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that-sarcastic-writer · 1 year

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Bandage To A Broken Heart (Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Fem Medic!!Reader

Summary: You're a medic assigned to the 141 task force, Ghost is particularly fond of you and after an injury, he comes straight to your door. This is in Ghosts point of view (still second person, just from his perspective)

Warnings: explicit content, minors dni, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, praise kink, size kink (mans 6'4 whaddya expect), choking, dirty talk, language, mentions of injuries, mentions of reader being much shorter than ghost and has tattoos, no other physically descriptions

WC: 7k I'm so sorry

A/N: FINALLY, ive been writing this fic for like 3 weeks now and I finally got to finish this and omggg, Im down so fucking bad for this man, so naturally I wrote filth for him. I hope my ghost girlies enjoy this

You can also read this over at Ao3

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Ghost was no stranger to pain. Not in the slightest. Pain was second nature to him. He had spent his entire life experiencing and learning to manage his pain to the point where he no longer felt it. But he'd be lying if he said that your touch didn't take away his pain better than he ever could himself.

Always so careful and gentle, and always willing to help anyone that walked into your infirmary and in the field. He couldn't understand how someone so sweet and caring could've ever ended up in the military, but then again after the things he had seen you do in the field, he'd be a fool to ever doubt your capabilities.

He was no stranger to you either, afterall, the 141 had become your main patients after you were assigned to their task force as their physician a year ago. And for one reason or another, Ghost always ended up at your infirmary, whether it was for an actual injury or to ask about your day under the excuse of needing some painkillers he probably didn't really need through grumbles and that particularly dry humor of his that always made your day. And truly, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his day too.

Simon Riley was down bad for you, and he didn't know what to do about it.

He had lost track of time. He wasn't sure if it was from the crash or just the overall shit show that his latest mission had been, but everything was an absolute blur to him. All he knew is that there was only one thing he wanted to do and one thing only. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you.

Price had insisted Ghost joined the others at the infirmary, but he knew it wouldn't be you stitching up his wounds. After a very disastrous previous mission, you were left with pretty severe injuries yourself, ones that left you at your own infirmary for a few days. And while you assured them you were ready to go back to your duties, which included accompanying the 141 to their latest assignment, Price and Ghost himself insisted you sat this one out, and took a couple more days to fully recover. After a good fifteen minutes of protesting, you were outvoted. There were medics on base after all. But they weren't you, so naturally Ghost refused to go to the infirmary. He didn't trust anyone else but you. He'd rather bleed out, he said.

Price wasn't one to question anything Ghost did, he could take care of himself. And he knew you were the only one he trusted to take care of him.

Before he even realized it, Ghost was dragging himself to your quarters, unsure if you'd tell him to fuck off and to go to the infirmary instead, or if you'd honor the idea that he only trusted your hands to fix his wounds and take away his pain, for a little while at least. He was hoping it was the ladder.

He knocked, once, twice and a third time, and with a pained groan he leaned his body against the door, trying to take some weight off his sore legs. He waited, his mind racing and thinking that maybe you weren't at the infirmary for a reason, that maybe he should leave you alone and let you take some well deserved rest.

But he needed to see you, right now.

He lifted his head only a few inches to find you, for the first time not in your usual uniform, but instead a plain dark green tee that left the pattern of black and colored ink on your right arm on full display, and sleeping pants. But you didn't look like you had been asleep, you looked wide awake. Though that quickly turned into what Ghost thought was a mixture of worry and relief on your features. He knew because he had that same look when you woke up after he had carried your unconscious body to the medivac.

"Will you ever learn to take care of yourself out there?" Were the first words out of your mouth as you scanned his slouched body, taking particular notice to the hand glued to his right shoulder.

He let out a dry chuckle and the way in which his entire body relaxed, his shoulders dropped and was no longer on high alert the second he saw you was more than obvious. Whether or not you did notice that or not was beyond his people reading skills.

He didn't have to ask or say anything, you simply moved out of the way and walked back. He followed you in, his heavy but surprisingly quick steps following close behind you until you eventually came to a stop. He stopped, standing to his full height and his dark eyes were fixed on you as he waited for you to grab your medical supplies, which he knew you always kept around just in case.

"I can't check for injuries with all that gear Simon." You motioned your free hand to his tactical vest strapped with just about every weapon he could carry and most likely a bullet covered plate underneath his jacket.

He stood silent for a long second, just taking in the way you said his name. You only ever called him Simon in private, where you both knew you were safe from everyone else, where your protective armors could come down for once. He liked it when you called him Simon, it reminded him that he was still, in fact, a human being, that he was still Simon Riley, not just the ghost of a dead man that hid behind the mask of a killing machine.

He gave you a nod and his hand went towards the clips that kept his harness and vest together. Slowly, minding the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he dropped his vest on the floor, his black jacket quickly following the same fate. This, though, earned a groan of discomfort when his shoulder moved, he closed his eyes momentarily as he pulled the sleeve from his injured shoulder before dropping his jacket to the ground as well. All that was left was his clinging black shirt leaving the black ink of his arm on full display, and of course, his balaclava and the skull plate stitched to the thick fabric.

You were already gloved up by then, your tools already laid out on a desk behind Simon. So once he was free on his gear, you looked up at him, now seeing the trail of dry blood that ran down his right arm, starting at his shoulder. You stared at him for a few seconds as he stood there before you spoke.

"I can't stitch your shoulder if you're all the way up there Simon, sit down." You rolled your eyes, forcing out an exasperated sigh and exaggerated motion for him to sit down by your desk.

"It's not my fault you're all the way on the ground down there. Would it kill ya to grow a few?" He said with his usual lack of emotion, but under his mask, his lips tugged up just a tiny bit at the glare you gave him as he sat down in front of you, because even with him sitting down, he was still half a head taller than you.

"I'll remember that next time you come to my infirmary asking for pain killers after you get shot or stabbed again." You shot him a nasty glare, but you both knew you didn't mean that. "Speaking of getting shot, how did this happen?"

He hissed barely loud enough to be heard through his mask when he felt you lift the sleeve of his shirt and scrunched it up to his shoulder to reveal a gash from a bullet just above his bicep. You glanced at him, eyes meeting his own for a second in a silent apology before you turned your attention back to his wound.

"Bastard shot me at close range, bullet must've grazed through my jacket. Good thing he was a shit shot though." He answered, his eyes watching you as you cleaned the dried blood around the wound, more focused on you than any pain he could be feeling in that moment.

"Y'know, had you let me go on that mission I probably would have cleaned this up hours ago." You muttered, swiping the wet cotton around his skin, giving him a minute or two to breathe before actually cleaning the wound.

"Had you gone with us you would've probably ended in the infirmary for another week." He quickly shot back, his naturally gruffly and raspy voice turning just a bit more so at the idea of it and you could feel his shoulders tense under your fingers. "Better me than you, eh?"

"That's not funny." Your eyes flickered in his direction and you narrowed them at him, only to find his brown eyes staring deep into you, not once looking away. Until you swiped a soaked cotton over his wound and he exhaled deeply and unevenly, his eyes closing momentarily as he felt his skin throb and burn.

"I'm not laughing," He eventually responded in a quiet tone, eyes finally opening to meet yours once again.

"Do you ever?" You asked with a tiny smile, earning the typical dead eyed glare Ghost gave everyone that annoyed him.

"No."

You looked away from him, lips curved up into a smile as you covered his clean wound with a gauze, not really needing stitches. You weren't looking at him then, so you missed the way he looked at you, his head slightly tilted and his eyes hooded as he memorized every detail of your face. He always did this, just in case it was the last.

"Anything else hurts?" You asked after a minute, taking your gloves off and throwing them on the desk and leaned on your left foot, head tilted as you looked at him again.

"Mmm," He half pointed to the left side of his face, "I hit my face when the heli crashed. 'm afraid I did some irreparable damage to that side of my face."

You stared at him, you blinked a few times and your eyebrows furrowed with confusion at his request. He knew you were trying to understand his request, he was giving you permission to see his face. For the first time and you weren't sure if he was being serious or not.

"I can't, y'know, the mask," You pointed to the thick fabric covering his face, noticing the tear on the left side but you made no effort to actually look, let alone touch.

You stood still, hands glued to your side, itching to remove his mask yourself, but you were afraid, afraid to cross an irreversible boundary. He could see it, he could see the way your hands shook and your teeth nervously dug into your bottom lip. And he wasn't much better, he could feel his heart pound in his chest and his breath pick up. But he wasn't scared.

He trusted you.

Simon watched you intensely, brown eyes watching every detail on your face, every expression as he reached up to the front of his balaclava and with a deep exhale he pulled it off his head. Your lips parted and your eyes slightly widened. He could hear how your own breath picked up in an instant. But you weren't scared or disgusted, not at all. All he saw was awe.

You slowly licked your lips as you stepped closer, until you were standing over his knee with your parted legs. With a shuddered breath you leaned down, eyes lingering on his own before they flicked down to the cut on his left cheek. Your hand ghosted over his face, but didn't quite touch him, for some reason, this felt like another boundary you didn't want to push unless he said so.

He noticed your hesitation, and he didn't blame you. But he didn't need to say anything, he simply nodded.

He shuddered when he felt your soft fingers graze his skin and he momentarily closed his eyes, before opening them again to watch you bring a wet cotton to clean the dried blood on his face.

“What happened to your face?” You asked quietly after a long silence, brushing the cotton over the cut that appeared to be a couple inches long right across his cheekbone.

“Enemy missile, the heli crashed. I dunno how I got out of there. I blacked out and next thing I knew I was being dragged out of that heli by Soap.” He explained, the memories of it all still being too blurry to remember clearly. But he did remember one thing; the thoughts going through his head in that moment. “We lost a lot of good soldiers.”

“You’re lucky all you got out of that was a cut on your face and probably a concussion. You could’ve died.” Your throat nearly closed up then, your fingers stopping to rest on his face. You were both used to this idea of death, of going on an assignment and never coming back, but that didn’t make your heart ache any less.

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searched for yours, but you weren’t looking at him, “Well I’m alive aren’t I?”

“Yeah, and you’re one lucky motherfucker for that,” Your voice was close to breaking, and your hands were shaking. Was that anger he heard in your voice? Or was it panic at the idea of him dying? “I could’ve helped, I just wish I had been there.”

His gaze turned hard and his jaw tightened, “I don’t.” His tone shifted, there was nothing lighthearted about it, he was being dead serious. And you actually looked at him this time, and you found his eyes. But you didn’t respond, you couldn’t, so you stayed silent as you gave yourself the time to actually take him in.

"So what's the diagnosis Doc, am I gonna make it?" The low timber of his voice startled you after a long minute or two, but not because it was loud, he barely raised his voice above a whisper, it startled you because you were so focused on taking in each and every one of his features, the unique shape of his nose, his sharp jaw, the three day stubble that scratched the pads of your fingers, his light eyelashes that contrasted the dark paint smeared over his eyes. You memorized all of them in case you never saw them again.

A small smile eventually tugged at your lips and you chuckled softly, nodding, "Looks like it, you'll have a scar though."

He chuckled, and this time, you could see the tiny curl of his lips when he did so, "I can live with that."

His lips fell back into a flat line and instead, his eyes locked onto yours for a long second and he could swear he could hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it was his own. He wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he was this close and he couldn’t stop the thoughts in his head.

Something was different. Something in the air felt different. The careful touches of your hands, they were different. And he felt different too.

He leaned in, stopping only when he heard you take a small breath. One of his hands rested on your hip then, and when you didn't tense or shoved him away, he pulled you closer with a tight grip

“Tell me to stop, right now.” His voice was low and quiet, but you heard him loud and clear. And you didn't want him to. He didn't want to either.

"Simon…"

He didn’t have to hear anything else, he heard all he needed to hear. The way his name fell from your tongue, the shakiness in your voice and the way you also leaned in, like your body was gravitating towards him. He knew.

His large hand found the back of your neck and he pulled you in, lips capturing yours into a kiss that left you without air. His other arm sneaked around your waist to pull you closer and forced you down on his thigh. You gasped softly at the sudden movement, but you welcomed it nonetheless and you threw your arms over his neck as his mouth covered yours. He took it slow, much to your surprise. For a man known for his brutality he was surprisingly gentle. He kissed you slowly, his tongue eventually slipped into your mouth, but it never felt messy or rushed. You honestly didn't know how long he held you like this, but eventually he let you go to breathe when he started to feel you panting.

"This okay?" He asked barely above a whisper, the raspy ring of his voice filling your ears in a way that made your thighs unconscious clench against his leg. Which he definitely felt, but he kept that to himself.

"Yeah, more than okay." You answered with a breathless laugh.

"Good."

Both of his hands were on your waist and he was on his feet in an instant. He completely forgot about the pain shooting through his arm when he hoisted you around his hips. It caught you off guard and you were wrapping your legs around his torso instinctively.

"Simon your arm—"

"I don't give a shit about my arm." He had his uninjured arm holding your thighs and he was looking at you with this look in his eyes you had never seen from him, but you liked it.

You leaned down, lips crashing against his own with an urgency that made him want to find the bed even quicker. He eventually figured it out and your back was hitting the mattress before you even realized it. He held himself above you, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His lips left yours and attached themselves to your neck. He wouldn't leave a mark knowing everyone would see it, but he still took his time finding that spot that made you squirm under him while his own hands were making work of exploring. He ran a cautious hand into your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your skin until he found your breast, and he squeezed. You shivered under his touch and an unconscious moan escaped your lips. He could himself twitch against the constraint of his denim jeans at the mere sound. Fuck, if that's what you sounded when he barely touched you, he could only imagine what you would sound like wrapped around him. And he wondered when was the last time someone touched you like this. Probably as long as him.

"When was the last time someone touched you like this?" His words caught your ear in a haze, it took you a minute to register them, but when you felt him pitch your covered nipple you answered.

"I don't—” You swallowed, blinking a few times as you tried to clear your foggy mind, “A long time, years I think." You eventually answered, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tried to keep your head straight.

He gave you a quiet hum, his hand moving down to your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your pants, and he lifted his head to look at you, "Did you ever think about me touching you like this?"

The way his words left his mouth, the raspiness in his accented voice and coated with arousal, it made your throat close up, and the way his intense and dark eyes were fixated on you didn't help either. You felt so small under this mountain of a man and his gaze, all you could do was nod.

"Words love, use 'em."

“Yes.”

A subtle smirk tugged his lips, the confirmation that you had wanted him as much as he had wanted you igniting a hunger and need that could only be satiated with one thing. You.

He lifted his head to capture your lips in a feverish kiss that was so rough it made you gasp into his mouth. You snaked a hand the back of his head, one that quickly took a hold of his messy short brown strands, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by him. The growl that came from his throat was otherwise muffled by your lips, but what he did next, however, didn't go unnoticed either. His large hands found the collar of your shirt, and without hesitating, he tugged and ripped the fabric right in half. The moan that ripped from your throat at his manhandling was anything but subtle, and he swallowed it happily. He pulled back, tugging your bottom lip as he did so and his dark hungry eyes fixated on the newly exposed skin once he laid eyes on you. He took a hard swallow as his hands traveled to your chest and much like he had just done with your shirt, he ripped your bra open by the thin fabric that connected both cups.

“Fuck, look at you,” He breathed out, hands brushing over hardened nipples as he took in the sight of you in front of him, chest completely exposed, your hair loose and pooling around your head and arms now sprawled above your head, expectant and ready to do as he asked, “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“I could say the same about you,” You replied, breathless and reaching to tug at the hem of his own shirt with urgency. “Please Si.”

Fuck, how could he ever deny you anything? And more so when you ask him like that?

With a short nod, he moved his hands from your chest and grabbed the back of his shirt, quickly pulling it over his head. And fuck, the amount of gear this man wore definitely didn’t sell him short. His muscled chest was covered in various scars, ones you had seen, and others you hadn’t. And from his neck hung his dog tags, ones you had never ever seen him wear. Lord this man was going to be the death of you just as you were going to be his.

“Listen to me,” He said through a heavy breath, pulling you from your frenzied state for just a second, “If you want me to stop you tell me, no fancy words, tell me stop and I will. Is that understood?”

It took you a couple seconds to respond, your mind already foggy with the need to feel his touch, but you nodded at his words regardless, “Yes sir.”

Your hands found the back of his neck and you crashed your lips against his with a newly found urgency that made him groan into your mouth. His calloused hands found the waistband of your pants, and he tugged them down without hesitation. With a hard swallow you lifted your hips off the bed, allowing him to pull them down, your panties quickly following. He tossed them behind him somewhere to join his previously discarded vest and jacket.

He brushed a long finger through your folds, swallowing the choked out moan that came out of your mouth. You shuddered under him, your thighs unconsciously closing around his hand as he drew circles around the bundle of nerves. You didn’t even remember the last time you were touched by hands that weren’t you own, and fuck, his felt so much better already.

“No, no,” He tisked, pulling back to glance down at his hand practically disappearing between your thighs before he gave you a stern look, “Keep those legs open for me.”

You did as you were told, you shakily spread your legs apart, and you were rewarded with a thick finger dipping into your entrance with ease. He took a deep breath as he felt your walls clench around his finger and he could feel himself twitch in his pants, wondering just how you would feel around his cock instead.

With a hiss of pleasure, you threw your head back and your hips slightly lifted off the mattress as he filled you with two of his long fingers. He drew them in and out until he could feel you start to drip on the palm of his hand.

“Shit, shit, fuck.” Your lips fell open, silent cries leaving your mouth as he began to scissor you open with each snap of his wrist. It wasn't long before you could start to feel that delicious burn in the pit of your stomach.

His thumb eventually found your nub, he pressed it and rubbed circles around it as he buried his thick fingers to the knuckle each time. He could already feel it, the way your walls clenched around his fingers, your shuddering thighs, your hands fisting the sheets. His lips found the shell of your ear, and as he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot he spoke.

“You’re doing so good,” He coaxed, his thumb pressing your clit with enough force to make you twitch and roll your eyes into the back of your head, “This what you need love?”

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” He slammed his fingers knuckles deep, his palm rutting against your clit. He could have you screaming anything he wanted and he knew it.

“Yes Lieutenant!”

“Good. Good girl.”

He knew you were close, he could feel it. He was slamming his fingers in and out of you, burying them knuckle deep and crooking them against your most sensitive spot over and over. Until you were nothing more than a shaking and whimpering mess, begging for release. And he was gladly going to give it to you.

“O-oh fuck. Fuck Simon please!”

He nearly lost it when he heard you scream his name, your voice shaky with pleasure, and your own body overwhelmed with pleasure. But if there was anything he had a lot of, it was self control. He had a mission to accomplish. And he wasn’t going to stop until he had you falling apart under his touch. Which happened soon enough. One of your hands flew to grip his wrist, the lewd sound of his palm slapping against your dripping core filling your ears in the most delicious way possible. And in a quick flash of a blinding heat, you tossed your head and buried your face in his shoulder, your toes lifting from the mattress and curled as your juices coated his hand.

“Goddamn,” He cursed under his breath, the sound of his name leaving your mouth in a quiet whimper filling his ears as his fingers slowed, but never quite left you, “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

You barely caught his words as he spoke under his breath, but you did, and all you could say in response was a high pitched hum as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes were still screwed shut and your legs were still shaking when his fingers left you. With a quiet hiss, your head fell to the side as you brought a hand to your burning face, trying to compose yourself.

“You still with me Doctor?” Simon spoke, amusement coating his tone. You chuckled softly and gave him a nod. “I need verbal confirmation love.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him because you knew he was teasing you, but you indulged him regardless. You turned your head in his direction and opened your eyes to find his own glued to your face of course.

“Solid copy Lieutenant.” You finally said with a small eye roll. He looked amused, and he nodded. But what caught your attention was the growing smirk on his face as his eyes eventually landed on his hand as he held it out of your eyesight. “What’s so funny?”

“This,” He brought his hand closer to your face, and even through your slightly blurry vision, you could see it glisten. You opened your eyes more and your jaw dropped, your face burning with embarrassment. With a low chuckle, he rubbed his fingers together and then spread his index and middle finger apart to show the extent of the wetness you had left on his hand.

“Oh my god.” You threw your hands over your face, effectively mortified, you weren’t sure why, but it made you feel pathetic. Simon, on the other hand, was quite pleased.

“Gettin’ shy are we?” His lips brushed against your ear, and you couldn’t help but shove him slightly.

Both of your hands eventually fell to his chest as your eyes found his brown ones, and the look he found behind those eyes of yours made him want to take you over and over until you were nothing but a shaking and whimpering mess.

“Lay down Simon.” You eventually said, both hands flat on his scar littered chest. He took a deep breath and he nodded slowly.

“Yes ma’am.”

He was on his back in an instant, eyes never leaving you as you threw a leg over his hips and sat just above his crotch. Your thighs burned with ache as they were stretched out over his massive body. His hands held your hips as he watched you through hooded eyes, very tempted to shove you down on his cock, but he let you take your time, this time.

“Let me ride you, please.” Your words were quiet, pleading and desperate, and they shot straight to his cock. He honestly didn’t know where this side of you came from, pleading and so eager to please him, but fuck he wanted to explore every inch of it. His fingers dug into your hips, but he remained still, only nodding.

“Permission granted.” He replied with a quiet hiss, his patience growing thin the longer he had you on top of him, your wetness coating his lower abdomen. “Go on.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your shaky hands fumbled with his belt, the buckle ratling a few times as you tried to undo it, the button of his denim jeans quickly following. He momentarily closed his eyes when your hands brushed against his clothed erection. He blew out an exhale through his nose as he lifted you up just enough to be able to pull himself from the confines of his boxers. He let out a long breathy groan as he freed himself, his cock slapping against his stomach. With a hard swallow, you held yourself above his cock, hands resting against his lower abdomen to brace yourself as he lined himself up at your entrance, coating himself in your slick.

He was expecting you to take your time, to take him slowly, so when you sank down on him, his length slipping inside a few inches before being met with resistance, he had to take a deep breath.

“Easy..” He coaxed, easing a hand up and down your stretched out thighs, watching closely the way your eyes closed and your face twisted with a mixture of slight pain and pleasure.

“Fuck you’re so big..” You blurted out between breaths. Simon opened his eyes in surprise at your remark, he knew he was significantly big, but he wasn’t expecting to hear you say it. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his cock twitch the slightest bit.

“You’re doing good. Slow.” He spoke lowly, guiding your hips little by little, hissing softly each time you took another inch of him, until you sat fully on him, and even then you couldn’t fit all of him. He allowed himself to close his eyes as you sat still, your hips only rolling ever so slightly as you adjusted to the massive size of him. “There ya go, atta girl.”

When he felt you were ready, he guided your hips up, lifting you off his cock inch by agonizing inch, his eyes stuck to where his cock left your soaked cunt, and when he was almost all the way out, he pushed your hips down without a warning. You let out a quiet cry, you dug your nails into his abs and your thighs tensed. His eyes shot up to your face with concern and he sat still, but you were quickly shaking your head.

“I’m okay Simon, please.” Your eyes found his and you nodded reassuringly, teeth digging into your bottom lip eagerly. He squeezed your hips and nodded.

You were rocking and rolling your hips, your walls clutching his length with a bit of resistance. And you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up each time you rolled your hips. But he stayed still, only his fingers dug into your hips, surely to leave bruises in the morning. His eyes were closed and he was muttering under his breath as you moved at your own pace. For now.

“Fuck, come on love,” He encouraged, voice restrained as you eventually moved with more ease. His words gave you a new found confidence, and with such, you lifted yourself up and sank back down on him, and again, and again, until your whimpers turned into moans. “That’s it. Fuck that’s it, take what you need.”

You’d be damned if you didn’t do as he said.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you bounced on his cock. His eyes moved from your face to where your bodies connected, he watched with glazed eyes as his cock disappeared inside your walls, only to appear again covered in your juices. He focused on it, the sound of his belt buckle clicking each time you bounced filling his ears.

“You’re taking my cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” His words came out through breathy groans as he guided your hips again and his own hips involuntarily lifted every once in a while.

“Please Simon, more, I want more— Fuck—”

He had to take in the way you whined his name, the way you begged, it was so fucking intoxicating and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

“Yeah? You want more?”

You were nodding frantically, your movements only doing so much to give you what you both needed and he knew it.

He sat up, his chest now pressed against yours as he sneaked his tattooed arm behind your back, holding you upright as he thrusted upwards. He found a pace quick, and even faster and deeper than the one you had made yourself. He had you twitching and shaking in his grip as cries ripped from your throat in a matter of a minute or two. And you definitely weren’t complaining, his cock was pounding deeper, hitting that perfect spot better than you could ever get it there yourself.

“Yes! Fuck, Simon please, please don’t stop.” You were begging frantically, your hands landing on his back and your nails dragged across his scar littered back and shoulders. He took in the way you pleaded, the way you moaned, and took particular note of the squeal you gave when his thick cock hit your g-spot with ease. And he did so, over, and over, until all you could say was his name between cries.

“Yeah, like that?” Again, and again his cock brushed against the perfect spot. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, your face was buried in his shoulder and tears slipped from your eyes.

“Yes!” You sobbed into his shoulder, your walls clenching around his cock in the same way you had around his fingers a little while before.

“Shit, come on, come on. Be a good girl and come for me.” He muttered, not once faltering his pace, only bringing you closer to the edge with each delicious drag of his cock. He slipped a hand into your hair, fingers fisting around the strand a as he pulled your head back, making sure you were looking at him, “Look at me, that’s it, keep those pretty eyes on me when you come.”

His name slipped from your tongue over and over as you came, somehow managing to keep your eyes open as your whole body shuddered violently. Tears slipped from your eyes as you sobbed his name and you brought your forehead to rest against his, one of your shaky hands resting on the back of his neck. The hand on your hair moved your face, and his fingers brushed against your cheek, catching your tears.

“Fuuuck, that’s fucking it. That’s my girl.” He groaned out as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He felt your wetness coat his cock even more, allowing him to slip just ever so deeply until he was nearly rutting against you, the patches of hair at the base of his cock brushing against your oversensitive clit. With a guttural groan, the hand on your face slipped to the base of your neck and he held it between his long fingers as he fucked into you with a new urgency, like he was chasing his own release. He fucked you like it too, his thrusts were sharper and shallow, and they faltered.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered, droplets of sweats rolling from his forehead and mixing with the already messy grease paint covering his eyes. His forehead fell to your chest as held your neck in place, “I’m right there… Fuck I—”

He was about to pull himself out of you, but you slipped out from your drunkenly euphoric state for just a second to slam down on his cock until your hips met, hands on his shoulders as you sank down on him with enough force to slip a breathy moan from him.

“I have an IUD. I-I want you to, please.” You said shakily into his ear, your words barely coherent, but you knew what you meant, and he did too.

A low growl ripped from his throat as he gave you a few more thrusts before his hips faltered, his other hand found your ass and he held you down on his cock. His fingers squeezed your throat and a guttural moan left his lips as he spilled himself inside you.

“Bloody fuckin' Christ,” he panted into your chest, most likely smearing his war paint on your chest, but you honestly didn’t give a fuck. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You gave him a weak hum, eyes closing as you tried to breathe once he let go of your neck. “I’m guessing your arm doesn’t hurt anymore?” You laughed weakly, brushing a hand under the gauze you had placed there earlier.

He lifted his head, brown eyes as intense as ever as he slightly tilted his head, “What arm?”

You shot him a playful glare and shook your head as you unwrapped yourself from him and with a long breath of exhaustion, landed on your back next to him, your mixed releases dripping down your thigh. He chuckled quietly to himself at the sight of his jeans, mixed releases pooling at the front of the denim. With a sigh, he tucked himself into his boxers, catching a glance of you, chest still glistening with sweat, hair messy and pooling above your head as you lied with closed eyes. He shook his head, about to stand up to find something to clean his mess with when you spoke.

“Simon?” His eyes found yours on him and he nodded, allowing you to continue. You bit your lip and sat up with a sharp exhale, your sore muscles already screaming at you for your reckless activities, “How long have we known each other?”

The question hit him unexpectedly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but he answered quickly, not even having to think about it, “About three years.”

“Why did you take your mask off now?” You dared to ask, the curiosity of what suddenly changed eating you up.

His lips fell in a flat line, his eyes opening as he remembered that he had, in fact, taken his mask off, he had felt so comfortable that he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing it. He didn't answer right away, he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving you as you watched him expectant. You brought the sheets up to your chest, bringing them with you as you moved closer to him, until your shoulder was touching his. You looked up at him, but you never rushed him, you simply waited patiently.

“When the heli crashed,” He began, “I knew I was going to die. And I was ready to die. And then I thought..” His lips fell in a flat line again as he turned his head to look at you. Your eyes were glossy, but you didn’t cry, you simply nodded for him to continue, “All I could think about in that moment is that I was going to leave this world when the only woman I had ever cared about didn’t even know what I looked like.”

Your lips fell open and your eyes widened with awe. He didn’t have to say the words, you knew what he meant.

“Simon…”

“Either of us could die at any moment, I realized that when I carried your unconscious body through that field, and I realized it when the heli crashed, didn’t make sense to pretend I don’t give a shit about you.”

Your hand found his face and you pulled him down into a deep kiss, one that said everything you both needed to say, everything you couldn’t say with words.

You were the remedy to all his injuries and the bandage to his damaged heart. You were all he needed and he’d be damned if he let that go.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley

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lovebotmo · 4 months

Text

like the movies

chapter three - caramel creams

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 2311

author's note: omg ive been feeling stuck working on this chapter for days so thanks for your patience and as always, hope you like this next chapter. so so thankful for all of you who have commented on my previous chapters!!!!!!!!! kiss kiss

i've also started a taglist so message me if you want to be included!!

song inspiration: you're here that's the thing by beabadoobee

A week had passed, and you still knew diddly-squat regarding the mysterious guy who had generously sent you the bouquet of moly blossoms and the adjoining note. Glances over classmate’s shoulders to peer at their handwriting were unfruitful and almost landed you in detention when McGonagall had noted your lack of attention in Transfiguration. Whoever your secret admirer was, he had made sure to cover his tracks and frustratingly stump you. No additional clue found its way to you, and no one came forward.

You’d even gone to Professor Sprout earlier in the week to inquire about her moly plants and determine if your mystery man had procured the flowers from her, or alternatively, stolen them. She’d answered in the negative to both—no one had come to her regarding your bouquet, and she wasn’t missing any stock. However, she did echo the sentiment you and Hermione had shared, that whoever he was, he had spent a great deal of money to impress you.

You rolled over in bed to peer at the blooms decorating your bedside. They were still darling as ever. However, they were a constant reminder you had no clue as to who had sent them.

If the guy really fancied me, he’d know this must be driving me mad.

You pulled the covers over your head, groaning, before resolving to go down to breakfast in the Great Hall. Your little quandary wasn’t going to be solved anytime soon, and your stomach shouldn’t suffer for it.

Joining your friends in the Great Hall, Ginny noticed you were a little quieter than normal. “You alright there, Y/n?” Breaking your reverie, you smiled at the red-headed Weasley before stuffing a piece of jam-smothered toast into your mouth.

Your muffled and somewhat undiscernible reply of “’M all good, thanks” was met with a laugh from Ginny and a scolding from Hermione to slow down while eating.

“I’ve got to hurry, ‘Mione,” you said between bites, “otherwise I’ll be late for the Hogsmeade trip. Need to clear my mind for a bit.” Hermione watched in horror at the speed with which you downed the toast, practically throwing a napkin at you when she noticed the jam lingering in the corners of your mouth. You grinned sheepishly at her.

“Still no clue then, I reckon?” Padma asked. You just shook your head, turning to dive into some fried eggs. While you had hoped to be discreet about the whole situation, you had wanted your friends’ opinions, as well as their help, in searching for your secret admirer. However, you had no such luck and your friends were just as clueless.

“It’s kind of dreamy, don’t you think? The whole not-knowing part and the expectation of another clue or a gift. To think someone in this room sent you those lovely flowers!” Hannah seemed more excited about it than you did.

“Oh, come off it. We all know it’s killing Y/n not to know—I’ll bet you she was the kid who would shake her presents under the Christmas tree to try and figure out what they were. Maybe even peer through a hole in the wrapping paper to sneak a peek, eh?” Ginny joked, nudging your arm.

The glare you sent Ginny let her know she had hit the nail on the head.

“Can I see the note again?” asked Luna. Pulling it from your pocket, you handed it to the waifish girl, with Padma peering over her shoulder. As she handed it back, you noticed the certain degree of softness the parchment now had, caused by the countless folding, unfolding, and gentle tracing of the letters by your fingertips. You looked at it once more before tucking it back in.

“Well,” you said, rising from your seated position, “enough of that. I’ve got a date with fizzing whizzbees at Honeydukes, and I will not let you lot make me late!” Laughing, the five girls stood up to join you and began to make their way out of the Great Hall.

Upon arriving in Hogsmeade, the six of you split up to run various errands or meet other friends. Luna joined you on the trip to Honeydukes, desiring to pick up some pepper imps, which she believed would ward off nargles from settling in her hair. You just nodded at your endearing, albeit strange friend. Nodding was oftentimes the best thing to do when Luna said something particularly…off. Upon entering the candy store, you separated from the blond Ravenclaw to fulfill your particular errand.

“Mr. Flume!” You called out to the elderly proprietor of Honeydukes. He smiled once he placed your voice. Your acquaintance with Ambrosius Flume and his wife had begun in your third year, on your very first trip to Hogsmeade. Over the years, you’d heard countless stories about the store and its fantastical sweet treats. As such, when you were finally of age, you had been extremely excited to finally visit. Upon entry, in your typical coordinated fashion, you had managed to slip on and fall due to the bat’s blood soup Neville Longbottom had managed to spill all over the checkered floor. Spotting the tears quickly forming in your eyes, courtesy of your pain and embarrassment, Mrs. Flume had helped you off the floor and fixed you a cup of hot chocolate while you amused her husband with various accounts of muggle delicacies and candies. Since then, you had made it a habit to bring him a muggle candy of some sort to try, proving that even though muggle treats had no real magic in them, they could still be magical. In turn, he would trade one of his newest treats for you to try.

Finally meeting through the frenzied crowd of Honeydukes, Mr. Flume clasped one of your hands in both of his, giving it a hearty squeeze. “How have you been, dearie? Brought me something today, did you?”

You laughed at his eagerness. “You only want me for my muggle sweets, don’t’ you? How incorrigible.”

The two of you giggled like children before you pulled out the promised sweet. This time, you had brought him a small bag of Goetze’s caramel creams, also known as bullseyes. As silly as it might seem, the candies were close to your heart, something you had enjoyed with your mother as a child, eating away at the chewy caramel outside and the sweet cream filling.

“They’re my absolute favorite, you know. And after four years of exchanging candies with you, I insist you stock them just for me. Waiting for packages from my mum to get my fix is simply too difficult.”

Mr. Flume laughed at your dramatics before pocketing the sweets. “You know how much I enjoy these little exchanges with you, poppet. I’ve got something new for you to try, straight from my little lady’s oven.” Reaching into the pocket of his worn apron, he pulled out a pastry of some sort wrapped in brown paper. “Mrs. Flume calls ‘em ‘Cheering Cherry Tarts,’ ‘spose to boost your spirit for a few hours if you can imagine that. Hope you like it.” With that, he left with an affectionate pat on your arm before going to assist some of the other customers.

Taking one bite of the pastry, you had to resist the urge to moan at how delicious it was.

If you knew one thing about Mrs. Flume, it was that the woman could cook.

Scarfing down the tart, you grabbed a box of toffees and glacial snowflakes to bring back with you. After checking out, you made your way to The Three Broomsticks where you had agreed to meet to meet up with your friends after you completed your errands.

You quickly spotted your friends within the tavern. Padma was sporting several shopping bags from Gladrags Wizardwear, while Ginny and Hannah had popped into Zonko’s to pick up some stink pellets intended for the Gryffindor first-years. Ginny was more than happy to continue the pranking tradition her older brothers had begun at Hogwarts, and Hannah was always game for a good laugh. Hermione sat quietly at the table twirling one of her new quills. At the sight you let out a small chuckle. Hermione was many things, but she was not someone to pass up on purchasing new stationary. She was practically besotted whenever she saw a fine quill.

Joining the gaggle of girls, you all went over your purchases, ordering some treats and drinks, gossiping about various happenings at Hogwarts, and just enjoying the general splendor of The Three Broomsticks and its ambience. As much as you enjoyed your classes, moments like these were what you would miss most upon your graduation in the spring. It brought a little twinge to your heart, the bittersweet thought of leaving, but you were excited for the future and to see what your dearest friends would go on to do.

Your reminiscing and get-together, however, was interrupted by increasingly loud voices from a corner table. Imagining it to be some drunkards, you turned, only to see Nott and Malfoy arguing over something that had the two Slytherins particularly heated. While you had no idea what had started their spat, it was easy to tell that Malfoy had somehow provoked Nott who became increasingly incensed. Towering over the blonde, Nott continued to spew verbal fire at him and despite his best effort to hide it, you could tell that Malfoy was intimidated.

“Chi mi piace non sono affari tuoi, Malfoy. Restane fuori!” While you didn’t understand the Italian rapidly leaving Nott’s mouth, you could tell how angry he was. As he was about to continue his verbal assault, he caught your eyes and likely the look of concern on your face. His face relaxed and his next words seemed to slip his mind. Sparing one more withering glance at Malfoy, he quickly stormed out of the tavern and conversation slowly recommenced.

“Wonder what started that little fight,” wondered Padma, picking up her glass of butterbeer.

Turning back, you shrugged, “No idea.”

The six of you left The Three Broomsticks shortly after, realizing that you would have to return to Hogwarts soon. You linked your arm with Ginny as she chatted about her intended strategies for the upcoming Quidditch season. Walking towards the train station, you noticed Nott in the distance, trekking in the opposite direction of the Hogwarts Express.

Didn’t he know that the train would be leaving soon?

Removing your arm from Ginny’s, you excused yourself. “I’ll meet you guys on the train, alright? Save me a seat.” With that, you quickly followed the retreating Slytherin.

“Don’t be late, Y/n! You can’t be losing house points this early in the year!” yelled Hermione.

When you finally caught up to Nott, he was sitting on a bench located on the path that headed towards the Shrieking Shack. He was staring into the distance, those brooding eyes of his lost in thought. Hearing the crunch of autumn leaves beneath your feet, his head swiveled towards your approaching figure. He stood in surprise before sitting again. You sat down beside him.

Bumping his shoulder with your own, you asked, “Something on your mind, Nott? You seem a little…out of it.”

At the sound of your voice, he left out a long sigh. “No—nothing. ‘M fine.” The clipped response made you raise a brow at him. The guy was not very good at lying, even if he was a Slytherin. “And…it’s Theo. Or, I mean, you can call me Theo.” Those blue eyes returned to you, accompanied by the faintest of smiles.

“Alright then, Theo. What’s got your wand in a knot…Or should I say N-o-t-t?” You let out a small laugh, winking at him as he gave you a look somewhere between horrified and disgusted.

“I don’t even want to dignify that with a response.”

“It was right there! I had to.”

“You definitely did not.”

“Don’t you mean…did N-o-t-t?”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He paused, before continuing, “Do you think it’s too late to request a new Potions partner? I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it through the year at this rate.”

You gasped in mock horror, lightly knocking him on the arm, “Oh please Theo, I’m a peach. You adore me.” You didn’t notice how Theo stiffened at your retort, your eyes turning to the autumn trees lining the path.

“That was quite a scene in there, you and Draco. Fighting over anything in particular?”

Theo let out a huff of hot air through his nose, “No…it’s just—Malfoy’s a fucking prat.”

A bark of laughter left you at his response. “Could have told you that in first year, Theo. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.” At that, he laughed, and you were happy to see a grin finally grace his normally stoic face.

“Now c’mon,” you said standing, “we’ve got to get going if we don’t want to miss the train. Godric knows how much trouble I’ll be in with my housemates if we don’t make it in time.”

Theo stood and joined you in walking back towards the platform, a comfortable silence falling over you two. He seemed to have snapped out of whatever funk had clouded his mind, as he was soon making small talk and a few jokes as you got closer.

Just before you boarded the train, Theo grasped your elbow gently to turn you towards him. He was at your eye level then, as you had stepped onto the first step of the express. You looked at him with questioning eyes. “Sorry, um—just wanted to say thanks.” At your furrowed brow he added, “for checking on me, I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Course. After all, what are Potions partners for?” At that, he returned your smile, his bright blue eyes crinkling a little at the edges.

Huh. Cute.

taglist: @melllinaa

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y-umiko · 11 months

Text

TOKYOREV BOYS WHEN THEY WANT TO BREAK-UP TO PROTECT YOU

CHARACTER(S): Kazutora . Hanma . Baji WARNING/S: angst? A/N: Please don't be surprised if the writing seems different as it goes on, I wrote each one when i'm in different moods.

Kazutora

Kazutora watches with gritted teeth as the nurse patches you up after being rushed to the hospital. It was nothing serious just some cuts and bruises, but Kazutora can't be relieved, imagining the worse that could happen if didn't arrive in time.

He thought long and hard about it, being with him had made you a target for others. and if separating from you means your safety then he was willing to do it.

but you were having none of it, all it took was to see the dreaded expression on his face to know what was running on his head. after thanking the nurse, you sternly gave him your piece of mind.

"whatever it is that's running on your head, quit it" his eyes previously downcasted and staring at the floor, flickering towards you, "I haven't said anything yet"

"It's written all over your face" you sigh, watching his eyes drift away from yours. Kazutora felt incredibly guilty that he can't bear to look at your eyes.

he had done a lot of bad things in his life, maybe this was his punishment, maybe this was his karma, if it is, he doesn't want you getting the same burden, and maybe he was right.

"Maybe it's for the better that we - "

"No" you quickly cut him off, reaching over to hold his hand, which was incredibly warm, "Listen to me, This is not your fault alright? so don't go having any thought in that pretty head of yours"

Kazutora simply stared back at you, content with your hold on his hand. wondering that maybe he wasn't so bad in his previous life to be rewarded as precious as you.

he was brought back when he felt you squeeze his hand, "are we clear?"

"…yeah" he mumbled, gently leaning towards you and nuzzling his head on your shoulder, this time he'll protect you properly.

Hanma

Hanma knows nothing good comes out of being associated with him. but he was being greedy wanting to have you in his life, he thought he can protect you but how wrong he was.

and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be selfish, for your sake and his peace of mind.

"so that's it, see you around" he casually bid goodbye, hands stuffed in his pocket, after explaining to you he's breaking up with you 'just because he felt like it'. if it was a normal day it would have hurt you, but you knew him too damn much to know he felt guilty for what happened.

"wait a damn fucking minute" you called after him but Hanma pretended not to hear you and continued walking out of your hospital room. but you were quick to your feet, getting out the bed and dragging the bag of IV with you to catch up with him.

"you can't just come here, say what you want and leave" Hanma momentarily stops in his tracks, an internal turmoil inside his head, a slight worry in his eyes seeing you get out of bed. but if his gonna do it, he has to stay strong, as he continued his way out, "I have nothing left to say"

"Well, I do and you better fucking listen" you voice out loudly than intended, making Hanma sigh as he stops in his tracks once again to give you another piece of his mind and say words he didn't mean but will hurt you so bad that you'll probably stay away from him for good.

"you're serious-"

however, all those words got eaten and forgotten as you came tackling him, arms tightly wrapped around him, and head buried on his chest.

"Don't leave me…please" you coaxed, voice calm and gentle but Hanma can feel the tremors coming from your body. if it was fear of him leaving or fear of the accident. he doesn't care, all he knew was you needed him and that someone has to pay.

"you're a pain in the ass"

As his reasons crumble the bastards who did this to you can enjoy the last hours of their life. meanwhile, he wanted to be a little bit more selfish, as long as you want him, he'll stay with you.

Baji

When Baji came to see you with bruises and some remnants of blood, you immediately knew what had transpired before him seeing you in the hospital.

Baji just can't seat around, he just had to let out his contained rage upon seeing you all bloodied and bruised because of him. and amid the chaos of exchanging fists, he had a thought. his life had always been full of danger and will probably be more dangerous as the Tokyo Manji Gag expands.

he was sure enemies would come swarming towards him and normally that would have thrilled him. but after some careful thought, he wasn't alone anymore, the more enemies he made the more dangerous it become for you and he can only think of one thing to do.

"we should break up"

he coldly said, quick and direct he thought, hands on his side, a glare in his eyes as he stared at you. if there's one thing Baji was good at, it was his acting skills. and if you were anyone else, you would have believed him, luckily, you weren't just anyone.

"I don't understand? why?" you calmly replied, but your eyebrows were furrowed. while Baji remained a certain distance from you. it should be easy he thought, just like he practiced on his head countless times.

"I don't like you anymore"

words he thought would be enough to drive you away yet Baji swore you look calm than he thought you would be.

"then look me in the eyes and tell me you mean it" you sternly replied, and he did so with full confidence but as he searched your eyes, desperately looking for anything that will let him repeat his words, all he found was your eyes fill with unconditional love, eyes that had seen his worse and beauty. nothing came out of his mouth, words stuck on his lips.

"dammit y/n! don't make this anymore harder than it is!"

"then stop it!" you burst out before calming yourself. "I know what I'm getting when I agreed to go out with you, I wouldn't even lie, it was scary, but this is not enough to the point that it will make me leave you, you're stuck with me until the end"

"Besides I have full confidence that you would save me every time"

a rush of warmth spread on Baji's chest, he should deny it, he should continue his act and walk away yet his feet moved towards you as if having a mind of their own. would it be selfish to continue wanting to be with you despite putting you in danger.?

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shadowtriovibes · 11 months

Text

pt. iii: sweat it out

pt. i: break a sweat || pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, fluff and smut, quidditch jersey porn, sexy massages, dirty talk, romanticizing doggy style

Summary: born of two requests: "what about sebastian fucking the reader while she's wearing his quidditch jersey. i can see him going feral when he sees his last name on her back" and "Maybe for Part 3, MC is giving Bash a much needed massage after all of his HARD quidditch practices and games… in nothing but his jersey."

Sebastian reluctantly turns over onto his stomach so that you can sit astride his hips. As soon as you rest your weight on top of him, he exhales tiredly as if he’s just set down a towering stack of books at the librarian’s desk – like he’s let go of a weight he hadn’t realized had slowly become so burdensome in his arms. "Relax," you murmur. "I've got you." Then he tilts his head to rest on his folded hands. You know he can’t quite see you at an angle this, but you still catch just a glimpse of his warm brown eyes before they flutter shut.

Climbing all the way up to the Room of Requirement after one of his weekend Quidditch practices must be excruciating for Sebastian, you think.

After practice, he’s usually sore just about everywhere – from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet he positively aches. Having seen him in action you know that he’ll often race upwards of a hundred kilometers on his broom simply doing laps around the pitch and tracking down the school’s enchanted practice Snitches.

To make matters worse, he’s forced to skip breakfast to be at the pitch by sun-up on strict orders from his captain, who goes on to keep the team well past eleven. Now he must be starving, but if you know your love, he’ll steadfastly ignore the temptation to go straight to the Great Hall for lunch and instead make the trek up to the seventh-floor corridor.

That’s precisely why you’re waiting for him there.

In the mornings when he has practice, you like to treat yourself to a bit of a lie-in and lazily wait around for his return so you can have lunch together. You would be happy to meet him downstairs when he returns to the castle, but lately, Anne and Ominis have protested whenever Sebastian joins the lunch table straight from practice still flushed, sweating, and covered in mud from the waist down.

(Those two have become exponentially more autocratic since they started courting.)

Thus, Sebastian usually decides to be a gentleman and change first.

In the months since the start of Quidditch season and Sebastian’s first overnight stay in the Room of Requirement, he’s slowly started bringing in his belongings until he’d effectively moved out of the dormitories and into a shared nest with you. Most of his clothes were there by now, along with his endless piles of library books and his cherished personal collection of secondhand novels from Tomes and Scrolls.

You assume he’ll probably want to quickly strip off his mucked-up robes and find something clean to change into so he can escort you downstairs for lunch. But despite the exhausting morning he must have already had, you don’t feel quite enough pity for your Sebastian to take it easy on him when he finally arrives.

When he enters the room, he finds you lounging on the bed reading one of his beloved Muggle novels – wearing nothing but one of his Quidditch jerseys.

“Sebastian!” you call out happily when you look up.

“Morning, love,” he answers as he shoves the heavy door closed.

“You’re finally free,” you joke, closing your book. “I thought I’d have to come down to the pitch soon and challenge Imelda to a duel to get her to set you loose.”

“I won’t mind seeing that,” he laughs. “That would have been quite chivalrous of you.”

He shrugs out of his Quidditch robes and pulls his own soaking-wet shirt up over his head. You watch longingly as his core flexes – all those hours on a broom have made him exceptionally well-defined, and you wish you could simply get on your knees right then and there to spend your morning tracing your tongue over every delineated band of muscle.

“You know,” he teases, pulling you from your reverie. “I had planned to just put on a clean shirt to go down to lunch, but it seems you’ve nicked my spare.”

“Did I?” you say, feigning innocence. “I just grabbed the first thing I could find, I swear.”

Sebastian glances at you skeptically before sitting down at what has become “his” desk to take off his boots. You frown when you catch him wincing while he bends at the waist.

“Are you hurt?” you ask him softly.

“No,” he insists. “Just sore all over.”

“Bash,” you croon. “Poor babe.”

“Come off it, I’m fine,” he laughs. “I just need some food and a nice long bath and I’ll be grand.”

You climb off the bed and saunter over to him in his chair, appreciating the way his eyes skim across the hem of his pilfered jersey. With every step, your hips sway and tease him with quick glimpses of the tops of your bare legs.

“Are you sure?” you ask sweetly. “Because if you’re feeling poorly, I can take care of you.”

Not even the promise of dry clothes and a warm meal could pull Sebastian’s attention from such a tempting offer, especially not while you’re wearing his clothes.

He sits back in his chair while you kneel in front of him to carefully unlace his Quidditch boots. After you take off his pads as well, it’s just too easy to climb onto his lap and wind your arms around his shoulders.

Sebastian’s gaze dips down to the space between your legs. He lays one palm flat against your thigh and uses his thumb to ruck up the hem of the jersey just a bit.

“You haven’t got anything on under this, do you?” he asks knowingly.

“Not a stitch,” you breathe.

Sebastian groans quietly and wraps an arm around your waist to hold you tightly against him.

“Leave it on,” he says in a low voice. “I want to see you in my jersey the entire time I’m taking you apart.”

“Not so fast, Sallow,” you counter. “Let me give you a massage first, it will help with the soreness.”

“A ‘massage?’” he asks hopefully.

When you merely raise an eyebrow at him, he looks simply crushed.

“You’re joking,” he says flatly. “You… you actually mean to ‘take care’ of me? In an actual ‘nurse-me-back-to-health’ sort of way?”

“I mean both the regular way and the devious way,” you laugh. “But if you’re aching right now, it’s not going to be much fun for you.”

“You are sincerely wrong about that,” he argues, but you’re undeterred.

“Let me do this first,” you bargain. “I promise you’ll feel better afterward.”

There’s a bit more whining and attempts to seduce you as you wriggle free of Sebastian’s lap and tug on his arm so he’ll walk over to the bed. He strips down to the garment layer he wears beneath his uniform pants and kindly allows you to shove him onto the bed.

He’s peering up at you expectantly, obviously hoping you’ll cave and climb onto his lap once again.

“Turn over, Sebastian,” you say with a fond eye roll. “On your stomach.”

“You’re malicious,” he gripes. “An evil, wicked sorceress.”

“Relax,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

Then he tilts his head to rest on his folded hands. You know he can’t quite see you at an angle this, but you still catch just a glimpse of his warm brown eyes before they flutter shut.

Go on, he says without words. Touch me. I trust you.

You think you could just stay here all day with your hands on his slightly-chilly skin. Warming him up to your touch, you skim your hands across his firm shoulder blades, along the tops of his sun-kissed shoulders, and then down the solid expanse of aching muscle in his back. He’s so broad beneath you, you think, even on his stomach. Without his height to add to the imposing figure he usually cuts, he nevertheless looks perfectly capable of rolling you off of him should he desire.

Knowing that there’s very little he could desire less sends an excited shiver through you. It’s a privilege, getting to be gentle with a man like Sebastian.

After all, except for when his hands are on your body, Sebastian is anything but gentle. He’s headstrong, impulsive, and obstinately ungovernable when he knows he’s in the right. Physically, he’s grown into a body that matches.

You shouldn’t be surprised that despite playing as a Seeker, Sebastian is not the kind of athlete who relies on being lithe and quick on his broom. Whenever he finds himself in a dead heat for the Snitch, he routinely throws his whole body into a maneuver and hurdles himself into his opposing Seeker to knock them off their path.

He’s brutish on the pitch and offers no apologies for it, though he will extend a gentlemanly hand whenever he bests the other Seeker to their prize.

Worst of all is that he has no fear of mutually assured destruction. He wants to win, sure; but more importantly, he wants the other team to lose. If that means both he and his opponent must crash into the ground in a pile of torn sports robes and grass stains before being hauled up to the Hospital Wing by an exasperated Nurse Blainey, so be it.

(Needless to say, you aren’t the only one who calls him “Bash” anymore.)

You consider all this while you quietly work through some of the larger knots that have built up in the muscles of his back. His body has kept hold of a momentous amount of trauma over the years, and if you can help dissolve even a fraction of it with your hands, you’ll be overjoyed.

Carefully you splay the palms of your hands against his bare skin and concentrate hard on spreading warmth and relaxation through the striations of Sebastian’s muscles. You visualize your magic wrapping through the infinitely small tears and bruises he’s endured to diffuse a relief that emanates a warm, pinkish glow you can genuinely see.

“What’s happening?” Sebastian asks, his voice slurred.

“How do you feel?” you whisper.

“Incredible,” he breathes. “Are you…? Is this magic that you’re doing? Ancient magic?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” you admit softly. “Regular magic, ancient magic… It’s probably a bit of both.”

“How did you–?” Sebastian asks before trailing off in a lazy, satisfied moan. “Merlin, it feels good.”

“Anne’s been showing me some of the healing magic she’s been studying with Nurse Blainey,” you say softly. “It’s actually quite interesting, Anne is quite talented with–”

“No more talking about Anne for a little while, love,” Sebastian grits out. “Just – just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. Please.”

You giggle softly while you slide your hands down further to the base of his spine, where you know for a fact he carries an unjust amount of tension. It’s precisely there that he stores his worries about upcoming N.E.W.T. exams, his all-important role on the Quidditch team, and the pressure he puts on himself to succeed so he can take care of Anne once you all graduate – you too, now, even though you insist you’ll be equals in every way possible.

“Feeling a bit better?” you ask him hopefully.

“Can’t remember the last time I felt this good,” he mumbles. “You should be a Healer.”

“I don’t know about that,” you demur. “I rather like the idea of only doing this for you.”

Sebastian’s soft groan sounds like one of assent.

You channel magic through him for a few more moments until you notice that he finally feels less inflamed beneath your fingertips. Then you let the glow fade away until it’s just you and Sebastian, no more magic thrumming between where your bodies touch.

He’s quiet for several long moments and you wonder whether you might have simply magicked him to sleep.

“Bash?” you whisper. “Are you alright?”

All of a sudden, he’s remarkably alive beneath you. He cants one hip to tip you off of his back and onto the bed beside him, earning an annoyed huff out of you when you land on your rear. But before you can put the words together to protest, he’s parting your legs with his hands so he can settle between them and rucking up the jersey until he can see your bare core.

“You’re incredible,” he tells you earnestly. “I feel better than I have in months, love.”

“Th-that’s good,” you stutter, a bit bewildered.

He continues, “And I’m going to return the favor right this minute.”

You barely have time to blink before he’s kissing you breathless and rocking his hips against yours. You gasp sharply into his mouth and he swallows the sound, pressing his tongue against yours in that filthy way that he knows gets you soaking for him every single time he does it.

“Bash,” you whine. “Slow down a little.”

“Not a chance,” he says against your neck. “I want you, you made me need you.”

…Merlin, did you?

You try to focus while Sebastian stretches out the collar of his own jersey to suck claiming bruises along your collarbone. Did you overdo it on the healing spell? Possibly imbue him with a little too much “love?”

But then he confesses, “You’re irresistible in my clothes like this, d’you know that?”

You breathe a sigh of relief when you realize that that’s what’s got him so worked up. It’s you in his colors, his rumpled clothing with his damn name emblazoned on your back.

That quickly gives you an idea.

“Let me turn over,” you grunt as you try to squirm out from underneath him. “Sebastian, please.”

He looks thoroughly displeased when you sit up, so you placate him with one more filthy kiss before he won’t have access to your mouth for a while. Then you settle on your elbows and knees, jersey shoved up to the middle of your waist.

Sebastian says some foul words under his breath when he sees you arch and present yourself for him. You wish he’d just bury himself in you, patience and preparation be damned. Together the two of you have discovered that there’s a time and a place for slow, intimate lovemaking just as much as there is for desperate, urgent, feral fucking.

You know which one Sebastian is craving.

“Take me like this, Bash,” you say breathlessly. “So you can see whose name I carry.”

He leans over you and drags his hand across the “SALLOW” stitched in thick, white letters across the broadest part of the jersey’s shoulders. Then he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl as he grinds his hips against yours.

“I need to be inside you,” he grunts. Behind you, you can hear him shoving his base layer down his thighs before he drags two fingertips along your slit and uses your wetness to stroke his cock. “I can’t be patient.”

“Don’t be,” you insist. You sway your hips invitingly and arch your back. “I’m ready.”

“You need my fingers,” he tells you. “I’ll give you enough, I won’t hurt you.”

You stun him by reaching a hand back and showing him how you can press two fingers against your entrance that easily sink inside. You moan softly at how different the angle is from how you usually touch yourself, but it works to get the point across to Sebastian.

“I’m ready,” you repeat. “I was waiting for you.”

Sebastian traces a thumb along your slit beside your fingers, pulling you open a bit to let himself look his fill as you spread your wetness around wantonly.

“Is this what you were doing while I was at practice?” he asks. “Laying in this bed in my clothes, playing with your pussy, and thinking of what I’d do to you when I got back?”

Now that’s a word he most certainly picked up from those Muggle books he likes to read, but it makes you squirm desperately nonetheless.

“Yes,” you whimper. “B-but I waited for you to finish.”

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “I suppose I’ll have to make sure you’re properly seen to, since you’ve been waiting so long.”

He presses his thumb against your entrance with your two fingers and when you can easily take it inside as well, he decides you’re indeed plenty ready for his cock instead. His gentle hand on your wrist coaxes you into pulling out, and then he lines himself up and starts to press inside.

You whimper his name as you collapse onto your elbows. He feels impossibly big like this, and despite your insistence that you were ready for him, it’s a toe-curling kind of stretch that has you panting and trembling beneath him while your body alternates between its animal instincts to rear back or submit.

“Good, you take me so well, love,” he groans. “How do you feel?”

In answer, you loudly groan into the pillow you’ve bunched up beneath you.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself,” he says smugly. “Hold on tight for me, alright?”

After a few easy thrusts to ensure you’re properly braced for the full weight of him, Sebastian starts to relentlessly pound you down into the mattress. He supports you with his forearm wrapped beneath your hips and one broad hand pressing into your back – right below where his name is inscribed.

You’re fiercely loud in bed with him, but even when you’re whining and nearly sobbing for him, you can’t drown out the sound of his foul mouth.

“Take this cock,” he grunts. “Take it all, it’s what you wanted, right? For me to fill you up?”

“Yes!” you wail, knowing he expects an answer.

“That’s right,” he growls. “You want it all, I’ll give it all to you, always.”

He leans over your back and grinds in deep and you feel a twinge that isn’t entirely pleasure, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to stop – it’s too good, especially when it’s straddling the line of being too much.

“I’m gonna give you everything,” he confesses into your ear. “My seed, my name on your back, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Give it to me,” you slur. “Go on, Bash.”

“I will love, I will,” he grunts. “But I’m finishing you first.”

He keeps murmuring filth into your ear while he works a hand underneath you to rub quick, firm circles against your clit the way he knows you like. He talks about how sweet you are for him, how you’re the best thing he has, how he wants to keep you right here for as long as you’ll let him, but whether he means in this bed or in his arms you can’t possibly know.

He deftly works you to a breathtaking climax – quite literally you lose your breath, and he just keeps drawing it out with his eager fingers and his cock buried deep in you for so long that you wonder when it will ever stop. When it finally relents, you rest your cheek against the pillow and lie boneless, content to let Sebastian hold your hips up so he can work himself toward his finish.

“Want you to keep it all inside,” he says mindlessly. “Keep it in, keep my jersey on too, fuck–”

When he spills in you, he grinds his sensitive cock against your hips for as long as he can take it to make sure you stay full of his spend. Then when he pulls out, he tucks that damn jersey back down over your ass as if to make the claim, Our work here is done.

You lay exhausted on your stomach while Sebastian cozies up behind you. Within minutes of catching your breaths his stomach growls, so you know you won’t be there for much longer, but neither of you seems to be in any hurry to untangle yourself from the other.

Eventually, you have to ask him, “...So, ‘my name on your back,’ hmm?”

You expect him to blush and stammer, or start talking about how maybe, someday, when he feels like he’s satisfied some sort of redemptive goal that will make him feel like he deserves it, that could be a reality.

Instead, he kisses behind the hinge of your jaw and murmurs, “I meant it. Whenever you want it, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

“Fine, but if I get the name, I get to keep the jersey,” you sigh.

He buries his nose in your hair and happily mumbles, “I think we’ll have to negotiate that one.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #my fic #CAN WE BELIEVE I FINISHED SOMETHING #this was a bear to get done but i think i'm good with where it landed #i will never let go of sweaty seeker sebastian #and yes that's a movie screenshot bc there are no good pictures of quidditch uniforms

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rabidaly · 24 days

Note

Ok one more update from a shark in the water? Please???

Here’s the first 1k(roughly)! Keep in mind I haven’t edited and I had like. A three-month long writers block for this fic so I’m not super attached/happy with this intro— it may change when I go back next weekend!

Hopefully it’s enough to wet your appetite tho ;)

—

Stiles had friends.

Lydia was his friend. Erica. Danny and Kira danced the line between acquaintance and actual friendship, but gun to his head, Stiles would count them as the latter. And Scott. God knows they'd been inseperable for over a decade.

It's just—

Stiles didn’t text his friends the way he texted Derek.

Or as often.

It wasn’t anything serious. Just lots of little, trivial things: pictures here and there, Stiles blinking doe eyes at the camera, biting his lip. He texted Derek about his annoying professor, the chronological order of the Marvel movies, his attempts at latte foam art. Stiles rambled and vented and altogether talked too much, but—

Derek always answered.

Even if it was a simple, one-word reply. Even if sometimes it took a couple hours. Stiles wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop even if he didn’t; every little thing that popped into his head came with the companion thought of, oh! I wonder what Derek would think about this!

ive never seen you play a video game, he texted on Thursday evening.

I don’t. What are you playing?

COD

with scott

R u home?

At the gym.

Stiles had figured as much, but he still caught himself sighing. They were in the Hale-McCall living room, playing on Scott’s family Xbox, both sore and tired from their shifts at work. From his spot on the couch, Stiles could hear Peter humming in the kitchen, most likely prepping for dinner. Melissa was still at work.

And Derek was at the gym. Snooze.

how much can u lift? Stiles texted, before his character on screen ran into a wall and he had to put his phone down. Scott side-eyed him, hard.

Stiles caught the tail-end of Scott taking incoming fire before his phone buzzed again. He looked back down.

I can lift double your weight, easy, Derek had typed, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Stiles pinkened.

for how long?

For as long as it takes. Derek replied. it’s your endurance we need to work on, if anything.

Stiles could taste the sharp edge of Derek’s condescension on his tongue. Something inside him went molten-hot, liquified, like the liquid wax of a burning candle.

maybe you should take me to the gym with you, he typed, squirming at just the thought of it. Derek all sweaty, the graceful arch of spine, muscles flexing as he lifts himself. we could be workout buddies.

Would you wear leggings?

Stiles readjusted on the couch, his leg coming up against his chest.

in public? no.

but I could sit on you.

on your back. while you do push ups

A bit too daring. Stiles bit his lip when Derek didn’t respond. He focused back on the game, hoping to distract himself.

It didn’t help much.

Scott huffed, throwing down his remote when they both died.

“What is with you, man?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles said, peeking at his phone again. No new messages.

“I mean, you’re not even watching where you’re going. You just got us both killed!”

”I’m just—“ Stiles felt unreasonably grumpy. “Bored. Can’t we play something else?”

“Like what?”

Like Mario Kart, per Stiles’ suggestion. The best part about Mario Kart was that Scott was—

“Awful, man. Just terrible,” Stiles laughed as Scott swerved off the road, twisting his remote uselessly, as if that were going to do anything while he wasn’t holding down the gas. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing to watch. You should just stop. You’re bringing shame to your family name.”

“I used to beat you at every game!”

“Yeah, in like seventh grade.” Stiles shook his head. “How’s it feel, Scott? To have peaked in middle school?”

“I haven’t peaked, I’m just—“ Scott threw down the controller as the track completed, screen flashing the stats. Scott in tenth place, Stiles in first. Just like the last time. And the time before that. “Out of practice. God, screw this. I want to play Skyrim.”

“Skyrim is god-awful on the Switch.”

“Well, then, I’ll bring the PS4 down here.”

“But it’s single player,” Stiles scrunched up his nose. “I’m not going to just sit here like your girlfriend and pretend watching you play video games is interesting.”

Scott looked offended. “Allison isn’t pretending. She said she loves watching me play.”

Right.

“Sure she does.” Stiles rolled his eyes. "We can just put on a horror movie or something, play fuck, marry, kill." A weird little tradition of theirs, any time they break out the b-rate horror films.

"Which one do you wanna watch?"

Stiles shrugged, "You pick."

He checked his phone again. Sighed for the millionth time.

Scott noticed.

“Who are you texting?��

Fuck.

”No one important,” Stiles said quickly, and put his phone face down on the side table.

Scott stared at it. “Is that a new phone?”

”What? No.”

”It’s pink," Scott pointed out. "Your phone's not pink.”

Stiles really needed to get a case for the thing. “Okay,” he conceded. “It’s a new phone. I splurged.”

The reaction was immediate.

”Stiles! We’re supposed to be saving up for an apartment!” Scott shook his head. “You’ve got to stop spending money, dude.”

Scott was definitely right about that. Stiles might not have bought the phone, but he'd hardly saved a dime since he’d started his job. He’d been too busy buying— well. You know.

As if summoned by the thought of his underwear alone, Stiles' phone (finally, finally) buzzed. Stiles had moved before his brain had fully processed the sound, snatching his phone up from the table on reflex.

Stay put. I’ll be there in 10.

Stiles’ cheeks darkened to a fire-engine red. Uh-oh.

#siyw #am open to suggestions!! especially that first 300 words or so #I’ve written this beginning so many times I ended up just leaving it the way it is to finish the actual meat of the story #sterek

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leclerced · 2 months

Note

My obsession with tattoos lately got me thinking about tattooed!Oscar with tattoo artist!gf. Like not some small tattoo on his wrist but a bigger composition somewhere on his body. Imagine ppl’s reactions when it’s revealed while doing the ice baths. And he’s so chill about it but when people are gawking at him maybe he gets a bit flustered cause he’s not used to having so much attention on his body. Then Lando catches him maybe in his drivers room or sth and tells him to show him the tattoos and why didn’t he tell him earlier??? Oscar would be so confused but show him and then start telling him about them. „Oh yeah this one I did when I got the championship in F2, this one reminds me of Australia, this one actually is kind of inspired by you, the rest are important cause my girl did them”

ok ive been trying so hard to find tats i think oscar would get n its so hard. pinterest just shows me the same tats constantly n its annoying. i can’t find any large pieces i like but i think he’d have a lot of smaller ones and one or two medium/large pieces. one of the larger ones would be something like blackbirds flying across his side. i think that one is the one inspired by lando, like lando sent him a photo of some birds flying and oscar showed gf, it got stuck in her mind and she kept sketching it. oscar has a habit of seeing her sketches and asking if she wants to put it on him or if it’s for a client. he sees the birds and asks if she has any plans for it. she tells him the photo lando sent him inspired her and oscar asks if she wants to tattoo him. he doesn’t think to tell lando until lando asks to see his tattoos. the smaller ones he has are the track for home, his helmet from the year he won f2, a formula one car for how far he’s made it. i think he’d have tattoos for his parents and sisters, like their birth flowers or smth cute like that? or an inside joke. plus some oddballs that are just his girlfriends ideas. she’ll doodle on him with pen a lot and occasionally he snaps photos of the drawings to come back to and have tattooed later!! he’d def have matching tats with gf too.

#ask #lifeboredme #op81

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spacexseven · 2 years

Text

mandatory obligation

NOTE: since i've been playing genshin a lot more recently i've been thinking about #HIM a lot more these days and ive been possessed by the corner of my brain that's obsessed with childe :,) so yes, it's very self indulgent. this can be read as a part 2 to broken vows but not everything aligns well since i didn't plan for it to be read like that

SUMMARY: tartaglia always puts things back on track, no matter how hard you try to derail his plans.

PAIRING: yandere! tartaglia x fem! reader

CW: yandere character, obsession, lying, deceit, manipulation, forced relationships, forced marriage, imprisonment, implied stalking, spoilers for childe's real name :>

you're starting to realize that none of the villagers are really buying your admittedly rather strange excuses. of course, they were all understandably wary to see a stranger stride down the path to your house. more so because he walked with all the confidence in the world, as though he owned the land below his feet. and perhaps they were all on edge because his visits only seemed to start a few weeks after you moved back in, after years of living in the harbor.

still, you fix a fake smile and offer them the most believable out of your quite pathetic array of excuses—"he's a visitor from the harbour. yes, related to my work. no, nothing big. he needs help sorting out documents since the ministry is strict about papers, especially when it concerns foreign businessmen." you never mention a name or any other detail. they don't pry, either, curious minds sated for now.

the lie isn't that much of a lie, considering he was officially in liyue for business matters representing the northland bank, and the ministry was a little cautious, but less because of his business and more because...of his overall existence. you've heard the rumors and even experienced parts of it for yourself, so you can confidently say that he would unsettle anyone. however, despite all the time you've known him, you can't quite tell which one of his numerous whispered-about jobs is true; banker, businessman, or just a soldier. or maybe, the answer was all of the above, with an extra title—fatuus.

despite the general unease from the village, nobody dares question the blue-eyed stranger to his face. he walks straight to your door, never stopping to acknowledge the presence of others, stays for a few hours, and leaves like clockwork, leaving no evidence for the villagers to gossip about and question the nature of your relationship. still, the little details; the boxes he carries, the way he lingers outside your door for a few more moments, the increasing frequency of his visits, they serve some fuel to the ever-growing flames of curiosity.

today, ajax walks in with his usual disarming smile, eyes visibly brightening at the sight of you standing stiffly behind the door.

"i missed you," he croons—the same as always—though you know he means it very much. as is routine, he reaches out for your hand with his gloved one and places a kiss on the back of it, maintaining eye contact with you all the while. his smile turns into a menacing smirk at the slight downturn of your lips.

"come, darling," he gestures to your table, as though you were the guest and him the host, "look at what came in today."

as you cautiously walk past him and sit down, he unravels a thick, wrapped bundle he had been holding under his arm, revealing to you a lovely coat of rich, dark color and expensive-looking details. the buttons look like real gold, and you can already tell by looking, that it was made to fit you. everything he bought you was tailored to your measurements, though you never dared to ask how he got your measurements so accurately.

he watches, closely, as you, having known what he was expecting, stand up and let him slip on the coat for you. you pretend to look mesmerized by the feeling of the warm inner lining brushing your arms and run your fingers across the soft material to put on a show of awe for the harbinger. it's very likely that he knew you were doing this out of fear rather than gratitude, but he's appeased anyway, as he places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes, his grip firm but painless.

"it's perfect," he lets go of your shoulders to interlock his gloved fingers with yours, watching your face intently, "...is it not to your liking?"

you pretend to admire the buttons and hemming, the thought of him deliberately picking this out for you more unsettling than flattering, especially when you recalled previous encounters of the same nature, wondering how to explain without upsetting him, "i just...don't need something so expensive."

you didn't need it, especially in liyue, where it never got cold enough for you to be adorning such a thick coat without sweating profusely. at least the expensive hand-embroidered clothes and jadeite earrings he bought you before were thin enough to be worn on visits to the harbor and rare outings together, and the silk underclothes you could wear to bed if you weren't constantly worried about him wondering if you were wearing those and coming to see for himself. this coat, however, was impractical and lavish, and you wondered if this is how all the rich spent their money—foolishly.

"it's not meant to be worn here, my dear," he chuckles, "it's for when we visit snezhnaya. it's far too cold there to be in your usual outfits."

before you could stop yourself, you speak the words lingering in your mind, "i don't need it."

he pauses for a few minutes, the charming smile slipping for a terrifying moment, before returning, the realization striking him immediately, "very cute, darling. although i wouldn't mind you wearing my coats, i think one tailored to your size would fit better, no? besides, i only bought one, just so you can wear it for when we have important visits in snezhnaya. otherwise, my love, you can wear any of mine that you like; in fact, i would prefer that, since everyone would see you and know at once that you're with me."

you weren't going to tell him that that wasn't what you meant, shattering the pretty picture he had painted in his mind. you couldn't risk angering him by informing him that you weren't planning on going to snezhnaya anytime now or in the future, and you didn't need a coat. you didn't want to see that side of him again, not when there were so many others at risk. so you smile, and though it's painfully stiff, he smiles back at the sight, pleased at your compliance.

you foolishly thought that everything would blow over when he walked out that night, new, expensive coat buried deep in your closet with the other gifts. he had graced you with yet another kiss and saccharine sweet greeting before leaving, and you watched from your doorway as his figure became smaller and smaller in the distance. you noticed that he lingered by a house in the village for a few minutes too long, but just as you were about to go out and see what he was up to, he was gone.

it's only the next day, when one of your neighbors stopped you that you realized what sinister plot childe had been planning.

"congratulations!" she grins at you, face beaming with happiness, "oh, i'm so happy you're having a ceremony here, too! i would hate to miss such a beautiful occasion."

you must have done a terrible job at hiding your surprise, because she rushes to explain herself, "your fiancé told us yesterday evening, and told us the formal invitation for the wedding would be out soon. was he not supposed to tell?"

you manage an awkward, choked laugh, feeling your head spin, "i told him...that we should keep it a surprise. about the wedding, i mean, i hadn't told anyone we were engaged yet because—"

"oh, yes," she's still smiling, and it's almost irritating now, "you must have been worried because he was a foreigner, right? don't worry, everyone already loves him!"

"i'm very glad to hear that," you tell her, forcing yourself to sound as genuine as possible, "and i'm really grateful for your wishes. i have to go now, though, and get some things for tonight."

although you escape her, you soon realize word had spread to everyone in the village. you were being bombarded with congratulations and well wishes, and people gushing about how considerate your fiancé was for having a little ceremony here so your community can see the two of you before you leave for snezhnaya, how thoughtful he was, for asking them what traditional ceremonial foods he should have for the occasion, how generous he was, for sponsoring your wedding.

they gushed over his charming personality and his pleasant words, demanding to see the ring he got you, the one you never wore. they playfully berated you for hiding such a big change in your life, claiming it would have been no problem if you were engaged to him even if they had no idea who he was before this. it was stressful and exhausting to smile and thank them for their words, squeezing your way out of the crowd to the safety of your home, and even then the little peace did not last long.

ajax swings the door open only to see your figure slumped over on the table, tired by the fuss. immediately, he goes to you, sitting next to you and going to stroke your head in an attempt to coax you into unleashing your troubles. despite your mental insistence to never let him get to you, you can feel yourself relaxing under his soothing touch, being starved of such gentle affection for so long.

"you alright there, pretty girl?" he coos into your ear, hands still brushing your hair.

you sigh, not wanting to talk at the moment, but he keeps going.

"i'm sorry if the announcement was too sudden, but it's been more than a month, and you haven't let anything slip. not even wearing the ring i bought for you—i was almost hurt, but i understand. now that you know they're all happy for our engagement, though," as he pauses, a hand squeezes yours, "you should start wearing it, so that they don't get the wrong idea, hmm?"

you find yourself agreeing listlessly, disheartened by the terrible turn things had taken. still, how long could you have kept up the charade? how long could you have avoided the wedding and him? you've always known that ajax was ready to do anything to get what he wanted, regardless of how it may torment you or others. you should have expected such a move from him.

"i've planned for our trip to snezhnaya about two weeks from now, so you can meet everyone back home and we can plan for our wedding," he says, not waiting for you to agree, "i haven't told anyone about the journey yet, since i'm afraid teucer will try to sneak onto a ship to come see us again," he smiles at the memory.

you can still remember it, too. it was one of the few times with ajax that you were somewhat happy, since it was hard to dislike teucer, even if the boy idolized ajax to an extent that made you worried.

that day, the news came to the both of you when you were having lunch in the harbor, a frantic underling interrupting you with a panicked explanation about a teucer and sneaking onto the boat. at the time, you were clueless about the exchange, but ajax, unusually riled up, decided the two of you had to go to the bank at once. there, you met teucer, a boy far too adorable to be related to the harbinger. you knew that ajax wrote to his family about you and some parts of his work regularly, but you hadn't expected the enthusiastic greeting teucer showed you, gasping in awe and asking you if you were really going to marry his brother.

while you had been overwhelmed by the sudden questions, ajax quickly stepped in to calm the boy down and offer to show him around the harbor, only after chiding him on his foolish and reckless decision to come all the way to liyue on his own. the rest of the day was honestly pleasant; you witnessed a new side to ajax and were endeared by the boy, who was far too unsuspecting and excited about everything. when the time came to send him home, he told you earnestly that it had been one of the best days of his life and pleaded with you to come visit soon. how could you have said no to him in that moment?

even now, ajax holds your promise over your head, using it to remind you that you couldn't break teucer's heart. either way, you'd be coming with him, as he often said, but it would be nicer for you if you'd come willingly.

"i think teucer only excited everyone more with his stories about you," the harbinger continues, a tinge of excitement in his tone, "and i already know that they would absolutely adore you."

you nod, not at all as excited as he was to visit his family. ajax stands up and goes to your room, not explaining his sudden actions. you can hear the sound of your closet door opening and drawers being pulled, and you bolt towards the room, bewildered by his unreadable expression and fluid motions.

"what are you doing?" you gape at the speed at which he was picking things out, with no consideration to your privacy, "i thought we were leaving in two weeks!"

"did i say two weeks?" he nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, "i meant one. we have to leave for the harbour a few days before our departure," he was obviously unbothered by how upset you were, "i'm only helping you pack."

he rummages around in your room before picking something up with his slender fingers, turning to you with a grin that sent chills down your spine, "come here."

you obey his command, sensing that he was on the brink of losing his temper. he grasps your hand with a painful. bruising grip, and you were almost certain that he was crushing your fingers. in his other hand, he held a heavy ring, one that was far too familiar, with the expensive, shining stone glaring up at you. you already knew what words were inscribed into the band, despite never wearing the ring again after the first time he placed it onto your finger. as the cool metal slid onto your finger, you thought it was deceivingly beautiful; a ring doubling as a collar being locked into place, to serve a reminder of who you were tied to.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia #yandere ajax #yandere childe x you #childe x reader #childe tartagalia #tartaglia 🐟#tartaglia #genshin impact #tartagalia x you #genshin 🐟#os 🐟#SOOOO NERVOUS ITS BEEN 4EVER SINCE I WROTE FOR HIM :(

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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Can you write the TADC cast with a male ballet dancer reader? The reader experiences gender dysphoria 24/7 because they look very feminine and all that.

TADC cast x male!ballet dancer!reader w/ dysphoria

back to finishing up the current line up of requests!! reminder that im only doing requests that have been sent in prior to them being closed! any requests that are sent in while theyre still closed will not be taken and will be deleted so i can keep track of what was sent before closing; its nothing against any of yall and you guys can resend your stuff when they are reopened (i will make it very obvious when they are so dw!!) on a different note i could have sworn i did a cast request with a reader who does ballet; but i guess it was only for jax and i was confusing the group request for the ballora type! reader from this morning huh anyways!! i hope you enjoy this anon! quick warning that i know literally nothing about ballet so im

CAINE:

i think he enjoys a bunch of art forms; from music stuff to dance stuff to painting stuff, this man has taste. i think he would give you a bunch of outfits for you to wear and swap around that fits your aesthetic. bro would give you a whole walk in closet. as for dysphoria, i think he would do a similar thing with jax and reinforce how masculine you are to him, usually through affirmations, but he also shows it through just being there for you, bro is not only your number one fan but hes also your biggest supporter

POMNI:

i am yet again stumped on what to put in for pomni, since i think pomni is. bad at comforting people. very awkward, do not go to her for advice she will fumble so bad. now its not like shes not trying, but i think she would be all over the place trying to cover everything that could possibly help you; perhaps you two ultimately settle on cuddling one another... if this werent the digital world you two would probably put on a movie to take your mind off of it. as for her thoughts on ballet! i think she would find it neat, similar to jax she would have a form of respect for it!

RAGATHA:

she thinks it looks pretty, the dancing! she wouldnt know all the history or more in depth parts of it but she would watch you practice if you allowed her too... i think she would make you a binder, if your digital body causes any gender dysphoria for you.. though now that i type this i recall it being said that the characters clothing being stuck to their body.. so maybe she would just make you clothing thats more masculine as well? im not sure on this one!

JAX:

doing jax first since he already got a similar post and i can use it as a basis; ive said this in that post as well as the ballora one but i think he would at least appreciate the dedication and hard work that goes into ballet... to like, fully commit to something like that impresses him you know? as for dysphoria, i think he would make it a point to call you more masculine terms. hes gonna be trying his best to try to help you with your dysphoria in the way that best helps you. lays off on his teasing on days where its worse

KINGER:

i am yet again distraught that i do not have many ideas for kinger this time, which is sad because hes my favorite character and i can relate so hard to the dysphoria thing... thinks.. probably throws all of his knowledge at you. i mean hes been in the circus for a while, hes probably seen at least a few people come and go; and sure what are the odds that he has some experience helping someone fight through their dysphoria... a boy can dream! takes you to his pillow fort and lets you stay for as long as you want

probably sits and watches you dance on a makeshift pillow thrown. claps when you're done, probably throws roses... i think caine would throw roses too except he would throw way more simply because he can literally. manifest as many as he wants

ZOOBLE:

i dont usually like sharing my lgbt hcs about characters out of fear that it would be met with discourse but if i recall correctly zooble doesnt really have a gender/a set one (if im wrong correct me!) so they understand the dysphoria thing; i think they would offer to let you hang out in your room and vent your feelings out. probably tries to give advice on how to feel better in general if you want advice, but if you want comfort theyre gonna do your best to give it to you. i dont think zooble would have much of an opinion on ballet; neither negative or positive, simply knowing thats its an art form! supports you if it makes you happy, though!

GANGLE:

while not the same thing, i like to think gangle used to do ribbon dancing in the real world... because... ribbon girl. see look im so so creative

but also i think it looks pretty

so you guys can bond over your hobbies! you might have to pry gangle to open up and talk about her interest in it, assuming she picks it up again in the digital world! as for dysphoria, i think gangle would be like zooble in terms of lending you some support; offers to help distract you if you dont want to tackle the issue at that point in time. i dont know about you, but sometimes i just, dont want to deal with my own dysphoria, but perhaps thats just a me thing

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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dreadsuitsamus · 6 months

Text

Crazed | Sōsuke Aizen x Reader |

author's note: blame @yeowangies for this, idk 🙈

pairing: sōsuke aizen x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, dubcon, sex pollen, thigh riding, humiliation and a bit of degradation

You lost track of how many days have passed since that last day in Soul Society. Has it been months, or just a few weeks? Mealtimes once kept you on track, though Sōsuke Aizen is the craftiest bastard you've ever met and as such, you can't trust the timeline you once gave yourself— not to mention, you stopped eating sometime ago. Your eyes are tired, the life drained of you from this imprisonment in Hueco Mundo; the memory of Tōsen flanking and kidnapping you during a mission in the World of the Living blurs now.

Why did they take you? You haven't had the chance to ask. You've yet to see Aizen at all since the day he betrayed Soul Society, though your trust in him was quite minimal long before that. He had always seemed a little too put together and perfect; perhaps you should've said something. Not that anyone would've believed you— could anything have even been done if you were heard?

Light floods your room and dread creeps at your senses. The Arrancar is back for yet another experiment to levy on you, and this time he's got the cruel, blue-haired Espada with him. Having long lost the ability to speak, you approach the scientist and the muscle.

Sexta’s grin is unbearably wide as he taps your chin up with his knuckle, forcing the dead look in your eye to meet with the crazed, monstrous look in his. He forces a pitiful, played-up pout on his lips. “Poor thing… We should let her out of the cage more often. See how far she can run.”

The spirit of your zanpakutō, while the weapon has been long lost in this hellish dimension, cries out in agony to light the briefest flicker of a fire in your eyes, surprising Grimmjow and replacing the smirk on his lips once more. He doesn't speak further, however, and instead grabs your arm with more force than is needed these days— much to Szayelaporro’s chagrin, as the lack of strength in you compared to his previous experiments has thrown quite the wrench into his data. He'll have to fix an IV drip on you; forcing you to eat isn't particularly his style, and he'd rather not worry about the things you could do in retaliation that would stain any of the white clothes he wears.

Sexta doesn't stick around once you're in the lab again, strapped to your usual chair as the bright lights feel like piercing needles to your growing migraine. Szayelaporro is quick to set up a drip and address the dehydration; you'll be no good to test the latest drug on if you aren't lucid. His blood itches within him, so ready to spray you with the mixture— he nearly growls at the irritation you’ve caused to bubble in his chest. How dare you alter his control like this?

Your eyes slip shut, unable to withstand the urge to sleep anymore. Maybe one day the sabotage to your basic health will win you the battle of freedom, but today very clearly won't be the day.

Unfortunately, you're feeling much better when you've come back to consciousness. Szayelaporro grins, fulfilling the stereotype he's most proud of as he instantly spritzes your face, the liquid inside it a deep pink color reminiscent of the flurries of Senbonzakura. Instantly you sneeze, though the sounds of Szayelaporro’s disgust soon fade out as the concoction forms a haze on your mind, glazing your eyes with a cloud as the temperature in the room seems to rise.

Fingers fumbling for the glass of water sitting nearby, you desperately gulp it down to ease the heat growing— it doesn't work, however. Your chest rises and falls as the heat focuses between your legs; what the hell did he spray on you? Pressing your thighs together, a soft little sound escapes you at the minimal pleasure the friction provides.

“Interesting…” The Espada hums, notating the entirely unintended side effects down onto a notepad, and you sit there humiliated by the feelings he's forced upon you as he shoves a thermometer in your mouth to test for fever.

You're unbearably horny, the slick between your legs pooling into your panties while your nipples, as sensitive as you've ever felt them, harden into little peaks that can be seen through the fabric of your clothes. Your brain hardly has the ability to be thankful that Grimmjow is long gone and unable to see such a display from you; you'd never, ever live it down if he witnessed this.

“This is… Hmmm…” The Arrancar hums to himself, rubbing his chin in thought. This certainly has no place in his research— the plan isn't to make Aizen's enemies so horny they're incapacitated, despite how successful the potion’s effect is. Certainly he'll have to shelve this and his curiosity on just how far this goes, but there's still certainly some work to be done.

Will it wear off with time? Or… Must you achieve orgasm for it to go away? There's always the chance of lethal happenings if you don't cum, but without data and further research, Szayelaporro can't know.

This is above his pay grade, so to speak.

“Come.” Szayelaporro unstraps you from the bonds of the chair, hesitating to touch you and force you out of it. Somehow, he wishes the Sexta Espada hadn't left. If nothing else, he could certainly help with the research…

But something tells him that Aizen would rather deal with this personally.

You can hardly move on your own as the burning ache of your cunt grows. Desperation plagues every thought, each one more perverse than the last and god you couldn't be any more disgusted with yourself if you tried. You'd allow anyone to touch your depraved body at this point, even the disgusting Szayelaporro, the one who'd done this and plenty other horrible things, and no doubt with plans to do worse, himself.

Your eyes widen soon— this pressure, this aura… he's been this close the entire time? As long as you've been here, you've never felt the strong Spiritual Pressure of Sōsuke Aizen, despite knowing there's no other place he'd be. But feeling him, being absolutely certain that he's close by and really and truly here…

Pitifully, more slick is produced from your heated core.

You stumble to your knees, hardly strong enough to brace yourself against the smooth floor beneath you. Aizen's presence, his heavy Reiatsu nearly crushes you as Szayelaporro leaves you on the floor in favor of approaching Aizen's throne.

Aizen's chocolate-toned eyes slide to your direction, nearly tuning out his Espada entirely as a thrill tickles his chest, traveling lower as his blood makes his cock twitch. It's not often he feels such a way; and it's not often he's presented with such a sweet gift either. As much as his Arrancars throw themselves at him, he's never once desired them.

You, the one that always hated him? Such an opportunity won't be wasted.

Aizen waves his hand, dismissing Szayelaporro and any other Arrancar that lingers. His pink tongue swipes over his lips before he speaks. “Are you able to stand?”

A shudder runs through you at the sound of his deep voice; never once have you been attracted to him, not even when almost all of Soul Society wanted in his bed. But now, under this stupid poison, he's everything all the others swooned over. Against your will, you shake as you slowly look up to meet his gaze. “No.” You whisper, fever warming you thoroughly as your eyes meet his— was Sōsuke always so striking without his glasses?

Aizen slouches in the throne just a bit and rests his cheek against his fist. “Hmm…”

His hum practically vibrates against your clit, the echo in the room bouncing the sound around in your sex-addled brain. Your pussy clenches at all the filth that floods your mind, each idea producing a dribble of slick that further ruins your panties and stickys your soft inner thighs. The pace of your heart’s beating slams against your breast, nervous under Aizen's stare.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.” He can't stop the slow rising smirk on his lips, doesn't even want to fight the sick pleasure he gains from this position he's in. His words can convey all the benevolence in the world— you both know what lies beneath them, cradling his heart in the inky swaths of evil.

Your cheeks flush with a fresh burst of heat, from anger, humiliation or from being so turned on, you're not sure. Sweat pours from your pounding forehead, dripping onto the tile beneath you. The room is scorching, absolutely burning your skin beneath all the layers of fabric Ulquiorra brought you this morning. No amount of washing or drycleaning can salvage the bottoms from the slickness of your salivating cunt, and further embarrassment sinks into your skin.

Aizen leans forward in his throne, resting a large palm on his thigh and rubbing the length of it slowly. “Don't be stubborn. I'll help you, but you've got to ask for it.”

Tears pool in your eyes as the desperation begins to swallow you— it's getting hard to breathe with how humid you feel. It's absolutely sweltering in this room and the cool tile beneath you means absolutely nothing now. Squeezing your eyes shut stubbornly, your fists curl up. “To cum.”

“I did say to ask me, didn't I?”

Rage burns in your, causing your fist to slam to the floor. “God dammit, Aizen, when I get the chance to slaughter you I will!”

Your proclamation loses its punch when, after Aizen’s condescending chuckle, goosebumps litter your skin. “Come here, pet.”

Why am I listening to him?

You're far too weak to stand, let alone walk, so you're merely left to pathetically crawl to the stairs before his throne. It's a slow, humiliating journey and all you can do is pray a trail of wetness doesn't follow. Shakes wrack your body by the time you've made it up the steps, and a harsh gasp tears out of your throat as Aizen's rather delicate palm meets your face, gently, guiding your face close enough to his that his breath fans along your cheek.

“Ask me to help you.” He croons, the evil in his eyes absolutely sick with glee.

Closing your eyes does no good, as Aizen squeezes your cheeks harshly until you open them once more. Biting harshly on your tongue, you finally speak. “Please… h-help me.”

“With?”

Oh, he's such a prick! “I need to cum. Please… Please help me cum.” The tears in your eyes pour over your cheeks, leaving beautiful stains behind on your skin. Aizen wipes one away with his thumb, his lips rather close to yours as he speaks.

“You see that wasn't as difficult as you made it, hm? Just this once, your wish is my command.” In a display of his well-hidden strength, Aizen plucks the buttons of your uniform enough to tear them off completely, cool air soothing your skin as the layers are slowly peeled away until all that remains is your bra and utterly destroyed panties.

Aizen leans back into his throne again once you're stripped, jutting his leg out and patting his thigh. Your pussy throbs in anticipation and lust has plagued your mind entirely now— nothing will stop you from chasing your high now, not with your sensibilities long tossed out the window. Strength finds you when you need it most, jolting you to your feet long enough to straddle your enemy's awaiting thigh, and a loud moan is ripped from deep within your chest as the contact alone makes you cum. It's so fast it nearly hurts, the pleasure coursing through you like lightning as your fist feebly finds purchase in Aizen's shirt, just for you to stay upright.

It was good and fast, but the heat, the lust, the willingness to degrade yourself in front of Aizen doesn't subside. If anything, it's much worse now.

Your hips rock without permission from your brain, smearing Aizen’s pant leg with the slick desire you've produced. Your hole, aching and unfathomably wet, throbs and clenches in demand for a cock to fill it. Aizen allows your hold on him, merely staring at you, fist to his cheek as always, as you pleasure yourself on his thigh. It's humiliating, so perfectly in line with his intentions, but you can't stop. The friction is too good now to possibly consider stopping.

You'll kill Szayelaporro for this.

You grind faster, breasts bouncing a bit in your bra as you work your body. Another orgasm approaches quickly and you take it without hesitation, cumming harshly again and then again soon after. Finally, the air clears enough for each intake to feel fresh again, and you collapse against Aizen's solid body with heavy, ragged breaths.

Aizen smirks as you try to collect yourself. He'll be sure to have his dear scientist create more of this potion— it holds far too much value to let it go to waste.

It will be the thing that breaks you.

#aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x you #aizen x you #bleach x you #bleach x reader #bleach imagine #nsft #cw dubcon #fic #reader insert #x reader

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