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jmrothwell · 7 months

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"Weirdly, the best sleep I've ever had." / Royal Purple

This day could not get any worse, and Julie really needed to stop thinking that particular sentiment. It was like every time she thought it the universe conspired to prove just how wrong she was.

First she couldn’t get out of this stupid haunted forest night hike activity that someone thought was a good idea. Then she wasn’t allowed to go with Flynn, because the ever so brilliant activity lead also thought it’d be brilliant to completely randomize the groups. While she didn’t have Flynn’s misfortune of being stuck with Nick and Carrie during one of their ‘off’ periods Julie was still trapped with Kayla and Reggie.

Kayla, who rarely ever spoke to her. Almost always close to Carrie, unsurprisingly since she was practically Carrie’s number one Dirty Candi girl. And then Reggie, who Julie had even less interaction with. Only really knowing that he and the rest of his band were as close to getting dropped out of the music program as she was. Despite how new they were, though for entirely different reasons.

The two of them seemed friendly enough. Though, it didn’t take long before she was feeling like an awkward third wheel with how quickly they got flirty. An analogy that got all sorts of confused and mixed up when Reggie turned his attention to Julie.

“So, Julie?” He spoke her name like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it, like even acknowledging her very presence would shatter her like the most fragile glass. She didn’t even have the time to feel insulted at the insinuation as he plowed on, practically shattering her apart anyway. “I think I’ve missed out on any of your performances, what do you play?”

God maybe she was more fragile than glass. She avoided glancing towards Kayla, certain she’d be pulling some face or ready to make some snarky Carrie-like comment. Julie was not ready for this kind of attention and wished to get out of it. Only for the heavens above to open and release a sudden torrential rain pour on the three of them.

Which is how Julie now found herself in a small dusty abandoned cabin in the woods that Kayla managed to spot. The one stroke gracious stroke of luck for the night. A fact Julie tried to remind herself as she tried her best to hold off the chills running through her veins.

“Don’t worry.” Kayla stuttered loudly enough for Reggie to hear as he explored the cabin to see if there were any blankets or firewood to help warm them. “I’m sure once they notice we’re gone they’ll send out some sort of search party.”

Sure, once they notice Kayla and Reggie were gone. The odds were slim of anyone but Flynn noticing Julie was gone. She kept her mouth shut as she tentatively sat on the creaky couch that vaguely smelled of mildew.

“You make it sound like it’s going to rain like this all night.” Reggie laughed from the other room.

“Who knows, maybe it could.” Kayla said, sitting on the couch beside Julie, her chilled damp arm brushing against Julie’s. “If nothing else it’d be safer to stay here. Unless either of you know how far we may have ventured from the trail, because I certainly don’t.”

Julie silently shook her head before realizing it may be too dark to be seen and quietly said her “no” out loud.

“You got a point there.” Reggie said, his outline barely more than a silhouette as he returned to where Julie and Kayla were, sitting on Julie’s other side. She pulled her arms in tighter trying to shrink into herself when his wet flannel brushed against her. It was a bit of a surprise he was still bothering to wear it.

“Anyway,” he continued on, leaning further into her space. “All I could find was this blanket, one the one bed this place seems to have. So unless either of you wanted to use the bed–”

Julie wrinkled her nose at that idea, given the state of the couch who knew what that mattress was like.

“Ew. God no.” Kayla echoed, and Julie’s chest twisted uncomfortably despite how she knew Kayla was also only referencing the mattress.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” Reggie laughed again, weaker and more stuttering than before.

“He should probably get out of those wet clothes” Someone said, and Julie froze as the other two fell silent and she realized that someone was her.

Reggie bumped her with his shoulder. “Is that a come on?”

“N-no.” Julie stammered out, teeth chattering from a mixture of her growing mortification and the cold, her blush doing little to warm her up. “You’re drenched, and clearly freezing. I-I’m j-just saying, you’ll g-get sick if you do-on’t get warm and dry.”

“You’re not much b-better yourself.” Kayla replied, a distinct lack of venom or malice.

“Sounds like we’re all in a bad shape.” Reggie stuttered out again before mournfully adding, “Too bad I didn’t find any firewood.”

“Well maybe we should just get out of these wet clothes then.”

“What?” Julie and Reggie both snapped at Kayla’s suggestion.

“Think about it. We’re all soaked and freezing. We have one, questionably decent, dry blanket. Plus the body heat would probably help too. Besides, if we stay in our underwear it’s basically like we’re just in swimwear.”

While Kayla’s argument added a layer of mortification Julie hadn’t felt regarding swimwear in a long while, she couldn’t deny the logic behind it all. Neither could Reggie.

None of it alleviated the awkwardness of stripping in front of each other. The three of them turned their back to each other as they did. Silently sitting back on the couch in their earlier arrangement and Julie tried to not think too hard about the state of the couch or blanket. Nor about how smooth Kayla’s legs against hers were, or about how surprisingly toned Reggie felt against her other side. Her mind instead decided to wonder what the other two were thinking about her. Not that it mattered much, right?

Reggie quickly broke through the growing silence. “Feels like we should have had dinner, or played like strip poker first or something.”

“What?” Kayla laughed incredulously, Julie’s own confused chuckle mixing in.

The three of them soon found themselves falling into teasing conversation similar to the one from their earlier hike. Only now Julie felt less like an awkward third wheel and more like she had a surer place between the two of them. Though it probably helped she literally was between the two of them.

And much like before it wasn’t long before Julie found herself on the receiving end of questions she was unprepared for.

“So, Julie, you never did answer my question before.” Reggie said, though now Julie could tell it was genuine curiosity that drove his inquiry.

Julie took a deep steadying breath, bracing herself. Not so much to answer Reggie, by this point she was almost numb to the words she needed to say, a mechanical practiced speech. Rather she braced for whatever pitying response she might get in return, the unpredictability of which she could never truly prepare for.

Before she could say anything though, Kayla’s long nails brushed Julie's hair aside as she leaned closer, warm breath ghosting across the shell of her ear. “Hey, you don’t have to answer if you aren’t ready. I’m sure he would understand, or I could distract him. If you want.”

Julie grabbed ahold of Kayla’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Hoping it came across as the thanks it was intended to be.

“You actually haven’t missed any of my performances.” Julie quietly said.

“Oh.” Reggie’s hushed tone matched hers. “But I thought–”

“You’re not wrong.” Julie cut him off not wanting the reminder and Kayla squeezed Julie's hand again. Maybe, maybe Kayla was right about this too. At least Julie hoped she was, because Julie definitely wasn’t ready to tackle this. Not tonight anyway.

“However.” She said, trying to infuse as much flirting teasing as he and Kayla had been using all night. Even if she could tell she was doing an extremely poor job of it, her voice cracking despite her efforts. “That’s a part of my back story you have yet to unlock.”

Reggie did her the service of laughing at her poor attempt at a joke and allowing the conversation to move to new topics. She did him the service of pretending his ‘oh so random excuse’ for a hug not even a minute later was just that, ‘a random hug.’ One that Kayla also happened to get involved in.

The next morning Julie was almost certain the whole evening had been a bizarre fever dream until she realized she’d fallen asleep sitting up. Slowly she blinked her eyes open to find herself leaning against Reggie’s pale freckled shoulder, a heavy weight leaning against her own head and against her other side. Julie shifted, trying to not wake the other two but not sure hoe to remove herself from between them.

“Morning.” Kayla whispered, her voice slightly raspy, and making no move to get off of Julie. “We must have accidentally drifted off.”

Julie nearly squeaked in surprise to hear her voice, and definitely did when Reggie chuckled and whispered back. “Weirdly, the best sleep I've ever had."

“Same.” Kayla giggled, both of the laughing vibrating against Julie’s chest. And though she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it with her voice caught behind her smile, Julie felt the same way too.

#jatp Royal Purple #julie and the phantoms #julie x reggie x kayla #this is longer than I expected #not pictured:#the less awkward getting dressed and return to camp #there was a search party but of course rumors quickly start flying after people learn the found a cabin #Wasn't sure how to include it but that moment where Julie's like 'well the other two will be missed' was like an all three of them thing #like Kayla thinks only Carrie would notice because she's just a background dancer and Reggie thinks only his friends would notice #somehow all three of them miss how said friends would raise a fuss about them being missing #which 100% happened #Flynn and Carrie teaming up to threaten the camp with lawyers and bad publicity and reviews #Luke and Alex literally needing to be detained because hey would have gotten lost in the woods looking otherwise

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lxvebun · 2 years

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Hey, i read your albedo fanfic about the sleeping habits and I made a headcanon that if the reader had like a nightmare and couldn’t wake up, Albedo would wake you up. And after like calm you and talk it through over a hot cup of coco.

Dark content, k!nk and ed blogs do not fucking interact.

Content: albedo x gender neutral reader. It's just a braindump really. Food consumption. Nightmares. Goodnight kisses.

I'm sure Albedo makes the BEST hot chocolate! Mostly because it seems like it's the only thing Klee will drink and also because It's cold up there in dragonspine and he has to make sure you, his precious flower doesn't get cold.

At this point he has a special hot chocolate recipe for everything. Sleepy but can't fall asleep? Don't worry Albedo has got the perfect chocolate, vanilla and lavender mixture, you'll fall asleep in no time. Need an energy boost? Albedo is able to turn your hot chocolate into an energy drink. Just keep it out of reach of Klee.

Albedo has developed a sixth sense when it comes to nightmares at this point. If you have one, he knows, even if it still looks like you're sleeping peacefully. He spend many nights comforting Klee after her nightmares, bringing her hot chocolate and together with Dodoco checking under her bed for any monsters. and if needed reading her a bedtime story. Though when she has finished the hot chocolate she falls asleep pretty quickly.

When you have a nightmare, it's pretty much the same routine. He'll turn on a soft light, bring you some hot chocolate and gently rub your back until you feel better. If you want to talk about it, he's there to listen but if not, that's fine as well. He'll make sure to give you some extra goodnight kisses and won't close his eyes until he sees you're peacefully dreaming again<3

#this is longer than I expected #and I will now proceed to tag it as a fic #genshin x reader #albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #albedo x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #hanmapanda<3 #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #albedo fluff #albedo x you

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hhawks · 1 year

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kghn thots

they haven't seen each other in five years.

i mean, outside of the court. outside of sweaty side hugs and olympic standard lights that glare into shoyo's eyes when he looks up at tobio. outside of the competition that they've grown up in, grown into.

five years. and then yacchan asks to meet.

it's a simple invitation. come over! i have sake and i have beer. that was all they needed to huddle together in the small apartment that could barely fit yacchan herself. the five of them— tadashi had dragged kei along, and kei could never say no to him— sit together on tatami mats and laugh under the influence of bottle after bottle of alcohol. there's nothing quite like the tinkling sound of a hiccup after a drink, the laughter that ensues, and the warm, comforting embrace that shoyo's begun to find himself slipping into.

"bakageyamaaa," he slurs, swatting at tobio. "shtop leaning on me."

"i'm not," tobio snarls. like a cat with folded ears, body still and tail swinging. "you're lying on me."

shoyo's retort is interrupted by a loud and repulsive burp, one that earns him groans and peanuts thrown at his face. he laughs it off, straightening up. "that's nothing. you should hear bokuto-shan's burps. those stink!"

this time he leans on tobio on purpose. he tilts his head and angles it for softer divot past the bone of his shoulder, and smirks to himself. this ought to get him riled up, he thinks.

a second passes. nothing.

two seconds, still nothing.

shoyo frowns. is he asleep? no, he's talking to yacchan. there's no way he hasn't noticed the weight of shoyo's head on his shoulder. he lifts his head and stares at tobio. watches the movement of his mouth, his jaw as he speaks. the curve of his nose. tobio has really long eyelashes, he notices. has he always had such long eyelashes?

and tobio notices shoyo staring, but pays no attention to it. he's too busy retelling his flight back to yacchan, the toddler he sat next to who he felt the need to protect, the bread roll and garlic butter that was surprisingly good. but eventually shoyo's curious eyes begin to annoy him, and he wants to know what is so intriguing about the left side of his face.

"hinata."

"kageyama."

"why are you staring at me?"

"i'm waiting for you to notice me," hinata says, and it's the most genuine thing he's ever said drunk.

there's a small shadow of a frown on kageyama's face. "what?"

"i want to dance," yacchan says, getting up. "i have a speaker— does anyone have any music? other than— other than tadashi. your music taste is trash."

there's a soft argument that ensues when she says that, tadashi following her to refute her claims, and kei trailing behind them, not wanting to be left alone with the two idiots.

"i said i'm waiting for you to notice me." shoyo repeats. his eyes are so big and so brown, and tobio almost feels unsettled looking into them. "i want you to notice me."

"i always notice you."

and then music starts. upbeat, pulsating, energetic. yacchan's kind of music. but they remain still, looking at each other.

"always?"

"yes. always."

"even when i was gone?"

tobio scoffs. "how can i notice you when you're—"

"i noticed when you were gone." shoyo interrupts him. "sometimes a court isn't a court if you're not on it."

he's drunk. he's had way too much to drink, and now he's talking out of his ass. tobio hides his flushed cheeks with the cup of beer he's been sipping at, taking a bigger gulp than he's ever before. he wishes he was as drunk as hinata was.

for a moment, they look at each other, and it feels like years ago. it feels like air salonpas and the screeching of volleyball shoes against unpolished courts, like 5am trainings and running alongside each other. it feels like competing against one another just to be next to one another. it feels like their young selves again, dancing the elephant in the room.

"i still have it," shoyo says suddenly. "i keep it in my wallet."

tobio's second gakuran button. they exchanged buttons on the last day of school, before they parted ways and shoyo left for brazil. before they only saw each other on opposing sides of the net. before the five years that separated them.

"i have yours too," tobio murmurs. pulls out a thin chain from under his shirt, the old black button hanging loosely against his chest.

after three years of being his most trusted person. after three years of growing together, learning together, being together.

you can return to the past whenever you like, tobio has discovered. to go back in time and visit the places you grew up. but none of it matters when the people around you aren't there too.

they stay like that for a while. until yacchan's music dims and softens to a slow ballad, and when shoyo peeks his head out the door he watches yacchan passed out on the floor, and kei and tadashi holding each other close, kei's playlist drifting through the speakers.

it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again.

it would, wouldn't it? tobio watches the lights carve shoyo's face into splinters, the planes of his nose and the angels of his eyebrows. he's been with men and women alike, and yet he's only ever felt intimate with shoyo.

"they're dancing," shoyo whispers.

"so they are." tobio sips at his beer.

and they stay like that, shoyo watching them and tobio watching him, time beating by, callously, maliciously.

but as it is, and it is.

they will never be young again. they will never be the people they once were.

but maybe, tobio smiles. they don't have to be.

two slow dancers, last ones out.

#this is longer than i expected #ramble thoughts as i try to get back into writing #i hate songfics this is not a songfic #writing tag #kagehina #kghn #what else do i tag

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seagreenlaurin · 24 days

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🤍❤️

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damianito · 8 months

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Collective meow

#♡#artists on tumblr #fanart #genshin impact #原神 #Lyney #Lynette #Freminet #This took me longer than expected #School really be making all be harder #anyway #hope y'all enjoying fontaine #im sure am. It's very fun.#My only complain would be that i cant take a otter to my teapot

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lemonomelette · 25 days

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Decepticon high command being the same jokers in every continuity

part 1

#this took...way longer than expected #i hate decepticons now #transformers #my art

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unikorpi · 5 days

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Fae animation practice

#flight rising #fr art #fr fae #my art #frfanart #gif #animation #this took way longer to finish than i expected #but it was a lot of fun!#i love fae necks

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tearsjuiice · 6 months

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💥Another one‼️💥 Y'all asked and I delivered.

Bonus cursed image while drawing this

#tadc fanart #tadc #the amazing digital circus #amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus fanart #amazing digital circus fanart #tadc meme #TADC Jax #tadc gangle #jax fanart #gangle fanart #the amazing digital circus jax #the amazing digital circus gangle #gay lol #no reason for the rendering to pop off like this #I really wanted to do a batch of them but they're taking longer than expected so stay tuned

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tempo-takoyaki · 4 months

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Happy (belated) New Year 2024!

#svsss #scum villian self saving system #scumbag system #scum villain #ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #myart #this took me longer than I expected... and I probably should have expected it given that dragon #I'm super proud of it though look at my dragon! it looks super cool! I want to draw more dragons!#overall I'm super satisfied with this it's a good way to start the new year #it seems I draw a lot of soft bingqiu but honestly I love them being soft #anyway happy new year 2024!

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moondirti · 9 days

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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

#should've made this a proper fic #it's longer than i expected it to be #anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x female reader #call of duty #fanfiction

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