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sukunasweetheart · 8 months

Text

to satiate, seduce, and to sin.

HEED THE WARNINGS; fem!reader, half human(?) and half snake sukuna, its highkey yandere, mentions of eating people, DUBCON elements, dacryphilia, degradation, HEAVY smut, breeding, cum inflation, use of threats, squeezing/constricting, brainwashing, manipulation, body modification, trueform sukuna (two dicks), mentions of pregnancy and lactation.

Word count: 5k+

sorry guys, i kind of went all out with this one...

you are a researcher, and you’re looking for a rare specimen that most have assumed has disappeared or simply never existed in the first place. but recently, a few traces of activity from one has arisen, and you’re on the case to try and find him before he vanishes without a trace again. unfortunately for you, you decided to embark on this journey during the heat of his mating season... which leads you to making an interesting deal with him.

snake hybrids are and always has been extremely rare as a species - you’ve only seen them in books and blurry images. the information obtained on them - diet, habitat, behaviour - are also mostly just speculations. how they reproduce is shrouded in mystery. despite being half snake, they are much, much biologically different from actual snakes. many believe they are just a fabricated species.

you however, are confident that they are real, and that they’re still around somewhere. pursuing your passion for them, you’ve started another one of your many solo expeditions in search of any clues, or hopefully, one of them in the flesh.

and in this current one, you’ve seemed to hit a jackpot. you’ve been following this enormous snake trail for hours now. you’re really close to finding him, you’re certain.

after another hour or so of walking, a large cave can be sighted a good distance away, to your excitement. you tread carefully through the dirt, dead leaves and tree bark on the ground, making your way towards it.

standing at the entrance to the cave, you hesitate for a moment, heart thumping wildly. you’re so close. this could be a groundbreaking discovery, or it could be another false lead. you’re unable to see the other end of the cave at all, due to how ominously pitch black it is inside. good thing you brought a flashlight with you.

you put your backpack onto the ground and take it out, turning it on and off a couple of times to make sure that it was working. good as new. putting your backpack on again, you take in a deep breath before beginning to carefully make your way inside.

it’s awfully quiet. that’s usually a bad sign.

and if it weren’t for your flashlight, you would’ve needed a lot of time to let your eyes adjust to this darkness, as there’s little to no light that reaches into this cave. your footsteps echo against the walls, the noise bouncing off and heading down further, catching the attention of something lurking within the deepest end of this cave.

“hello?” you say boldly, letting your voice ring out, reaching out to whatever might be sitting in the dark before you. no answer.

you continue your walk, pointing your light towards the walls occasionally, and then the path in front of you to make sure you didn’t trip over anything. with every step, you start to feel more afraid. what if there’s nothing here? what if this whole trip and the expenses and the time you spent was all for naught? the thought of going back empty handed makes your stomach sink.

you halt altogether when your light falls upon something on the ground. a small creature...? no... it looks like...

the end of a large snake’s tail.

in the blink of an eye, something wraps around your whole body tightly, rendering you completely immobile. your eyes widen and a frightened yelp escapes your throat, but you’re still holding on tight to your flashlight. a deep voice resounds in your ears, a voice that sounds so human.

“look at what’s wandered aimlessly into my den. a free meal. did you come in hopes to get devoured?”

you do your best to point your flashlight towards the source of the voice.

a man that has his arms crossed... looking closer, he has an extra pair that rests at his sides. a large mouth on his stomach. and from his waist down, he has the body of a snake. he stares down at you, amused. his giant tail coils tighter around you, noticeably more around the swell of your chest.

“...and a woman, no less. what do you want?”

your eyes continue to wander around his features, taking note of everything that stands out to you. glowing red eyes-- and just like his extra arms, he has extra eyes too! they’re a lot smaller than his main ones, however. oh, you’re so curious and ecstatic. so many extra features nobody had thought this hybrid would have.

“answer my question, vermin. who do you think you’re dealing with here? i’ll crush you until you’re choking on your own blood,” he spits harshly, wrapping around you tightly. you’ve come at a bad time.

he’s in a rather sensitive mood right now, being so...pent up.

“i-i apologise... i’m a researcher. i’ve come this way to look for you,” you begin to speak carefully. “i wanted to prove your existence to the world. and it’s been a long while... but i’m finally here.”

he lets out an exasperated sigh. what a pathetic, insignificant goal you have. humans really love treading into places where they don’t belong, following their foolish curiosity, like a dog being lead around by its nose.

“i wanted an opportunity to observe you, if i may. just write some notes down... and a couple of pictures. would that be alright? please? it won’t take long at all.”

your eyes begin to wander again, being out of your control as you instinctively end up doing so, as if to prove sukuna right about your kind.

the scales of his tail... they have a very unique pattern to them, being adorned with beautiful shades of red and black. similar patterns run down his face and upper body as well. you’re itching to give him a sketch in your notebook. without thinking, you wriggle your arm out from his grasp and run your hand along them.

“ah... so magnificent. it feels exactly the same as a normal snake’s. i want to know more,” you mumble to yourself, loving the texture that runs underneath your fingers and palms. it makes him give a slight jolt, giving you a startle as you instantly take your hands off of him.

“i’m sorry! did that hurt? or...”

he narrows his eyes at you, staring into your innocent gaze as you blink back at him. a pleasant idea rises in his mind. his expression shifts into a gentler one, all too suddenly, as his tail loosens around you.

“...very well, then. i’ll let you observe me,” he relents, looking down at you with mischievous eyes.

“in exchange,” he very obviously gazes upon your physique lustfully, “your body is mine to use.”

being a rare species, its been a while since he’d had someone to breed with in the recent years. especially during mating seasons- it’s been frustrating, to say the least. he never thought he’d become so desperate as to resort to use a human for satisfaction, but he’ll take what he can get.

“huh?? i- well-” you begin to say, flustered by the sudden demand. your thoughts start racing, wondering if you were misunderstanding him, by any chance.

“do you mean...”

“yes. i’m going to mate with you. although, humans can’t get pregnant from my seed. so there’s no need to be concerned about offspring.”

he says it so matter-of-factly that it startles you. you don’t want to know how he found out about that last bit of information... but you mentally jot down some notes about it anyway. so snake hybrids can’t crossbreed with humans despite being relatively similar in appearance... interesting...

you seem lost in thought again and sukuna grows impatient.

“so? what’ll it be?”

you shouldn’t agree to such an outrageous idea. it’s wrong, and... and researchers shouldn’t do such things with the subjects of their studies. and yet-

he notices you squeezing your thighs together, and grins. what an indecent woman. he’s never seen one so willing.

what can you do? you can’t afford to go back without any pieces of evidence. how would you prove your discovery? you fool yourself into thinking that you’re only doing this for the sake of your career.

“...alright. we have a deal,” you tell him meekly. you can also take this chance to find out more in depth information about... his reproductive system. what better way than to experience it yourself? ...you internally smack yourself in the face for that last part.

“where do you want to start?”

“i’d like to have a closer look at your upper body, please.”

his tail shifts to bring you closer to him. you make proper eye contact with him for the first time, and being so close to his face makes your heart thump faster. if you forget about the tail and all... he’s just a handsome looking man.

you grip onto your flashlight tightly. he has pretty eyes, too. you ask for his hand, and see that his nails are dark, and sharp. for someone who’s half-reptile, he feels oddly warm.

“i want to see your teeth next,” you tell him.

“don’t be surprised if i bite,” he responds, before opening up his mouth for you. you hope he’s only joking.

you inspect the inside closely, watching his snake tongue wriggle slightly, and his well-pronounced fangs that gleam as your light hits it.

“are you venomous?”

“i can be. it depends.”

you ask him a series of questions, pushing your limits to get as much information as possible from him.

“and the mouth on your stomach?”

he brings you down so you can have a look for yourself. this one is much bigger, but pretty much has the same basic features as the first one. fascinating. when you touch the lower lip, he suddenly encloses your hand with his larger mouth. shocked, you gasp and retract your hand quickly, to find out that it is still intact. he chuckles sinisterly above you.

“p-please put me down so i can grab my things.”

he lets you go and you immediately begin taking various items out of your bulky backpack. you place your flashlight down onto the ground facing up, so that the light hits the roof of the cave and illuminates your surroundings a bit. you start off by writing down a few pages of notes.

...was a little hostile during the first interaction...communicates sufficiently in human language... was found resting in a cave...four eyes, and four arms, including an extra mouth on the stomach...

it was pages and pages worth of description, anything off of the top of your head. you’d have to rewrite and tidy it up later. a thought suddenly comes to mind.

“do you have a name?” you ask him.

“a well-asked question. i’ll have you pleading with the name ‘sukuna’ later on, once you’re done with all that,” he tells you arrogantly, watching as you scribble into your little notebook.

...the specimen goes by the name of ‘sukuna’.

next, you grab your polaroid camera and aim its lens towards sukuna.

“there’s gonna be a small flash of light,” you warn him.

“yes, i already know what those things do.”

the last guy that tried to take his pictures without asking first, suffered some nasty consequences. it was all for naught though, because he didn’t taste very good at all.

you take as many pictures as you please, and he patiently remains still as he promised. you take a look at the results and once you’re happy enough, you neatly set them aside and shove everything back into your bag. truth be told, your heart could leap out of your mouth right now, from how intensely it was beating.

you had felt his eyes resting upon you from behind the whole time, feeling the way he was watching your body with his lecherous gaze, undressing you with it.

“all done?” he voices gently, voice dripping with sweet poison. nothing like the tone he’d used when you first arrived here.

“...yes. are- are we doing it straight away?” it was a stupid question to ask, but you felt the need to say something, anything.

"i might lose myself if i have to wait any longer,” sukuna confesses, slithering closer to you.

“wait! let me just- i’ll get myself undressed.”

you had a feeling that if he did it, he’d simply rip everything off your body. you need something to wear for the trip home. sukuna smirks at you.

“...go on, then. put on a show for me, will you?”

the phrasing flusters you immensely, but you work hard to make your trembling fingers work to unbutton yourself and unhook your bra yourself. your breasts bounce lightly with every movement, and sukuna watches with incredible restraint.

“nothing like watching a meal prepare itself in front of your eyes... it’s a shame you’re only here to satisfy my lust and not my hunger too.”

the thought of it sends a shiver down your spine.

you swallow on nothing as you avoid his eyes, taking your last bit of underwear off. you’re scared, but in a strangely arousing way. have you always been this perverted?

“i-i’m done...” you say with a small voice, instinctively attempting to cover yourself up to maintain some form of decency.

“wonderful. let’s start with a little taste, shall we?”

sukuna picks you up effortlessly with his arms, and without any stalling, your pussy is pushed up directly against the mouth on his stomach, his hands placed on your ass to support you while you wrap your legs around his waist.

“i’ll need to get your holes nice and loose for me. better it be pleasure than pain, right?”

something wet and warm slithers out and rubs up on your sex.

you nod with gratitude, watching the large tongue in anticipation. your arms loop around the back of his neck, and you’re looking down as he laps at your clit, making you quiver against his strong grip that holds your hips in place.

you timidly moan, immersing yourself in the feeling of this once-in-a-lifetime cunnilingus, of this strange snake’s tongue that rubs up against your sensitive cunt without holding back. it slowly slips its way inside you, making your hips jump in surprise.

“you’re sopping wet. i don’t think i even need to do much for this one,” sukuna comments, enjoying your little reactions. you continue to only stare at the tongue going in and out of your hole. he cocks his head slightly to the side.

“why won’t you face me up here? afraid to meet my eyes?” he voices rather sulkily, lifting your head up by your chin. once you see his lustful expression, something in you throbs without control.

“hah! your hole’s clenching around me so lewdly. it’s being honest, unlike you.”

the focus seeps out from your gaze, and you begin to enjoy yourself.

“yes... you needn’t be so shy. relent yourself to me.”

he pulls your face in closer to his, and kisses you in a feverish manner, shoving his forked tongue into your mouth. you moan pleasantly against his lips, and one of his spare hands claws at your breasts, groping them without mercy.

his bigger tongue slips out of your sopping cunt, and sinks itself into your ass instead. the saliva it secretes does a good job at being a lubricant for it.

your own tongue savours the strange shape and texture of sukuna’s one - lapping up at his lips desperately, like you would to a lover. he likes your eagerness. his own cocks are beginning to throb and unsheathe from the slit on his lower half, unbeknownst to you.

something about you... is quite intriguing. timid and coy as you seem, you’re not hesitating to unmask your true desires; your obsession with his body. even now, you’re sucking on both his tongues with such greed, it’s hard not to be captivated.

when he breaks the kiss, a thick string of saliva still connects the two of you.

“a harlot, you are,” he tells you with a mean grin.

you look at him with teary, vulnerable eyes. the tongue that had been thrusting in and out of your ass slips out, leaving both of your holes twitching for more.

“i suppose you’re all set now,” sukuna tells you. he finally reveals his aching two cocks, twitching with the need for release.

so that’s where they come out from... they don’t look too different from a human’s, besides the ribbed tip-

“you like them? they’ll be sure to grant you a pleasure you’ll never feel from anyone else.”

you begin to brace yourself, your holes clenching around nothing. your chest rises and falls quicker, indicating your excitement.

he lines them up, and pushes them into you, at a steady pace. your body trembles, and sukuna has to keep you in place as you gasp and hold onto him for dear life. he stretches you so mercilessly. you feel him twitching inside you, as he forces his way against your clamping walls.

“haa...so tight. you fit me like a glove, sweetheart,” he pants, the term of endearment slipping out accidentally. perhaps he’s gone without mating for too long. he feels himself getting easily attached.

when he pushes the rest of himself in fully, reaching all the way, both of his cocks fit snugly inside and forms a bulge on your abdomen-- they press up against a certain spot within you and something seems to erupt in your mind. an unexpected orgasm rips through your body without warning.

you let a string of moans as you arch your back, your walls spasming around him as a result of this sudden climax.

if it were his normal self, he would’ve teased you harshly for reaching your high just from putting it in. but his current sensitivity causes him to also fall off the edge.

“f-fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that, i’ll-!”

sukuna grits his teeth, drool running down the side of his lips, as his cocks also begin to release-- giving him an intense orgasm for the first time in years. they pulse strongly inside of you, spilling spurt after spurt of his thick, hot cum, in large amounts.

he shudders against you, being lost in the pleasure, and begins to lift you up and down, using you like a fleshlight even while he’s still orgasming. the feeling of it bubbling up inside you is something obscene, like it should be forbidden to feel this good and drunk with lust, especially at the hands of a devil like this.

you lean forward to kiss him again, wanting to feel his groans against your lips, and needing a taste of his tongue again. he does exactly that for you, as if reading your mind. had you been one of his kind, he would’ve kept you as his permanent mate. he makes out with you for so long that you’re left gasping for air by the end of it.

“tch. i can’t believe i’ve stooped this low, cumming so quickly like a virgin,” he murmurs with half-lidded eyes.

“nngh...sukuna- i’m already so full,” you whine pitifully. you can feel his spend leak out of you, even though he still has your holes plugged up with his two dicks.

“that’s not good. i’ve still got much more to give,” sukuna teases, liking the way his name sounds on your lips.

“you’ll just have to withstand it.”

he begins to move in and out of you again.

lewd, wet slapping sounds echo throughout the cave as he fucks you in earnest, already mindlessly going after his next climax. you shiver in his arms, yelping each time the tip kisses your cervix. the double penetration doesn't help your case - as both of them rub up against each other within you, making your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

"i-i can't... it's all too much," you mumble, the bulge in your abdomen continuing to disappear and reappear with every thrust of his.

"you agreed to let me use you. no going back now," sukuna tells you with a grunt, brows furrowing when you tighten up around him again, threatening to milk him dry. it drives him mad.

"and i'll be sure to use this slutty body to my heart's content."

his previous loads makes for an even better sensation, making you nice and slippery for him. creamy, white rings are already starting to foam up at the base of both his dicks.

"it feels too good- too big- too big-" you babble, fresh tears piling up in your eyes as he continues to pummel into you, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

when the tears begin to roll down your cheeks, sukuna darts out his tongue and gets a taste.

"sweet..." he mumbles.

the urge to cum spills over, and he's releasing inside of you again. his seed repaints the walls of your womb and ass as he groans against the shell of your ear, making you dizzy with arousal.

"oh- my god-" you manage to let out, as you feel yourself getting filled up again.

"you're taking me better than anyone else has before...like a good little whore," sukuna compliments breathlessly, continuing to pump you full with his seed. he's never felt better. his head feels all fuzzy and the edges of his vision is a little blurred, as he focuses only on your sweet little face, lost in a state of euphoria. he leans into the crook of your neck, and darts his tongue out to taste your skin, desperately resisting the urge to sink his fangs into you.

as fast as he empties himself, his cocks fill up again even faster.

"sukuna...i feel... like i might burst," you pant, referring to your poor abdomen.

"...is that so?" he tells you, carefully sliding both of this cocks out of you. you feel a little relieved from the fullness, but also a bit empty simultaneously.

you gasp and jerk your hips when his large hand suddenly applies a bit of pressure to your stomach. everything that he'd stuffed inside you comes dripping out in large globs, falling into a little puddle on the ground.

"there we go," sukuna grins maliciously, watching as you tremble in his arms, enjoying this sensation of his cum oozing out of you... like the freak that you are.

"such a waste. i'll just have to stuff you full, over and over..." he whispers against your ear.

"nngh- sukuna... sukuna..." you chant, hips shaking as he re-inserts himself into you - both of his veiny cocks throbbing once again, aroused by witnessing you indulge in your pleasure.

he sighs erotically, as your plush walls welcomes him back inside, allowing him to slip inside so easily from the amount of slick you're producing.

you might actually go insane.

...sukuna uses you like a fleshlight for god knows how long. by the end of it, you're surprisingly still conscious, despite being ruined irreparably. fucking with such a sinful snake should've dragged you to the deepest pits of hell-- yet, being with him felt so heavenly.

"you ended up being more durable than i thought, love. i'm pleasantly surprised," he praises you, embracing your limp body closely.

"...might be worth trying on you..." he seems to speak to himself.

whatever it is that he's talking about, you're in no state to be pondering. you breathe heavily, eyes half-closed, trying to calm yourself after being so overstimulated for a period of time.

"rest easy. i'll keep you warm throughout the night."

his words hit you like magic, and the fatigue seeps into your consciousness, making you fall asleep in his arms.

your pillow...feels a little too firm. and- scaley? it's warm, though. and this texture is addictive.

when you open your eyes, you find yourself laying in a tangled pile of sukuna's long tail - your bare body covered with the clothes that you'd taken off before...

"you're awake. did you enjoy groping my tail in your sleep?" sukuna asks, recalling to the moments where you nuzzled against him with a perverted smile on multiple occasions.

flustered, you immediately want to voice your denial but your dry throat prevents you from doing so. you hold onto your own neck, coughing. he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

eventually, you're able to point at your backpack that's still sitting towards the side of his cave, which he grabs for you. you rummage your bag for your bottle of water that you'd stashed carefully, and you take a big gulp from it.

"sorry. throat was parched," you tell him, your voice still a little hoarse.

"right. forgot how sensitive you humans were," sukuna says nonchalantly.

"but still, you sufficed better than i expected," he adds on, with a smirk. he reaches out and brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek.

the praise makes your heart race, and you recall your memories from yesterday. it feels like a fever dream. this will be a secret you'll tell no one.

and that brings you back to reality. you remember that you need to get back home. there's a mountain of things you need to do! but... somehow, the thought of leaving made you feel a bit melancholic. will you ever see him again?

"you know... i originally intended to eat you after using you for sex."

the sudden phrase makes your blood run cold.

"...but i changed my mind. that would be such a waste of potential."

potential? potential for what?

"...look into my eyes, sweetheart."

"sukuna, i... i need to return home," you bring up carefully.

his tail tenses up, making you feel even more nervous. it coils around you tighter, and lifts you up to him. he gently grabs your face, lifting your chin up.

you can't help but do as he says - like taking his orders had been ingrained into your muscle memory - and once your pupils meet his, escape becomes infinitely more impossible.

"you don't wish to leave. you want to stay here," sukuna coaxes you, eyes gleaming red. your mind becomes... clouded. his voice rings in your head. it hurts a little, but you can't look away.

"but...home..." you protest for the final time, eyes turning blank. the words leave your lips like the last spark of a dying light.

"this is your home, my love. i am your home."

he takes you in his arms and nuzzles against your neck. a tongue darts out and licks a stripe against your skin, making you shiver. your arms snake around him, like you can't get enough.

"tell me again, sweetheart. where is your home?" he whispers darkly against your ear.

"...my home...my home is..." you drone on, still having some urge to fight back against his manipulation. he embraces you tighter, and possessively lets his teeth nibble on your earlobe.

"my home is you..."

the phrase gives way for a gleeful smirk to form on his face.

"wonderful. i'm glad you feel the same way," sukuna emphasises, withdrawing his face from your neck.

"now, let your tongue out for me."

you do it without question, and he leans forward to capture it with his mouth, initiating an intimate kiss. tongues roll around against each other, and you feel yourself sink deeper into him. when he pulls away, you're left breathless, a string of saliva still hanging off between. he takes it with him, by giving a soft lick to your lower lip.

"how amusing...this ability of mine isn't even that potent. had your determination to go home been stronger, it wouldn't have worked. makes me feel pleased, knowing that you had a strong desire to stay with me."

"sukuna..." you cling to him lovingly, making his heart give a tug. it makes him want to mess you up. but your fragile human body couldn't possibly handle that. which is why...

"i'm going to grant you a snake's tail. to make you completely mine," he suddenly confesses.

"is that... possible?" you still ask questions, even in a state of hypnosis.

"for me, it is. i didn't bother correcting you when you mistook me as one of those common hybrids, but i'll let you know now. i'm something more akin to a god."

he doesn't elaborate further. the new piece of information shrouds his species with even more mystery. perhaps it should stay that way.

it's a risky process, and you might end up losing your life. but he believes you can endure it.

"i'll be honest. it'll hurt a lot, love. but my venom will soothe you. i'll numb the pain."

within the next few seconds, his fangs sink into the side of your neck.

some additional dot points and what happens after;

so you do survive the ordeal, and you wake up a week later after being essentially modified to become a snake hybrid yourself

memories are hazy, but youre still sound of mind and you eventually get used to this new body with sukuna's help

he did tell you that humans can't carry his seed, but now that you're also a half-snake, you can...

now he has a permanent mate that he can use whenever mating season comes around

he doesnt have to lift you up when he wants to fuck you anymore, it can be done in a missionary way, where both of his dicks can fit into your snake cooch at the same time (its still a bit of a stretch tho, hes so big)

whenever he mates with you, both of yours and his tails coil around each other's, like how real snakes do (itd be cute if a heart would be made with the tips at the very end)

there are still some human aftereffects on your body, like when you get pregnant, you start lactating... he has the privilege to drink it all up himself when they get sore and full, since his young won't be needing any of it anyway

at first, you intensely miss your human life, weeping pitifully in the darkness of the cave,,

he gets you curled up against him, licking your tears away, and then kisses your forehead, promising you that he'll protect and love you forever, since youre his one and only mate...

"convincing" you that there is nothing to miss about being human.

Masterlist

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #tw dubcon

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dejwrld · 6 months

Text

CHOSOIST KINKTOBER GAMING PLAYLIST — WEEK 2

( GUARDIAN ANGEL ) 🎮 GUARDIAN ANGEL!SEPHIROTH X READER

— game synopsis: he's been your guardian angel since you were sixteen years old. protecting you from danger you didn't see coming, but now that you're slowly wanting space from him—he makes it his mission to remind you who you belong to until you take your final breath.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, slight enemies to fuckers, reader somewhat purposely put herself in danger, possessive!sephiroth, mentions of sephiroth having pretty white wings, mating press position, cream pies, mentions of soul ties,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀kinktober masterlist / previous playthrough

You’ve known him since you were sixteen years old. The mere memory of him grabbing at your backpack strap to tug you out of the way as you were about to walk into ongoing traffic imprints your brain like a nostalgic TV memory. He was a sixteen-year-old guardian angel who aged through the years as you grew, interfering in your life as if you were the most life-threatening person ever.

Freshman year of college, he’s taking the red solo cup of whatever mixed potion the older frat guys made out of your hand. This led to practically the whole campus thinking you were chronically insane as you argued with no one because they couldn’t see what you saw. He interfered with your life at moments when you had it all under control, and he didn’t need to baby you as if you didn’t. But you were grateful for him, and the things he did stop when things got bad.

It's like killing a guy who roofied you at a bar. Despite the toxic drugs from drinking your drink, it had you feeling like you were in another world. You remember the crimson-red liquid staining his large, elegant white wings after the deed was done. After that, he’s never left your side, and you grew to feel suffocated. You couldn’t do much in your life if you had your guardian angel down your neck twenty-four-seven commenting on you getting hurt or dying.

Now an adult, he still was here. Despite you being perfectly fine. No freak accidents, no near-death experiences. He still was here lurking around as if you were a child.

Right now, watching as you poorly attempted to get laid. Your panties dangle from your ankle as you wait for the guy to insert, but as your horny meter slowly decreases—so does the poor stranger you met at a bar cock. Your eyes averted between your bodies as he aggressively pumped his condom-covered cock; you could hear his laughs as he was sitting on your kitchen counter chewing on an apple.

Fuckin’ Sephiroth.

“You know what? That’s okay. Just leave.” You pushed the guy off you, limp dick and all while you’re scrambling to tug your panties back on.

“What? It just takes some time,” The guy’s tugging his pants up in frustration. “Just please…baby.” He’s grasping on you, and you’re swatting his hand away like it’s an annoying fruit fly.

“Just go. I’m no longer in the mood.” You warned.

This was a warning not only for yourself but for him. You had a 6’1 angel looming around your apartment who didn’t care to kill someone—especially a person who wasn’t following directions. Your eyes darted from him in the kitchen to the guy who kissed his teeth while collecting his belongings.

“Don’t call me anymore! You completely wasted my time.” He sneered at you while leaving your apartment. The door closed with a harsh slam that made you jump.

As silence drifts over your apartment, and the only thing you can hear is the sound of that annoying clock in your kitchen ticking, you lean back on the couch with a sigh. “You know, you completely ruined the vibe, you know?” Your eyes land on the white-haired male as he finishes the apple he obnoxiously chews on.

“Do not blame it on me.” He tosses the apple in a trash can and stands up to close the space between you.

“I am blaming you because it seems like every romantic connection I attempt to make, you are there to ruin it.” You sneered at him before sitting up. “I don’t think this will work anymore, Sephiroth.”

“Are you saying you want to release me of my duties of being your guardian angel?” He asks. You can feel he got closer despite shifting your eyes closed to calm yourself down from this talk.

You two have been together for years. He’s been protecting you for years, and now it felt so suffocating that you couldn’t breathe. Sometimes, you wanted to release him of his duties, but you knew when you did that every memory you’ve shared with him would vanish. It would be like you two have never met.

The sight of him with his elegant white wings on his back. The sight of blood staining his pale skin after murdering someone that hurt you. The look of worry when you almost walk into traffic, and he was a split second from being too late.

He was yours just as much as you were his. But you needed space.

“Yes.” You breathed out, pushing yourself off the couch to enter your room. “You know, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I don’t think we can co-exist in each other’s lives anymore.” You explained you turned around, and he was leaning against your doorframe with the most obnoxious face.

It was as if your words were going out one ear and the other for him. “We’re not young anymore. I don’t need you being so….so.” You were searching for the word to describe how you felt—frustration riddling your bones as you attempted to express yourself.

Sephiroth took steps forward, closing the gap between you two. When he was towering over you with such little care at how close he was to you—he fixed your tank top strap and let his slender fingers linger on your shoulder just a little longer to cause goosebumps to garnish your skin immediately.

“Possessive.” He finishes your sentence as his teeth graze upon his lower lip. “Is that the word you’re searching for, my little ward?”

And with challenging eyes, you met his and said, “Yes. Possessive, like you own me or something.”

His chuckles. But this chuckle was different from the one you have heard. It felt more sinister, more agitated.

“You’re stuck with me, love. If you like it or not. We’re bound together until you die of old age or better yet, I briefly take my eyes off you as fate finally chooses a moment for you to die. Maybe a bus will hit you as you walk into traffic for texting on that silly device of yours, or maybe you’ll accidentally hit your head.”

Your eyebrows furrow together in frustration and anger at his words.

“You enjoy my company but don’t want to admit it. You think I didn’t notice the way you bring home little flings to spite me. You think I can’t hear the way your heartbeat quickens at the sight of me watching you get fucked by some man who can’t even make you orgasm. Sephiroth’s eyes glance over your body like he was observing you under a microscope. “So tell me, Y/N.” His finger’s toying with that strap on your tank top that keeps falling off your shoulder.

“How many times have you imagined me, your sworn protector—your guardian angel fucking you?” His fingers drag alongside your nipples that harden through the thin white fabric of your tank top. “And don’t lie; I know when you’re lying to me.”

You couldn’t quite remember what you had said after his words for your knees to be pressed upon your stomach and for Sephiroth’s cock to be buried into your throbbing cunt while your moans bounced off the walls. The pornographic sound of heated skin slapping against each other with the sound of your headboard banging against the wall was like music to your ears. But you enjoyed the sight of Sephiroth more.

His crystal white hair fell in his face so perfectly. Comically enough, you wanted to say he looked like an angel. His eyes kept averting between your fucked out face and in between your body. With each glance down there, it seemed he fucked you into the mattress even harder. Instantly, your legs snake around his waist, completely trapping him from depriving you of what you were so eager for.

Sephiroth chuckles darkly through your pants of desperation, “Seems you’re enjoying this a little too much.” He mumbles. He pulls his cock entirely out of you, leaving you whining for more.

He guides his cock in between your pussy lips rubbing in the mixture of your essence and pre-cum. Your back arched off the mattress with urgency, and he pushed you back down so you could endure the pleasurable torture of his cock teasing you until you were staining the cotton sheets below your naked body. With each stroke between your puffy lips, you’re squeezing your eyes shut tightly to prevent even the littlest thought of him seeing you like this. You didn’t think you could fathom the mere embarrassment.

“Come on, you don’t want to see how well you take me?” He questions, his voice rings with a teasing tone that makes your pussy pulse.

“Fine then.” He mumbles what seems to himself before he hooks his strong arms under your knees, completely trapping you under him and what’s to come.

You wondered if Sephiroth could hear how fast your heart was beating. It felt like it was bouncing around your chest like a small ball in a pinball machine. The feeling of his thick tip brushing against your entrance felt like the world had stopped. Perhaps it did. The idea of a guardian angel fucking his ward into her mattress had to be some form of rule breaker, right? Maybe, just maybe—God had briefly paused the world to give you time to weigh out the pros and cons of this.

But when Sephiroth bottomed down inside you, you felt the world unpause, and a wave of pleasure travel across your body. You even could hear yourself let out a sigh of relief—as if you’ve been waiting for this moment in centuries. The way his cock was inside, you felt like it was a missing piece in a puzzle you need. It fit perfectly, but when he started rotating and thrusting his hips—you couldn’t help but call out his name like it was a scripture.

It wasn’t as if you could do anything else but take his sensual thrusts. The mating press position trapped you from doing anything else but that. The way he was making you feel at the moment had you ignoring all that. Your moans echoed into his ear, and Sephiroth was very responsive because he’d grunt back like a rabid animal in heat. Ensuring that the feeling was mutual. That he was feeling just as good as you were.

“After this, you’ll be stuck with me forever, right?” Sephiroth asked. His tongue drags alongside the bridge of your right ear, and instantly, your legs snake around his waist, locking your feet together so he won’t let go.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” His words send a chill down your spine as he continues to fuck into the mattress.

The pornographic sound of heated flesh echos upon your bedroom, and your eyes seem to squeeze shut in bliss. Savoring the moment between the two of you until you couldn’t anymore. Your pussy pulsed around his cock, and your thighs quivered under your guardian angel’s touch. His grip on you grew tighter, and you knew that he was unraveling right on top of you. His groans that echoed in your ear changed into whines of desperation. If you were being honest with yourself, you haven’t seen him this desperate in your life.

But it was a reason for that because, in just three seconds, he was a coming mess. He didn’t even bother to pull out, either. His nails dug into your heated flesh with each thrust inside of you, ensuring that each droplet of his cum stayed inside of you. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you leaned up to indulge in a heated kiss to seal the deal that you knew was going to follow you for years.

You truly were stuck with him forever until you took your last breath.

TAGS // @salaciousdoll @syndrlla97 @lilvampirina @msun1c0rn

#sephiroth x reader #sephiroth smut #final fantasy smut #final fantasy x reader #female reader #x female reader smut #video games x reader #video games smut #angelshubnetwork #chosoistkinktober23 #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

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rollinsland · 4 months

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#Solo Sikoa #baby Samoan #and a lurking Jey bby 🥰#Shield queue

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yeyinde · 1 year

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in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask.

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before.

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say:

"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm."

(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)

part ii

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery

notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks.

(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)

*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.

It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another.

Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival.

It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges.

He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to.

So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin.

Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:

Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass.

Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!

Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.

A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.

He does that, doesn't he?

When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke.

(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.)

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.

It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still.

You, uh, don't have to let me.

His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs.

S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much.

You demure.

You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own.

The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper.

They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison.

You don't shy away from anyone.

Except him.

Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight.

Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands.

You both love and hate these moments.

When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner.

Ghost, always Ghost.

His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think.

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch.

(You blame it on testosterone.)

One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between.

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before.

"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm."

The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen?

You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast.

It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using.

It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one.

Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into?

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone.

Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –

"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –

The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–

"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear.

You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–

"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back."

You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.

"And everyone else – get off the main channel."

Nervous would be an understatement.

It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots.

There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior.

Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.

You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough.

"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch.

"Yeah," you agree.

No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance.

"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before."

You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut.

Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–

Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face.

You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you –

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin.

Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–

"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse.

Beside you, Soap huffs.

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak.

You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory.

Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling.

The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree.

Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim.

Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.

But now you wish you had.

The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot.

You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits.

On paper, anyway.

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm.

You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate.

You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient.

Ghost never asked that of you.

He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face.

"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving.

All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum.

Worthless.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier?

Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier.

You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything.

His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk.

Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out.

"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team."

The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break.

You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots.

And Ghost, too.

The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot.

Up there, soldier.

He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have.

And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance.

Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea.

It's better this way, then.

The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position.

Right.

You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end.

You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched.

"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder.

You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type.

But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask.

"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical.

"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have?

"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"

You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong.

It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture.

"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"

"It's gettin' cold, now."

Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is –

Not good.

Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat.

"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.

"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"

His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"

And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter.

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?"

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible.

"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."

If you want it.

He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again.

If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off?

And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.

But could you just walk away from this?

You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own.

Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need.

The choice is pretty obvious.

Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons.

For once, your eyes never leave his.

For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away.

His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves.

His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat.

"Christ, Princess."

You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about."

His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then."

"Is that an order?"

"Affirmative, soldier."

With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound.

"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you.

The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you.

They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply.

His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want –

His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges.

"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you."

You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved.

"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold.

"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs.

His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt."

Fuck–

Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs.

"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?"

"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him.

He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh.

"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?"

You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole.

Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you.

He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves.

One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid.

He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you.

You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head.

"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering.

It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue.

You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out.

You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer.

He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.

His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him.

There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart.

Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips.

It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue.

You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit.

You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you.

Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too.

"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt.

"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.

You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth.

Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt.

"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"

You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck –

"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering.

Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth.

His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice.

When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in.

His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it.

Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.

"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent.

His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes.

When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit.

Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –

Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over.

He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –

Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.

It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you.

You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"

"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."

You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer.

It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back.

The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core.

And his groans.

God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years.

It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"

His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –

His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos.

It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt.

His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out.

His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit.

Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.

The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you.

The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again.

His mouth hasn't stopped.

He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls.

You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much.

"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow.

His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more.

It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs.

He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough.

You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause.

Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band.

He's touching himself.

To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face.

Fuck. Fuck –

You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears.

He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist.

"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"

He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him.

He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants.

He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly.

But he doesn't.

His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone.

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot.

The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more.

It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach.

You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts.

He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him.

Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.

A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked.

He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum.

You hate how enticing he looks.

You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth.

The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough.

He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care.

You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day.

He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours.

There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back.

Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified.

It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them.

But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir.

He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need.

It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him.

You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles.

"Y'alright?"

Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"

"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight.

You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on.

"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery.

"Yeah?"

He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –

Well.

It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it.

But it was there. You saw it in passing.

His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant.

"We move out tomorrow."

You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless.

Right.

Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers.

When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back.

"Roger that, Lieutenant."

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless.

(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.)

A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful.

You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet.

You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning.

It's a dance.

The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.

Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost.

The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too.

When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again.

They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with.

Sometimes, they mock you.

Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut.

"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"

And with that, it's over. Done.

The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals.

When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day.

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty."

"Roger."

Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates.

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression.

"Alright, bonnie?"

The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time.

A picture of what you do, what you are.

Your head lists to the side. "I think so."

His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms.

"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate.

"What?"

"Before, you know… with Ghost."

The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?"

"Curious, is all."

There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense.

In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting.

You suck in a breath at the thought.

It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–

You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.

Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed.

But you catch it.

"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission."

Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage.

Your breath shudders out of you.

Mission, you think–

"Better know what you're gettin' into."

You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."

He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window.

He never looks up. Never moves.

You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family.

It's an earned break. Deserved.

You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag.

Now, it's just another city on the list of many.

His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight.

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you.

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close.

Your fingers ache to find out.

"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there.

You have one, too.

The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips.

His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years.

You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too.

"Is this seat taken?"

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #myfics #Simon Ghost Riley

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sinkovia · 1 month

Text

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair.

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words.

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen.

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words.

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you?

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

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