drool dripping down his chin and threatening to land on you. he almost worried that if it did, it would sizzle against your warm skin. he was so cold, and you were so hot. it almost burned to touch you. but it felt so good.

“s-sleeping… sleeping beauty…” he rasped out. he stepped up, until his knees were pressed to the edge of the bed, and grabbed the blanket resting over your bottom half. he was slow as he pulled it down, almost teasing himself. his hands shook as more and more of your skin was exposed. your tummy, then your hips, then your thighs… he followed the blanket with his eyes until there was nothing left covering you. except, your clothes, of course. you had fallen asleep in a baggy old shirt, and some nice panties with a little lace. no pants, he noted, which was good for him. you both had a rule; if billy was rowdy at night and needed you, and you weren’t wearing any pyjama bottoms, he was allowed to play. if you had been, he’d have been barred from touching your delectable form. but you weren’t, so he didn’t have to think of such horrible circumstances.

his fingers darted back up to hook a finger under your waistband, licking his lips hungrily yet again. you didn’t move. you breathed slow and steady, so innocently unaware of the need you instilled in this man. he felt dirty, like a filthy pervert, like he was doing something wrong- but he wasn’t. because you loved it. you wouldn’t have made the rule if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have made sure to wear the sexiest little pair of underwear and expose so much if you didn’t want to tempt him just a little. and it worked.

he leaned down, running his cold hands over your stomach, pushing the fabric of your shirt up so he could reach further up to your chest. his cheek pressed down into your hip, and he groped what he could, a soft moan coming from him. he felt so naughty. the fact he was rock hard against his jeans, just from barely touching you, made him feel like a little slut. he might’ve called you that a lot, hissing it through his teeth and spitting it at you without much control, but it was all a deflection. he was a whore. a whore for you.

he got lost in your scent. it felt like his head was swimming. he pressed his face further into your flesh, moaning out again as he moved to grind against his free palm. now with one hand groping your chest, and the other wrapped around his clothed bulge, he licked at your skin. it made a groan fall past his teeth, and he grazed them over you. he couldn’t help his noises. you felt like a pillow. you felt like everything he had ever wanted. he pressed his teeth down into your hip, and he couldn’t stop the sounds from spilling out of his throat.

there he was now, rutting like a dog against his own hand, licking and biting over any expanse of skin of yours he could find, and letting out guttural and coarse moans into the silent room. and you barely stirred. with every bite, you twitched slightly, and when he rubbed his cheek against the wet spot he created, you would shift slightly as if being moved, but you didn’t wake. he wondered what you dreamed of. he wanted it to be him. he wanted you to be thinking of only him, because that’s what he did. that’s all he ever thought about, and it drove him crazy.

he slid his face down to one of your thighs, pressing into the cushiony flesh there, muffling his groaning and gurgling. his tongue licked a long stripe up towards your sex, and he whimpered when he felt you shudder against him. your legs fell open more. he could barely take it. the way you opened up for him, spread for him, revealed yourself to him as if you were some budding flower. it rocked him. his cock twitched in his pants. it ached. he couldn’t take much more. your skin was so intoxicating. you were the only one who let him touch you, let him explore you, and it was overwhelming.

he gathered himself up, standing back to his hunched position. his breath was heavy and hot, panting, and spit ran down his lips and chin from where he had been mouthing along your body. you looked so pretty in the moonlight.

he reached down, fumbling to take himself out of his jeans. he walked around to the other side of the bed, crawling in behind you while he held his cock in his hand. he laid down right behind you. his chest was against your back, his arms wrapped around your middle so that he could grab at your chest, and his face found its way into the crook of your neck. he breathed in deep. he wanted to be surrounded by you. he was as close as he could get like this, and yet he still wanted to be closer.

he started by rubbing himself against your butt. the fabric of your panties felt surprisingly smooth against his shaft. he whimpered quietly into your shoulder, muttering soft words into your ear. “sleeping beauty… sleeping slut… my slut, all mine… so sweet… feel billy’s cock…? feel it? s’hard… hard for you… hard for billy’s slut… can’t help it…” billy mumbled all this as he began a steady pace against you. he moaned low, open mouth finding your neck again, and sucking on it gently. you stirred a bit, letting out the softest of moans in your sleep. it made him shake. he wanted to hear more of you. he wanted to corrupt whatever sweet dreams you were having, and replace them with the same filthy wants he had.

his hands ran over your front, groping and squeezing what he could find. your chest, your stomach, your thighs, your crotch. he grabbed as much as he could, as if it was going to disappear if he didn’t. and all the while, his hips pressed into yours in a steady rhythm, humping you from behind like the dirty boy he was. his hot breath hit your neck, and muffled obscenities spilled out against the side of your throat.

“piggy… p-piggy, billy needs you… billy needs you so bad… so filthy, such a filthy billy… such a clean piggy… sleeping piggy… sleeping beauty… please, please, please…” he had learned please usually got him what he wanted, that’s something you had made sure to teach him. it wouldn’t work much now, while you were asleep and unaware, but he tried. the words came out like a chant, always keeping in line with the thrusting of his hips. at some point, they stuttered, and his cock managed to slip in between your thighs and press up against your warmth. it made him mewl, his body curling even further around your own as he paused his movements.

he was panting. his hair was a mess, his hands gripping hard at your torso to keep him grounded. he pulled his face away from you, a string of drool connecting the hickeys on your neck to his mouth, like some sick form of evidence. he licked at his lips and stared down at you, still asleep. he leaned down and licked over your cheek affectionately. he needed more. just a little more, and then he’d leave you be.

with this new position, he began to slide his cock in and out of your thighs. the few tentative movements made his body quake. his hands squeezed into your flesh again, his eyes squeezing shut to focus on the immense pleasure he was getting. he was so sensitive, torturing himself in that attic for the past few days, starving himself of your touch. so even though all he was doing was fucking your thighs, and rubbing his tip up against your panties and over your heat, it felt as though he was fucking heaven itself. it made him squirm, his groans and grumbles spilling out without thought. it was like breathing to him right now. he gasped and rocked his hips, trying to push deeper into that pillowy feeling you were providing him. even while you slept, you were so good to him. so good.

his body had found its way against you again. he wrapped around you, his legs tangling with your own, his chest heaving against your back. his mouth found your jaw and your neck, and he gave sloppy kisses to each spot. his hands rested on your waist, gently moving your hips back into him every once in awhile, just to provide that extra bit of leverage.

he breathed deep, breathed in you, and it made him moan long and low. “p-piggy… piggy slut… take my cock, take it. take it. my good sleeping slut. you need it… i need it… billy needs you, he needs you… please… so close, so close… billy’s close…” he pushed out, his hips getting faster.

he came with a wheeze, his thrusts turning into harsh snaps against you. ropes of hot cum spilled over your underwear and thighs while he milked every last drop out of himself. he felt like he was on fire, and every bit of his skin touching yours was burning hotter and hotter. he pulled his body away fully, having to lay against the bed away from you for a moment to catch his breath. his dick softened against his stomach, his eyes fluttering as he laid in the glow of it all. you were so perfect to him. such a good slut for him. he let his breathing steady before sitting up and surveying the damage he had caused.

sure, your thighs were a mess, but… he liked how it looked. the white contrasted your skin so nicely. it was like an accessory. you liked those, he thought. so he left it. instead of cleaning you with his tongue like he usually would, he opted for stripping himself down into his own usual sleep wear, his boxers and nothing else, and he spooned you yet again. this time more innocent, as if you were a teddy bear he couldn’t bear to part with. he drifted off so easily, satiated for the night.

when you woke up the next morning to his soft breathing, the now cold mess against your legs, and the bruises littering your middle and neck, you were a little confused. you wondered how you managed to be such a heavy sleeper sometimes, and were slightly disappointed with missing out on the fun you knew billy had had, but… something in you felt good. good to know he was back with you, and good to know he had found some relief. you’d use this as an excuse to shower with him later anyways, and you’d get your pleasure when that time came. but for now, you stored that thought away, and just enjoyed billy being with you.

you rolled over so you faced him, not caring about the mess down below spreading onto him, as you nuzzled into his chest. you peeked up through your eyelashes, seeing his content expression, and sighed. he looked so pretty, like that.

just like sleeping beauty, you thought.

#billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #black christmas

[ahgasegotarmy116]

what was jk’s initial reaction to the revelation? Like after oc went outside to cool off and he was left with Jared and Jina. Did he tell them off? I really wanted to see what he would tell Jared since he was apperantly giving him the stink eye for a while now

"Jina" I call after her as I watch her stalking towards Jared as he walks back into the house after chasing y/n. "What?" she spits out, whipping her head back around to face me. 

"Wanna try that again?" I ask, cocking a brow at her and she stiffens after realizing what she had done. "I'm sorry dad I just...well Jared he-" "What were you thinking Jina? Sneaking around with your best friend's boyfriend? Oh I'm sorry her fiancé" I say, throwing it back at her again to instill further guilt. "I raised you better than this and you know that" I growl out, trying to keep my anger at bay. 

"How could you do this? Y/n was your first and from what I can see only true friend you've had since we moved here. Why would you do something that cruel?" I ask, clearly not understanding how my own daughter could cause someone that we both care about such heartbreak.

"I don't know dad it just happened okay. There's nothing I can do about it now so can we just drop it already?" she says, her head on a swivel, no doubt looking for where Jared had disappeared to. "No we can't just drop it. I expect to see you and Jared in my study. Now!" I bark out and her whole body stiffens in fear before running off to find him. 

~~~~

I hear a faint knock at the door and grant them entry without even glancing up. 

"You wanted to see us?" Jared asks with that all to familiar arrogant tone. "Sit" I bark out and they both take a seat at the two chairs I have placed in front of my desk.  I stand up and glare down at Jared thinking about how easy it would be to snap his neck right now. 

He's been a thorn in my side ever since Jina brought him and y/n over to the house for the first time and I've been waiting for the day I could put him in place. Although I wish it was under different circumstances. 

His gaze always full of lust towards both of them when they weren't looking but oh how I saw it. I saw it every damn time and I kept my mouth shut mistakenly thinking that my daughter would stay as far away from him in terms of anything more than a platonic friendship and even that had me grinding my teeth at the thought. 

"You're lucky you're not six feet under for what you did to y/n and Jina" I growl at him, holding myself back from hurting him. "Are you serious? She came onto me" he claims but I know without even looking at Jina that it's a lie. 

"Oh yeah and so I guess you really don't have much of a brain if you couldn't tell her no or get her off of you. Or did you even try?" I add, cocking my head, cracking my neck in the process to gain some form of relief from the stiffness that come over me after I heard those devastating words leave y/n's mouth. 

"Right" I say, filling up the silence Jared had left, all of us knowing he would be lying if he said otherwise. I take a deep breath before turning my back to them to compose myself before saying another word. 

"I'm keeping the baby dad" she says, making the choice I was sure she would've made anyway, at least this way one less person has to suffer. Life might've been seen as being 'better' if she had taken the easy way out but we all know that we would've felt their absence everyday if she had. 

"Did he force himself on you?" I ask her, not daring to look him in the eye otherwise I might snap. "Are you seriously asking if I raped her?" Jared says, getting up out of his chair and after that I'm at my limit and loom over him and look him dead in the eye, this time asking him the question since he so eagerly jumped in before she could answer. 

"Yeah Jared I am. Did you rape my daughter" I growl out, praying to anyone who might hear me that the answer is no. "No I didn't fucking rape her" he grits his teeth and flares his nostrils, clearly trying and failing to intimidate me. 

"He got me drunk dad but I said yes" Jina admits to me and before Jared gets whatever insult that had been bubbling in his throat out my fist collides with his face, leaving him falling to the floor and coughing back the pain from the blow. 

"Fuck" he groans out as he staggers up to his feet. 

"If I catch you anywhere near this house. If I see you touching either one of them I will gut you from the inside out you hear me?" I bark out at him and he flinches back at the volume, now knowing that violence is not beneath me when it comes to my girls. 

"Yes sir" he says, hissing at the sting of his busted lip. "Get the hell out of my sight" I say and turn my back to him again and hear him stalk out of my office and out the front door. 

"Dad why-" "Why did I what? Punch the guy who got my daughter vulnerable enough to be able to convince her to have sex with him and is now pregnant with his baby? Are you really asking me why I did that?" I scoff and she tries to speak again but I cut her off before she can say anything else. 

"How long?" I question, waiting for the answer and dreading the number. "Wha-" "How long have you been sleeping with him Jina for fucks sake just answer the question" I shout and watch her cower back into her chair. 

"Why are you talking to me like this? You've never yelled at me before" she asks, making my heart break as I see glimpses of the broken little girl I know she hides inside of her but not letting up because I know she needs discipline and not sympathy right now. 

"How, long?" I say again, emphasizing each word. "Six months" she whispers out, cringing at revealing the shameful amount of time they had spent together. "How far along are you?" I question, this time a bit gentler. "Two months" she says even quieter than the last. 

"Do you have a doctor?" I question, wanting to make sure that she and the baby are being looked after properly. "Not yet" she says hanging her head, finally letting her shame consume her entire being. "Get one and tell me the name so I can cover the costs" I say, my back turned to her, trying to withhold that part of me that wants to hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay. But she fucked up, and she deserves to feel the guilt and the shame of her actions for a while now that it's out in the open.

"Dad I can-" "This isn't open for discussion Jina. Find a doctor and send me their information or I will find one for you myself. Now leave, I don't want you coming back here until I say so" I say, keeping my voice as level as I can. 

"But dad I-" "No Jina, go. We'll discuss this later" I say, leaving the room before I have a chance to lose my resolve and go to the nearest bedroom to calm down before seeing the rest of our lingering guests out. 

~~~~~

Hope this answered your question hehe

Thanks for the ask love 🥰

#just take it #just take it ask #just take it drabble #jti #jungkook fanfic #fanfic #kpop #fanfiction #jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #kpop fanfic #jeon jungkook #ask

[sapphorror]

I am endlessly plagued by totally normal and appropriate feelings re: Zim and Dib saying each other's name's like that (if you get me, you get me), but I'm too lazy to make a compilation so I did the next best thing and wrote this piece of highly questionable literature about it instead

It's when Zim drops the suffix that Dib knows for sure things are about to get serious.

Most times, Zim spits out Dib’s name like it’s an insult, the tone indistinguishable from the one he uses when cycling through his roster of a schmillion and one derogatory titles, all of which smear together but might as well be a single moniker for the uniform way in which they’re spoken. Really, it’s not much different from the way most people tend to address Dib, as if the burden of tolerating his presence is an unpleasant but inevitable chore—just a bit more vehement and with the addition of arbitrary modifiers Dib’s long since learned to tune out. Sometimes it’s as if Dib has ceased to be a name at all and is instead a definition, the scientific classification for a new species of grotesque freak.

But every now and then—just often enough to keep Dib perpetually suspended in a state somewhere between eager and on-edge—the energy shifts, his last and most dire signal that a very dangerous game has already begun. There’s just as much contempt and an even nastier mocking edge, but there’s no mistaking it for another petty jab. It’s a knife shoved right in his middle, cold metal chill and the sharp numbing spark of a body going into shock, precise enough to leave his psyche spitting up rivers of rage or fear or both, but even as he’s shuddering around the lethal wound, there’s something in him that can see the care with which the blade has been sharpened.

More often than not, Dib only gets to be stabbed through the fuzz of a transmission as Zim describes his doom to him from wherever he’s judged a safe distance, the edges dulled by that slight alteration in quality that not even the best in Irken tech can entirely eliminate. That’s all well and good and gruesome enough, but it’s the occasions on which Zim’s enacted his plans in person that really stand out in Dib’s memory. Felt from beneath the full weight of every decibel, Zim’s voice almost sounds less sing-song than serenading, some single-minded ritual of seduction. A taunt, yes, but also a reassurance—that he really is every inch the monster Dib needs him to be, and that just for this moment, Dib is the sole locus of his attention. A creature of the cosmos, witness to incomprehensible wonders, stirred by Dib more than anything else, and under such exceptional circumstances, could anyone really claim he’s crazy just for being a little bit obsessed?

Zim's name sounds good in Dib's mouth.

Granted, Zim’s name sounds good in anyone’s mouth; there are some things simply too perfect to be butchered. With Dib, though, there’s a difference Zim can’t put his finger on. Of course, Irken names never roll off quite right from the humans’ flat, flappy tongues—too many hard consonants and clipped syllables for them to manage. Tak’s always sounds like the slam of a door, and poor Skoodge got stuck being addressed as something seen smeared on the sidewalk, stretched and squished at the same time. Even Zim’s name, unbutcherable as it might be, sounds slippery in their mouths, or else too quick, too sharp. Not with Dib, though—coming from him it’s slow and sibilant, a sort of sliding hiss, and that isn’t right either but for some reason Zim likes the sound of it, maybe even more than he does the real thing.

Things aren’t always so theatrical, of course. Far too often, Dib just shrugs the word off with all the dismissiveness due an old raincoat or coats it in enough casual contempt to make the internal cooling systems in Zim’s PAK falter by a couple dangerous degrees. No, if Zim wants the reverence he’s owed, he has to earn it, and that’s perfectly fine—it’s not as if the Dib has ever proven particularly difficult to entice. A mysterious occurrence, the suggestion of a scheme, any lure to lead him in by his overactive sense of curiosity and he’d be there, crying out for Zim’s attention as if his arrival hadn’t been half the goal in the first place. Sometimes he shows up already stumbling-sick with anger, at others sounding so ecstatic it might even be mistaken for sign of fondness, but in every case there is the one critical constant; that his presence itself is a papered-over proclamation of the most all-encompassing, unashamed want.

Not that Zim has ever been unwanted—the very notion, absurd!—but within the most walled-off corners of his mind, he’s willing to allow that maybe, just possibly, there’s a chance he’s never been wanted quite like this. Like a prayer or a pipe dream, the promise of settled scores and spiteful satisfaction, as if Zim’s somehow both the solution and the cause to all of Dib’s problems at once. The grating celebration always comes so premature, as if just seeing Zim, speaking to him, is by itself a form of vindication, and Zim’s never been the least bit pleased to let Dib have it. He knows it’s not much like an Invader to be running from something he could so easily fight, not much like an Irken, but the inevitable dogged pursuit that follows is proof of Dib’s dedication desperation, and what possible shame could there be in indulging that? After all, no consequence of getting caught is scarier than losing all cause for a chase.

#invader zim #zim #dib #zadr #zade #zadp #writing #my writing #iz posting #tumblr formatting my beloathed #i dont even want to talk about how long it took me to find a functional form of line break #could i do better? absolutely #but i weighed the value of this <1000 scribble against the cost of my sanity and the verdict was pretty unambiguous

[sprout-fics]

So if you are doing requests for Ghost... could you do one, where the reader saves Ghost and Soap, from something (you pick)... the reader comes in all badass... I can just picture Ghost like... "yup, marry me."

Unravel

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Rating: M

Tags: General violence, Prisoner/captive scenarios, Interrogations, Near death experiences, Rescue scenarios, 141 Taskforce Reader, F! Reader, Pining, Ghost POV, Denial of feelings,

A/N: First part of a series on oneshots I'm currently working on focusing on the growing relationship between reader (described here with the nickname 'Fix' and Simon)

Summary:

“Well, this is a right mess.”

“Can it, Soap.”

“You know I’m right, LT.”

Simon fought the urge to curse from behind his mask. Soap was right, loathe as he was to admit it. This was an almost unprecedented level of fuckery the two of them had managed to get themselves into, and he knew that the rest of the 141 would be crowing for weeks afterwards about having to save the legendary Simon “Ghost” Riley and Johnny “Soap” McTavish from a mistake of their own creation.

Their intel had been faulty. The covert mission interrupted by public officers responding to a disturbance a block down from the drug-den they’d been sweeping and taking notice of Ghost and Soap standing out with their full tac gear on. Laswell had tried to assure them that the cops were friendlies, even she had been surprised when she realized too late they were in with the same cartel the taskforce had been tracking.

“Damn you, Soap.” Ghost spit, flexing his wrists locked around the chair behind him, intertwined with the sergeant’s own cuffs. “I told you we should have called for exfil.”

Behind him Soap spluttered, and Ghost could feel the shift of his shoulders pressed against his larger frame, back-to-back as they were.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know they were cartel?” He hissed indignantly, tone biting. “They even asked us to disarm first- usually the bad guys don’t ask nicely before they start shooting.”

Ghost merely grunted, again testing the flexibility of his restraints, trying to find a way, some way to get his hands free. The motion only served to jostle the sergeant behind him, who grunted a protest.

“That hurts, asshole.” Soap bit at him, and this time Ghost bent his head and groaned into his chest, frustrated and furious and fucking pissed at being captured. It wasn’t the first time, even though he prayed it would be the last, but the shame of it still stung smartly against his skin, intense and irritating. Capture was a humiliation, a blight on the reputation he’d earned over thousands of kills.

Not to mention it was Soap.

“I hate you.” Ghost mumbled at last to the soldier at his back, and Soap let out a mirthless laugh.

“Not exactly fond of you right now either, LT.” Then, under his breath. “Grumpy bastard.”

Normally Ghost would reprimand him, maybe go so far as to smack him across the chest for the insult, but it was useless. It didn’t change the circumstances they were in- captured by the cartel, deep within enemy territory with no comms and no rescue in sight.

Motherfucker.

He shouldn’t be as irritated as he was, it wasn’t as if this was the worst situation he’d ever been in. Far from it. Simon had army crawled with a gut wound for half a mile before being found, he’d taken down an entire armed AQ team with nothing but a shiv and his bare hands. He’d survived explosions, poison canisters, bioweapons. The fact that he had earned his name “Ghost” was due to the fact that to anyone else outside the 141 he was essentially unkillable. The circumstance he was in now, tied back-to-back with his second in command in an empty room with no windows, was almost like a goddamn holiday compared to the other fuckery he’d endured.

What made it different, though, was the thought of you.

You’d been on the comms with Laswell when the mission had gone south, perched on a tall rooftop four blocks south. You had been the first one to raise the alarm of the possible interlopers, spotting the incoming convoy through your scope as you provided suppressed covering fire. When the dirty cops had managed to catch him and Johnny by surprise he had heard your voice yell into his earpiece, and Simon had only managed a “Go- get out of here-“ before the radio had been seized and your frantic cry had cut into nothingness.

It had been the sound of it, of your normally playful, cheery tone darkened by worry and then rising sharply in fear that had sliced through him- sharper than any blade. He could still hear it, could hear your voice high in your throat as you had called for him and Soap, afraid for what fates awaited them.

“Ghost-!”

You were new to the team, had been introduced only a couple months prior to the current investigation you were on. It had been Price’s idea to incorporate a medic into the taskforce. The captain had been talking about it for years, and while at first the team had been receptive (who was going to argue against standby painkillers if they got clipped during a mission?) eventually they had all dismissed the captain when he failed to follow through.

That was, until he had found you. Outstanding accuracy, intelligence training background, hours spent as a field medic in hot zones of the Middle East and East Africa, and a full recommendation from Laswell herself. Price had kept quiet about it, had dropped the topic entirely. Little did the 141 know he was waiting for you to finish your training- following successful ops the group had finished in an effort to hone your skills, to keep up with them despite the gaps in your experience. It was only after you had completed the rigorous and specialized tests that Laswell had finally cleared you and shipped you out to meet the crew.

They had eyed you warily at first, the 141, had tested your mettle with their teasing and occasionally jabbing comments. They didn’t dare make comments on the fact you were a woman- they all knew Laswell would chew them up and spit them out if they ever did. Still, they had tested you, had put you through a trial by fire in order to prove yourself.

You had taken it all in stride, seemed to see the comments and errands and dirty work for what it was. This was the way of teams like this. Woman or not you had to earn your right to stand next to them, and that meant enduring through their uncertainty of you. Never once had you complained, never lashed out or snapped at them. You met their nicknames for you- darling, sweetheart, kid, baby girl with your own teasing in return, had twisted their snide comments into a disarming flirtation that more than once had Soap or Gaz rubbing the back of their necks with a flush creeping up their cheeks.

At this point you’d saved each of them more than once, had stitched their wounds or sniped the one hostile they’d missed, had radioed to let them know of their escaping target or covered them when the area got too hot.

“Fix.” Price called you once, teasingly, for your little declarations of success in whatever you tried to solve- a knife slice on Rudy’s arm, a malfunctioning sparkplug on a vehicle, your radio malfunctioning. “All fixed!” and the name had stuck.

Simon had watched you throughout, had taken note of your tone as you deferred to him respectfully, to his years of experience and his entirely justified reputation. He’d seen you grow more confident, had taken stock of your improving instincts and broadening skill set. He’d seen you become more comfortable with the rest of the taskforce, your shoulders loosening and your smile widening at the easy jokes and banter they had slowly incorporated you into.

And slowly, something inside him had begun to unravel.

Ghost sighed despite himself, huffing the exhale through the fabric of his mask and feeling it warm against his cheeks. Quietly, he tried to tune out the final, cut off sound of your shout as the dirty cop had stomped his earpiece into the simmering asphalt.

Soap seemed to read his mind, because Ghost felt him shift in his chair, tilt his head as if he could look over his shoulder and catch the eyes of his lieutenant.

“You think Fix made it out?” He asked, and Ghost made a mental note later as to what that tone was about, but replied nonetheless.

“…She’s smart.” He confessed after a long moment, surprising even himself with the rare praise. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Hope so.” Soap replied quietly, and Ghost could tell in his tone he remained unconvinced. Ghost didn’t blame him. Ghost knew you’d get out one way or another, even had a head start from the convoy that was probably looking for you, but there was still a ripple of something that felt strangely like concern.

Weird.

It didn’t matter. He shouldn’t be worried about you at all right now, not with him and Soap captured with no way out. There was no telling exactly when or what their captors would do when they returned. For all Simon knew they would be back at any moment, guns drawn and ready to execute both him and his sergeant on the spot.

They already had the opportunity to do so, instead choosing to capture them instead. Yet that meant nothing. If their goal was a prisoner swap or a ransom, they were out of luck. The 141 didn’t negotiate.

In which case, it was only a matter of time before both he and Johnny each had a bullet in their brains.

They had to find a way out.

Ghost again scanned the room they were in- a basement of some sort, with clay walls and a solid, earthy flooring. The cops had put bags over their heads when they’d been taken, but even then Ghost had heard the sounds of other soldiers and vehicles as they’d been unkindly escorted to their current location. Likely it was an off-base black site of some sort, far from official police headquarters. Beyond that, information was scarce.

“What’re you thinking?” Came Soap’s voice from behind, tenored low in his chest in case there were guards outside listening. Ghost merely shook his head, mind trying to process the scant little intel he had.

His hands were behind him. Metal cuffs, not zip-ties. Those were easier to get out of. Plus, they were interlocked with Soap’s. He could break his thumb getting out, maybe dislocate Soap’s shoulder in the process, but that would only give him a disadvantage in carrying any weapon he managed to pilfer. Even then if he was free there would still be the sergeant to deal with, trying to release his hands as well-

Footsteps.

Ghost felt Soap go rigid behind him, snapping to attention as they both locked eyes on the flaking paint of the metal door to their side, watching the light that spilled from underneath dim as a figure stood before it. Words spoken rapidly in a foreign tongue, a shuffle, and then the door popped open-

To reveal the exact target they’d been looking for all this time.

Soap cursed something under his breath, words rattled off in thick, lilting Scottish before Ghost managed to look sharply at him over his shoulder.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, sir.” He translated, and for once Ghost couldn’t help but agree.

The man before them strode into the cell, his thumbs hooked into his vest with a broadening grin across his face.

“So, you’re the soldiers who have been hunting me and my men.” The cartel leader before them murmured in perfectly accented English, and Ghost didn’t bother to correct him to include the other member of their team, lest you’d managed to escape unnoticed. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Thanks for the invite.” Soap quipped, voice betraying a snarl. “Been wanting to meet you.”

Ghost remained silent, eyes tracing over the man- handgun holstered to his belt, two armored police just outside the open cell door, each carrying automatic weapons. Beyond- a dirt staircase where sunlight spilled in from outside.

Slowly then. No sudden movements. If he could get his hands free without the target noticing Ghost could make a lunge for him, use him as a human shield and negotiate his way to freedom.

But…Soap…

The cartel leader and Soap had continued to talk- biting remarks that yielded no real value to either side except to keep their target occupied while Ghost figured a plan that didn’t involve him losing his second in command during the course of this escape.

Yet all at once the man before them snarled in his native tongue, drawing his weapon from the holster at his side and pressing the barrel against Soap’s temple. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t breathe as he felt Johnny stiffen, breathe forcefully through his nose as his arms flexed within their restraints- at last going silent.

“And you-“ The cartel leader spat, wheeling on him now. “You always let your deputy do the talking, eh?”

“…I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.” Ghost offered coolly, never once turning his head to meet the man’s gaze.

And silently, he tapped twice on Soap’s thumb, feeling the man behind him stiffen imperceptibly before shifting his hands within his cuffs.

“So, you can talk.” Their target sneered, coming around to stand in front of him now, and Ghost shifted back in his chair so he could regard the man. His eyes roved over the tell-tale tattoo that circled his left brow, covering a scar that snaked past his temple to his ear. The wound had been the result of a skirmish with special forces when he had just been a lieutenant within the cartel, wiping out his entire section and allowing him the opportunity to climbs the ranks in the absence their deaths left. Opportunist luck, something that had fed his ego and prevented him from seeing the very real, very deadly threat sitting in front of him.

Ghost could feel Johnny shifting ever so slightly, rearranging himself and breathing in preparation.

“What’s with those eyes, huh?” The sicario in front of him sneered, leaning forward so he just barely loomed over Ghost’s larger frame seated in the chair before him. “You even alive in there?”

“No.” Simon answered mentally, the response hollow, empty like a discarded shotgun shell. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

“You wear a mask.” The man noted, and Simon never let his eyes wander from the man in front of him, not even as he felt a pulse of anger, of apprehension murmur low in his chest like imminent thunder.

Behind him, Soap stilled- instantly recognizing the remark for what it was.

“I want to see your face, you bastard.”

Simon breathed, let the air settle in his chest as the man reached out, the pads of his fingers grazing the plastic edges of the mask-

Then, in the distance, a low whistle.

All three men in the room froze- ears attuning themselves to the familiar noise of a rocket soaring through the sky, the whistle growing lower, sharper, louder, until-

Like divine retribution from above, Ghost felt the RPG impact the building above, sailing through the sky like an arrow of justice meeting its mark.

The ground underneath Ghost’s feet shook with the collision, dirt sifting from the ceiling above as the world was briefly consumed in a catastrophic cacophony that thundered from all sides. In the pandemonium Ghost could hear the startled shout of Soap behind him, the screams of soldiers above ground as they desperately tried to locate the origin of the blast.

Ghost’s target in front of him snarled to the two soldiers at the entrance to the cell, barking orders in his language, entire form taut and rigid like a coiled snake. Above the pop of gunfire and rushed screams from outside Ghost could hear the crackle of one of the guard’s radios as the compound forces desperately tried to find the source of the attack.

Yet Ghost already knew.

For a brief moment he felt a flutter in the back of his thoughts- a peripheral sensation there and gone like a butterfly against the sunlight, too quick to trace.

You.

Before he could begin to dwell on the thought, however, the sicario in front of him wheeled to face him once more, eyes bright with fury. When he lifted the gun to Ghost’s face he could see the vein on his exposed arm bulging from his tightened grasp.

“Who are they?!” The man before him screamed, face contorted into an infuriated snarl. “How many?!”

If Ghost didn’t have his mask on, he would have spit at him.

Instead, he didn’t respond, leveling his gaze past the barrel of the weapon to lock on the target in front of him. Never blinking, never flinching, hardly breathing, Ghost watched the man falter at the sight before him: of the Grim Reaper’s herald, bone white mask contrasted against his dark eyes, cold like a gravestone in a midnight cemetery. No doubt the man could see his own gaze reflected within Ghost’s own, could feel the whisper of destiny skim across his shoulders. Ghost watched as his eyes widened, realizing the soldier before him could see this man’s death before the man himself knew it, conveyed it through his eyes alone, whispering a silent, inescapable omen of fate.

Ghost saw the fear there in his target’s eyes, saw him comprehend the true horror of his own death- sudden, sharp, then silent all at once. For a heartbeat Ghost could feel his own shadow stretch long and thin under him, wavering into a phantom.

It was gone all at once, the cartel leader’s eyes flashing as he clicked the safety off his handgun-

The chair under Ghost jolted, and suddenly Soap was yelling behind him, twisting out of his cuffs and reaching for the man in front of his lieutenant with his remaining good hand as a thick stream of blood oozed down his wrist. The man backed a step up- taken by surprise, trying to react, but Soap was faster.

Soap forced the barrel of the gun up just as it fired- the flash briefly igniting the room in brightness as the bullet lodged itself in the ceiling above. The scuffle was enough to alert the two guards at the door, one at the entrance and the other at the base of the stairs, both of them pivoting with gun’s raised to the three men inside the cell, voices loud and demanding.

Yet Soap only managed to duck behind his captive, using him as a shield. With precision expertise the sergeant seized the cartel leader’s wrist and twisted- hard. Something inside the man’s wrist snapped audibly- and his resulting scream muffled the sound of Soap grappling for the gun slipping from his grasp as his other arm wrapped across the man’s front. Yet before the man could shake him off, could struggle, Soap raised the barrel of the handgun and pressed it sharply into his temple.

Everything stilled.

The gunfire outside seemed to grow dimmer in the distance as the cartel leader in Soap’s hold froze- eyes widening as realization, thick and horrifying, dawned across his features.

“Tell your men to stand down!” Soap barked into the man’s ear, and for the briefest of moments Ghost saw Soap’s eyes flick to his own, a flash of concern there and gone as he focused on the mission at hand.

Yet the man within Soap’s hold only laughed, voice crackling like a hyena’s gleeful shudder. Instead of surrendering, he only rattled off words to his two soldiers, forcing Soap to press the barrel into his temple hard enough to bruise.

“Tell them!” Soap barked, louder now, voice hinging on a note of franticness.

Yet the man only tried to struggle against the sergeant’s unbreakable hold, eyes sliding over to Ghost’s form still trapped in his chair. A wry, crazed smile spread across his lips, the light in his eyes maniacal.

“See you in hell, bastard.” He managed past Soap’s forearm closed across his throat, before again hissing orders to his men.

The soldier at the door leveled his weapon at Ghost’s sharp, cold eyes-

Just as a flash of red erupted from his partner behind him- lasting a single split second before the man crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

What-

The surprise lasted for all of a heartbeat, the soldier at the door twisting towards the sound of the gunfire at the top of the stairs with a surprised shout.

Only to crumple beside his comrade. Dead.

The remaining soldier buckled, life sparking behind his eyes brilliantly before it dulled into infinite nothingness. Dead.

Soap let his eyes turn to Ghost, twisting and letting the cartel leader face the lieutenant. Ghost could see the man’s eyes- stricken, blank as he tried to process the sudden turn of events that had rendered him helpless in an enemy’s grip.

Ghost tapped twice on the man’s shoulder- a question.

Ghost let his eyes meet the cartel leader’s- the man responsible for the death of hundreds of innocents. His gaze locked with Ghost’s for a single second, and in his eyes Ghost could see a flash of recognition, of realization as that same specter came to haunt him once more- wrapping skeletal fingers around his throat, starving him of air as he tried to plead-

Ghost gave a single, purposeful nod.

With a flash and a bang, it was over. The blood spray caught across Ghost’s mask, an abstract of violence against the bone-white plastic as the man fell, crumpling into the dirt floor.

Ghost let loose the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, head tipping forward as he breathed forcefully through his nose, steadying himself.

“You alright, sir?” Soap asked above the gunfire beyond the room, and in his voice Ghost could hear his own shakiness, having seen death and teetered back from the brink not for the last time.

“Fine.” Came Ghost’s instant response, eyes darting up to his sergeant’s. Then, with the barest hint of a smile: “Good work.”

Soap’s eyes flashed, cocky grin spreading across his features at the praise- and for a moment Ghost almost regretted opening his mouth.

Then, both men twisted at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

A shadow fell across the sunlight spilling in from above, combat boots hovering on the top step as whoever it was swept the landing for any other hostiles waiting in the shadows.

“Ghost, Soap!” A voice called out- high, worried.

Ghost felt his eyebrows recede into his hairline.

“Fix!” Soap called out, stunned.

“Soap!” You called again, and instantly you were descending the stairs, weapon still clutched tightly in your grasp. It took only three second for you to reach the bottom, and soon your dirt-streaked face was revealed to the two men- eyes wide and concerned but focused. “Ghost! Are either of you hurt?”

Soap laughed, and the sound bounced free of his chest, loosened there by the surprise of your sudden appearance and undeniably pleased.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, lass.” He grinned, toeing the body at his feet out of the way. Your eyes landed on the corpse- gaze widening as you took a moment to realize exactly who he was.

“That’s-!”

“Our target.” Ghost cut in, and he saw you flinch at his biting tone, the frustration of his capture still very much presence, enhanced by the fact that he was still in his fucking cuffs.

“Sir.” You managed tightly, storing your weapon as you circled behind him, bending to inspect his wrists still attached to the frame of the chair. Ghost couldn’t see you, but he felt your gloved hands reach around his wrists, twisting and adjusting as you struggled to pop open the lock.

“Are you alone?” He asked, ears tuning to the quieting gunfire outside as the sound of vehicles droned in the distance.

Ghost felt you pause, hands freezing for a second before they resumed, fishing a pin from your kit as you bent it into the shape to disengage the lock.

“It’s just me.” You confessed at last, voice a little quieter now, subdued.

“What?!” Soap hissed, striding past both you and Ghost to reach for the weapons discarded by the two fallen guards at the door “The Captain and Gaz aren’t with you?!”

“They’re on the bluff, causing a distraction.” You corrected. “They sent me to sneak past the guards- I…dug under the fence.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

With that, Ghost felt the release of the cuffs opening at last, springing one hand free as you worked on the other. “Got it.” You declared, voice stern, intent.

Ghost managed to catch Soap’s wide-eyed gaze, his stare incredulous as he regarded you working with silent, swift efficiency. You didn’t bother to look up, hunching down and focusing on the task at hand despite feeling the sergeant’s gaze boring a hole into your skull.

It was only once you managed to pop the other cuff that Soap huffed a laugh, impressed and indescribably charmed at your abilities. Ghost could feel his own surprise roil pleasantly in his chest, and though he didn’t speak it aloud he couldn’t deny the raw pride at your determination.

“Christ, Fix.” Soap muttered, and Ghost could see the light dance behind his eyes. “I could kiss you.”

“I could marry her.” Ghost added silently- and again that strange flutter at the back of his thoughts begged for his attention, only amplified as your dirt-streaked, smiling face came into view in front of him.

He watched as you drew your weapon from your side, eyes bright, determined, laser focused.

“On you, sir.” You chirped, and that spool of thread inside Simon Riley’s heart began to unravel just a few inches further.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghot riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #f! reader #reader insert #my writing #my fic #fic: fix

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

thank you

kieran is a decent shot but is terrifying with a knife (people are not that different to fish). 110% he would win a 1v1 knife fight every time and thanks to army training he's pretty decent at disarming people in hand on hand combat. would take a knife to a gun fight and have a chance of winning

probably taller than 90% of the gang if he actually corrected his posture

his parents died when he was a proper baby only 8 or 9 and he pick-pocketed to survive along with a bunch of other urchins like the saint denis gang. he's still pretty good at it and is really good at being stealthy/light on his feet despite his stature (helpful for not getting noticed by the crueler VDLs)

he also became a pretty good liar and con artist as part of living on the street and getting out of trouble when caught (this is heavily inspired by how differently he treats gang members, happily tells karen he is a baby to get sympathy, people-pleasing 'whatever you say miss with mary-beth, needles arthur back a bit when they go fishing)

probably has a touch of the old imposter syndrome because he never really had the chance to figure out who he was he's just been focused on survival since since day 1. he loves horses because he doesn't have to worry about what mask he has to wear with them

he's frankly not sure how old he is on account of how young he was when his parents died. he enlisted for the army when he looked old enough, in reality he was probs only 17 and barely got in based on his facial hair, which he had never shaved a day in his life since it started growing (hc late 20s/early 30s in game)

he was in the infantry division. consistent food and routine after a decade of fighting for scraps and being spit on? he loved it. very upstanding, attentive, kept his uniform clean and sharp. was there years before he saw active combat. then he fucking hated it. refused to follow orders. was not dying over land. was not shooting at unarmed people. dishonorably discharged. would have deserted if they didn't.

looks like an absolute fucking baby without facial hair and would sooner bite someone than be clean shaven because he hates it

gets very irritable when he hasn't had a cigarette for a while. has picked cigarette butts of the ground for a quick hit. would have broken faster about six point cabin if they offered him a cigarette.

lying through his teeth about his time with the o'driscolls. he was probably with them closer to a year, and a little higher than bottom-rung. got to pick and choose what missions he went on, talk to colm directly, most knew his name ect. i cannot see him having the balls to argue with colm o'driscoll himself unless he had some level of protection/seniority within the gang esp given the circumstances of how he joined. he was trusted enough to ride off on his own without running off?

in saying that. he was definitely considering running off in colter. at no point does he try to fight arthur. no way he wasn't armed. just oh no i am being abducted this is v bad. don't give me food for weeks? still like you more than colm can i stay with you pls

AHHH!!! I READ THIS THE DAY YOU SENT IT BUT I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO RESPOND BECAUSE I WASN’T REALLY EXPECTING PEOPLE TO ACTUALLY SEND IN THEIR HEADCANONS, THANK YOU THESE ARE WONDERFUL!

:D You explained these all beautifully and I feel like I couldn’t say much more, but I’ll try to “yes and…” everything you said because I feel it is worth exploring these ideas you proposed. Long HC ramble under the divider.

1) I don’t know much about 1800’s military training but I can see Kieran being a knife guy like you said. He has a custom knife in game (at the very least he has a custom pistol). Him being good with a knife makes me think of how he comes off as unarmed from a distance but harbors a wicked knife up close. I am sure he mainly uses his knife for cutting fishing line or whittling sticks in his free time. He used it for cutting up animals he hunted while with his past gang. That knife has gotten him through a lot, it’s practically an heirloom at this point; it kept him alive and is one of the few things he fully owns and kept from his youth.

2+3+4) lanky scary guy is stealthy!! Yes!! I would like to mention how no one in the VDL gang noticed Kieran wandering off and getting a gun belt from a corpse during the firefight in A Social Call Mission. He did all of that AND was swift enough to save Arthur. I agree that he was very young when his parents died. I more so think 11-13 in my HC but that’s just because I feel like the stables would rather kick out a tween/teen than a little kid. This blends into your 4th point about being a con artist. Kieran knows his strengths and weaknesses. He knows that people see a scrawny little boy before they see him as a thief. Squirming and squabbling can be enough of a distraction to get away with things.

I don’t have a good explanation for how Kieran did this since he can’t leave camp, but while I was playing, I saw Kieran donated a jewel necklace to the camp funds (and not to brag on his behalf, but he donated WAY MORE $$ than the other members 🤭). Kieran still can pull his weight in pickpocketing, even in game. I imagine he does it without straying too far from camp by pretending he is sick or hungry and thirsty on the side of well traveled paths and getting close enough to strangers to swipe something. It’s subtle enough to not draw attention to camp, yet effective enough to be worth it in the long run.

5+6) I agree on imposter syndrome! One hc I have is that Kieran was raised an only child while traveling westward to California with his parents meaning he had no consistent kids his age to be with. Even in the military (where he SHOULD be surrounded by his peers) he never really connected in a genuine way. Being roughened up by being an outlaw after that just made it harder to emotionally connect since so much required not breaking down if a group member dies. It’s odd; Kieran is unwilling to be vulnerable, but he isn’t this stoic wall. Instead he has this decoy vulnerability?… he’d rather people see him as a weak guy if it gets him out of a physical hurt yet he won’t be vulnerable if it means running the risk of being emotionally hurt.

7) I know very little about 1800’s military (and my cursory research has been shallow thus far) but I imagine it was better than being homeless and orphaned! Food, shelter and routine, like you said. I imagine Kieran was an obedient and hard working kid; helped his family with horses, fishing and hunting. Pre-outlaw Kieran felt conflicted about killing people. I mean… he joined the army so he isn’t clueless that he had to kill, but killing on paper vs actually killing is very different, plus he was a puny teen without a fully developed brain when he enlisted.

Once Kieran became an outlaw, he had to make some sort of peace / find some silver lining to killing. You have to have morally dubious ways of coping with being an outlaw or else you go mad. One way was him (guiltily or not) finding some thrill in gunfights or knife fights. Made him feel good for once about being an easy to underestimate guy. He got to taunt, shout, and watch his enemies faces contort in pain and horror.

8) the facial hair stuff!! I agree that Kieran likely looks like an exhausted young adult under all the scruff. I imagine Kieran has put value into his unkempt looks. He does care for hygiene (source: he says it in cut audio) but he can’t bring himself to trim his facial or head hair because he feels it is the only thing making him a man. Like you said, imposter syndrome, he doesn’t feel like he’s an actual adult who has his life together. I’m sure Kieran has some out-dated ideas of what makes a man (out-dated by modern day standards). Stuff like being strong, a provider, hairy, deep voiced, etc. Kieran isn’t many of those things. Having a snaggly beard is his tiny grasp on meeting what he wishes he could be. I also think he hasn’t cut his hair that much because of a lack of salons while being an outlaw.

9) I honestly forget most of the characters in RDR2 smoke… but I agree! Growing up with a smoker as a parent who tried to quite cold turkey a few times, I know how hellish withdrawal is on a person. While in Colter, tied up, Kieran was the most bellicose because of withdrawals peaking (upon other things). I feel like some point between his parent’s dying and him joining the outlaws was when he took up smoking.

10+11) Kieran was DEFINITELY lying about how involved he was with the O’Drisc, agreed. I see him as being with them for likely 6 months to a year. Maaayyybe more but I feel like Kieran ran with his prior gang for most of his adult life. To me, Kieran is fibbing a half truth when he says he wasn’t close with Colm and he was merely a stable boy. He WAS that, but with being an obedient, hardworking chore boy, he was kept around long enough to make it up little by little till he was on missions out of camp collecting supplies or defending territory/camp. Kieran was always a pawn, never someone Colm actually cared for. Kieran was just the least-annoying gang goon Colm could bring into the mountains to watch the horses in the cold stables. The fact Kieran was even spotted by the VDL gang was bad luck.

I don’t know why he is riding out of the camp solo before Arthur catches him ;-; my best guess would be Kieran was going to meet up with other members but when a fight with the O’Drisc vs VDL broke out in camp, Kieran took it as his chance to get the fuck out of there.

On the topic of getting the fuck out, Kieran didn’t fight as much as he could when Arthur got him, I agree. When his life depends on it, he will fight like a cornered animal, all knife slashing and wild-eyed. Whether Kieran fights or goes limp and pleads pathetically depends on the situation. When Kieran fled from the O’Drisc camp firefight, he knew he wouldn’t last out there unless he got off the mountain. Being snatched and dragged to an enemy camp was better than dying of exposure. I mean… everything in his life sucks. Kieran gets no easy options. Sometimes he just has to go limp and be tied up and see where life brings him.

His relationship with Colm is interesting. I don’t think Colm cares very much about Kieran (keep in mind I don’t actually know Colm’s character well since I haven’t finished the game). From what Kieran describes of him, I feel it was all things Kieran observed or eavesdropped on while doing chores or sitting around the camp. Who knows tho! I am open to the idea that Kieran was of higher rank and indeed had more reasons to talk with Colm directly. I don’t know much about the O’Driscoll gang inner workings.

Ah!! Once again, thank you so much :) I love all your headcanons and it was a blast brainstorming about your ideas.

#meeks rambles #asks #meek’s headcanons #rdr text post #rdr2 kieran #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption fandom #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #kieran duffy #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 community #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #ask

[itsjaywalkers]

Ok I’m curious af so rank your jegulus’s from most kinky to least kinky. If you would like to include examples they are more than welcome but not necessary.

Thank you for your time,

Kink Nonnie

THIS ONE IS SOOOO FUN i'm always down to talk about kink especially if it's related to jeggy <333 and since most of my wips haven't been posted yet i don't wanna give too many examples bc . spoilers . but i can share a few things ofc!! here we go <3

boxer au jeggy. god they're always at the top this is starting to get emabrrassing but it's true !! it's my filthiest james without a doubt and reg is also quite the menace in this one. we're talking exhibitionism vouyeurism edging overstimulation dom/sub dynamics spanking slapping etc etc. james gets aggressive and possessive and reg turns into putty in his hands BUT they also switch and reg absolutely fucks the cockiness out of james until he's a crying writhing mess. but yeah they have no shame and they'd try everything under the sun. also if one of my jeggys had a pissing kink, it'd be them 100%

feeling good jeggy. new entrance!! the 2nd place used to belong to oby BUT i've been . outlining a bit more of this fic and had a few realisations. we're talking corruption kink virginity kink spit kink a bit of exhibitionism and possibly some cnc too!! this james may not be as filthy (sexually wise) as boxer au james buuuuuut he's meaner and a shittier person and he's only here to seduce regulus and steal all his money (at first) so he pulls all the stops <3 they're quite wild and this reg begins as my most "innocent" inexperienced one and ends up becoming . well . something else entirely

oby jeggy. my beloveds <3 we already know most of their kinks by heart, and even though all of my james have some level of oral fixation, oby james wins!! he can come just by eating reg out and he's happy whenever he gets him to sit on his face. they almost never do it in a bed like normal people, or even in either of their flats. the riskier the place, the better, and they're gonna end up traumatising someone at this rate. also <3 kings of the daddy kink <3 i think fucked up road trip jeggy have it too, and probably also boxer au jeggy but they're the blueprint!! especially bc it wasn't even planned in the first place

nothing happens jeggy. they used to be a bit lower but i've realised a few things about them too lately.. their dirty talking goes HARD because nh james needs urgent psychological help (reg too tbh) and he gets very cruel and degrading sometimes. they also have a severe breeding kink and . kinda a cheating kink like . it doesn't start that way but at a certain point i think they find it very hot, the fact that the other is always gonna cheat for them!! or at least reg does, bc we all know james takes a while to realise what he's been doing it's actual cheating. there's also a scene in which james forces reg to call his bf at the time while he's fucking him................... Yeah

fucked up road trip fic jeggy. they're quite kinky but since they're in a life or death situation and surrounded by quite a few ppl and getting some time alone is very difficult . they can never get as kinky as they could in different circumstances yk? they do have a daddy kink and there's quite the age gap!! also the fact that james is married and his son is only like . 5 years younger than reg . which is definitely Something . also the desperation whenever they fuck is at a whole other level bc they come close to dying a few times (and they might actually die at the end of the story.......... i'm still debating it tbh). and also they make out/have actual sex in very vulnerable moments or after someone else has been killed or tortured which is lowkey questionable so

making ghosts jeggy. again at the end </3 my poor babies they deserve better.. nah but seriously this place is mostly due to the fact that it’s my softest story and not as explicit or sex heavy as some of my other stories!! this is my most submissive james without a doubt tho and there’s a lot of begging and teasing and trying to keep quiet when they fuck behind closed door bc they keep their relationship secret for . a While . there’s this scene of sirius talking to james through his bedroom door and very confused bc james won’t let him in while reg is sucking james off on the other side.. so yeah very kinky still <3

#asks #kink nonnie #jegulus my beloveds

[sombersynth]

STEDDIE FANFICTION REC MASTERPOST PT. 6

Red Eye by Alinafewwords, 65 k, teen “Can I get a hot, medium dirty chai?” “How dirty do you want it?” “Excuse me?” Steve Harrington is a struggling college student. Eddie Munson is a hot barista. Somehow things will work out.

Black Out Days (Fairground Nights) by OonionChiver, 139.1 k, explicit ‘I think,’ Steve says slowly, reaches for Eddie’s abandoned, untouched beers. ‘You don’t know me very well.’ ‘I don’t know you at all, man. I don’t really want to.’ Steve’s throat works. It’s subtle, but Eddie sees it. He hides it with a swig of beer, but when he sets it down, his smile isn’t quite so bright. Twice as sharp, though. ‘The self-centred asshole who can only be decent to a single human being, I get it. It works for you.’ Then he takes a thick, heavy breath. The alcohol is hitting him, Eddie can tell. ‘And I am being civil. I’m here, aren’t I? You have any idea how hard it is for me to be here?’ ‘In a bar?’ Steve doesn’t answer.

It’ll be Fine by Dusk Light (I’m Telling You, Baby) by Anonymous, 14k, teen The van is running, Steve realizes, and Eddie wouldn’t start it if he was just coming out to smoke. It sobers him up almost immediately. “You leaving?” Eddie gives him a smile, sad around the edges where it reaches his eyes, says, “Yeah,” and Steve knows he doesn’t just mean for tonight.

This is Your Home. These Are Your People. by Oaeas, 21.4 k, teen “Your heart’s racing,” Steve noted, quietly. Eddie laughed. It was more of a shaky exhale, lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his composure. “Stevie,” he whispered, fingers cradling Steve’s side like he was precious. “Yeah, no fucking shit.”

Too Good to be True by Ayes, 45.3 k, explicit When Eddie sees Steve in a gay bar, he decides to seduce him and break his heart as revenge for what an asshole Steve was in high school. Steve, who was only at the bar to support Robin, is taken aback by the attention but finds himself under Eddie’s spell. And Eddie, to his growing unease, discovers that Steve Harrington is actually everything he’s ever wanted.

Sanctuary by SpicedSage, 47.5 k, explicit After Steve Harrington goes missing, Eddie Munson gets exposed to the secret dangers of Hawkins, Indiana in 1985 instead of 1986. Will a different first meeting lead to a change in his fate?

Dirtybadwronggood by 3MinsOver, 8.3k explicit Steve doesn't like Eddie Munson. He's a loud, obnoxious freak. But there's something about him he just can't shake. Maybe Eddie can fuck it out of him.

Everything is Doomed; Nothing Will be Spared by 4MinsOver, 10.3 k, explicit Post vecna-battle, eddie is surprised by a late-night visitor who's looking for comfort in all the wrong places.

Throw Me One by Adure, 41.9 k, explicit Steve and Eddie are friends with benefits with the important caveat - no kissing, ever, under any circumstances; modern AU

Every Ribbon That You Used to Tie Yourself to Me by Judasofsuburbia, 63.7 k, mature “You keep telling yourself that, Eds." “Eds?” “Cute, isn’t it?” Eddie’s breath stops and his chest tightens. He’s never had a friend give him a nickname before. It is cute, which is not cool to say, so of course, Eddie spits out, “No.” Steve smiles and leans forward right into Eddie’s ear. He whispers, “You’ll get used to it.” or: it's summer 1981 and wayne munson has sent a fourteen-year-old eddie to camp in hopes that he can exist like a regular kid for once. eddie meets steve harrington on the bus and the two start an unlikely friendship. hawkins high doesn't know how to deal with that. a supercut into eddie's high school years and how steve continues to orbit him whether he wants him to or not.

Lovesick in Loch Nora by Redoaktree, 62.6 k, mature Even though Eddie's name has been cleared legally, he's still very much on trial in the court of public opinion. Dealing drugs isn't a lucrative occupation anymore, and getting a legitimate job in a town who still considers him a killer isn't much of an option, either. Eddie is beginning to think skipping town and starting over somewhere no one knows his name is the only chance he has left. Steve has another idea. AKA: Steve gets Eddie a job as an anonymous columnist at a local newspaper.

STEVE'S FIRST BRUISE by Cairparavels, 47.2 k, not rated eddie’s new roommate sure does get into a lot of fights. a spider-man!steve story. or 6 bruises of steve’s + 1 of eddie’s.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic rec #steddie fanfic recs #steddie fanfiction recs #steddie angst #steve x eddie #steve x eddie fic #my fic recs

[moons-cozy-corner]

Rescued Pt.2

TW: Restraints, past torture, conditioning, kidnapping, non-con

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

"If anyone were to ever try to steal you from me, what would you do?"

"Keep my eyes closed and my mouth shut until I am in your possession again, Sir." The answer was simple, and he answered with absolute confidence and pride. He'd repeated it countless times on command, making his master proud.

The questions had filled his week up almost completely. He'd have to answer correctly before he could eat, before he could sleep. Any time Pet saw his master he'd be tested, gaining the chance to prove his worth to them, earning verbal praise that was usually so rare.

"Good. Good..." Master muttered, pacing the floor in front of kneeling Pet, who sat so nicely on the floor with his hands crossed on his lap. His Master looked worried, but he dared not speak a word of it, lest he be punished. Master crouched in front of him, lifting his face into their hands. "You've been so good, Pet. I'm very proud of how far you've come."

"Thank you, Master," he replied, bowing his head.

His master hummed delightfully, running their thumb across Pet's cheek. He was not used to such affection from his master, but still he sat, silent and obedient. "You've done so well...

"You've done so well, Villain." Fingers combed through his sticky hair, pulling on knots and other clumps dried together from sweat. He rolled over with a moan. Whoever this person was was not Master. If he could move any further away, he would have, but the other quickly grabbed his shoulders and led him back to the center of the bed. "Careful, love. You'll fall off the bed." The voice was annoyingly soothing, and Pet hated how relaxed it made him feel.

Trying to push the other away, he realized his hands couldn’t move all that far, and he immediately recognized the cold metal. They had cuffed him.

"Woah!" The man beside him yelled, shifting where he sat at the edge of the stiff hospital mattress as Pet yanked harshly at the handcuffs. Only one harsh off tug at the metal, just enough to show how pissed he was, then he lay still again. Immediately, he regret his decision. Master would not have approved that action.

Still, his eyes stayed shut, and he kept his breathing as calm as he could muster under the circumstances. Master had taught him well how to look and act differently than he was feeling. They'd taught him well, but it was clear he still had much to learn. That's why he needed to get back to his master so badly.

Somebody else walked into the room them, and Pet could feel their eyes on his still form. "Another outburst, Hero?" Hero. That was his name, the one that had created all that noise. He was the one behind all this, wasn't he? The abduction, the cuffs, the hospital. It was all him.

Pet had to force himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He hadn't been so angry in a long while, it almost felt... invigorating?

"No, ma'am. Not an outburst. He's just spooked, is all." The room fell almost silent, but Pet wouldn't know true silence again until Master found him and took him home. There was too much buzzing here. Hero stood and walked over to the woman, dropping his voice to a whisper, probably so that Pet wouldn't hear, but he so easily did. "Are the cuffs really necessary, Superhero? He's been through some serious trauma, restraining him like this can't be helping."

The older woman sighed, not bothering to soften her voice or her spitting tone as she sauntered over to the bedside. She smelled like antiseptic and some other scent that was probably meant to be flowers. It gave him a headache within seconds, making him squirm away, turning his head away to find fresh air.

She scoffed. "Trauma? What do you care about his trauma? He's a villain, Hero. He doesn't deserve mercy or pity or whatever this is that you're trying to feel for him." This Superhero person grabbed his hair, turning his face back towards her, and with the other hand she tried to pull open his eyes. "Open your eyes and face me, vermin."

Before she managed to, Hero was on her, and there was some sort of struggle. Superhero was screaming at Hero to get off, and it seemed as if he did, because she finally shut up, her heels clicking as she left the room in a huff.

He dared open his eyes for a second. Just a second, seeing the woman disappear behind a corner, Hero running a hand over his red, puffy face. He dropped his hand, resting it in his sweatshirt pocket before his eyes turned back to Pet's weak figure.

The figure that had stupidly decided to open his eyes, resulting in locking gazes with an exhausted Hero, who's eyes sparked with something so easily recognizable. It made Pet's heart jump, made him shut his eyes before his brain could process anything else.

"Villain?" He closed his eyes as soon as Hero had seen him, turning his head again. "Villain, please. Say something. Do something. Anything. Anything."

Pet stayed silent, clenching their jaw as tears threatened to fall out of their clenched eyelids. He didn't dare make another mistake like that again.

Hero sighed, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. Pet could hear it creak with their weight. "Y'know, I spend every day searching for you since you disappeared. I'd started to lose hope, but we found you, Villain. I found you, finally, after four years." A choked laugh escaped his lips, and Pet found himself crying as well, tears silently dampening the pillow beneath his cheek. "I don't know what that bastard did to you, Villain, but you've got to be in there somewhere. Please, come back to me." Clammy hands rested on top of one of Pets', but he didn't move. Neither of them did.

"Right. Well," Hero said, sniffling as they stood. "I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed Vil- Pet on the head, soft warm lips penetrating the cold and spreading heat across his face.

Then Hero left, and Pet sat there, confused. He had been right, Hero had been the one to steal him away from his Master, and he knew anger and resentment should have followed. If Master saw him now, with tears falling freely from his now open eyes, saw his quivering lip, he'd be punished terribly; but he couldn't help it.

He knew what he'd seen. Something so familiar was in those tired eyes, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And he didn't want to. He didn't want to be disloyal to his master, so he bit his lip and hid his puffy eyes, resuming the mantra's he had been told so many times.

Stay quiet. Be patient. Behave. You will not see or speak until I find you.

Well done, Pet.

Well done, Villain.

part 3

tag-list: @bleeding-letters @nicolepascaline @whumped-inc @subval01 @whumpkinz @littlespacecastle @hollowgast1 @aswallowimprisoned @edkore @vermillion-emerald

Let me know if you want off the tag-list-- I wasn't sure if people who asked to be on the tag list wanted this series specifically or in general

#writeblr #writing #writing community #my writing #villain #hero #hero and villain #hero x villain #whump #heroes and villains #pet whumpe #past torture #whumpee #caretaker #hero caretaker #tw restraints #tw hospital setting #villain whumpee #pet whump

[owlespresso]

★ a spoonful of sugar to make the dose go down easy

dottore in love.

tags: yandere themes, noncon mention, experimentation, medical play it’s dottore what do you expect lol

Dottore does not fall in love at first sight. He is rationally minded and not prone to the same emotional urges that most other mortals are. To fall in love with someone, he needs to be interested in them. They need to be unique. They need to catch his attention, usually in a way that pertains to his research. His initial intrigue is a slippery slope to deep and irrevocable obsession.

He does not love normally. He’s the obsessive type. He needs to know everything about a prospective paramour, and has no problem delving into your personal records and other private information. He pays keen, cutting attention to your mannerisms and behaviors and notes your preferences with astute diligence. All information pertaining to you has been embedded permanently in his mind, but he writes everything down just in case.

He does not consider you “equal”. He is a man powerful enough to contend with the archons. Hardly anyone within the confines of Teyvat can hope to contest his strength and his intelligence. However, he is interested in your thoughts, and your interests, and how you tick. He’ll tend to ask you questions pertaining to your feelings in particular, because chances are you are more emotional than he is, and receiving a perspective so wholly different from his own is both valuable and interesting. 

It’s not uncommon for him to ask you questions like “why did this experiment react in this way, and another experiment subjected to the same procedure and conditions react in another way?” or “under what circumstances do you believe murder to be an acceptable act?”

He keeps you on a short leash. If you try to break it off with him, he’ll indulge you. He’ll put up an argument, but you’re allowed to leave his side. Being the second of the Harbingers brings with it a slew of resources and perks that make it easy to keep you under surveillance. There’s not a moment where he doesn’t know where you are and who you are with. None besides Pierro and the Tsaritsa herself can question his use of personnel resources, and they’re both willing to look the other way as long as he continues to do his good work.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and he’s sure that with a little time (and threats to the lives of your loved ones), you will come to see reason. 

He also doesn’t like keeping you cooped up or constantly drugged. You’re more interesting to him when you have external stimuli, things to form opinions on and observe and enjoy. He already has enough lifeless dolls to play with. That’s not to say that he won’t experiment on you. He’ll ply you with all sorts of chemical concoctions and restraining devices, typically nothing that will do lasting harm—unless he believes a permanent modification will benefit you.

The only thing that gives him pause is your possible resentment. He doesn’t like it when you withdraw yourself from him. He regards your hissing and fitting as he would regard a misbehaving kitten, cute and ultimately harmless. But take care not to try his patience. Settle willingly into his arms and engage him in conversation, lest you force him to use negative reinforcement. 

He enjoys your resistance, likes it when you squirm and spit and snarl at him to release you. It appeals to a primal kind of excitement he typically doesn’t experience much these days. Nothing is more rewarding than pinning you and taking what he needs—but be sweet for him after. Or at least agreeable. 

His affection is indulgent. He spoils you with material items and coos at you in his soft, low voice. He calls you darling and dearest and all manner of pretty pet names. You want for nothing, while in his care, as long as you behave. 

Stay resistant, but not too rigid. Retain a respectable level of independence, but do not stray too far from his grasp.

#dottore #dottore/reader #gossiping abt genshin #imagine genshin impact #genshin impact/reader #oz write

[evenfall-writes]

run away with me any time you want (party poison/reader)

chapter 1 of 2

tags and warnings: smut, friends with benefits, repressed feelings, hidden relationship(? sorta), arguments, multi chapter, kinda inspired by the fic titled ‘fuck me yourself, you coward’, i reiterate that this is FILTHY SMUT with a bit of angst mixed in

wordcount: 3106

a/n: in case you get confused with my use of pronouns, i hc that party goes by he/they pronouns like gerard so i’m interchanging the pronouns as feels natural to me :)

premise: you and party can never seem to stop arguing...at least when you’re around the others. alone is a much different circumstance. what happens when you finally grow tired of the secrecy and reach your breaking point?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

If you didn’t know better, you could swear he hated you. His eyes were shards of amber, and his body was tense, closed-in, with his slender arms crossed over his chest and his feet braced against the floor.

Even now, after a year of knowing them, Party Poison was an enigma, a whirlwind of red hair and bruised knuckles that never truly betrayed how they were feeling. And you considered yourself the one who knew them best, more than their best friend - Fun Ghoul was rolling his eyes in the corner, too used to the spitting flames of the arguments between the pair of you - and maybe even more than their brother.

“I was thinking I needed a nice stroll,” You drawled, watching the muscles in Party’s neck tense as he swallowed roughly.

“You know we don’t go alone - you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Instead I got us more shit to sell - what exactly is the problem, Red?”

“You could’ve led some Dracs right to our door.”

You looked around dramatically, shrugging. “And yet I see no Dracs. Cool it, spitfire.”

Party opened his mouth as if to retort, but he was cut off by a quieter, calmer voice.

“Both of you, cool it.” Jet - ever the voice of reason - intervened, shaking his head. “(Killjoy/Name), Party is right. You shouldn’t go out alone, it’s dangerous.”

Party smirked, a vindicated glint in their eye. Jet wheeled round to face them.

“But Party, man, look at this stuff.” Jet swept a hand across the diner counter, indicating to the pile of contraband you’d collected. “This will keep us going for a while.”

Your ever boisterous leader folded his arms, silent for once, and shook his head in annoyance before turning on his heel and storming to the graffiti’d STAFF ONLY door that led to the office he had taken as his bedroom, muttering curses under his breath.

An uncomfortable silence fell over you and the other Killjoys as you looked at the ground.

“Ignore them,” Kobra said, picking at a hangnail. “You know what my brother is like. They’ll get over it in no time.”

“Your brother is a dick.” You responded, sitting down with a heavy sigh in the diner seat across from Ghoul, who flashed you a wicked grin.

“Fuck, the sexual tension is smothering.” Ghoul jeered, and you flipped him off. He raised his hands defensively. “No- I mean it. You two should...hash it out. If you catch my drift.”

“Fuck you.” You groaned, sinking down in your seat.

“Say that to Party,” Ghoul deadpanned, wiggling his eyebrows. “See where it gets you.”

“For what its worth,” you felt a pat on your shoulder, and looked up to see Jet, “You did good. Just give him some time.”

“Give him time to tug one out, maybe,” Ghoul remarked, and Kobra swatted him across the head, causing a curse to escape the older boy’s mouth. You tried to glare but even you couldn’t hold back the giggle, clasping a hand to you mouth.

You don’t know the half of it, Ghoul.

As the sky darkened and the mood chilled, the guys excused themselves one-by-one to head to bed, into the repurposed storage room that they had all set up mattresses in. You shared with the girl in what was once a break room, giving the pair of you a little privacy away from the boisterous men and still allowing the girl to have an adult there to care for her.

“Is Party mad at you?” She asked in a small voice as you tucked her into her mattress, and you sighed.

“Party is mad at the world.”

“I don’t like it when you two fight.”

“We’ll try not to, okay? Get some sleep.”

As you did almost every night, you waited for the sound of quiet breathing to slow as the girl entered the world of dream, curling in on herself as she slept. As soon as you were confident she had fallen asleep, you wriggled out of bed, careful to not make much noise, and slipped out the door, avoiding the creaky floorboard that you had discovered the first time you did this, six months ago, when your whole thing with Party had started.

Sometimes, the girl would wake up and ask you where you were going, and you’d tell her you were headed out back for a smoke, or into the Trans Am for a quick night-time drive. After all, it was stuffy in the diner, you told her. She always accepted the explanation, too sleepy to argue, her eyes already in the process of drooping closed, and leaving you free to creep across the corridor, to the office that had a torn vinyl sticker portraying a pill pocket and a cross adorning the door - you remembered how proud Party was when he got that sticker printed - so you could quietly knock once and wait.

“It’s me,” you murmured through the door.

“Come in,” you heard a gentle voice respond, and you obliged, slipping through the door and closing it quietly behind you.

“Are you still mad at me?” You said teasingly to your leader, who was sitting cross-legged on the stained mattress, a loose white tank-top hanging from their frame. Their face was softer. a slight smile tugging at the corner of their mouth as they gazed up at you. 

Party pressed his lips together, thinking, and tilted his brilliant red head to the side. “I was never mad at you. But what I said stands, you know. Don’t go alone.” But the bite in his words was gone. His eyes were soft, hazel-honey pools of emotion that you felt yourself drowning in. A far cry from how they were looking at you earlier. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m gonna live forever, baby.” You flashed him a smile, and Party chuckled, opening his arms invitingly.

“C’mere,” He said, and you obliged, practically throwing yourself onto the mattress next to him and curling into his arms.

This was the Party you knew. For all of their bravado and energy, you liked it best when you were alone with them and didn’t need to put up the façade. Very few people had gotten past his walls to see the gentle soul on the inside. Though you had no label on it - as much as you wanted one - you had gotten used to the secrecy that came with a relationship with Party, deeming it something that just was. Party didn’t want anybody to know about your little liaisons, and you accepted that, as much as it hurt, because you would go to hell and back for them. And Party had a point - this was dangerous. If Korse and BLInd ever found evidence of your ‘relationship’, they could use it against you. Not even your friends were safe to know. So you bit back the hurt and kissed your lover until your mind spun and you could pretend, just for a moment, that you lived a normal life. Sometimes, you thought it’d be nice to tell them you loved them. Just once, if they’d let you.

(They wouldn’t.)

But for now, you could be content with this. Gentle kisses sketching lines on your spine, scraped legs wrapped around your hips, locking you against their slim chest as their gun-worn hands traced circles on your waist, dipping dangerously low every time. You sighed and arched your back into their chest, letting your head fall back across their shoulder.

“Your hair is fading.” He brushed his fingers tenderly through your matted, blue-grey tresses. 

Well. Your hair was just blue, once. Fucking cheap hair dye.

“I’ll grab some more dye next time we go out.”

Party hummed to himself, pressing his lips to your jawline. “Do you think they‘re fooled?”

“They think we hate each other. Ghoul reckons we should fuck to release some of the tension,” You grinned mischievously, and Party stifled a chuckle.

“Well, we can’t disappoint Ghoul.” They said sarcastically, planting a kiss on your neck. You shuddered as their hot breath wafted across your sternum, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Sounds like a pretty good idea to me.”

“Mmm,” You sighed as Party’s hands slid under your shirt, squeezing your waist and travelling upwards still. “Of course you’d say that. Fucking perv.”

“You know me.” Their voice was low in their throat, their kisses turning to light nips along your skin. Not enough to break the skin or even bruise, but enough to provide a sharp pain followed by the soothing sensation of their tongue skimming over your tender skin. Their hands cupped your covered breasts, fingers brushing over where they knew the sensitive peaks were, and you dropped your head against their shoulder, shifting your hips so your ass pressed firmly against their stiffening length. “Fuck, baby,” You heard them hiss, and you bit your lip, sliding your hands behind your back to tug at their tank top, which they eagerly removed, replacing their hands as soon as they did so.

“Yeah, that is what we’re about to do. I’m getting there, okay?” You hummed playfully, and you heard them curse, their fingers tightening over your breasts, enough to cause bruises.

“Quit playing around,” Party said with a growling tone in his voice, his hand dropping to the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion and leaving you shivering. That didn’t last long, as your lover pushed you down onto the mattress, his warm chest pinning you to his body as he kissed and groped at the skin peeking above your bra. A shocked moan ripped from your throat as he slid one hand to cup your pubic mound through your tight jeans, the friction of the denim manoeuvred by his fingers causing a shiver down your spine. He chuckled against your breast. “You like that, baby?”

You let out a gasp that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘yes’ as he wriggled his hand underneath your jeans, his fingers cold against your warm core. He slid one knee between your thighs, pressing it tightly towards your groin and letting you desperately rut against him.

“So desperate, it’s almost cute how needy you are,” Party murmured roughly, curling their fingers upwards and stifling your jolt of pleasure with their body covering yours. “Maybe I should just keep doing this, maybe you don’t deserve the whole thing.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” You hissed with a hitch in your voice, throwing your head back against the mattress. “I swear to god, Party Poison, I will never forgive you if you don’t fuck me right now.”

Party narrowed their eyes, dark with a haze of longing and lust. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“The fuck I don’t,” You groaned, but quickly turned your voice sweet as he made a motion as if to remove his hand. “Fuck, please?”

“Well,” He drawled, his hand sneaking to the hem of your jeans. “Since you asked so nicely...”

With Party’s help, you shimmied out of your jeans as quickly as you could, gasping when you felt them press their crotch against yours, free from the barrier of your clothes but still constrained by theirs. At the sound of your pleas, Party hiked one of your legs up over their shoulder before pinning your wrists above your head with one of their hands and reaching down to deftly unbutton their jeans with the other. Their cock sprang free, resting against your exposed folds, which throbbed at the contact as you desperately ground against their length.

Party let go of your wrists, placing one hand against the mattress next to your head to brace himself and grasping your waist with the other. His head dipped down, vibrant red hair buried in your neck, and you placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart pound. It didn’t matter how many times you’d done this before, every time was like the first. He paused briefly, waiting for you to give him the signal to proceed - you reached up and deftly tugged at his hair impatiently - before thrusting his hips forward with a groan and sheathing his length within you.

“Oh, fuck...” You half-sighed, half moaned as he picked up the pace, steadily snapping his hips to yours in a consistent manner. Your hands tangled in his hair, using it to anchor you in place as he pounded into you.

“(Name),” they breathed ruggedly, harsh breaths drawing through their teeth as the jolts of pain radiated from their scalp, driving them crazy in a mildly masochistic way. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

A call of his name fell from your lips - not Party Poison, not the alias he’d undertaken six years prior, but his real name, something he had told you in confidence one of the first nights you’d ended up in his bed, because you knew that he loved the way it dripped from your lips like syrup. You thought that, other than Kobra, you were the only one to know his real name, and it made your heart swell to think he trusted you that much.

At the sound of their name, they grunted and increased their pace, their movements becoming almost frantic. You traced shapes upwards against their crotch with your hips, feeling their chest heave and shudder beneath your fingertips, their pink lips erupting with soft curses and hisses of your name. They dropped one hand from your waist to slip one middle finger beneath your folds, easily locating your clit and caressing it in time with their thrusts.

“Fuck, baby,” He repeated, almost whining, lifting his face from your neck to kiss you roughly, his tongue slipping between your lips. Your teeth clacked together with the fervour of the kiss, making your head spin as you pulled away to arch your back with a cry.

And that’s when, without you meaning to, the words escaped your lips in a garbled, barely understandable string of moans.

“Fuck, I love you s-so much.”

Party tensed up, and their hips slowed to a stop as they almost completely pulled out, making you want to whine at the missing pressure in your groin. In the dim light of the lamp, you could just barely see the panic forming in their eyes.

“What did you say?”

“N-Nothing!” You pressed your lips together, wide eyed. Party didn’t look convinced, their eyes wide with horror. “I didn’t mean...I...it just slipped out.”

“(Name),” Party pulled away completely, clambering back onto their knees and leaving you lying prone beneath them before shaking their head, reaching aside for a pair of grey sweatpants which they immediately pulled on, covering their nakedness. “I mean, (Killjoy/Name), this is...we can’t...”

“Forget I said it,” You hauled yourself up, hugging your knees. “Just...forget it.”

“I can’t forget that shit.” Party said helplessly, dropping their hands to their lap. “(Killjoy/Name), you know why we can’t...”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat as hot, angry tears made their way to your eyes. “Right. Yeah.”

“It’s not that...” Party paused, choosing their next words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t want to deal with those sorts of feelings. It’s just...”

“It’s not safe.” You finished for him, bitterly. “I know.”

“If BLind ever find out...they’ll kill you to get to me. You know they will.”

“I don’t care about that!” You protested, scrubbing at your eyes. Party reached out comfortingly but you shrugged off his hand. “I don’t...I don’t care if BLind finds out or not. Fuck them. But our friends? Your brother? I’m not saying that they need to know all the dirty details, but they can’t even know that you don’t hate me?”

Party didn’t say a word, pressing their lips together guiltily.

��Do you...” You hesitated, biting your lip, unsure if you wanted to know the answer. “Do you even want to be with me that way, or am I only good for a quick fuck in the back of the Trans Am?”

“What?” Party blanched, horror crossing his face. “(Name), no...”

“Because that’s what it feels like.” The tears were flowing freely now, hot humiliating proof of your situation trailing down your face. “I can’t do it, Party. I can’t be this close to someone I...care about...while knowing they won’t let themselves feel the same.”

Party froze. “I’m sorry.” They whispered. “If I made you feel like that, I...I’m sorry.”

“I’m going back to my room.” You got to your feet, shamefully gathering up your clothes, covering the evidence left on your skin of your nighttime tryst. “I just...let’s not do this again. Any of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Party repeated like a broken record. You didn’t respond, glancing back as you hesitated in the doorway. For a moment, you longed for them to say it back. But Party just looked away, unable to meet your eyes. “I’ll...see you in the morning.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat before leaving the room. As you wandered aimlessly down the corridor, you heard the unmistakable noise of a fist against drywall and a loud, choked curse.

Once in the safety of your own room, you gripped your hair, dizzy, and fought back the urge to scream, fearful of waking up the girl.

What was the point of leaving Battery City if Party was still unwilling to experience all of the emotions that life had to offer?

As if in a haze, you gathered all of your stuff. Meagre possessions - a leather jacket, a few changes of clothes, your motorcycle helmet, your ray gun...and a small beaded bracelet Party had found on a run once and presented you in private - always in private.

You sighed and put the bracelet back down.

No.

If you were going, it was a clean break. No distractions. No mementos.

You knelt over the girl’s mattress and pressed a kiss to her curly mop of hair.

“Take care of the boys for me,” You whispered, and she stirred, mumbling something in her sleep.

The roar of your motorbike was loud, too loud in the quiet Californian desert night, but before you could dwell on it, you were already miles out from the diner. You didn’t have a destination. Just out. You didn’t even know how long you were planning on leaving for, or if you intended to return.

“I’m just clearing my head.” You murmured to yourself above the roar of the engine. “Just need some time alone.”

But you weren’t sure. Only time would tell.

to be continued?

#party poison #party poison x reader #party poison/reader #danger days #my chemical romance #mcr

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Carla [MANSERVANT ENDING]

[Vampire] [Manservant] [Brute]

ー The scene starts with a black screen

Yui: ( I can’t take it anymore...! )

Shin: Che...Nii-san...

Carla: ...

Shin: Don’t tell me...This is the time...When you decide to hold back? ...Come on. Grab hold of your sword again.

Yui: Eh...!? 

ー Yui opens her eyes again

Carla: ...Is that what it looks like to you?

Shin: Yeah, it does. I mean, ever since I was just a kid...

I’ve been keeping a close eye on you...

Come on...Here I come!!

*CLING*

Carla: Ugh...!

Shin: I can see through everything! Like whether or not you’re giving it your all!

I guess I’m being underestimated. Am I really that unworthy of an opponent? 

*CLING*

Shin: You’re even ill on top of everything, yet you’re still looking down on me!? 

I can’t forgive you...!!

*CLING*

Shin: Not ever!!

*CLING*

Yui: ( Oh no...At this rate, both of them will...! )

Just stop already!!

Carla: ...!!

Yui: It’s been enough, you two!!

Shin: What do you mean!? Enough, my ass!!

Yui: But at this rate, you’ll boーー

Shin: You’re getting on my nerves. Back off already

*Cling*

*Thud*

Yui: Kyaah!!

Carla: ...!! Yui!

*Cling*

Shin: Woah there...Don’t move, Nii-san. If you don’t want to see her head hit the ground, that is.

Carla: Shin, you bastard...!

Shin: Hahaha. Holding one chick hostage is really all it takes for the King of Founders to be shaken up? 

Nonsense!

*Woosh*

Yui: Kyaah...!!

( M-My arm got...cut off...! )

Carla: !!

Shin: Hahaha...This might be the first time I’ve seen you make that sorta face...

...If possible, I would have liked to see it under different circumstances. 

Carla: Shin...!

Shin: Actually, if you’re gonna make that kind of expression, then I can no longer consider you my Nii-san.

My Nii-san is perfect after all. He’s the absolute ruler...Yet, the guy standing in front of me right now...

...has lost his cool over some puny little girl...fearing that she might be killed.

That doesn’t make any sense! You are no longer the older brother who I respected, yet loathed at the same time...!

*STAB*

Yui: Aah...!!

Shin: Come on, tell me! Tell me that you’re not fazed! That you don’t give a damn about this chick...

Spit it out!!

Carla: ...

Shin: I can tell that you are simply trying to act smug. You are terrified...

Exactly. Because you developed special feelings for this little girl...You are no longer that perfect older brother you once were...

Carla: Shin, what are you being delusional about?

Shin: ...Hah? 

Carla: This perfect older brother you speak of, never existed in the first place. 

Shin: Ugh...!!

Carla: You should know that very well. I killed our Father, the King.

From that point onwards, I was no longer...

Shin: Shut up!!

*Cling*

Shin: ーー You’re just better off dead, so shut up!

*STAB*

Carla: Guah...!? 

Yui: Carla...san...!!

Shin: Fuck off...I can’t believe you call yourself a King, yet you won’t even admit to your own weakness...

*Thud*

Carla: Guh...Ah, uu...!!

Shin: I mean, aren’t I right? For a King such as yourself to become like this...for that stupid pipsqueak over there...

You shouldn’t devote yourself to someone like that!!

*THUD* 

Carla: Uu!!

Yui: Stop...Just please, stop...

Shin: What’s the problem, little pest? Do you want to die first, perhaps? 

Yui: Shin-kun...This is...

Shin: Shut up.

*STAB*

Yui: Aaaah...!!

Carla: ...Cut it out...Shin.

Shin: ...!! How many times do I have to tell you to buzz off!? I don’t have the time...to keep up with this farce of you two!

*Thud*

Shin: What is this bullshit!? Why did this...?

Don’t disappoint me like this!

Us Founders...First Bloods...We’re better than this, aren’t we!? 

Carla: I’m sorry, Shin...However...

Shin: You really think an ‘I’m sorry’ will solve things at this point!? Don’t fuck with me!!

*Thud*

Carla: Guh...

Shin: Ahーahーahー...I don’t think I’ll be able to rest in peace...until I’ve ripped both of you to shreds with my bare hands...

Carla: ...You may do with me as you please, however...

Shin: Nice try! But I won’t listen to you. You’re no longer my Nii-san.

Therefore, I’m no longer taking any orders...or favors from you!

*Thud*

Yui: ( Shin-kun is enraged...Yet at the same time, he looks so very sad... )

( I guess that just shows how absolute Carla-san has always been in his eyes... )

( That’s why he can’t allow for him to open his heart to me, even just the slightest bit... )

Shin: Hey, Nii-san...Let me ask you one more time. You don’t actually care about her, do you?

Carla: Ugh...

Shin: If you say that...I’ll spare your life.

Carla: Shin...

Shin: Come on, give me your answer. This is your final chance...

Carla: ーー her.

Shin: I can’t hear you. 

Carla: I love...that woman.

Yui: ...!!

Carla: ...I kept brooded over it this whole time. Telling myself that as a King...I should not let myself get swayed by such sentiments. 

However...I am simply unable...of suppressing my own feelings. 

As soon as I realized, I could no longer lie to myself. 

Shin: ーー Heeh. 

Carla: Thereforeーー

Shin: Enough. I don’t want to hear it.

*STAB*

Yui: ...!! C-Carla-san...Uu...

*Thud*

On certain CGs, little black roses will appear on the screen. If you click on them, you get an extra line of dialogue.

“Shin...My younger brother...As one of us First Bloods...I am leaving the rest to you...”

“I do not mind what happens to me. However, if a God truly exists in this world, please answer my plea. At the very least...Spare this woman whom I love so much...”

Carla: Yui.

Shin: Oh geez...You want to go together hand-in-hand!?

Ah, this pisses me off! I’m gonna puke! I’ll just finish you both off...

Die!!

*STAB*

Yui: ...Ugh. 

Carla: ...

Yui: ( Why? Why did this happen? How come...? )

( Hey, God...Answer me if you’re there!! )

ー The screen fades to black

Shin: ...

How ridiculous. Love? My ass...

I can’t believe the guy who was more powerful than anyone would give in to such sissy feelings...

Unforgivable. 

*Cling*

*Stab*

Yui: ...

Shin: For this stupid little girl, nontheless...Honestly, who is the one who lost their mind...? 

ーー Hey, my bad but...We don’t actually need you. 

But your heart, remember?

We told you from the very start, didn’t we? Yet Nii-san got the wrong idea...

I’ll take your heart. I need it after all. 

As long as I have this heart, we can flourish once more. 

ーー All I need is this heart...!!

*STAB*

Shin: Eh?

Karlheinz: Truly pitiful. 

Shin: You are...Karlheinz...!? 

*Thud*

Karlheinz: ーー Eve...Carla...While this may not be of any consolation to the two of you. 

This was simply your dark fate... 

It was the result of the combination of three individuals:

one who wholeheartedly accepted their ideals, one who pushed their ideals onto others and finally, one who turned a blind eye to all of it. 

You simply could not live underneath the same sky.  

Yui: ...

Karlheinz: Eve, please rest in peace. 

I am sure that eventually the time will come, where you will be able to conquer this fate.

You simply must be patient until then. Okay?

ーー THE END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #carla tsukinami #dark fate #diabolik lovers translation #dfcarlaending2

[zemobaronofthedance]

Kissing Your Pain Away (Stede/Izzy)

Prompt: Kissing your partner's wound.

Can also be found on AO3

“Don’t be childish Izzy. Let me help.”

Stede pointedly looked to Izzy’s arm where he’d gotten nicked by a sword in their most recent pillaging. Izzy had been careful not to react to the wound and carry himself as normally as possible. He’d thought no one had noticed but of course, fucking Stede Bonnet had somehow clocked the injury and was now adamant about helping Izzy lean it. As if Izzy wasn’t perfectly capable of tending to it himself.

“It’s just a scratch Bonnet.” Izzy tried to brush past Stede and leave the Captain’s quarters – where Stede had squirrelled him away to the second they’d set foot back on the Revenge, everyone else, Edward included, had been too excited sorting through their loot to notice, or so Izzy hoped.

“It’ll get infected and Roach will have to cut it off.” Stede stepped to the side blocking Izzy’s escape route.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” Izzy protested, practically spitting the words at the other man.

“Oh really?” Stede raised an eyebrow as he reached out and squeezed Izzy’s arm – hard. Izzy’s knees threatened to give out at the searing pain that shot up his arm.

“Ow, fuck, you fucker.” Not his most eloquent insult but it would have to do, given the circumstances. Izzy thought Stede would let go after proving his point but his hand kept its firm grip on Izzy’s arm, sending waves of pain up his arm.

“Now, are you going to be a big boy and let Stede clean you up?” Izzy had never felt the slight difference in their heights more than he did at that moment. With a simple question, Stede Bonnet towered over Izzy making him feel small and vulnerable. To his horror, Izzy didn’t hate it and if his leather pants fit a little snugger than usual no one would ever know.

He stubbornly stared Bonnet down with flushed cheeks, whether that was from their proximity or the pain Izzy didn’t know or care. He wouldn’t crack. He was Isreal Hands, first mate to the fearsome Blackbeard, he would not submit to this pansy fancy boy playing pirate.

Stede tightened his hold on Izzy’s arm, his body quivering at the new flash of pain. Izzy couldn’t hold in his desperate moan. Fuck, there was no coming back from that. Stede sent him a knowing look though for once he kept his mouth shut.

Izzy dropped his angry gaze from Stede’s eyes to the floorboards, all fight leaving him. “Good boy,” Stede whispered before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the top of Izzy’s head.

“You’re ridiculous,” Izzy mumbled at the other man, who had finally released his hold on Izzy’s injured arm.

“Mhmm,” Stede hummed in amusement. Izzy didn’t look up as Stede moved around the room gathering his supplies or when he peeled Izzy out of his vest and shirt. The first touch of a warm, wet rag on his skin sent shivers down Izzy’s spine. Stede was gentle with every pass of the cloth and his grip on Izzy’s arm. It was so different from how Edward touched him but it still sent his heart hammering away in his chest.

As if he could hear Izzy’s thoughts, Stede paused in his cleaning of Izzy’s wound and using just the tips of his fingers under Izzy’s chin lifted his face so that Izzy had no choice but to look into his eyes. His eyes, like every other part of him, were soft. Izzy didn’t believe the emotion he saw in those eyes, he couldn’t. The second he let himself think this was real was the second he had everything to lose. And what good was a pirate that was afraid of losing?

Stede moved forward in one swift motion and placed a quick peck on Izzy’s lips. Izzy knew Stede wanted more – more of the kiss and of Izzy. But Izzy kept his lips a harsh, stubborn line and forced himself not to lean into Stede. He hadn’t kissed anyone in years, not since he and Edward were young – before Blackbeard.

A flash of disappointment crossed Stede’s face before he turned back to his work on Izzy’s arm. He was meticulous as he cleaned out the cut. Once he deemed it good enough, Stede reached over for a jar of a sharp-smelling ointment he claimed was the cure to everything. Izzy braced himself for the sting he knew would come from Bonnet rubbing the foul ointment into his open wound but the sting never came. Instead, pain and pleasure twirled around each other as Stede pressed a kiss into the skin just above where the cut started.

Stede looked up at Izzy, keeping his lips against Izzy’s skin. Izzy watched, trembling, as Stede slowly moved his lips down the cut in Izzy’s arm, stopping to lick at the fresh blood that had pearled out at his touch. He moved further down until his lips came to rest at Izzy’s wrist, hovering just over where he could no doubt feel Izzy’s heart pounding. His lips parted and his tongue danced across the delicate skin.

Izzy didn’t know what to do. This was too much, more than anyone had ever given him before and more than he deserved. Stede’s eyes were unreadable as he lifted his mouth from Izzy’s hand and moved back up so his lips were mere centimetres from Izzy’s.

Izzy could feel Stede’s breath on his lips, gentle puffs of air that sent tingles down his spine. He waited for Stede to close the distance between them again and was irritated when Stede seemed content to stay where he was, so close but not touching Izzy.

Seconds stretched into minutes and anger buzzed anew underneath Izzy’s skin. What game did Stede think he was playing? What tricks was he trying to pull? Anticipation, frustration and desperation drove Izzy to his braking point as he smashed his lips into Stede’s. Caught off guard by the man in front of him Izzy moaned like a cheap whore as Stede’s tongue snuck into his mouth and repeated the patterns it had drawn on Izzy’s wrist. A part of Izzy screamed at him to pull away, to leave before this could go any further but as Stede ran his fingers through Izzy's hair and grabbed hold of his neck a louder part told him to take everything Stede was offering. Izzy might be going crazy but he let go of everything that had been holding him back and melted into Stede's arms.

#izzy hands #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fanfic #zemo writes shit #stede/izzy #izzy/stede #gentlehands

[onsunnyside]

You know Lloyd is a kinky motherfucker when he uses words and phrases like “puckered asshole” and “let’s see if these moves fuck”. Like..who says that? And when he pulls out a knife, too? Oh, he knows a thing or two about using it under different circumstances😌 (i know you included knife play in your icfh party, and i can’t wait to come back home and catch up on everything😩)

Sending hearts, kisses and flowers in your way🥰🥰

The Lloyd Hansen Enthusiast

he’s so kinky:

just the filthiest man ever, spitting all over your face and calling you dumb for letting him treat you like that 😖 no doubt in my mind he brings other things into the bedroom too, handcuffs, a gun and that knife 😣 so mean !! So daddy !! So messy !!

#pls take this kith !!😚 #kinky lloyd #the lloyd hansen enthusiast anon #icfh party