dualitue - Tumblr blog

dualitue · 2 months

Text

★ (i think) heavily ooc xavier + play fighting + manhandling?? + stuff escalating quickly + dom!xavier idk im not sure + fear play ig + spitting and pussy slapping + no protection + he calls the reader mean names...so degrading...but not so mean names so no degrading + uhh uhhh brat taming + this is a mess.

★ let a girl dream please. please. hear me out and let me dream. i have work tomorrow and i desperately need the mental companionship that this thought gives me. i have no idea about what this is but it is something believe me. didn't read it twice!!! if the mistakes are annoyingly a lot pls let me know thank you <3

"Please."

The word leaves your mouth for the hundredth time today, your persistence making Xavier numb and immune as he mindlessly scrolls on his phone. You're right next to him on his big, comfy sofa—almost on top of him as you scoot closer and keep insisting.

He doesn't answer you, and you feel yourself growing impatient by each passing second. What's his deal, really? You're not asking for something extreme, just for a little bit of combat training with him, that's all. Hand-to-hand, fair and square, all he has to do is say yes and that's it, you've promised to leave him alone only if he takes you up on that offer. However, he's as still and unmoving as a rock as he sits there. His legs are spread open as you're on your knees right next to him, your gaze slightly shifting to the screen of his phone and you catch him mindlessly scrolling through his feed. "Xavier!"

"I'm too sleepy for this," his response is dismissive, clearly indicating that he doesn't want to do it. Your hands sneakily get their way up to his chest starting from his torso, your eyes shining with a mischievous glint as you look at his face to see any hint of discomfort.

There's none.

"You can sleep after we're done," you excitedly say, your answer immediately coming after his rejection, you do not yield. "Please, don't be a dick about this."

"Don't call me that."

"What?" You softly chuckle as your hands explore his chest hiding beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt, but you can still feel how warm he is. "It'll be fun, make it a bit hard for me."

Xavier lets out a deep breath, slightly annoyed with himself rather than you—he can't say no to you, definitely not when you're this insistent.

"Not in the mood for a proper fight," he says, his eyes finding yours and you can clearly see that he's admitted his defeat. You feel warm inside because of the way that he sees no point in hiding what he's truly feeling. He's always open with you about his feelings towards you, and you're more than happy to accept them. "But yeah, okay, fine."

You immediately spring to your feet when he finally says yes, your eyes shining brightly as if you've managed to fit a whole night sky adorned with stars in them. He slowly gets up from the couch as well, stretching slowly as he yawns—you cannot help but laugh, because you just know that he's going to kick your ass while still being gentle with you. Still, you have a lot to learn from him, and a defeat will teach you more than a victory.

"No cheating," he says as he takes a step, moving to the empty area in the center of his living room. "I'm not a cheater!" You say with an offended tone, all fake, as you follow his steps. You stretch as well, your body feels tense since you've been on that couch pressed against him for the last hour, just to make him say yes.

"Dare I say, ladies first..."

"C'mon, Xavier, just come at me."

You'll always feel thrilled by a challenge, and it's pretty obvious from the subtle shift in your stance and demeanour—your eyes are carefully fixed on Xavier when he moves as fast as light, managing to capture you between his strong arms before making you fall down to the ground. He still has his arms around you, falling with you to soften the way your body meets with the ground—and you can't decide if this should give you so-called butterflies or irritate you. It's the thought that counts, you think.

"You could've given me some time to prepare myself!" You protest as your body is caged between his arms, the warmth radiating from his body feels like you're being glued to him. Your back pressed against his chest, you try to break yourself free from his embrace.

"Are you even taking this seriously?" His voice makes you jolt with surprise, low and indifferent, his lips touch the shell of your ear as he speaks. His breath hits your skin, your nape, sending shivers down to your spine. The room gets hotter all of a sudden, making you swallow a lump in your throat as you struggle in his strong hold.

"Of course, I am." You immediately talk back, kicking your legs and turning your body around to save yourself from Xavier. You haven't planned it like this, no, he could've given you the opportunity to show off some of your skills. The more you writhe and struggle, the hotter the room feels—you can feel his body, even though he's covered by the fabric of his clothes, and he can feel your curves. It's been far too long since he's been able to do this, and now that he's doing this with you, Xavier feels puzzled by the intensity of the emotions whirling inside his body. The adrenaline is buzzing around as his heartbeat races and heat rises from his chest. He slightly loosens his grip without making it pretty obvious, just the slightest bit of a move of his arms—and if you try a bit harder this time, you can free yourself. Because he wants you to. He needs you to.

"You think you're all that, right?" With all you've got, you give a push to your body—turning and rolling around. Being able to escape his arms makes you sigh in relief, your eyes focusing on him again as Xavier keeps laying on the ground. "Don't fall asleep on me now, c'mon!"

Both of you get back on your feet at the same time, putting a little distance between each other, and you react quicker this time—lifting your leg up as much as possible to land a kick to the side of his shoulder. Without giving it a break, you do the same to his other shoulder—and that is a dumb idea, really. Because his hand reaches further places than you can reach, and his reflexes have always been good. It doesn't come off as a surprise when you think thoroughly of it, you shouldn't be mad at him because he successfully managed to grab your ankle and made your body fall into the sofa this time. You should be mad at yourself. "This is what you've been begging for?" Xavier asks with the slightest bit of a mocking tone in his voice, you feel annoyed but also lightheaded all of a sudden.

"Shut up." You know that in the case of a real fight, your performance would be a lot better than this—whatever the hell this is, but when you're doing this with Xavier a part of you enjoys being handled like this.

"Don't talk to me like that, miss. I might have to teach you the required courtesy that you should be equipped with."

With your rosy cheeks and your heaving chest, you look up at him. Xavier stands next to the couch, hovering over you like a gloomy and tall building as you lay on your back on the couch. Fuck it, really. He's a distraction with his sleepy eyes and his expressionless face, you can see the slightest shade of pink on his cheeks but that's all gives it away—that he enjoys this little game, too. Just like you.

"If you can get me, that is. I'm not gonna cry and whine and tap out."

With a sudden move, you hit the back of his knee with your foot, and make him land on top of your body. He softens the impact by resting his elbows on both sides of your head, but it's not enough to hold himself off of you. Chest to chest, and face to face, you lay there and carefully study his features. Suddenly your mind goes numb—have you ever seen him this close? His eyes draw you in, his hot breath fawning over your face as he does the same as you. There are countless voices in your mind screaming at you; telling you to continue, telling you to kiss him, telling you to keep fighting. You don't feel threatened or in danger, but there's a certain tension between you and Xavier that feels cracking as he keeps the position.

"Then I'd like you to see you do just that," his voice is low and taunting—he's trying to provoke you on purpose, knowing that you'll get mad in the end. "Go ahead, I'll give you a headstart. If I get my hands on you, I'll fuck that attitude out of you."

He doesn't move after his words hang heavy in the crackling air between you two, but you do.

With your elbow, you hit his arm this time—making him fall on top of you completely, and the adrenaline rush holds you back from thinking clearly about this, but he is letting you have your way with him. When Xavier's body falls on top of yours you push him down to the ground, and start to run.

His apartment isn't the biggest, and you know that he'll find you in the blink of an eye but chasing this feeling gets you even more excited. Without looking back, you enter his bedroom—immediately hiding in the corner between his closet and the window of his room. Maybe the inside of the closet was a better idea, but you're lightheaded and all you can hear is the thudding of your heart.

What's happening? What the actual fuck is happening?

You just wanted to spar with him as a silly little training, why are you feeling extremely hot and bothered by this? His low voice rings in your ears, sudden change in his attitude as his body was on top of your and his eyes stared into the depths of your soul. Whenever you make eye contact with Xavier, you feel like he sees every bit of you—the prettiest ones, brightest ones, the most deranged ones, and unhinged ones... you're an open book for him, a book that he enjoys running his fingers along the spine, between the pages.

You don't hear him moving, but you've never heard him moving before so this doesn't help you relax—you just feel even more excited because of it. His footsteps nor his breath, nothing. It's eerily silent in his apartment as you take deep breaths, closing your eyes to help with the tension. Just as you peek your head out to see if he's in the room, his shadow falls over you—a surprised yelp fills Xavier's bedroom, and without wasting a second ge throws your body over his shoulder.

"Told you, didn't I?"

Your body meets with his bed, soft sheets welcoming you with a nice chilly feeling against your burning skin as Xavier pins your legs down on the bed by holding your inner thighs. Your body trembles because this has been exciting and interesting—you are so wet that you'd be embarrassed to admit it out loud.

"Xavier, I—," you mindlessly start, having no idea about what you can say as you watch him unzip his trousers. The clinking of the metal of his belt sends the sweetest feeling down to your core, your fingers aching to rub your clit as you watch Xavier hurriedly pushing his trousers down. His cock is straining his boxers as he hooks a finger and pulls down your sweatpants along with your panties—the chilly air of the room hitting your body makes you tremble slightly.

"This is what you've wanted all along, isn't it?" His eyes are focused on your pussy, glistening folds as your soaked panties are pulled down to your knees before he takes one of your legs out of it—he is more impatient than you at this point, probably more turned on, too. "No, I—no," you immediately answer, your voice coming out weak but you're telling the truth. If anything, he's the one who turned everything around with that demanding tone and cocky attitude.

Xavier doesn't give you the chance to explain yourself as he lands a slap on your sensitive pussy, ripping out and earning a delicious moan from you as your body jolts and tries to escape from him. But who are you lying to? You do like where you are.

"Fucking liar," he murmurs under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitch with a sly smirk as he lands another slap. A gush of wetness drips down to your legs, and to his bed, making you get even more turned on and flustered as you lie there and take it. "You were all over me, begging me to fight you, just so you can get your pussy filled at the end."

You anticipate another slap, but instead Xavier leans down and licks a hot stripe over your wet folds—causing you to lock his head between your trembling thighs. He doesn't, though. He pins your legs down onto the bed again, but before he pulls back you hear him spitting—as if you're not wet enough to take his cock with ease. When he pulls back, you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your pussy before he easily slips inside. Xavier doesn't bottom out immediately, he's slow and annoying about this—and you find yourself pushing yourself down on his cock desperately.

"No, not so fast, doll," he murmurs, his two fingers easily prying open your mouth before he pushes them inside. Without wasting time, you suck his fingers—and he finally bottoms out. A muffled moan fills Xavier's ears, one that's coming from you, even though you're practically dripping wet, he's still big, and the first stretch always does more than enough to get you high on the feeling. "That's it, that's it—you'll take it nice and slow first, because I'm just getting started with you. Because we have the night to ourselves, and I know that you'll take ne like the good girl you are until I fuck that sassy attitude out of you."

And you know that he's dead serious. You know that he'll use your body and fuck you until his cum drips from your pussy, until you're fully pumped, until you're able to know that no matter what, Xavier will have you.

#🩰.ela writes #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space x you #love and deepspace #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #lnds x reader #love and deep space imagine #love and deep space xavier #lnds imagine #lnds xavier #l&ds xavier #love and deep space smut

338 notes · View notes

dualitue · 2 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 !

★ mentions of manipulation + obsession and abusive relationship + semi-public sex + jealousy + thirst for academic validation (so real)

★ this one is especially for my lovely girlies who constantly dream about getting fucked brutally and also be the top of their class. i deserve to be number one or turn into dust, nothing in between that.

It's not a game of survival after all, you try to remind yourself all the time. It's just some classes, nothing that sleepless nights of studying cannot solve. However thanks to your stubborn professor who despises handing out higher grades, (the ones that you strongly believe that you deserve) you always find yourself back to square one. Studying, studying, studying and never getting the highest mark. At first, you felt like you haven't been studying hard enough—but after failing his class twice, you decided to take the same class from a different professor.

Professor Zayne.

What a dreamy guy, you'd hear from the other girls at the halls—whispering to each other excitedly. And you truly get the hype, really. He's tall, handsome, and there's this enchanting thing surrounding him that nails you to ground every time you run into him. His voice never fails to shake you to your core, and every time you feel struck by his charms, you need a breath of fresh air to get back into your right mind.

As if he senses that mental distance that you try to put, Professor Zayne always finds a way to draw you closer, pulling you back into that whirlwind of mixed emotions. Your mouth goes dry as his fingertips slightly brush over your tense shoulders during quizzes, or the way he stares into your eyes to peek into the depths of your soul even though he's talking to someone else.

Even though you don't want to admit, there's only a little you can do about this strange magnetic force between you and your beloved professor. Under that distant and emotionless face lies a soft man who makes you feel worthy of all that you've missed out on up until now, and you've been proved with such examples of that countless times.

That's when it became a survival game; when he offered you to be his assistant. Of course, nothing serious—you haven't graduated after all, so all you're assigned with are some small stuff that are probably irrelevant and carry no importance.

Yet, the way the corner of his lips curl into the slightest bit of a smile gets your heart beating faster whenever you successfully complete a task.

"Like the good girl you are," he says, an underlying tone of amusement can be sensed in his voice as he speaks. And you always, desperately, leave claw marks on every praise and compliment he gives you.

Over the course of the time you two have spent together, Zayne has taught you one thing; to be greedy. From unable to voice your wants in a natural way, you've become someone who can demand what they want. However, this dynamic has a little secret to it; if Zayne is the one giving you the praise you want, even though both of you know that you deserve it more than anyone, he makes you work for it.

It has started with your vent about your previous professor being an asshole about grading papers; he'd listen to you intently as you let your heart all out and get his study desk all messy. Broken sobs between your hatred filled words; you do deserve better and you do know that, so why should it be hard to enjoy the satisfaction of your well deserved success?

With his big, soft hand and warm palm Zayne would cup your red and burning cheek—his thumb gently rubbing your cheekbone; supporting you with a comfort that you've never known before. It didn't take long for you to get used to it; and Zayne never stopped making you ask for more.

"Yeah, sweet girl, get comfy there," he says; and it's almost impossible to be comfortable under his desk, you feel your knees getting bruised and your shoulders aching as your fingers hurriedly unzip his pants and free his hardened cock from his clothes. But, what else can you do to earn that addicting kiss, lingering on your lips even after days... or the way he makes you lie down on his cramped desk. Some folders hurt your back and your legs tremble as his fingers bury themselves deep in your cunt; slick sounds filling his room as he lands a slap to your pussy every time you get slightly loud.

What he loves most is when you let him fuck you before his classes. He hurriedly strips you off your clothes, his skilled fingers exploring your squirming body as if time is abundant. He sometimes cages your body between his firm chest and the cold wall as he sloppily fucks you from behind, or he gets you on his lap to feel your cunt squeeze around his twitching cunt when you take all of it...

The line, if there's any, between who knows what gets blurry with each interaction. Is this just a simple thing, or are you two using each other? It's not like he's not paying attention to you after these small interactions; he checks your essays the moment you send them, helping you with any questions you have or any assignment related stuff. What he definitely doesn't enjoy is that the way you help others in your class when they ask nicely.

On days that he sees other students around you, asking you stuff about his class, he simply uses you like a fuckdoll. Abusing your sensitive cunt, pulling back just as you're about to cum around his cock and spilling on your panties to remind you that you're not the one who can help, but the one who needs help.

And slowly but surely he manages to engrave that to your brain after, after a whole semester, you're almost dependent on him. No assignment feels good enough to be submitted before he approves, no studying session is efficient enough if he doesn't have you on his lap, grinding against his hard cock. No day is a good day if he hasn't kissed you until you feel dizzy. And no boys or your toys are able to fill you up the way he does. Some nights you find yourself in your bed, trembling fingers buried deep in your cunt, trying to touch the spots he easily touches. But it ends the same; you, in his room the next morning, begging him to make you cum because it's driving you insane.

And the praises, and the compliments and all of that don't feel enough, too. No claw marks on anything anymore, just this insatiable desire in you to seek a shelter in his loving arms.

#🩰.ela writes #lnd zayne #lnds zayne #lnds x reader #lnds imagine #love and deep space x you #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space imagine #love and deep space zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads zayne #zayne x you #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #l&ds zayne

464 notes · View notes

dualitue · 2 months

Note

Can you see where you make u banners for the fanfics? They look really nice perhaps do you use a filter? Because I wanted to make mine like this :((

hi sweetheart! i use an app called "snow", it has lots of stuff in it, and the filter i use is "nordic 4" <3

#🦪.ea!

0 notes

dualitue · 2 months

Text

★ art credits. 1min_dragoon on tumblr !

this blog will mainly interact and consist of nsfw content, proceed with caution!

ELA. twenty. scorpio, leo, virgo. she/her.

★

about dualitue !

★ i don't take requests because i don't have the time to write and post and be active here that much, but any suggestions, thoughts and thirsts are welcomed and appreciated! let's have this brainrot together!

★ if you want to be mutuals just ask! i'd love to get to know you all! :p

★ OKAY WITH... themes such as; toxic relationships, manipulation, obsession, dub-con...

★ NO... incest, ageplay, pedophilia, stepcest, etc. no weird stuff like these please.

★ not active a lot, but will try to post regularly

will be updating...

latest updates ★ simon ghost riley · rafayel

#🌐.navi

0 notes

dualitue · 2 months

Text

𝑺𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑵 𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑹𝑰𝑳𝑬𝒀, part one.

“𝙈𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙯𝙮; 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙙, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙬 𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩—𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝙈𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚, 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨—𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚.”

★: god help me this pic of him makes me go feral and think of things that are unspeakable. so glad that i have the guts to speak about them actually. cr: yumethefrostypanda !

★: a cliche undecover mission + obsessive superior + blurred lines between hate and love + making out but not with ghost for now (if i'm missing anything in the tags for this part don't hesitate to lmk please)

God, he is the worst—truly the worst. The situation isn't any better for the mission either; having your initial assignment after a lengthy hiatus turn out to be an undercover operation that's likely to plunge you into a stress spiral doesn't offer much comfort. Your palms are sweaty, the thigh holster clinging to your tender skin feels like it might slip down due to your increasing perspiration. Your legs tremble slightly, prompting a reconsideration of all your decisions that led up to this moment. Well, not everyone excels in critical thinking—some are destined to be thoughtless and simply shoot at the bad guys. You're aware of the category you fall into, and Captain Price seems to have recognized that too, explaining why he paired you with Lieutenant Ghost. You don’t dare to call this fate or anything like that because you know that you would need a “brains and brutal force”— two in one type of person. All you had to do has always been following the orders, and you sure have no competition when it comes down to that.

Knowing that his gaze is focused on you is another thing that adds to your anxiety, even though he probably has no thoughts including you in his mind and you cannot see him from where you are, you know that Lieutenant Ghost’s eyes are on you as if you are some kind of a prey. You get goosebumps just by thinking of it; positioned on the roof of the adjacent building, his eyes carefully tracking you through the scope of his gun. No trembling hands, no erratic breathing; he remains as still as steel, and you're convinced he could pierce through your head with just one bullet if he chose to, at this very moment. His mind, much like yours, is in disarray—just because you’re oblivious to it doesn’t mean that he lacks thoughts… especially about you, revolving solely around you.

Well, what other choice do you have than to be oblivious, really? He always seems like he doesn’t acknowledge your existence even when he stares into your eyes; peeking into your soul with that intense gaze of his. Lieutenant Ghost has maintained this demeanor since the day you first met him and despite the time you’ve spent by his side, everything about him has remained consistent—except for the evident tolerance he has learned to extend towards you. Under his watchful eyes, your training has been hell of a ride; one that pushed you to work harder than ever. Granted, being his subordinate has its advantages; Ghost is an untouchable figure, making you automatically untouchable as well. Few muster the courage to engage him in casual conversation, and the same goes for you. You’ve thoroughly enjoyed these perks, and truth to be told, you still do. You enjoy the stares you get and not acknowledge them, with your head held high while walking by your beloved Lieutenant's side. This situation made you feel bad at first, feeding on his status just by being his subordinate—but to your surprise, Ghost did a good job to talk you through it. His deep voice rang through your ears, reassuring you that this is how the stuff works around here and you have every right to use the status you held in your hand—you could even abuse it to your heart’s desire, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. Well, he technically didn’t say that word for word, but something in the way he took the time to talk to you about it with such patience (which was very rare to see) made you think that he’d be on your side no matter what. Whenever you think back to this interaction, you feel like it was some kind of a fever dream—he has never been like that to you after this particular situation.

Initially, it seemed like others felt threatened by your association with him, but over the time, it began to feel more like they were hesitant because there was something distinct in his attitude towards you and everything involving you. They were subtle nuances, and you sometimes wondered if you read too much into trivial things, but your gut senses it—the way his gaze becomes intense or how his muscles tense when you’re mentioned. You still can’t be sure if he hates your guts, or there’s something else to it—you’ve always chosen to look at it from the positive side, thinking that he’s just protective of his subordinates and his reputation overall. Because you have a reason to think that; Ghost, in terms of military training, has always been stern with you. After all, as his subordinate, you’re an image of his work—there’s this preconception in the military that subordinates are the work of their superiors, and you’ve always thought that Ghost pays extra attention to not let any misunderstandings or false ideas arise. You might not be the strongest or the best, but your strength lies in your quickness—both mentally and physically. Assessing situations, calculating logical choices, and analyzing every detail to gain an advantage are what set you apart. Engaging in physical combat with men twice your size, though not particularly enjoyable due to some unwarranted touching, has led you to find ways to outsmart them. Your bright eyes scan for weak spots and openings, gears turning in your mind to decide whether to strike or hold back. Lieutenant Ghost recognized your potential even before you did, and despite being insufferable at times, he did everything in his power to make you realize your capabilities.

“Distracted, as always.”

His gruff voice reaches your ear through the discreet earbud hidden behind your hair. You don't respond—or rather, you can't respond in the bustling crowd, where everyone seems to be having a lively time with their drinks. Instead of answering, you turn your head to look out of the window, aware that he's positioned on a roof across the road. You can't see him, and that's intentional; Ghost belongs to the shadows. Yet, you gaze somewhere, hoping he can sense your bored expression and flushed pink cheeks. Ghost experiences a moment of lightheadedness, hating you for it—he hates your guts. Without knowledge of his exact location, how can you lock eyes with such intensity, as if feeling him rather than merely seeing him? An unstoppable urge to gulp and uncomfortably shift in his place overtakes him. He's grateful you can't engage in conversation because, God knows, controlling these stirring feelings would be a challenge upon hearing your enticing voice. His eyes vigilantly watch you, never leaving your figure, while also scanning the room for potential threats. Without lingering to avoid drawing attention, you redirect your focus to the crowd with dilated pupils. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you clear your throat before taking a sip of your drink. Finding an opening, you plan to make a swift move upstairs, access the server room, and copy any pertinent material and information onto the disk in your small bag.

As you stand near the tall windows with your back to him, Ghost finds himself growing angrier than before. He can't pinpoint the exact and specific source of irritation, but he's certain it's something about you. It's you in that black dress with an open back, your curves unabashedly showcased beneath the shiny fabric, and the knowledge that you're likely wearing a matching set of underwear. Countless times he freely entered your room without detection; maybe he should feel remorse—or perhaps he shouldn't have taken pleasure in perusing your drawer or inhaling your pillow until his lungs held nothing but your scent. Carrying you to your room on those rare occasions when you were madly drunk after a team night out, he probably shouldn't have relished the warmth and softness in his calloused hands. Your gaze would be more intense than ever when you were intoxicated and looking at him. You'd flop onto your bed, paying little attention to your clothing, sprawled out in front of him with heavy eyelids, parted lips, and flushed cheeks. Ghost has lost the count of the times he had to fuck into his fist after he left you all to your own company.

In that pretty head of yours nothing exists except making him proud, and he hates that, too. Your selfless acts of service stirs something within him that he cannot figure out; he’s always torn in between abusing your cunt as a reward or just ignoring you. He plays it safe, for now, of course. But oh, isn’t he sure that you’d take it like the good girl you are… thanking him, begging him to cum inside you between your sobs.

You feel uncomfortable in your dress, being used to your uniform covering your body, it feels like you’re naked to everyone’s gaze in the room even though none of them pay attention to you. You also can’t stop thinking about the possibility of this dress hindering you in case you need to fight anyone; the mission is truly stressing you out. With a worker ID card which is obviously fake, you’ve met some people to figure out who’s who—of course, you’ve spent sleepless nights going through the guest list of this grand party, but still knowing your enemy and seeing them in person is always different and better. During those sleepless nights Ghost didn’t leave you alone, and it didn’t surprise you this time because he knew that it’d been sometime since you’ve gone on an undercover mission, he probably wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t mess this up. As much as you feel good about being his subordinate, there’s an undeniable pressure dooming upon you by this very fact. Everything you do has a purpose; to satisfy Ghost. To prove yourself, to let him know that you’re capable of anything. It’s also kind of an ego race with others who are the same rank as you—but that desperate need can’t measure up to the latter.

“Are you there to enjoy the damn party?”

You get startled this time, Ghost’s voice forcefully rips you away from your thoughts. You don’t turn to look at him, you simply put your glass on the table next to you and walk into the crowd. It’s like an ocean of people, really—as you walk, your eyes carefully scan your surroundings. There are two big doors, one of them is the emergency exit and the other is the door that opens to the corridor. There are two guards on the sides of both doors, making four guards in this room alone. You can make a rough guess about the total number of them, many of them are probably on the upstairs where you need to go. You’ll be caught no matter what you do, so you are left alone to think of another way to enter the server room. It’d be much better if the company decided to throw the party somewhere else, you’d have an easy time to go in and go out quickly, but holding a party in the company building is a cunning idea—you can’t help but think that you’ve got to give that to the person who came up with the idea.

As soon as you leave the room that’s filled with people, you suck in a deep breath of relief. The sound coming from there becomes muffled as you make your way to the bathroom, you fix the hem of your dress as you walk. There are some guards scattered around the corridor, and you being the only guest walking on the corridor, all their eyes are on you. With a slight smile and a nod of your head, you enter the bathroom.

“Fuck, I thought I was about to vomit.”

“You’re out of practice, this’ll do you good.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” You say as you wash your hands, cold water helps your burning skin as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “How many guards are upstairs?”

“Six, walking in the corridor.”

“You’re exceptionally helpful today.”

He doesn’t reply to you, but you can swear that you heard a low chuckle escaping his lips. Your hand moves down to your legs, checking the small gun that’s pressed against the soft skin of your thigh—your fingers feel freezing against the warmth there. Clearing your throat, you let out a deep breath.

“I have an idea but, uh, I know that you’ll call it stupid.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey, say something.”

“Don’t need to, you already know your answer.”

Unfazed by his comment, you start to walk around in the spacious bathroom. “I need to distract the guards somehow, right? But even if I do, the server room has a special lock that opens with a card. It wouldn’t be logical for guests who work here to carry it with themselves tonight, so probably some guards have that card. But which one…”

“Probably all of them have that card.”

“Okay, so what I’m thinking is that I can get close to the guard who has the card. Then make him get us into the room.”

“Yeah, threaten him.”

“Actually, I was just thinking about luring him. So it’d be good to have some insight about what turns a dutiful man on during his working hours.”

Silence falls over, and you suddenly feel panicked. You don’t think that you said something rude or dumb, you truly think that this will somehow work, but the way Ghost stays quite isn’t helping you even a bit.

“You had your answer from the very beginning, so I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I told you what I want you to say!” You protest, and an irritated sigh from Ghost reaches you through your earbud. “Come on, it’s for the mission. Help me out a bit, please.”

Your beloved Lieutenant stays quiet again, and now you’re the one letting out an irritated sigh. You look at yourself in the mirror one last time, and just as you’re about to get out of the bathroom he decides to speak.

“So your best idea is to use yourself as bait? Your body?”

“What’s wrong with my body?”

“You’re being annoying as fuck, pup.”

The name he occasionally uses for you makes you swallow a lump in your throat, you immediately feel your cheeks heating up, getting as red as a rose.

“If you don’t have any better ideas, at least wish me luck.”

“Yeah, I’m sure luck will come handy at some point.”

You don’t say anything, still feeling lightheaded from the way he’s called you a pup, and you realize that you can fake being drunk—the way your face is all red and burning up can make it a bit more believable. With slow steps you leave the bathroom, and Ghost hears the door being shut behind you.

As soon as he gets a sight of you, he pushes the hem of his mask slightly above his nose—he feels the need to take deep breaths while watching you walk down the corridor with your careful steps. You’ve always been quick, so it’s no surprise for him to see you reaching the upper floor with such ease. Fuck, fuck—fuck; he fucking hates you so much. He hates the fact that you’re doing something as stupid as this on your own, and he hates your fucking stupid idea, as well. His eyes become more intense now, his senses heightening as his eyes never leave your figure walking in the shadows. The sound of your heels echoes in his earbud, as if you’re walking to him, and he lights up another cigarette to distract himself from the thoughts of you.

Ghost sees what you’re doing before he hears your voice. While climbing the stairs, you’ve pressed the fire alarm button—making half of the guards change their routes to see what’s happening. Now, there are two guards upstairs, and one of them walks out of the emergency exit in case there’s a need to help guests to safety. One guard stands in front of the server room, and as soon as you see him, your eyes shine like a predator’s. Just by watching you, Ghost can say that you’re excited, but he cannot be so sure of the reason; is it because you’re about to make out with a man, or is it because that fucking empty pretty head of yours thinks that this is the best idea you could’ve come up with. You’ve decided on a more unconventional approach, one that would rely on your ability to manipulate rather than incapacitate—and this is risky, yes, but as your beloved Lieutenant said, you’re out of practice and this’ll do you good.

“I’m so sorry,” Ghost hears your voice, coming out in a way that truly indicates you’re drunk—he knows that you’re good at deceiving people. You’re so good at making them mold and knead with your pretty eyes and that enticing voice, you can have anyone wrapped around your finger if you truly want to. He remembers the time when you’ve helped him out of a troubled situation just by sweet talking to Captain Price, and from that moment, he fucking hated you—and knew that he had to have you at the same time. “I think I accidentally pressed the button.”

Your slurred words make Ghost gasp, he can imagine your face—tongue lolled out, tears pricking on the corners of your eyes, words all slurry as you beg him to slow down. He’d turn you into his fuckdoll in a moment, fucking that slut out of you until it’s etched into your brain that you can belong to no one else other than him. He owns you; mind, body and soul. And He’ll take such good care of you that you will never feel the need to seek anyone else.

“Didn’t know you were waiting for me here,” your words are followed by a soft chuckle, and he can see your silhouette moving around—probably wrapping your arms around the guards neck.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Miss? Oh, aren’t you a gentleman,” you softly chuckle again. “You told me to meet up with you upstairs without causing any problems but I’m sorry—I was excited.”

A kiss.

You press a kiss to the guard's chin before letting him speak. Ghost can feel himself growing angrier, and he’s sure that he’ll make you pay for this fucking stupid idea. The guard mumbles something, but the consistent sound of your open mouthed kisses interrupts the guard every time. Ghost is torn between being glad and mad for not being able to see you; he’s glad because he’s not sure if he has the sanity to sit and watch, and he’s mad because he needs to see how far you’ll take it.

“You’ve got the wrong person, Miss.”

“Wrong person? No, it’s you, Simon.”

God, fucking bitch—Ghost wants nothing more than to rip the guard into pieces and to put you in your place.

“Fucking hell,” you hear Ghost’s voice, and you physically get the need to press your legs together; you have no idea why you said his name, fuck, why did you do it? It just slipped out, well, you also thought it’d be fun to taunt him but fuck, he’s not the one to play with. Still, pushing all these anxiety-filled thoughts aside, you keep up your act.

“You, uh, you see, I’m not Si—,” not wanting to waste any more time, you kiss the guard. Excitedly and clumsily licking into his mouth, forcing him to kiss you back as you grab the man by the collar of his shirt. After a minute or two, he gives in, and a whimper of satisfaction falls from your lips. You know that you shouldn’t do it, but you cannot turn down the voice of that little devil in your head; so without breaking the kiss, you walk up to the window-side, putting on a little show for your Lieutenant, showing him that your idea is successful after all. The moment Ghost sees you making out with the guard, your fingers guiding the man’s hand to your breast, your other hand pressing his head closer to yours as if there’s any distance there, he feels like he’s about to explode. You annoy the fuck out of him, but his thoughts are also so plagued by you that he feels his cock twitch in his cargo pants. The soft grunts and the way you gasp for air, the way you’re guiding all the movements of that guard cause something in Ghost to snap. Oh, so you think that you’re all that—you’re the one who has the upper hand here… Ghost will use you the way he wants, to his heart’s desire, he’ll fuck that attitude out of you until he decides that you’ve learned your lesson.

“I’m going to make you fucking regret this,” you hear his voice, glad that it’s only you who can hear that gruff voice and scary tone—and you can’t help but moan into the kiss. Feeling yourself getting wet just by being watched and threatened by him, you bite the bottom lip of the guard before pushing him back to the other side of the corridor where Ghost won’t see you. Your hands travel around the guard's body as if you’re caressing him, subtly tracing the outline of the man’s hardened cock with the palm of your hand to hide the fact that you’re looking for the card that opens the door to the server room. When you find it in his back pocket, you skillfully take it out and open the door to the server room.

“Huh, what?” The guard pulls back from the kiss, trying to understand what’s happening before you push him into the room and close the door behind yourself. You’re now completely out of Ghost’s sight. You see the guard’s hand traveling down to where his gun is, but you immediately push him down on one of the chairs and cradle his lap.

“Don’t wanna be seen by anyone else,” you whisper, giving a gentle roll to your hips to test the waters. The guard doesn’t seem like he’s buying this act anymore, so with an irritated sigh and a roll of your eyes you reach out for your own gun—quicker than him, you press it to the guard’s forehead. The guard winces, momentarily distracted and still unable to process what’s happening at all, giving you the opportunity you need.

“Great,” you say with the slightest smile on your lips. “Don’t want to leave such a mess for the ones who will clean up, so let’s make this easy, shall we?”

With your gun now in your hand, you hit the guard’s head—again and again and again until he is no longer moving. “Maybe I should’ve brought a sedater or something, I feel bad now.”

You get up from the man’s lap, immediately running around in the room to find the main console. The rhythmic hums of the servers provide some sense of success for you, as soon as you find the main console you kneel down, plugging in the disk before you get up and fix your dress and hair.

“Are the other guards back?”

“They’re helping everyone out, but one will reach you in a minute or two.”

“Who will clean up the mess?”

“Gaz will handle it, don’t worry about it,” Ghost says, voice is surprisingly calm. “You should worry for yourself about what I will do to you, pup.”

You gulp, heart pounding against your chest as you suck in a sharp breath. You don’t say anything in return, patiently waiting for the transfer to be completed—you’re also running out of time, too. However, you can’t lie about the way Ghost can get you all excited with a simple threat, who would even get excited when they’re threatened by their superior? Well, you, obviously.

“Fuck, this is slow,” you say. “Can you take care of the guard that’s coming up?”

No answer, but a soft thud of a body falling down on the ground right on the other side of the door and the window shattering into pieces… you breathe in relief. After what felt like decades, the transfer finally completes—and as soon as you grab the hard disk, you get out of the room. You use the stairs inside the building first, then the emergency exit before fleeing the scene. You’re glad that big buildings have so many blind spots around them because you know that you wouldn’t be able to successfully leave without getting any attention if you had to stand in that ocean of people.

Just a block away, two cars await you. With your heels in your left hand and your bag in your right, you stop running when you see Ghost with his signature mask; window rolled down, eyes boring holes into you. You feel suffocated under his gaze, so you walk to the other car to see Gaz.

“Fourth floor, fifth room on the left. One’s in front of the door, and the other one is inside.”

Just as you’re about to get in the other car, you hear Ghost’s voice.

“You’re coming with me.”

#🩰.ela writes #cod x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost x you #cod ghost smut

29 notes · View notes

dualitue · 2 months

Text

𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑨𝒀𝑬𝑳, 001.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦."

★: please don't tell me that this would suit zayne more i realized that it was too late and i felt too lazy to change it. besides rafayels growing on me so i had to write him. i also got lazy by the end and didn't proofread this so don't expect much T_T reblogs and any possible thoughts are appreciated!!!! <3

★ oral (f. receiving) + body worshipping + whiny couple + fingering + aftercare mentioned + doing it while being sick may not be the best idea but who cares!

An act of kindness is what has started it all, really. He often times thinks of you as a thick-skulled, naive girl thanks to your thinking mechanism that pushes you to go above and beyond just to lend a helping hand—but how can he blame you, really? It's not some grand gesture for a spotlight; it's just you being yourself. A courageous heart, pulsating with an urgent need to make a difference. Regardless of the timeline, the universe, or the body you inhabit, your soul always manages to peek through the cracks in the shell. Unaware that you leave an imprint with every breath, he worries that your innocence and tender heart may be a permanent fixture.

Rafayel should have realized you were trouble from the start.

Once you catch wind of someone in need, nothing else seems to register in that mind of yours.

He should have steered clear of you, or perhaps he should have wished for selective memory loss, anything to rid himself of the torment that plagued his every moment at the thought of you. Whether it's a curse or a blessing, he can't be certain, and the uncertainty gnaws at him. Memories of his days submerged in the depths of despair, yearning for you like a man starved... Truly, a memory loss would have spared him those endless, restless nights haunted by your memory. He vividly recalls the relentless hunger for the connection between his mind and yours. He used to believe that waiting for the one you love should be painless, like a fairy tale reunion. However, reality was far from enchanting, his days consumed by torment. Your radiant face invaded his thoughts every time he closed his eyes, and sometimes, he didn't even have to delve into the realm of closed eyelids. Whether it was his mind playing tricks or a disconcerting desperation for you, there were moments he found solace in the dreams of you, right before his wide-open eyes.

In those dreams, your hair took on a darker hue underwater, the waves cradling you warmly, dispelling any fear. He was convinced the ocean would hold you dear, intimately familiar with your name. Your every movement, the way your hair framed your face, the melody of your voice—these elements combined, making it impossible not to be captivated. If he had known the outside world held you, he would never have considered leaving the comfort of his home. Yet, that's the hand of fate, a concept you humans often label as destiny.

Rafayel remains baffled by the mysterious workings of this thing called fate. Is it akin to a magnetic force, or does it mirror the intricate patterns of the ocean? The idea of one's entire life being meticulously planned before even opening one's eyes, waiting for the precise moments when everything aligns, isn't a matter of him being unable to grasp the logic. It's more about the undeniable sense that everything in his life, leading up to the moment he encountered you, felt purposefully directed to bring him to you, and you to him. Love, as it turns out, was a weighty burden he had never anticipated carrying around.

That's likely the reason his gaze carries a tinge of sorrow today. Seated on the vacant space of the couch while you rest, your once radiant eyes now only half-open, your lips slightly parted to ease your breathing. He appears and sounds concerned, though he understands that your fever prevents you from recognizing the emotional turmoil he currently grapples with.

"You're already playing the hero as a Hunter," he remarks, his fingertips registering the warmth of your skin—feverish, and he can't help but check it persistently. "What more do you need to offer as a hero? Was it really necessary?"

You remain silent, the weight of your breath filling his expansive studio, visibly swallowing. No regrets about your actions, but a nagging thought that perhaps a bit more contemplation would have been wiser.

"Hey, don't doze off on me now, answer me."

His tone is insistent, almost desperate, a hint of anger present, though directed more at the ceaseless need within you to be helpful all the time.

"What do you want me to say?" you reply, your chapped lips stinging with each uttered word. "I couldn't have said no, not when it was clear they needed help."

"You could!" Rafayel counters like a petulant child, his selfish side revolving entirely around you resurfacing. "You know you could have! Work and favors are different, and you weren't tasked with assisting a nerdy sociopath in retrieving… what was it again?"

"Rafayel," his name escapes your lips softly, a reminder of the unintentional power you hold over him. The mere sound of his name from you stirs something within him, and Rafayel can't help but feel a bit flustered. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"Fine," he snorts, still clearly irritated but acknowledging your lack of stamina for this conversation. "Go to sleep, then. I'll see what I can do for you."

"Not invading my personal space and laying off the nagging would be more than enough, highly appreciated, really."

A soft, breathy laugh accompanies your words. Despite the occasional sharpness of your comments, both of you understand they're lighthearted, devoid of any malicious intent.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just close your eyes. This is my house, and personal space is a non-existing concept here. Take it or leave it."

"I can't leave; I'm sick," you murmur, your voice huskier than ever due to the severe cold. "Looks like I might have to take it."

"Such a smart girl," he teases, a hint of mockery in his voice, his gaze fixed on your slightly red face. "Wish you could use that pretty brain of yours in situations like this. I feel sorry for you sometimes."

"I feel sorry for myself, too. Your sassiness doesn't spare me even when I'm sick. Plus, this is the worst cold I've ever had. Feels like I'm on my death bed with you right next to me, nagging and scolding."

He's well aware it's just a passing moment, that you'll bounce back from this illness soon enough. Yet, even the casual mention of it in a lighthearted and trivial sentence makes Rafayel squirm uncomfortably beside you.

"Shut up, don't exaggerate."

"Guess who I learned that from?"

"You're insufferable," he declares, finally rising to search for his phone, cast somewhere in his room.

"You won't believe what I'm about to say, yet again," he marvels at your knack for matching his energy, finding himself increasingly addicted to this dynamic.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, maybe you'll actually manage to fall asleep and spare me the constant nagging."

"You're the one who brought me to your place when you found out I was sick!"

You stifle a laugh, resisting the urge to appreciate his caregiver side a bit more. However, your expression gives you away; the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile reaching your eyes before gracing your face.

"Ha-ha, very funny. So funny that I can't even bring myself to laugh, fearing I might never find anything else amusing ever again."

The studio carries a subdued ambiance today, courtesy of the gray clouds and dismal weather outside. Despite the apparent disorder, there's an inherent harmony within its chaotic appearance. Unfinished paintings scatter around, some paints meticulously organized by tone and hue, while others haphazardly rest on a small table in the corner. Curtains drawn wide, tall windows invite as much natural light as possible, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of pressing a seashell against your ear—faint waves hitting the shore.

With a single effortless motion, Rafayel lifts your weakened body, his concern palpable as he carries you to his bedroom. Surprisingly, you feel lighter in his arms, despite your condition, as he carefully settles you onto his bed. Profoundly sweating, you've lost count of the shirts Rafayel has helped you change into. He's already arranged for a doctor to examine you, initially fearing the worst, only to discover it's a severe cold exacerbated by exhaustion. With medication in hand, Rafayel diligently ensures you take your doses, managing the situation with utmost care.

Except for his own sanity.

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state for the first time, you appear unlike the confident Hunter he knows—or perhaps it's his own perception, magnified by witnessing your illness firsthand.

Compared to the rest of the house, Rafayel's bedroom feels refreshingly cool, providing a welcome relief to your feverish skin.

"This feels nice," you murmur as he lays you gently on the bed, the softness of the mattress embracing you instantly, coaxing your eyes closed. "Like being hugged by the sea on a hot summer day. Cool and comforting."

Your words, uttered innocently, send a shiver down Rafayel's spine.

Being hugged by the sea… comforting…

Suddenly, he's overwhelmed by an urge to hold you even closer, to let you feel the steady rhythm of his heart, to assure you that the embrace of the water is always within reach.

"That's probably because your fever hasn't gone down; just get some rest."

"Will you stay here?"

You weakly tug on the hem of his shirt, your eyes opening a bit more, almost peering into his soul.

"I will," Rafayel responds, immediately sensing he can't leave you alone even for a second, though he refrains from showing it. "If you ask nicely enough."

"Oh, shut it," you laugh, covering your eyes with the back of your hand. You stay like that for a while, eyes closed and hand resting on your face, when you feel his warm breath gently caressing your skin. A sudden urge to gulp overtakes you, your heart pounding so rapidly it feels as if it's not a heart but a bird begging to be set free.

"Come on," Rafayel murmurs, every puff of breath warming your face and body, as if you haven't fallen victim to a fever. "Just ask, it won't hurt, right?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Don't spoil the fun now."

His slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and to your surprise, his skin is cold against yours. Despite the fever that makes you feel like you're boiling from the inside, your body craves that cool touch. Rafayel lifts your hand, slowly and carefully, pinning it against the soft pillow under your head. Now, you have no choice but to look at him, your clouded eyes meeting his shining ones as both of you let the silence linger. It's not awkward, but neither is it fully comforting—there's a subtle tension you can feel, adding to your fever, and tears well up in your eyes as you stare at him.

Rafayel feels like there's a dagger stabbed right into his chest, turning and turning like a fallen leaf on an autumn day—he shivers the more he gazes into your widened eyes and parted lips. He can't be sure if it's just your fever that's bringing a sweet tint of red to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and even the tips of your ears. All he can do is hope that, regardless of the circumstances, he's able to make you a bit flustered.

Without much thought, Rafayel presses his palm against the burning skin of your red cheek. You feel soft to the touch, and his hand is cold enough to elicit a calm, sharp breath from you. A thick fog envelops your mind and thoughts due to the fever. While it was worse a few hours ago, it still clouds your basic thinking skills. Your body is burning, but you're sure it's not that feverish. Knowing you're sick adds a psychological discomfort—you subconsciously nuzzle against his big, cool palm. A soft whimper escapes your parted lips as you lean into Rafayel's touch, his palm covering your cheek as your eyes flutter closed in a seemingly calm manner. He doesn't dare utter a word, fearing he might disrupt the moment. It feels intimate and vulnerable; he's offering a simple act born from his feelings for you, and you're fitting into his hands like the matching piece of a puzzle.

"If you could touch me all over with these cold hands, I think this fever would just disappear," you murmur against his palm, resembling a cat seeking affection. Ironically, he doesn't even like cats, but it's not about them—it's about the vulnerability of the act. You may not realize what you're saying, but Rafayel's head spins with thoughts he dare not speak. His fingertips ache to reach and tug on the hem of his shirt you're wearing. He could get you out of it in seconds, exploring every inch of you, leaving nothing untouched.

He releases a shaky breath as his other hand lets go of yours, beginning to touch your face and neck. His breath comes out shaky as his fingertips explore the softness of your face before descending to your neck—a sacred area. He senses you gulp as his palm presses against the front of your neck. The pressure is almost nonexistent as he gently caresses your skin. You don't feel brave enough to open your eyes; his touch alone is intense, and you're uncertain of the intensity awaiting you in his gaze.

"What if I accidentally make you feel hotter than before?" Rafayel breathes out the words, his voice low and hesitant as he whispers. You gulp again, making him feel the movement against his palm as he takes another sharp breath. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Summoning courage, you slowly open your eyes to gauge Rafayel's expression. The moment your eyes meet his, Rafayel swallows back a desperate whimper. He wasn't prepared for your heavy gaze, feeling crushed under its weight, as if there's a demand he might not be able to satisfy even with his all.

Both of you remain awfully quiet as Rafayel's fingers slightly wrap around your neck, fitting like a perfect necklace. He gently gives the faintest squeeze, leaving you lightheaded. Your eyes get even glossier—you're like a doll, spread out in his bed, wearing his clothes. It's impossible not to be overwhelmed.

"I don't think your cold hands would betray me like that," you whisper, still feeling a bit dizzy from the gentle squeeze around your neck. Does he even realize the effect he has on you? It seems like he's testing the waters for both of you, exploring your reactions and his own feelings. The sensation is dizzying for him as well.

Remembering that this isn't the right time for something like this, Rafayel reluctantly pulls his hands back, though he yearns to have them pressed against you. It doesn't matter where he touches you; all he needs is to feel you under his touch.

"No," you whine, eyebrows furrowed. Your hand slowly reaches up, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt to bring his hands back to your face and neck. "Keep them, it feels nice."

"You have no idea what you're asking for," Rafayel murmurs. "Just because the waters are cold doesn't mean they won't swallow you whole, silly girl."

"Don't care," you shrug.

Rafayel hums in response, his fingertips trailing down to the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing before his hands sneak under the thin fabric after you give him an affirming nod. "If only you could be good and listen to me," he gently caresses your torso, your skin feeling soft and warm as he can't stop himself from traveling higher. His fingertips touch the fabric of your bra this time, and both of you feel yourselves shaken to your cores; a soft whimper falls from your lips unlike Rafayel, who's giving his all to keep it quiet for now. "Do I have to tire you out to make you sleep?"

You cannot give an answer, you're already feeling high on the feeling as his cold fingertips slip under your bra too, causing your nipples to get hard and perk up immediately. You slightly arch your back to signal him that you want it off, and Rafayel is quick to pick up on that; with a skilled and swift movement of his fingers, he unclasps your bra.

You should've checked the weather forecast more carefully, really—well, you don't feel as feverish as before, but your body feels heavy. Maybe it's because Rafayel is so adept at kneading you into the state he desires you in, who knows? With your lips slightly parted and heavy eyelids veiling the intensity of your eyes, you accept Rafayel's touch as if it's the only thing that can help you now. He pushes the hem of the t-shirt up, and you feel him tapping the side of your body. You sit up slightly to give him the access he asks for, and Rafayel doesn't waste any time. He quickly gets rid of the t-shirt and bra. Now, even the air feels cold against your skin—his hands are comforting, but the air in his bedroom causes shivers to run down your spine.

All that can be heard from Rafayel is his heavy panting as he changes his position, seating himself between your legs and slowly hovering over you as he leans in. You want to tell him that he's going to get sick after all this, but you don't have the heart to mess this moment up by bringing up such an obvious and silly thing. The sound of Rafayel's first kiss right on between your breasts echoes in the room, or that's how it sounds to you, loud and exciting—the kiss makes you breathlessly moan as you grip the sheets underneath your hands. You know what to expect, you know what's to come, but still you can't help that slight shaking of your body when Rafayel's hot mouth takes in your nipple. You try your best to hold yourself back from tugging on his hair, pressing yourself more to him, or any possible desperate act of this neediness that you have for everything that he can possibly give to you. However, as if you've lost control of your movements, your hands softly find their place in Rafayel's soft hair—experimentally tugging on, just to get a muffled deep groan against your skin.

His head moves slightly, his tongue lazily twirling around your nipple as you're withering underneath him—with one hand, palm pressing against the inner side of your thigh, Rafayel makes you spread your legs further so that he can get into a position that's also comfortable for him. Your fever feels as if it's turned into a bonfire, crackling and ready to swallow both of you whole as soft noises of yours fill Rafayel's ears. He breathlessly gulps before teasingly taking the sensitive nipple between his teeth—the act is enough to send jolts throughout your weak body, you tug on his hair harder than before.

"You enjoy that," he whispers, amused and amazed by your reaction as he tilts his head up slightly to stare into your glossy eyes, only to lean in and repeat the same action. You cry out, feeling like you're melting in his hands as he keeps teasing you. He's not doing much, but you're embarrassingly wet as he continues the act. Your panties immediately get damp, and it feels uncomfortable at some point. "Don't get ideas," you say with a huff of air escaping from your parted lips. They feel dry because of the level of heat embracing your trembling body.

"Don't you think that you're a bit late to say that?" He whispers against your skin, his hands resting on the sides of your body, fingers gently caressing the skin accessible to his touch. His mouth keeps pressing kisses all over your chest between each word. "You've given me quite a lot of ideas. I might push the limits to their fullest if you keep making those pretty noises."

"Rafayel," a gulp, loud enough to shake him to his core. "Don't play, please."

He groans in defeat, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly—how can he say no? How can he possibly say no when your heartbeat is loud and fast enough to be heard? He sits on his knees first, freeing you from your sweatpants and your embarrassingly soaked panties—the sight of your glistening folds immediately gets a reaction from him; a desperate whimper as he throws the pieces of clothing somewhere in his room. His fingers move down as he lays on his torso on the bed, sliding down, supporting your legs by grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing your legs to your chest—the position has you all red, the blush spreading down to your chest as you're now fully exposed to him. To ease off the unnecessary tension you feel, Rafayel presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh. His hot breath hits your sensitive skin, and it feels like this has meant to happen at some point, and this was the perfect time.

"You've got to tell me to stop now if you're not sure," Rafayel's whisper intensifies the sensations, and you feel a hot wave hitting you, making you jolt as your knees almost touch your chest. "Because once I get a taste, I know that I won't be able to stop."

His voice sounds much deeper, and you feel almost threatened by the tone alone—possible thoughts related to what he can do to you run havoc in your mind as you stare at him with empty eyes. All you have in your mind is that you need him; you crave whatever he can give you—of course, you're not going to tell him to stop at any point.

So you stay quiet, your eyes locked with his in an intense gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. With your fingertips gently playing with his hair, you keep your silence, hoping that it'll be enough of an answer. Yet, it turns out that it's not enough of an answer.

"You need to use your words," Rafayel desperately murmurs this time, pressing wet and open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as he breaths sharply. "Please, tell me that you want it, I need to hear it from you."

He looks so pretty from this angle—well, it's a well-known fact that he is undoubtedly a pretty boy, but the way he's looking up at you with those expecting eyes and that expression of raw need on his face makes something in you snap suddenly. You part your lips, but it suddenly feels kind of embarrassing to say it out loud. Rafayel moves up and closer to your face, his hand cupping your cheek, and you immediately lean into his touch with your eyes closed. "Look at me, baby, say it."

Your lips part apart slightly as you open your eyes slowly, your dry lips press the lightest kiss to his thumb—and it makes him absentmindedly push his finger into your mouth. Ironically, this act gives you the push that you need. Before wrapping your lips around his thumb, you give him what he wants, you say what he needs to hear.

"I want it," just three words, uttered lowly and slowly, and coming out all muffled because of his finger exploring the warmth of your mouth—and it pushes him over the edge. "Fuck," breathlessly falls from his lips, drawn out in a long way. Rafayel pulls his hand back, his thumb staying close to the side of your mouth as he kisses you—the kiss is sloppy and it shakes you to your core. His thumb lightly gets in the way but none of you seem to care about that, the hunger you both have for each other feels insatiable as Rafayel licks into your mouth. Wet sounds of your lips moving hungrily against each other fill his room as Rafayel takes his time with tasting your lips, savouring the taste of your long gone lip gloss as you moan into his mouth, in turn, he happily drinks in all your pretty noises.

You lazily throw your arms over his shoulders, his messy and soft hair meeting the gentle touch of your hands as you two share a desperate kiss. Suddenly, you can't even remember the reason you're here in the first place—all you can think about is the way Rafayel is so, so into you. The way his one hand stays pressed against your cheek while the other pushes your hair out of the way before traveling down to the side of your waist and caressing the skin feels intimate and arousing at the same time. You try to break the kiss, to take a much-needed breath, but Rafayel doesn't let go of you. His hand holds your head in place, his lips getting more eager and hungrier as his body tenses under your skillful hands softly caressing his hair.

"Can't breathe," you finally manage to get the words out when you push him gently by pressing your hands against his chest. His skin feels as hot as your feverish one, but you can still feel the subtle chill to his hands. "Rafayel, wait—let me, ah, breathe a second."

He is long gone, lost in the whirl of primal emotions that he has fallen victim to. His lips are relentless, his head seeking a feeling that he can only expect from you in the crook of your neck—his kisses trail a wet line along the side of your neck. "Okay, okay," he whispers, visibly trying to calm himself down. "I just—ah, shit, I just need to feel you somehow, taste you."

The way his words come from a feeling that is unfiltered and genuine has you succumbing to his desires. You feel the need to give your all to him, to offer yourself in any way possible, in the way he wants you. As you throw your head back to give him more room, a breathless "yeah," falls from your lips. "Yeah, okay, go on."

Rafayel becomes unstoppable once he gets your consent, once he realizes that you're okay with this. And that's really all he has to get from you to feel something snap in himself—a whiny whimper falling from his lips etches itself into the soft and hot skin of your neck as his kisses follow each other all the way to your shoulder.

"I'll be so good to you," he breathlessly reassures you, even though you don't need any reassurance because you know that he will. You know that he will be such a good boy for you—he will be able to tame that burning desire in you in such a way that you'll get hooked on the feeling. "I know," you, too, reassure him, letting him know what he does to you with little to no effort. Just by following an instinctive feeling, he has the power to rule your body and your mind.

His cold fingertips trail down on your body, finding their place in between your legs. The feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your slick folds make both of you moan, your back arches, your body begging to get the best of this feeling. Even though he's peppering your body with open-mouthed kisses, you still feel embarassingly empty somehow—even this thought alone is enough to get you all flustered and shy.

For some time, it's probably minutes but feels like an eternity, none of you speak; just enjoying the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. Your hands are as mindless as usual, you don't know what to do with them as Rafayel rubs your aching clit in a teasing way; you feel yourself growing impatient, desperately needing him to make you feel full, it doesn't matter how he does it, but he has to do it.

"Rafayel", you whine, impatiently tugging on his hair as your body feels like shattering into million pieces and being kneaded into this desireful shell from the scratch. He hums in response as his kisses start to trail down further down to your torso, it kind of tickles—your body jolts forward when he playfully bites the side of your waist. Swallowing down all the shyness, you try to push his head down a bit more, leading him to your weeping cunt—the sheets underneath you and your inner thighs are damp with your wetness. The way Rafayel manages to get you this turned on and this wet makes both of you gasp when you feel his fingers gathering the slick and smearing it to your folds as if you're not wet enough. The swift movement of his fingers against your folds make you suck in a sharp breath, your body feels like it's about the explode if he makes you wait for it any more than this moment.

"What is it, Miss Bodyguard?" He taunts you, or you think that he does so, it really doesn't matter at this point. "Running low on patience?" His voice is deep, and you feel him finally adjusting his position as his lips press a kiss right to your cunt. You immediately cry out, the movement feeling as intense as it can be. You tug on his hair again, needing the feeling again, and you hear him chuckle. To your relief, he does it again, again and again—teasingly sucking on your clit between the kisses.

"Maybe you should've listened to me," Rafayels pants between the kisses. "I told you to go to sleep, didn't I? You wouldn't be begging like this if you could've just listened to me in the first place."

You cannot find the right piece of your mind to answer him, he's good at making you unable to think properly. Your only answer to him is another low moan—making him get al the answers he needs. You want to tell him to stop the teasing, but the feeling is so good that you can't even acknowledge his words. Rafayel looks pretty from where you're looking at him, his hair doesn't do any justice since it hides his eyes but you're sure that you won't be able to bear the intensity in them if he ever looks into your eyes. His shoulders look broader when he's buried between your trembling legs, the way his biceps flex while his arms are hooked around your legs to keep you in place makes you suck in a shaky breath.

His head moves up and down, his tongue deliberately exploring and tasting you. You grind against his hot mouth, and he groans in response—loving the way you're demanding more from him. It's almost like he exists to serve you; Rafayel has always been attentive to your wants, and to give you what you want now is nothing but pleasure to him. His tongue moves skillfully and also hungrily, you think that you might cum at any given moment—and the thought is a bit embarassing, really, because you want to enjoy the feeling a bit more.

Just as you part your lips to say something, Rafayel slowly pushes a finger inside your cunt—eliciting the most delicious moan from you. You're burning up now from the inside, feeling your body becaoming helpless and succumbing to his mercy as he starts to finger you slowly at first. When your walls stop clencing around him, Rafayel adds the second finger—this is even more dizzying, and you feel yourself getting suffocated by the feeling alone. It'll never measure up to the way his cock stretches you out, but he manages to satisfy you no matter how.

"Hag—ah, Rafayel," you breathlessly mumble, your heavy eyes falling to his broad shoulders again. He's still fully clothed, so you tug on the sleeve of his shirt, that's when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes directly. The sight of him makes you dumb; his chin is wet, his lips glisten, and his eyes carry such intensity and adoration that you stumble upon your own words. Stuttering, you say, "take it off," but Rafayel chuckles as a whisper before leaning down again to suck on your clit while also moving his fingers faster than before.

"No."

"No?"

"No. This is about you feeling good, not about me. Just enjoy it, don't think of anything else."

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even let you start.

"Well, I might be enjoying this more than you maybe, just to let you know. You sound pretty," he breathlessly murmurs, words coming out slurred as his lips presses kisses to your inner thighs. You feel yourself getting even closer, and your body slightly trembles—you can't help but press your legs to the both sides of his head, keeping him there, where he belongs prettily.

"Because you're a pretty girl, aren't you? Even when you're as stubborn as ever, even when you're crying underneath me, you're always a pretty girl, making pretty sounds," his fingers start to move even faster now, your legs shaking on both sides of his head as your chest heaves up and down with your erratic breaths.

Before you need to say it, Rafayel can feel that you're about to cum—your walls clenching around his wet fingers are enough to let him know. He doesn't stop nor does he slows down, on the contrary, in addition to his fingers he gets back to sucking on your clit. It doesn't take you long to cry out his name, or you think so, complete gibberish falls from your lips as you cum—thrashing around his fingers while your body is shaking. Rafayel keeps fingering you and eating you out through your orgasm, tasting you like a man starved as you hear the slick sounds of his fingers and his tongue. Feeling overly sensitive, you gently push his hand back, and he obliges—slowly pulling back to look at your face. Eyes heavy, cheeks tinted with red, chest heaving up and down... he's glad that he's able to paint you in any way in his memories. What would he do if he couldn't do that? Well, he might've had to make you cum again and again until it became impossible to not see you whenever he closed his eyes.

"Ssh, my pretty girl," he whisper as he gets on the same level as your face, there's the slightest smirk on his face as he carefully pays attention to every detail about your face, and your expression. "You good?" Rafayel asks.

"Yeah, yeah I just—uh, I think I just need to..."

"Sleep, maybe?"

"Yeah, that."

Rafayel laughs, low and genuine, soothing you as you listen to it. You want to kiss him, accepting the fact that you'll taste yourself if you do so, but your eyelids feel so heavy that you cannot resist against the drowsiness taking over you.

"Okay, do that then." Rafayel slowly gets up from the bed, and you can only guess how hard he is after all that—your hands ache to touch him, take his hardened cock out of his pants and help him relax, too.

"But you—"

"I told you that this is about you," Rafayel says, walking to the bathroom, You lay on his bed, feeling cold, immediately missing his warmth. He comes back with a wet towel, sitting next to you before he starts to clean you up.

"But, of course, this doesn't mean that I won't ask for what's rightfully mine," he softly chuckles. "But only when you're feeling all better, now sleep."

And you do as he tells you to do so, a slight smile forming on your lips as you close your eyes—realizing that you've needed this sleep really bad, but still had Rafayel to serve you like a true devotee.

#🩰.ela writes #love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #rafayel imagine #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space x you

937 notes · View notes