#He just finds it more comforting about tools
Text
The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 8: Compromise
Summary: Andra wants answers, and Ghost has to choose
Word Count: 6.5k
If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!
Content: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence
The clouds on the way home were overcast across the afternoon sky. Johnny left Andra with several things to think over, bringing her back to a familiar train of thought from five years ago.
He gave her the same look that stirred shame in her belly. She didn’t like being on a different level of rationality – or lack thereof – with the people once close to her.
It was declared by the officer that showed up there was no indication of foul play. The possibility of an incompetent and inconvenienced officer being sent to her call was in the forefront of her mind, and also the possibility of any traces of someone’s presence could have been washed away from the thunderstorm by the time they came out to investigate. The whole process of filing the report gave her no peace of mind, but she took the advice of setting up surveillance seriously.
A precautionary that she should have done ages ago.
The quiet, quaint life out on the farm had soothed her troubled worries all of these years, making her forget for a moment what it was like to live looking over her shoulder every moment. She wasn’t naïve, no, she knew how to take care of herself when the seldom case of harassment arose. Andra should have never gotten so comfortable the way she did.
Her foot pressed down heavily on the brake pedal as she waited at a stop light to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She was just a few more turns from home, she reminded herself. The caffeine she had ingested all throughout the morning was threatening a big crash.
Andra drove slowly down Middleton Lane as she spotted the first right turn to the private dirt road of Ghost’s property. Then her truck came to a full stop. You know what-
Her hand turned the wheel right as her tires skid around the corner.
Andra didn’t know what she was doing, or what she would exactly say to him, but she needed to know what was going through his head.
Andra parked behind his truck and turned the key out of the ignition. She paused for a few seconds to take a breath and gather at least the first sentence that would come out of her mouth.
Her phone vibrated.
I’m in the garage.
Of course Ghost knew Andra had arrived, another sign that she definitely needed to do the same thing to her property. Cameras and motion sensors.
She shut the door behind her as she made her way to the garage off to the right of his house. One of the metal double doors was left cracked open, and she could hear the metal clink of a tool being put down.
The garage was Ghost’s own personal auto shop, with an incomplete classic-looking car taking up majority of the left. The wall was lined with tool boxes, yard tools, and almost a pallet’s worth of army green ammo cans. To the right, a rudimentary gym setup took up another portion of space, with a bench press, a high pull-up bar, seemingly crafted and welded together amateurly, and a rack of assorting dumbbells and plates to complete it all.
Ghost was hunched over the open hood of the car, one hand on the lip of the hood as he kept his attention on whatever he had been working on before Andra’s unannounced arrival.
“Is this your way of letting me know that you’re pushing me away again?” Andra sharply said to the backside of Ghost.
Ghost tossed a tool onto the toolbox on his left side and retrieved a rag, wiping grease from his stained hands. His muscles tensed in his back as he turned to Andra’s direction. “Today has been a really tense day. I wanted to give you some space to come down from last night.”
Andra clenched her jaw. “I don’t need space, I need answers. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark about something I have no control over.”
“That’s because you don’t.”
She could feel her blood simmering already. Not how she wanted this to go. “I don’t because you never gave me the choice to take control.” Andra couldn’t recognize the person she was talking to. His stare was cold and dark. If his goal was to anger her into cutting her losses with him, it wasn’t going to work. “You didn’t tell me anything because we lost touch the first time, fine, I get it. But you went ahead and told Johnny? That’s what I can’t get passed.”
Ghost trudged out of the garage with Andra following behind him. “He and I had an eye on things. We had it under our thumbs.”
Andra tossed her hands up. “Had what exactly?” Her voice echoed all around them. “What the hell is going on with you?”
He turned back to her, stopping her in her tracks before bumping right into him. Ghost peered down to her, his eyes burning the same heat. “What do you want from me? You want me to take back what I did?”
Her fists clenched hard enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “No, I just want you to stop being such a hard ass and talk to me.” Her carotid artery strained against the muscles in her neck. “Tell me what you think is going on and we’ll deal with it together.”
He flinched as if her hand flew across his face.
“You keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to push me away, for an excuse to leave.” Andra’s chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm. “You act as if one morning I’ll wake up and you won’t be here, and you’ll just be a memory for me.”
His eyes squeezed shut as his own breath left him.
“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Leaving without another word, taking your shadows with you.” There was a shiver in her voice.
“I have.” Ghost finally answered. “I could leave in a moment’s notice. I’ve done it before.”
Andra didn’t doubt him. She had done it herself, she knew how easy it was to pack a couple of bags and leave. “What’s stopping you this time?”
Ghost opened his eyes to meet hers.
She scoffed and turned away from his silent response. The wind picked up and wisps of her hair flew around her face. She had to squint her eyes at the unbearable overcast sunlight. “I was able to forgive you for cutting me off the first time. I shook it off because there was no expectation for you to keep in contact after fixing my truck. Then you came back, and I thought you wanted me in your life, and maybe we even had something. Cool. Great, even.
“But when you brought up the transpiring events, the person driving up our street and telling me there have been people on my property?” She shook her head. “You think you’re handling this on your own but you’re not. I won’t let you. Either you let me know what’s going on, or you’ve lost my trust.”
His eyes were unreadable when she saw him once more.
Andra reached into her pocket and flipped her keys into her palm, the key ring sitting on her index finger as she clenched them tight. “I’ll see you around, Ghost. If you figure out what you want to do, you know where to find me.”
The screen door smacked the side of the house harder than it should. Andra wasn’t paying attention. Her face still felt hot with anger. Sammy darted outside for her chance to do what she does, leaving her alone in the house.
The air felt thick, charged with energy that wasn’t there when she woke up the morning before. Or maybe it was her mind messing with her. Either way, her house felt compromised.
The tears collected in her eyes out of nowhere, and she quickly wiped them away. This is stupid. She felt ridiculous for letting it get to her. For letting a shattered window re-surface the fear that drove her away to another country.
This was all going to blow over. The tracks in the woods were a random coincidence, the car meant nothing. And the rock flying into her window was just a freakish feat of nature. She’s witnessed some heavy storms in the countryside in her years of living here. It wouldn’t be the first time something has sustained damage on her property, and it was bound to happen again.
“Be kind to yourself.” Andra whispered to herself as she kicked her shoes off, remembering what she was taught in therapy and from self-help reading. However, being kind to herself was proving difficult with the lingering anger from talking to Ghost.
The nerve of him.
But also, the nerve of her. She felt the weight of her corrosive past. An affliction, threatening to dismantle the life she had built. It had to be irrational, she was no one. She wasn’t worth being tracked down, right? That’s the rhetoric she kept force feeding herself. They had succeeded in getting rid of her, she made sure of it. At this point, if anyone wanted to pursue in finishing the job, she would end up burning a hole in their dirty wallets.
And if Ghost was going to play the need-to-know card, two can play that game.
She stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the black trash bag covering her window. It crinkled and swayed inward and outward with the passing wind. The ever-growing chasm in her chest was making itself comfortable, and she couldn’t stand it.
-----
Ghost knew Johnny would stop calling after the second time he reached his voicemail. The third call in a row told him that he better answer the phone. His heavy hand reached out to the nightstand for his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it against his ear, eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”
“You broken, Simon?”
Price’s gravelly voice came through the speaker on his phone, and it was like a splash of cold water on him. It was a question he was familiar with Price asking, except he’s no longer checking for missing limbs or hemorrhaging blood loss. Ghost sat up on the edge of his mattress and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “M’solid.”
“When’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?” Price asked.
Ghost took a quick glance at the time on his phone before returning the receiver to his ear. “I was getting’ rest before you woke me up.” He was only asleep for two hours, and his pounding head reminded him that it had been a restless 72 hours.
Price doesn’t reach out very often. The captain – along with the other lads – will dedicate an amount of time out of the year to catch up with the former task force in person. It was an annual event of spending the holidays doing anything but celebrating Christmas and New Years. When he hears from Price before November, it’s because he’s been tipped off on Ghost’s concerning behavior.
“Soap tells me you’re acting barmy, you think you’re being followed, son?”
There it was.
Ghost didn’t respond for a few beats, his feet felt like lead against the cold wooden floor. “A couple of events transpired, would put you on edge, too.”
He could hear a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, and it had Ghost clench his jaw. “Get yourself to an appointment or a meeting, or I’ll bring the meeting to you.”
Price’s demand sent a wave of guilt and shame through Ghost. The memories of being pulled up off the living room floor and thrown into his tub flashed behind his heavy eyelids. Price, Johnny and Gaz showed up. Ghost reeked of alcohol and piss. They had him hauling bags of sand back and forth from his backyard to the range on his property for several hours, making him sweat and puke the remains of alcohol in his system.
“I’m still sober.” Ghost gritted his teeth. He made Ghost sound like an addict.
Price clipped his words, “See your doctor, and get out of bed for a sweat.”
Ghost opened his eyes to the void of his darkened room and sighed. “I’ll set up an appointment today.”
“Good lad.” Beep-beep-beep went the line as Price disconnected the call.
Sleep had eluded Ghost once more. He sat there at the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, failing to relax the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. His eyes burned, and his headache pressed down on every surface of his skull. He felt an irritation for Price waking him up, but rationality told him it wasn’t his fault.
Since sleep was out of the question, Ghost stood up and peered out the bedroom window. The sun wasn’t due to come up for another couple of hours, but he insisted to listen to Price’s advice. Get a workout in, then when the office opened, call doc to get that appointment.
His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the bathroom. Ghost always looked down to the basin of the sink before turning on the lights, avoiding the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Scars littered his knuckles, the skin over bone splitting open too many times for him to count.
It was when he was sick of looking at the reminders of his violence when he slipped and the person he hated stared back with cold, dead eyes.
You’ve tried killing me so many times, but fail every single time. You need me. You need the mask. You need it to hide so there’s never a chance to hurt again. You don’t deserve her. You try and pretend to be someone worthy of a teaspoon of affection, but you’re not what she needs. You’re filthy. You’re-
The glass shattered against his fist as he struck as quick as an asp. He hissed between clenched teeth, cursing as the reached for a towel and covered his bleeding knuckles.
If one thing was for certain, his reflection was right.
He didn’t deserve her.
-----
Andra flipped closed the back end of the book and placed it on her blanket covered lap to rub her tired eyes. Every night she would read The Operators when it was evident she wouldn’t be getting peaceful rest, or when something had her jolting awake. She had no clue how many hours she had slept in the past couple of days; definitely not enough to keep her from loading up on caffeine and making her debate breaking her years of being nicotine-free.
She could hear the roosting of her birds out in the coop. Andra leaned her head back against the headboard and sighed. There wouldn’t be time to try and fall asleep. Her day had to start.
After the morning chores, Andra headed inside for another cup of coffee. She stared out of her newly replaced window, out into the distance. It was hard not to; it was as if something – or someone – was going to come storming out from the brush and trees. All remained quiescent in those groves, as logic would have it.
The rattling sound of her plastic phone case vibrating against the countertop broke her focus. She swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button. “What’s up, Johnny?”
“I need to ask a favor.”
His voice was hushed and the words were muddled like he had the phone pressed against his mouth, and she could hear the workings of the auto shop in the background.
“I need you to go check on Ghost for me, he called out of work this morning.”
Andra felt her chest and throat tighten all at the same time. Johnny wasn’t aware of the fallout between her and Ghost from the sound of it. Or if he did, he must be extremely concerned for Ghost’s silence. I figured he would be used to it by now… she thought bitterly. “You need me to go immediately?”
“Take yer time, a mate of ours reached him this mornin’. Just pop over there when you get a chance. Gotta go, text me.”
The line went dead before Andra could say bye. She released a heavy sigh after taking her first sip, her fingers tapped against the countertop as apprehension churned in her gut.
Maybe Ghost took their last conversation as motivation for him to actually leave.
Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, pushing her fingers together to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want their relationship – friendship – whatever they had, to end on that note. Fuck, I messed up.
She took a deep breath to regain composure. You don’t know if he’s gone. Andra decided she would go by after her run to the post office to pick up her package. With a quick rinse of her empty coffee mug, she headed to the front door to collect her keys and purse.
The sound of gravel crunching and a vehicle engine made her pause in her tracks. Her heart raced, she could feel her adrenaline dump. Her shaky hand moved aside the curtain to look out the window beside the door, and the sight of Ghost’s truck had her releasing a heavy breath.
It took everything in her not to throw the door open and run to him. She took another grounding breath and unlocked the door, opening it to Ghost preparing to knock.
Andra swore her heart was going to burst. The look in his eyes mirrored the same surprise she displayed. The discernible presence of a bandage wrapped around Ghost’s hand caught her attention in the corner of her eye.
He noticed where her eyes fell to, and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “You got a minute to speak?”
His voice sounded like sandpaper. He looked just as sleep deprived as she felt. Andra couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded. She closed the door behind her and opted to sit on the wooden bench, leaving a space for Ghost to sit beside her. He never did, instead he decided to lean against the railing, his ankle crossed over the other.
Seconds passed before anything was said. “I’m not good with words, you’ll have to bear with me.”
Andra folded her legs beneath her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes remained on him as she waited to hear him out.
His head tilted down. “I gave a lot of thought to what you said, about losing your trust.” He rolled his neck, rolling the nerves and giving him a chance to think. “And I realized, taking a bullet is far less painful than that.”
Andra could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat underneath the fabric of his mask as he tilted his head back with closed eyes. She felt her throat tightening, and had to swallow to relieve the ache.
“So, I’ve come to terms with if I want to mend what I had with you, I’m going to have to find a way to tell you what you need to know.” Ghost’s eyes found hers, searching for a response.
She gave him a subtle nod, letting the words sink in. “How are you going to do that?”
Ghost uncrossed his ankles and took the two steps to sit beside her. It was a struggling few seconds for him to begin speaking. “Did you ever pick that book back up?”
Andra was confused by the approach he was taking, but went with it. “Yeah, I finished it actually.”
"Did the author talk about some of his assignments?" Ghost asked patiently.
She recalled what the author was able to talk about and reveal. "Not specifics, but he went in detail with Selection, and then the training thereafter and some events that happened in the 80s in Northern Ireland."
He nodded as he listened. "What did the training entail?"
"Physical training, a lot of sleep deprivation, weapons and vehicle tactics, photography, interrogation..." Andra's words drifted as she continued her recollection. She wouldn't say this out loud, but it was a dry read.
Ghost cut in at the mention of the last topic. "Interrogation, okay." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep breath, and his hands flexed over and over. "I've been on both ends of being interrogated. Not just in training, but out on the field." His red-rimmed eyes aged several decades, and her chest grew heavy. "And there were times the bars and stars – officers that outranked me and my team – had ordered us to let go of the person we had just roughed up.
"They were dangerous people, Andra, do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Andra was piecing together why Ghost had given her that book to read. It was more than just what was on the surface. The selection process, the training, the assignments, the images in the book illustrating the teams with black lines redacting their eyes. It occurred to her then when she was reading it all, Ghost was another one of the SAS operatives that had an alias, he had paperwork with his name on it that contained redacted information on what he and his team had accomplished, but now discussing it all solidified it for her.
Not only him, but Johnny as well, and Johnny had brought up a few other names. People that were also special forces.
It was sobering. She never took the time to sit with all of this information and come to terms that these men had enemies that went deeper than just being from differing nations. Enemies that may or may not still be alive out there, preying on the downfall of the men she had come to know.
“Has anyone ever found you or Johnny?” Andra asked with a tremble in her throat.
“No.” He answered definitively. “And I would like to keep it that way.”
Andra nodded, as she fully agreed with him.
Ghost leaned back against the bench. “I truly never intended to alarm you and bring you to endless conclusions. I wish I could take it back, my foolishness, everything.”
“You can’t help that, though.” Andra defended. “It was a really messed up chain of events.”
There was a pregnant pause. “I have moments like these when there are too many coincidences happening at once. I’ve been working on how I handle it.”
Andra turned to him. “Do you… talk to someone about it?” She felt hesitant to ask.
Ghost’s eyes slid back to her. “Does that bother you?”
She shook her head swiftly. “No, oh Gods, no I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hands covered her face for a moment. “That was wrong of me to ask.”
Ghost reached for one of her hands. “You have every right to know, doll.” The calloused pad of his thumb brushed the top of her hand. She could feel a tremor in his touch.
It would have warmed her heart had it not been for the churning contrite souring her stomach. He had every right to know, too, but how would she even begin to tell him?
His injured hand was holding hers. She took this opportunity to distract herself from the guilt eating at her. “What happened to your hand?”
“Ridiculous accident with some glass.” He answered too quickly. Andra could feel him wanting to recoil, but he continued to let her hold his hand. Her peripheral vision gave her a peak of Ghost studying her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.”
Andra let go of his hand and rubbed her eyes. “I really haven’t been sleeping. Every little noise wakes me up, and I lay there for hours.”
Ghost’s eyes turned serious. “What can I do to remedy that?” Andra started to shake her head. “No, I’m responsible for this. Name it, I’ll do what I can.”
“I was actually on my way to go pick up a security system I ordered from the post office.” Andra raised her hand with her set of keys jingling.
Ghost stood from the bench, Andra followed in suit. “That I can do.”
Her smile returned. If it was one thing Andra was certain about Ghost, acts of service was how he communicated his apologies. It was easier to demonstrate with his hands than words.
After picking up the hefty box of camera and motion sensor equipment, Andra worked around the farm after her and Ghost discussed where the best places to set up the cameras would be. He got it done in less than a few hours, giving them time to pick up food together.
As they traveled, she remembered Johnny was waiting for an update from her.
Ghost is fine, we’re picking up food.
“So, you read the book in the past three days?” Ghost asked to start up chatter. Look who’s talking more now.
She hummed. “I read when I can’t sleep, and found it sitting there on the table before I locked up for bed.” Andra glanced at him. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Her phone vibrated with a response.
Thank you.
Ghost shrugged. “I lay there hoping I fall asleep.”
“I would get so bored.” Andra confessed, tapping her hands on her thighs. “You don’t even scroll through Netflix or something to try and turn your brain off?”
“I don’t have Netflix.” He responded.
Andra shook her head and blinked. “Remind me to give you my login.”
“I don’t watch TV or movies.”
Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”
He rolled his eyes. “I do watch movies, but they’re all old war movies or westerns on DVD.”
Andra narrowed her eyes. “What are you, fifty?”
Ghost chortled. “I have a while before I hit fifty, thank you for that.”
“How long is a while?” Andra smirked. “Five years or six months?” His mouth opened, but she kept going. “Wait, I bet you have M.A.S.H. all on DVD, don’t you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with M.A.S.H.” Ghost defended.
“Yeah, when you’re as old as my dad and watching it on your days off as you doze on the living room couch at eleven in the morning.”
“You’re pushing your luck, doll.” Ghost warned with a grin in his voice. “Let me put it this way, I joined the Royal Air Force after the events of 9/11.”
Andra’s face went slack and her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the passenger window with a hand pretending to scratch the side of her head and wondered if he would be weirded out if she told him she was in grade school during 9/11.
Her silence was loud in the cabin. “We’re not that far apart in age if you know M.A.S.H.” Ghost resumed.
Andra raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I look old?”
“No.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped. “I didn’t say that.”
She was having too much fun busting his chops. “We have a tad bit of an age gap,” she demonstrated with her thumb and index finger with a small gap, “I’m a ninety’s baby.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Three years is a tad of an age gap, not a whole decade.”
Andra rolled her eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to in my thirties?” She laughed at the flash of astonishment as he panned a look at her. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but I’ll be thirty next summer.”
Ghost smoothed his hand over his covered mouth. “You’re killing me, woman.”
“Best stay on top of those heart meds then – ooh!” Andra shot forward and was caught by her seatbelt from Ghost slamming the breaks harder than normal. “You’re gonna cause an accident, sir.”
After a few beats of silence, Ghost changed the subject. “I hope the camera system will give you some peace of mind.”
“I’m sure it will.” She nodded with a hopeful smile.
Ghost ran inside the chip shop they ordered from while Andra sat in the truck to keep it running. Her head tilted back onto the head rest as she stared up at the roof of the truck. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and now that there was less of a problem with surveillance around the farm, she felt the muscles in her shoulders relaxing.
The sudden sound of the driver door opening had her jerking back awake. She attempted to cover up the fact that she had dozed off in his truck with a little stretch of her legs.
Ghost handed her the bag of food without noticing her brief second of sleep and drove back to her house.
-----
“I get why you go to this place.” Andra spoke in between eating in the living room with him. “It’s not bad.”
“It’s also because Johnny has been getting us discounts from his little girlfriend.” Ghost wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.
Andra looked over the app on her phone that connected her to all of the cameras on her property. The feed looked really good, giving her confidence that she could point out important details if she ever had to. She switched to the camera that aimed at the dirt driveway with both trucks sitting outside. Her thumb and index finger spread across the screen to utilize the zoom feature; she was able to read off the license plate numbers from each truck.
“Thank you again for setting up the cameras.” Andra locked her phone and placed it down on the coffee table.
Ghost covered the lower half of his face back up with the balaclava as he finished his own meal. “Thank you for letting me.”
Her heart fluttered at the sudden drop in his voice. His eyes were set on her when she turned to look at him. Despite not being able to see his expression, she could feel a softness in his brown eyes.
“Let me get these out of the way.” Ghost insisted as he began to collect the takeout containers. Andra sucked down the last of her drink in her Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the bag Ghost was using.
Andra slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “You staying for a little while?”
“I can.”
She felt some relief for having to spend less time by herself for the evening.
While Ghost did his thing, Andra browsed her bookshelf in search of a new read.
“Anything interesting?” Ghost asked as he returned.
Andra chose Dune from the shelf. “Maybe.” She returned to her designated reading lounge chair and curled her legs up. “How far did you get with The Outsiders?”
Ghost scratched the back of his head. “Maybe the first fifty pages.” Then, he tilted his head. “How did you know I had it?”
Andra smirked. “It was gone the following morning after you left.”
Did she have him flustered? The indecisive glance to the couch and back to the front door then back to the kitchen was amusing enough to have her grinning.
“I have it in the truck, actually. Be right back.” Ghost made his way outside, letting in a kissing, chilly breeze.
It must have been the book she chose, or the way she receded back into the cushions, but she felt the wave of sleepiness return back. Or maybe it was Ghost’s presence, knowing he was only a few feet away on the couch with Sammy next to him. He emitted an aura that Andra could only classify as comfort. Safety.
She knew he was safe to fall asleep around, she knew he would keep her safe.
Andra flinched out of the sleep she was slipping into and let out a disappointed sigh. Her book was still in her hand, but the pages were damp from the warmth of her fingers holding them in place. She closed the book, not worried about where she left off because she wasn’t paying attention anyway and softened her movements as she looked to her right.
Ghost’s head lulled to one side from the upright position he fell asleep in, his arms crossed over his chest and his own book sitting on the table with Sammy resting in her own bed by the window. The heavy breath he suck in and released told her he was deeper in that sleep than she was.
How is he sleeping with the mask on? Andra wondered.
With light movement, Andra rose from her chair and padded quietly to the hallway closet to retrieve a blanket. He looked as tired as she felt halfway through the day, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and send him home. She unraveled the blanket and moved to lay it over Ghost just above his arms and below his collarbone.
But his awareness was more keen than Andra had anticipated. Ghost reached out, throwing the blanket off and swiped her wrists single-handed. The room went spinning, and she let out a small yelp as her back met the bottom cushions of the couch, his grasp securing her wrists above her head.
Ghost’s eyes were wild with alert, then widened as he realized who he just wrestled down. It startled her at first, but out of nervousness a chortle escaped. Then a chuckle, and confusion wrinkled Ghost’s eyebrows.
She probably looked insane to him. She was supposed to be frightened, but all she was was dizzy. And too aware of how his body hovered over her. The grip on her wrists eased up but remained there. Her giggles dissipated, along with whatever she was about to say. She was too absorbed by Ghost’s eyes darting all over her face, and she wasn’t too sure, but she was almost certain he kept looking to her mouth.
Before Andra could register what she was doing, she pressed her lips against the teeth of the skull pattern on his mask, hitting her mark as she felt his lips beneath. Ghost pulled away like she had put his hand in an open flame, his eyes widened. Oh shit, what have I done –
His empty hand shoved up the fabric of his balaclava and he smashed his mouth against hers. Heat blazed through her face, molten liquid flooding her core as she took in every sensation overwhelming her. The fierce hunger of his kiss. The friction of their bodies pressed against each other. The solid grip Ghost had on her wrists.
She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her leg attempted to hook around his waist, but only succeeded in wrapping around a thigh that nestled its way between her legs.
He couldn’t pull himself away, and instead fed the part telling him to nudge his knee where she wanted it. Ghost freed her hands to grip the thigh pulling him in, giving her free reign to cradle his stubbled jaw. His fingertips worked divots into the fabric of her jeans, earning a small sound from her tightening throat.
Andra hoped there would be marks later left where he was squeezing.
Her tongue slipped out between her lips and playfully swiped across his mouth. Oh fuck, the sound that just came from him… Andra had never heard arousal so delicious before.
All of Ghost was crashing through her like a freight train. His taste, his heat, his sounds. Her head felt like it’s been shoved underwater, and she has no intentions surfacing for air. Not when drowning in all of him felt this good.
Ghost reciprocated her invitation and found his tongue pushing through the slit of her lips. She felt her own arousal winding tightly in her warmth. Anything more was likely going to set her off. There’s no way I’m coming just from this, she cursed herself.
Ghost pulled away, hit hot breath fanning over her face. He moved his free hand to his mask, but it remained there. One second, two seconds. His mouth slackened into a frown, lips parted with labored breathing. The trance had been broken between the two. He retreated from where he had Andra pressed into the couch, his hands ran down his face and stayed there as he battled with himself.
Andra adjusted her shirt as she sat up and gave him a nudge of space. “Hey,” she softly said as she brought his hands down, cradling them in her own. “You don’t need to.”
“I want to.” He rasped, breathless from their kiss. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”
“It’s okay.” She took his hand away from his face and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.
Ghost blinked a few times like he was waking up from a dream. “I shoved my tongue in your mouth.” He stated, a little too forward. His words had heat rushing to her face. “The least I can do I show you who is beneath this.” He gestured to the mask covering half of his face, a bitterness in his words directed to his disguise.
Andra slowly raised her hands to the bottom half of his revealed face. He flinched away from the contact, but settled as she let her thumbs brush against the stubble on his jaw. She made no subtle movements; just exploring the craters and slits across his skin.
Ghost watched her silently, attentively, his eyes flickering back and forth. She can feel the intensity, a man questioning the intentions of the woman touching him, holding the privacy and secrecy he clings to. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of the balaclava and didn’t exhale until Andra had pulled it back down over his face.
“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready.” She affirmed.
His bandaged hand brushed Andra’s disheveled hair behind her ear. Ghost leaned in and pressed his covered mouth against her forehead. Andra gave him a meek grin as he pulled away.
Andra felt this moment building up to a goodbye, but she took his hand again. “You can stay here for the night. I don’t want you driving back even if it’s just down the street.”
He reached down on the floor and picked up the blanket. “If that’s alright with you, I’ll take up the couch-”
“Sleep on a bed, for gods’ sake.” Andra nodded her head to the stairs. “I have an extra room upstairs.”
Thankfully, Ghost didn’t argue. Heavy feet dragged themselves up the stairs, Sammy following them both. They took pause as both turned to each other from across the hall. There was so much she wanted to say, but the brief, drowsy goodnight that was exchanged had them retreating into their respective rooms. Andra leaned against the closed door, clouds in her head and lips swollen with the phantom sensation of their catalyst.
:)
I've started up a taglist! comment if you want to get tagged for this story 🖤 likes & reblogs are wholeheartedly appreciated, your engagement helps new readers find me ✨
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x oc#call of duty#call of duty mw2#cod mw2#ghost cod#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish#mwii#retired au#simon ghost riley x oc#ghost x oc#simon riley#cod fanfiction#cod fanfiction fluff#cod fanfic#slow burn#cod fluff#call of duty smut#cod smut
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, I really enjoyed your post about the Korean reader. Can you write Duwang gang with russian s/o? I would like at least someone to write something similar with my national colouring, if you are not comfortable with it then don't worry about it and ignore the request.
Anyway thank you and good luck◉‿◉
Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Character(s): Josuke, Okuyasu, Koichi, Rohan
Note(s): I shall do my best! I also don't know much about Russian culture, but hopefully Google doesn't steer me wrong
Josuke
History and Geography aren't really his strong suits in school (he's not awful, it's just boring). So he likes hearing you talk about your home if you want. Josuke likes to compare stories.
Since he's not on the best of terms with Rohan, he tries to slowly learn Russian to talk to you in it. And he's also happy to help you with any Japanese that you might be struggling with too.
Josuke does wonder how you're doing adjusting to Japan. Sure, he knows Russia isn't a winter wonderland like stereotypes say, but Japan can get humid as all hell in the summer and really hopes you aren't dying of the temperature. He'll do his best to come up with ways to keep you cool.
Koichi
This sweet boy is asking if you're alright, Japan is a long way from home. If you're homesick then perhaps he can find some restaurant that has food similar to what Russia has. Maybe Tonio could whip up something since he's a talented chef!
Koichi is also fascinated to hear about your home too. He knows of some historical things when it comes to Russia due to his history class. And he definitely tried to learn more when he started dating you.
Being "friends" with Rohan has it's perks as Koichi is going to try to learn Russian so he can talk to you in that language. He wouldn't mind if you'd prefer to help teach him, but he likes the idea of being able to communicate with you in your native language fluently.
Okuyasu
Firstly, he asks where Russia is. He's not exactly the smartest tool in the shed. Of course he knows what Russia is (albeit more of the stereotypes with it), but he has no idea where it'd be on a map besides being some frozen wasteland (again, stereotypes).
He likes hearing about your home though. Listening to you talk about it and the things you did growing up is very interesting. Comparing childhood songs or games is something that he does often (he likes reminiscing about happier times with his family).
If you tell Okuyasu about the employed cats that Russia has then he's amazed. He's heard mythologies surrounding cats and he does own Stray Cat now and wonders if he'd be able to employ her somehow…
Rohan
Well, first thing he's doing when he learns you're Russian is asking what you know about the Baba Yaga. It just seems like some folklore that would be fantastic to reference and put into some manga series.
Rohan is pretty well traveled so he's been to Russia a couple times. He enjoys talking to you about your homeland and how it differs from Japan.
He most likely does use the stories you have of Russia for help with his manga. He'd use his stand, but he actually likes you so he's fine with listening to you talk about your childhood and things that you grew up with in Russia while he takes notes.
Taglist:
@abellaheart-blog @joestarfoundation
#Anonymous#jjba x reader#josuke x reader#josuke higashikata x reader#okuyasu x reader#okuyasu nijimura x reader#koichi hirose x reader#koichi x reader#rohan x reader#rohan kishibe x reader
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
@galranrepard
@lostwithspace
"I see...still impressive though." Danika watched Rio's expressions. She wondered of how so many blade members were not as active as she was. The blue, white, and red galra had spent most of her life raised to fight for the cause. She couldn't imagine living a life that was different from her own.
"True, and I'd like that." She actually smiled when Rio invited her to come hang out when the fellow blade wasn't busy. Danika wasn't used to letting her guard down so to speak nor socializing with many blade members that weren't busy doing training or on missions outside of her own path.
Danika did pause almost spitting out her drink when Rio talked about Kolivan. She composed herself with a polite cough before setting down her now empty glass of golden apple.
"I...well...Kolivan is actually my uncle so I've been raised under him pretty much all my life. My parents died on one of their missions when I was a child so Kolivan became more of less a second father to me. Most of the veteran blades like Ulaz, Thace, and Antok raised me as well. They were like family, and still are even though they've all passed on by now..." She looked down feeling vulnerable telling someone that she just met about her upbringing. Rio was kind and Danika wanted to not push him away.
"So..." She looked back up after a minute over to the droid on the counter. "...I see you like tinkering with droids? What are you planning to do with this one?" Danika asked curiously. The fellow blade keeping a time still on how long she can talk before heading back to the bridge.
Chuckling into his own glass at the reaction, Rio pushed forward some napkins and moved to pour some more of the juice into Danika's cup. His natural experience dealing as a bartender already having the container back in the fridge before his visitor recovered to speak. It was then his turn to be caught off guard as he went to sit down across the table and almost missed sitting in the chair.
"I- I see." Rio stammered, fixing himself proper into the seat. He was caught between the revelation about his fellow Blades' lineage, and her confession of the loss of her family. He should do something, right? She looked sad, but she was also a close relative of the head of the entire organization. You're supposed to offer comfort, at least in these closer social situations, but to someone of her status? She was a Blade...
He raised his hand towards Danika's shoulder, to offer comfort, but hovered there unsure. When her head suddenly came up and looked towards the workstation area before he could reach out, Rio flinched back.
"Huh? Oh, that's Torval." He got up and went over to the workbench, getting away from the social awkwardness swarming his head. Kolivan's neice?
"They're a bit of a project. I've been upgrading his mechanics to be able to resist a lot more, and be able to operate in the vacuum of space. Help to do repairs on the outside when we're in flight, and could have more power under it versus my smaller spider droids."
At the mention, he tapped on the desk behind him, and a small sphere the size of a small grapefruit unfolded itself. Turning itself over, it crawled up and over to the outstretched hand and climbed up to his shoulder. Petting it on it's sensor head, he turned back at the multi-hued galra with a grin.
"More than a hobby, but doesn't quite pay the bills. You have any skill with a toolkit?"
#Rio#RP#Danika#He doesn't get to go on about his skills all that much#Better for him than talking about 'feeeelings'#XD I mean he will#He just finds it more comforting about tools#Surprise Inspection
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
(Going insane boinkinh one AU in my head)
Hey hey hey
May I interest you in
(Slowly slides my FaaF AU towards you but void just Disappears without a trace one day before the accolade)
Teehee
#thylacines can talk#faaf au#i love this au very yummy. a very fun twist on how Flower's dynamic with their parents would progress afterwards#the vessels live but the void exits their bodies in quite a violent manner (extreme pain and literally throwing up an entire person worth of#void). Flower was on guard duty and theyre found barely conscious in a pool of rapidly evaporating void. passes out seconds later#PK also had the displeasure of experiencing extene pain and burning as void forced its way out through his skin <3 And his moulds all melted#and evaporated. after the initial shock wears off theyre hit with “Oh No#the vessel“ and rush to find them. Well somebody else was already looking for the royal pair about this#Flower wakes up dazed and in pain in their father's workshop. their stomach hurts their throat burns and they feel lightheaded. the entire#place is considerably brighter than they remember and in they can hear two faint voices in the background but theyre too preoccupied with#examining their now pure white hand in shock to focus on anything else. until they hear their mother say “My wyrm they're awake” and#suddenly their parents are by their side. Now the two have no idea what void leaving their body might have done to them. Are they still#hollow? are they still dead? do they understand anything are they sentient? or was what was done pernament even without the void? do they#have the mind of a child if their sentience was restored? or do they remember anything? So WL stays by their side and helps them sit up#while their father goes to grab his tools. She's trying to keep them calm and comfort them but theyre still too disoriented to pay her much#attention. Until their father checks their breathing and they yelp audibly from the cool metal contacting their skin and suddenly they seem#much more alert. theyve never experienced true coldness before. PK quickly apologises and tries to be gentler with them. Theyre breathing#properly and they have a heartbeat. And he just pauses for a long while just. listening to their heart beating. Many emotions to be had#after the exam's over he asks them point blank how theyre feeling. And Flower looks up at him still seeming a little disoriented. and then#they lower their hand to their stomach and mutter 'My tummy hurts...a-and my throat burns'. It's to be expected after the way the void#left their body. so he goes to grab them some water and meds and they also ask for food and a mirror. And after he returns they just stare#at themself in the mirror and pull on their bangs for a while then blurt out 'I have your eyes' when PK asks if everything's okay. And he#and he almost chokes up as he replies 'Yeah...Yeah you do'. Flower eventually spins a lie that they remember everything but its all distant#and blurry. Like they were not aware until now. They figured it'd be better to not break their hearts#And now the three have to figure out how to be a family while PK is also scrambling to find a new solution to the infection#oops i meant to only give a brief rundown in the tags which is why it was in the tags. but i got too invested KDHDKFB
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
dating simon riley means constant clinginess. large arms wrapped around your waist at any given moment, simon is most comfortable when he's holding you. after being away from a long mission, he'll find you wherever you are in your shared apartment and silently crawl into your arms like a puppy. he'll bury his face into the crook of your neck, slowly inhaling to bask in your scent that he missed more than anything. with an amused chuckle, you'll wrap your arms around his warm torso, gently rubbing his back. "no hello?" you'll tease, to which you always earn a content hum in response, along with simon's hold tightening ever so slightly.
dating simon riley means lots of playful teasing. if you make a typo in a text message, he'll begin spelling the word as your typo for the rest of the day. if you believed in a silly fact, he'd bring it up for the rest of your life. "this is like when you thought our blood was actually blue" he'd snicker, which would cause you to whine for him to stop and swat his arm.
dating simon riley means constantly being cared for. simon is a man who can do everything, or at least tries to. he somehow manages to get to all the chores before you do, which has ended in you reassuring him that you can handle it many, many times. when doing something potentially dangerous like standing on a ladder, handling a knife or using tools, simon will constantly glance in your direction to make sure something won't slip and injure you. like a spidey sense, he's quick to pull you away or come to your rescue if you're in a situation where you're about to hurt yourself. "you alright?" he'll mumble softly, dark eyes laced with worry that is a rare sight to be seen by anyone else.
dating simon riley means you have a second wardrobe. his large clothes are just too comfortable to resist, and he's often left searching the apartment for a shirt that you had placed amongst your own clothes. though, he makes no effort to steal them back from you, as seeing you in his tshirt, his boxers and his hoodie fills him with a loving possessiveness. he'll walk into the kitchen to see you turned away as you wash dishes, wearing one of his shirts as a short dress. managing to silently sneak behind you even with his bulky frame, he'll wrap his arms around you from behind and place a kiss against the nape of your neck. "you look so pretty in my shirt, love." he'll then purr into your ear.
dating simon riley means seeing a side of him that many never do. whether it be physically or personality wise, you see so much of simon that you can't remember the last time you referred to him as ghost. his large pointy nose, his dirty blonde hair that he always forgets to fix in the mornings, and his lopsided smile that appears when you tell the corniest of jokes are all things that many have never seen and never will. he speaks so softly to you; a low tone that you can feel reverberating in his chest when you lay against him. simon is kind, patient and vulnerable with you, and will mutter the words "i love you" against your lips, just loud enough for only you to hear.
dating simon riley means being friends with the rest of the 141. you were the one who wished to host hangouts at your apartment, wanting those closest to simon to like you. despite their intimidating demeanors, you quickly realized just how kind they were. they know just how important you are to simon, which is a rare feat in itself, so they would never treat you in an ill manner. soap will always refer to you as "the missus" when speaking to simon, which never fails to make you giggle when you overhear their conversations.
masterlist
#just a small blurb bc i wanted to write smth#im working on fics i promise!!#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost cod#call of duty#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#mw2#mw3#modern warfare#fluff#headcanons#x reader#imagine
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
TADC: Thoughts on Jax in Episode 2
Thoughts on Jax after Amazing Digital Circus Episode 2 Dropped.
Massive spoilers below the cut. Just watch the ep before you read.
Amazing Digital Circus had an amazing second episode as we're introduced more to what the adventures are like, and what NPCs are like and ofc the existential horror of being a living AI only created for a source of entertainment.
Also, I love the dream sequence at the beginning, because we actually get some deeper insight into Pomni's thoughts on Ragatha. Feeling like her helpfulness is the guise of like "man, you're not cut out for this like the rest of us" which is typically something a lot of people who have been bullied in highschool perceive genuine acts of kindness and engagement. (which I kind of suspect Pomni might have been, or at least, been a shut-in and didn't have a lot of friends in her human life. )
Jax wasn't really the main focus of the episode, but it wasn't really until the end of the episode I understood his behavior and what this episode is foreshadowing overall.
Since while Jax isn't the focus emotionally, he is definitely the plot device to push things forward. And I mean, a plot device in a very active and quite literal way. He's the one that causes Pomni to clip out of the map, takes advantage of everyone and is just... genuinely an unpleasant person.
I actually really like this.
As, I know the first episode in the digital circus, many people (me included) could perceive or analyze Jax's actions as someone who is "helping" in a roundabout asshole way. Episode Two has none of that here. He just wants Bloodshed, And I love that we're getting additional context on his character.
It's hard to tell how much fan reception Gooseworx saw of episode one before episode two hit production, so I don't know how much of the fandom perception of Jax had an influence on the writing process, but I can't deny that might have been a factor in assuring us "no he's not secretly helpful, he's just an asshole" But I'm just going to assume that this has been part of his characterization from the start and it becomes way more clear as the episode goes on.
But there was something in his behavior throughout this whole episode that seemed off to me. Like Jax was taking up a majority of the B-plot, while Pomni had the A-plot. So I was wondering why Jax seemed to be the protagonist with the B-plot when Pomni was the A-plot when they seemed to be so disconnected with eachother in motivations and telling us things about the characters.
But then it hit me when the episode ended and the two plots merged together.
"who... knows... what could happen..."
And then it hit me.
Pomni finds comfort in an NPC who is going through a similar experience to her and can emphasize, despite their being other humans who have gone through the same thing, due to her self-admitting to being a loner in her human life. Well, she didn't admit it outright, but from how she perceives Ragatha's kindness as an act, or patronizing, it seems like she doesn't have a lot of friends...
Meanwhile... Jax... He treats the adventure like a videogame. Why shouldn't he? He's trapped in a videogame, right? But it really goes beyond that.
The fellow humans that Jax is trapped with, he treats THEM like they're NPCs, while Pomni treats the NPC like they're human.
Jax says to Gangle "Aren't you supposed to be the suggestible one?" Which you wouldn't typically wouldn't say to a person, right? That's something you would say more about a character that you maxed out the dialogue trees in.
He calls Pomni "His Bridge" even.
They're his objects. His tools, his own npcs he's exhausted the dialogue options on.
Jax dehumanizes the players in a way that Pomni humanizes the NPCS.
These are two opposite ends of the spectrum but what really sold it for me was Jax's reaction to the funeral.
And Jax is the one member out of the cast who doesn't even show up to the funeral. (aside from Caine and Bubble but they are AI.)
He does NOT want to think about the Players as real people. And showing that opposite perspective compared to Pomni I think is much as important going forward.
Jax was the plot catalyst of this entire episode, and served the thematic theme of the episode quite well, even if it didn't look like it on first glance.
I absolutely loved this episode and I can't wait for more.
Also... Poor Pomni can't have shit in Detroit
#the amazing digital circus#tadc#tadc jax#Jax#danachan's rants#digital circus#the amazing digital circus spoilers#tadc spoilers
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..
Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?
Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.
As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.
That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.
Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.
I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"
But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.
It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!
And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.
And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.
idk it just makes me feel things ok
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
never going back again - 03
summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup
simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader
warnings: mdni (18+), mention of nudity, mention of food, simons a flirt
prev part masterlist next part
a/n: haven’t proofread this yet, sorry for any grammatical errors
It’s a loud banging that wakes you, echoing through the walls of the small cottage, shifting frames on the wall as it continues.
In a sleepy daze you remember how Simon had mentioned he was going to fix the shower, something about mould and needing to redo the tile, what you didn’t recall was him saying he’d start work promptly at 7am, effectively disrupting your peaceful slumber.
You trudge your way out of the bedroom, wrapping the blanket around your form for some warmth as you stand in the doorway to the bathroom, heavy eyes watching him.
It takes him no time at all to acknowledge your presence, probably due to whatever training he’d acquired over the years, he could notice a mosquito shift from 10 feet away, such keen eyes.
He turns to you, his dark clothes sprinkled with powdered remnants of tile, “Did I wake you?”
You smile weakly, “You know there’s no rush, can always start these things, I dunno, in the afternoon”
“Woke up early, wanted to get a head start”
“Head start, sure, yeah” You dig your palms into your eyes, trying to rub the sleep from them, he drops his tools, moving closer to you and gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists, tugging them from your face.
“How’d you sleep love?”
“You mean before you shook my entire house at the crack of dawn? Very well, you’re quite comfortable”
“Am I?”
You smile, shifting your arms to wrap around him, letting the blanket draped on you fall to the floor, he snakes a hand behind your head, tugging it against his chest as he lifts his mask slightly, planting a kiss on the crown of your head.
“How long is this gonna take?”
“Shouldn’t be more than two days”
“You understand this is my only washroom”
“I know”
“And I use it”
“Mhm”
“Please don’t destroy it”
“Wouldn’t dream of it”
You peak your head around him, getting a full glance at the room, it’s a complete mess, tools and dust everywhere, fallen tiles scattering the floor.
“Oh my god”
He pulls back, following your line of sight, “It’s not that bad”
“Not that bad, Simon, be serious”
“You still have the bathtub”
You huff, your forehead falling into his chest, “Just, promise me you know what you’re doing”
He scrunches his face under his mask, “I know what I’m doing” Running his hands up your arms, lying.
“Okay, I’m trusting you”
“Go get some tea love, I’ll take a break soon”
You lift your head from him, gazing up at his masked face before turning around, picking up your fallen blanket and making your way to the kitchen, jolting at the sudden clanging from a wall away and silently praying he wouldn’t destroy your entire washroom.
It’s takes him a few hours before the banging stops, your hearing feeling like it was permanently damaged from the consistent noise as Simon emerges, completely covered in dust.
You bite back the smile that pulls on your lips as you watch him saunter in, reaching for a mug and pouring himself a cup of tea before dramatically huffing a breath while he sits down.
“Done yet?”
He chuckles lightly, shaking his head, “Done taking the old tile down”
“Seems like it took all your energy old man”
“Old man?”
You laugh lightly into your tea,
“Believe me love, I’ve got energy to spare” He smirks under his mask as you choke into your tea, drops of the liquid spurting from the mug as your cheeks flush.
You clear your throat, tilting your head lightly “Wanna use some of it to help me in the garden?”
“Give me five minutes”
You smile, standing from your chair and walking beside him, placing a hand to his shoulder and dragging it along the skin as you walk away.
It takes him more than 5 minutes to meet you, more interested in watching you move around the land whilst sipping his tea, the privacy granting him the opportunity to drink properly without the hindrance of his mask, he made a mental note to buy you proper tea considering the stuff you had tasted like wet dirt to him.
By the time he found you in the garden he had changed his clothes, opting for a more comfortable t-shirt and jeans, the man looked damn good, his arms flexing under the thin cloth that allowed you perfect sight of the ink on his arm.
“Must be hot with that mask on all the time”
“M’not gonna take it off” He groans, standing behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, he leans in to your ear “Yet”
You bite you lower lip as the thoughts flash through your mind, really you didn’t mean the words in a teasing way, more of an observation but now all you could think about was what he looked like. You knew his eyes were dark and his lips were full and pink, that his jaw was muscular and stubbled, from the few angles he granted you, you could tell he had scars on his face, specifically one that spanned his chin going down and another that cut through his left eyebrow.
It was enough, the small glimpses of him, the mystery intriguing but now there was a desire to know him under the mask, how he looked alongside who he was.
“Okay” You break yourself from your thought,la, pulling his arms from you and turning around, “I need you to help me plant these”
“Yes ma’am”
You hand him a small shovel, kneeling in the dirt, “So dig a small hole here, and then just put the pods in and cover them”
“Seems simple enough”
“So you won’t mess up?”
“I didn’t say that”
You smile, “Just do your best, need these to eat”
You watch him struggle to choose spots to dig, clearly overthinking his moves as he twists his body, reaching across the beds.
You shake your head, patting down the dirt in front of you at you settle one of the plants, untangling the vines and sitting back, wiping your hand across your forehead.
“Just plant it Si”
He whips his head to you, his eyes glued to your face in a panicked manner, it makes you uneasy,
“You okay?”
You slowly reach a hand down to rest on top of his, watching his reaction,
“Yeah fine” He shakes his head, “No one’s called me that in a long time, took me by surprise”
“Oh, m’sorry it just slipped out”
“No, I like it, sounds nice coming from you”
“Oh” You turn your gaze down, how did he always manage to make you so nervous, his hand meets your jaw, moving your gaze up to him as he holds you, his other thumb moving to swipe across your forehead.
“Got somethin”
He shows his palm, a smear of dirt on it as you realize, using your own hand to wipe it, you glance down at your body, stains of grass and soil covering you as you laugh.
“You’re filthy”
“You’re no better” You joke, gesturing to the clumps of spilt soil on his lap,
“Could probably use a shower”
“You think you’re so funny”
“Sometimes yeah”
You huff, grabbing a small handful of soil and tossing it at him, he closes his eyes for a moment, “Seriously”
You can’t fight the laughter that erupts from you, the dirt sticking to his sweat covered skin as he looks at you.
You yelp as he pounced on you, throwing your body back into the dirt as he hovers over your frame, his fingers tickling at your sides as you writhe under him.
“Say you’re sorry”
“Will not” You manage through laughs
His fingers poke at your skin, smearing the dirt from his arms onto your clothes in the process,
“Please, can’t breath”
He leans back with a smile, watching your heavy breaths raise your chest as your arms fall to the ground.
“Apologize”
“I’m-“
You’re sentence is cut short as you hear a car pull up, it’s door slamming shut, Simon jumps from you in full fight mode, extending an arm back to keep you guarded as a man exits the vehicle.
You squint your eyes at him, pushing Simons arm down gently as you recognize the person.
“William?”
“Hey doll”
Simon looks between you and the man, a sudden fire burning under his skin at the pet name, he stands back slightly as you approach him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Who’s this?”
You glance at Simon, giving him a small smile before turning back, “A friend”
The term feels like a punch to his chest.
“Pleasure” William extends a hand to Simon who neglects to shake it, eyeing the smaller man’s frame before turning back to you.
“What do you want”
“Came to drop something off, or someone rather”
He walks toward the car, opening the back door quickly as you watch a furry mass sprint toward you, gasping as you kneel down to meet it.
He licks your face as you scrunch it, running your hands over his fur, laughing as he prances around you before he catches Simons scent.
Simon watches the animal intently, studying it’s moves, as it approaches him quickly, jumping to his chest, licking his arms.
“He missed you, and I’m moving”
You tilt your head to him, “Moving?”
“Going to Spain, my mums sick”
“Will I’m so sorry”
“S’alright, just figured Riley needed a better place to stay”
“Yeah of course, thank you”
“We’ll I’ll get out of your hair, seems your busy, it was nice meeting you Simon”
Ghost is at a loss for words, he simply nods toward the man, his gaze focused on Riley.
“Seems he likes you”
“Where’d you get this dog” His tone is serious
“We adopted him when Will and I were together, he’s a retired-“
“Spec ops dog”
“Yeah? How’d you know”
“This is my dog”
“Simon what are you talking about?”
“I work in the military, that’s my job”
“And Riley was yours?”
“For a few years yeah, last they told me he’d retired in the states”
“They didn’t let you keep him?”
“Not protocol, I’m not home much”
“Home” The word triggers something in your mind, he’s not home, this isn’t his house, you’d been so caught up in being around him you’d completely forgot that he has a life outside yours.
Simons eyes crinkle as he plays with the dog, rough housing with him as they roll in the dirt, “We should get inside, looks like rain”
“Be in, in a minute love”
You walk slowly toward the house, resting your back against the front door and shutting your eyes, why hadn’t you thought about him leaving, there were people relying on him, it’s not like he could stay forever.
Even with the anxiety in your chest, your heart swells at the sight of Simon playing with Riley, even in the short time you’d known him, you’d never seen him this comfortable, he was so happy.
You glance at your arms, caked in dirt and sweat, deciding you needed to wash off. Stumbling over the mess of the washroom to turn on the bath, closing your eyes as you sink into the warm water.
Losing track of time in the water you notice your skin had grown wrinkled, scrubbing off the last bits of dirt and stepping out, wrapping a towel around your body and carefully navigating around the room.
Apparently during your alone time, Simon and Riley had moved their fun into the house, moving around the rooms together as they settled in.
You open the door, bumping directly into Simons chest, your nerves jumping as you collide. In a panic your towel falls,
“Sorry I didn’t see you” He struggles to get the last words out, his eyes roaming your naked form as you quickly move to cover yourself,
“Oh my god!” You reach for your towel but Riley runs over, grabbing it with his teeth and running away, “Riley! No, not a toy!”
Your cheeks flush with heat as you glance up, Simons eyes glued to you, your own eyes blown wide as you scurry away, slamming your bedroom door shut.
“Hey, wait” He follows you, leaning against your door as you drop your head to your hands on the other side.
“Please, go away”
“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad”
“You saw my whole body”
“Lucky me”
“Simon” You laugh,
“It was bound to happen at some point”
“Well these are awful circumstances”
He moves the door open slightly, his eyes on your face as you hide behind the wood, face flush, he smiles, reaching to lift his mask slightly as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss.
“You’re so beautiful”
You take a deep breath, smiling against his lips before shoving him back and closing the door. He sits down, back resting against the door as you shuffle around in your room, quickly throwing on clothes.
“I’m serious, the most perfect girl i’ve ever seen, honestly just can’t believe it took this long for you to get naked”
You open the door quickly, his body falling backwards onto the ground, wincing lightly as he laughs, his eyes opening to see you standing above him.
“You’re very cocky, has anyone ever told you that?”
“Actually yeah”
Shaking your head you step over him, making your way to the kitchen, Riley following closely behind you.
Simon appears in the door frame, watching you pull food from the fridge, tossing items into pots and onto the cutting board.
“You hungry?” Twisting your head over your shoulder,
“Starved”
He rests an arm above his head against the frame, watching you cook, his hand extended down to pet Riley, this was perfect, the life he never knew he wanted, he had you and his dog and goliath his own little family.
He gives you some space to work, settling on the couch while Riley rests at his feet, seemingly tired out from the day. He reaches for the small tray of electronics on the table, toying with his comms for a moment before piecing it together finally, clipping in the missing cord.
There’s a massive weight on his shoulders, he knows what he has to do, he has a team waiting on him, a family, less conventional yes, but a family none the less, the team were his brothers, he had to get in contact.
He grabs his comm, tucking it to his ear before moving into the bedroom, closing the door so you couldn’t hear.
“Bravo Delta, this is Ghost”
He waits a few minutes before repeating himself, double checking his channel, those few minutes make his heart sink lower, either no one was there and his team had forgotten him, or his comms really were destroyed, and he could stay with you.
“Ghost?”
“Captain, good to hear your voice”
“Christ Son, we thought you’d died”
“Not yet Sir, just a little misplaced”
“Send your coordinates, we’ll get you evac”
“Negative Sir, I’ve got hostiles in the city near”
“Can you get out? We need you on base”
“How much time can you give me?”
He hears Price take a deep breath, murmuring to someone else in the room, “Three days Simon, then I’m sending everyone I have to get you”
“Copy, see you in three days”
“Be careful”
The line goes dead, Simons worries surfacing, he had three days, he didn’t want to face the idea of leaving you let alone how you’d react when he told you, he’d finally gotten his family, he wouldn’t give it up this easy.
tag list: @pepsicolacoochie @coolbanana44 @konigsblog @lialacleaf @mli345 @gghoulzz @fuckface-6996
#cod mw2#simon riley x reader#cod mw x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#ghost cod#ghost x reader#mw2022#ghost mw2#call of duty mwii#cod x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
landscape with honey
summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here)
tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader
-
He starts showing up at your house at odd hours.
You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.
You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.
The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet.
He pays for the whole order.
You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you.
John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you.
John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing.
The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.
“Hi Jo—” you start.
“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock.
“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”
“Get in the car.”
“This is my only time to exercise!”
“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”
You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console.
He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.
“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”
“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff.
You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”
“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him.
"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."
John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."
The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning.
“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.
“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away.
“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?”
You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under.
The first week of December hits town like a truck.
You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.
It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance.
A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue.
The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first.
You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.
It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you.
You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.
You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that.
When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark.
You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake.
It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.
Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.
A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.
“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress.
Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.
Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.
“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”
He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water.
“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there.
Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out.
Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance.
“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed.
The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.
“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”
“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.
He hums instead of answering.
“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur.
His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again.
“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”
“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan.
“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”
“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up.
Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch.
“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”
He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip.
When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”
He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back.
You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you.
His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”
You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”
“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”
“The winter?”
“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”
“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”
Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside.
He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.
“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”
“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized.
He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”
You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured.
“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”
Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble.
You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly.
Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache.
You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle.
There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor.
“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you.
“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”
“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”
It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky.
Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs.
He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.
You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body.
When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you.
“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.
Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#captain price#captain john price#cod price#john price#price/reader#price x reader#price x you#john price x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
Yandere Francis, headcannons of how we met into him gaining feelings that slowly turn into obsession and him kidnapping us etc etc.
Say it again.
;Gender neutral reader
Warning: obsession,toxic relationship,Stockholm syndrome,manipulation,swearing
Additional information: Reader is a baker
A/n: I’m not much experience with yandere type of stuffs, but I’m more welcome to try! Also this is actually my first request, and I hope I made it to your liking!
I’d say he did hear from the other tenants that there was gonna be a new person in the apartment but he didn’t really try and meet the person, to focus on his job and the doppelgänger situation
That is until of course, you went and greeted him yourself by knocking on his door and giving him a bag of cookies before bidding goodbye
The cookies were delicious btw, he couldn’t stop eating them
And one day as an act of gratitude for giving him the cookie, he came by at your apartment and gave you a couple of bottle milk
Supposedly he was just gonna thank you and give the tray of bottle of milks, but you insisted on letting him inside and get to know each other for a bit
That’s when he learns you were actually a baker and that you own a bakery
Huh..no wonder
You guys were on friends terms now
You always buy milk from him saying, the consistency of the milk was great
He gives milk and you give cookies, a win/win
The feelings started to appear after a month or so
It started off small he feels lighter and energized whenever you’re around, and he would get excited just by seeing your face
He started talking to you more, often times he would write letters to you whenever he’s out in the city for a few days
Day by day his feelings started to grow stronger and stronger, to the point he can’t go a day without even seeing your face once
But when he realized you liked him back, he had to double check if he heard you right
He made you say it again and again before he hugged you and thank the god’s above
You two started to live with each other after that
It was peaceful and comforting
Morning kisses is a must.
He comes home later than you, and he’s always happy to receive your kisses afterwards
But the peace..didn’t last long
He started to grow more and more possessive
It started off small..you didn’t mind it at all
Until he started to isolate you from others
You confronted him of course, but he brushed it off saying it was for the best
You didn’t say anything about it, thinking it was him being protective considering the doppelgänger situation
But when he asked you to close your bakery saying it was for the best
That’s when the argument started.
You defended yourself, telling him you can’t close the bakery because of his overprotective tendencies
It was your passion and it was your dream to open up a bakery
Closing it down meant all the efforts you had done to achieve this goes to waste.
The bastard told you that you can still bake in the apartment.
You called him crazy and tried to leave but he had an iron grip on your wrist and pulled you into a bedroom
Then locked it, saying this is for the best
You tried knocking the door down
you tried finding some tools that can help, a fail..
Even the windows were ironed shut
Heck even the windows are ironed shut.
The bastard planned all of this from the start and you didn’t even notice it.
The last few days you gave him the silent treatment
Only ever opened the door to give you food or water
If you didn’t eat he will force feed you.
He tried reasoning with you
That this is all for the best and for your safety
And that you don’t need anyone else but him.
Slowly he started to be more affectionate with you
Oh how you crave those touches..
It has been so long since you received affection like these
Slowly his words got to your mind
Maybe he was right
I mean he provides food,water,shelter,heck he even bought tools so you can bake in the apartment
And all you have to do was accept the situation and that you only needed him.
And no one else.
#francis mosses#francis mosses x gn!reader#francis mosses x male reader#francis mosses x reader#thats not my neighbor#thats not my neighbor x gn!reader#thats not my neighbor x male reader#thats not my neighbor x reader#x male reader#x reader#x gn reader#yandere#yandere francis mosses#yandere thats not my neighbor
713 notes
·
View notes
Text
“withering desires of a cruel man with broken confessions” ; aventurine
to you : 🧀 nonnie !! i hope you had a wonderful birthday and i’m sorry for taking a long time to finish this but hey, it’s done now (finally). belated happy birthday and i wish you all the best <33
premise — his belief that he doesn’t deserve the good things is rooted deeply underneath the dirt where he buries his corpse, and he doesn’t deserve you; this is an ode to clementia and he wishes that his song reaches you.
tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, fluff to angst, friends to friends that knows they like each other, orange as a metaphor for love, angry and forced love confessions, aven my self-sabotage and mixed signals king, 1.5k ; one-shot
note — made while listening to phoebe bridgers, faye webster, adrianne lenker, and ichiko aoba. this was supposed to be a short drabble about peeling oranges and sharing with them what happened
They say clementines are a symbol for mercy—gentle, soft, and sweet, like an echo of the sun.
There’s the fresh smell of citrus in the air as he delicately pulls its skin to reveal its form, a warm burst of sunset trapped within its fragile walls, and his nails will be tainted by the color of its penance and he’ll forget what it feels like to only have hatred in his heart. Maybe that’s how forgiveness tastes; salvation will fill his blood as he sheds tears that carry his sins (they were never his).
“I don’t know how you can do that flawlessly.” You say, your voice drenched in wonder and amazement as you watch the movement of his fingers, adeptly peeling the fruit. The sections come apart neatly and perfectly in his hands.
He smiles, “It’s easy.”
“It’s not.” You insist, reminding him of the horror of the state the orange has become when you tried to share it with him. “Did you see the holes I tore through it? I was left with nothing but the mere coat because the juice sprayed in all directions.”
The sound of laughter forms in his throat and escapes, “It’s because it was small and the skin is hard. Come on.” He holds a small piece near your face and you part your lips open enough for him to feed you; a warm feeling resides in your cheeks as you chew. There’s a burst of sweetness, with hints of sourness that lingered in its nature in your mouth—it reminds you of the night when he held your form and gently guided you to the melody of the song.
“Is it sweet?” He asks, his head tilted a little to the side as he bores his gaze at you. There are lingering touches, whispered honey-coated words, affectionate gestures, and eyes painted of different vivid hues and contrasting pristine tones that never seem to hold the light, only reflecting your form within. You hum, nodding your head as you answer, “You should teach me how to peel them, you know. I don’t want to be calling you everytime or having to rely on you too much.”
(Truthfully, and hopefully so, may you never learn so he’ll get to be this close to you always.)
He smiles, sunshine peeking through his expression, “I wouldn’t mind.” He wouldn’t mind if it were just a small matter or nothing at all, you can keep on calling for him, ask for his assistance or simply just his presence—he’ll come running to you. He whispers, “Use me as you wish,” and his words shatter as it falls to the ground. (See him as a tool that has never known its purpose. See him as worthless but mere dust that covers your window sills. See him as nothing but a fool who never understood the lines in his heart.)
You say, “You know you’re not just as little as that to me.”
“Then what am I to you?” The comfort of silence settles in the gaps of his fingers and he finds himself seeking, waiting, with bated breath. His gaze seems to still at your eyes before falling to your lips, lingering for a few moments before meeting your eyes once more, and your hands tremble; you know the answer, you know what to say, you know, you know, you know, you know—and, at once, there’s the warm feeling of his lips on yours as you pull him in, as he pulls you in.
It’s gentle, soft in all of its edges and cracks. He holds your face in his hands and you intertwine yours in his locks, and you pull at his hair, eliciting a hum from him. It’s a burst of warmth, the taste of something sweet still left in your tongue as he kisses you. It’s short yet it will be engraved and buried in the depths of your mind for eternity.
“I like you.” You whisper against his lips as you part, eyes heavy on each other yet his gaze wavers and his breath shudders.
“I…” Why else would he continuously seek your embrace? Why else would he prefer to be alone with you even if it’s just silence between you and him (your presence alone brings him comfort)? Why else would he take such time to understand your form and cradle your being as if you were born from glass? He didn’t have your hands carve the shape of his thoughts into the form of your being just so he wouldn’t capture the feeling of your touch on his skin and how he craves, yearns for it like a starved man—and yet, he’ll hold his head down in humiliation as he looks for the words on the ground. He’s worthless, useless, nothing like his ‘luck’ that seems to curse everyone around him, and you’re everything he’s not. “I’m sorry.”
His hands fall from your cheeks and he stands up, saying, “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
The chair screeches beneath him; his thoughts remain silent yet deafening, your voice fading into white noise as you call for him. He has to leave—each of his footsteps are heavy, echoing back to him as if a semblance to contempt and mockery that trails his wake.
Fear and shame forms at the bottom of his lungs. What even is he afraid of? Is it the lack of experience? The fear of abandonment? But humans are not strangers to those thoughts, people are bound to leave and Aventurine wasn’t unfamiliar with that, so how could he be afraid of something that has become a friend to him? Maybe it’s when he’s torn apart from flesh to bones and they’ll see there’s nothing in him—he was born out of barren wastelands and dust, his form has been long since buried under the golden sands. Maybe it's when he’s shown everything to them and they seek for something that he doesn’t have; the disappointment that lies in their expression will forever haunt him. Was it fear or was it worry that nobody could ever love him for what he truly is? Behind the expensive clothes he wears, the shining and heavy jewelry on his wrist, the suffocating rings on his hand, maybe they prefer his skin tainted with letters instead of wounds that brands him as human.
“—Rine.” A hand grasps at his wrist, preventing him from leaving. He stills in his position, feet glued to the floor and his back turned against you. Your voice breaks, “Stay, please.”
He’s stuck, sutured to the ground, hesitation sewing his mouth shut. You urge him to turn around, your fingers tugging at him, so he could face you, so you could see him—he’s tattered, torn and conflicted over something you’ll never know. The unfriendly air of the cold night wraps around his figure, but your hand eases warmth and comfort in his weary bones.
“Why did you kiss me?” You seek for something in the gaps of his expression, looking for a falter in the lines of his features to know the thoughts that he hides beneath all the charades and facades.
“…It was a mistake.”
You answer, frustration slowly seeping into your tone, “You know damn well it’s not.” He knows completely well it’s not and it will never be. And you don’t cry nor plead, you beg with sore, trembling palms for an answer to soothe the disturbance of the waves that will come to swallow you, drowning you in the murky waters of your mind. “You don’t get to hold my hands and cradle me in yours and tell me it’s nothing. You don’t get to look at me in a way that is reminiscent of lovers and tell me it doesn’t mean anything. You don’t get to kiss me and say that it’s a mistake. You’re a cruel man, Aventurine, and you’re unfair for telling me that it was all nothing but a mistake when you haunt my dreams.”
“…I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes for a moment, darkness swallowing his vision yet his mind conjures an image of you in it, berating him. The broken pieces of your words are left scattered on the bottom of yours and his feet.
You ask, voice low, “Do you like me?”
“Why—“
“It’s a yes or no question, ‘Rine. Do you like me or do you not?”
“I love you.” His voice is raised and cracks start to form on the surface of his expression, “and it’s scaring me.” Forgive me. The clock continues to tick despite the world seemingly coming to a still at his words.
The air is suffocating and the silence sits on your shoulders before he says, whispering in a broken tone, “I’m leaving.”
And this time, you don’t stop him. His steps are rushed against the flooring, the sound of the door closing echoes throughout the corners of your mind. The walls of your home stand tall over you, his confession written and tearing through all over your wallpaper, screaming at you; you’re left crumbling on the floor. The sweet scent of citrus lingers in the air, the mess the two of you made still on the counter tops, and you wished you told him you love him too.
tagging @toorurs, the loveliest and sweetest of all. i hope you know that you're cherished and loved by me, and i'm so glad to have you and the sun that touches your skin must be too <33 always be reminded that you're beautiful and i appreciate everything that you do and say (you always make me laugh even when it's just the smallest and useless of things like wow you must have a special talent in making someone smile) !! thank you for always being there for me too and always cheering me up, and also making my day because everything for me nowadays is becoming unbearable and you're the only one that keeps me sane (fk exams and projects and research im going to cry)
© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
#—stellaronhvnters.#hsr imagines#aventurine#hsr aventurine#aventurine honkai star rail#aventurine x reader#honkai star rail#hsr fluff#hsr x reader#hsr angst#hsr#star rail#honkai fluff#honkai imagines#honkai x reader#honkai#aventurine x you#hsr x you#honkai star rail x reader#star rail x reader#azul.writes
477 notes
·
View notes
Text
around the clock
simon 'ghost' riley x reader
genre: fluff! (working drabble!)
warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost
synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–
a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! 🕷 pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3
-
-
-
ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.
-
paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.
ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.
ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle.
ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto.
ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.
ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed.
ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?”
ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.”
ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.”
ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.
ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost#simon riley#call of duty x reader#call of duty#simon riley imagine#cod x reader#simon ghost riley imagine#ghost cod#ghost x you#ghost x y/n
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
sleepy nights in november
pairing; lando norris x girlfriend!fem!reader
word count; 1.5k
synopsis; where practice goes on for a little longer than expected, and you’re extremely jetlagged. (based off of the las vegas gp fp2)
author’s note; this is my first completed fic ahhh! cant believe i actually finished something for once in my life this is a miracle
the library
LAS VEGAS WAS A BRIGHT CITY. So bright, and yet you were still battling with all-consuming darkness.
You’d arrived more than twelve hours ago. Cameras flashed, questions asked, your mind had been buzzing with excitement for the ever-anticipated Grand Prix at the new track. Hundreds of people; reporters, fans, drivers, bustled about. Drones and tripods followed your every move, microphones bursting your personal bubble, screaming people begging for their caps, shirts and babies to be signed. It crossed your mind more than once that you weren’t a driver, yet the cheers of sheer joy echoed when you walked by.
It was exhilarating, truly. You’d never imagined your life would turn out this way, your face being plastered onto live television, a banner across the bottom presenting you as Lando Norris’ girlfriend.
You’d arrived just in time for Free Practice 2, not getting a chance to find the man in orange before he was off and onto the track for the second time two hours later than scheduled. However, you were soon supplied with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a chair to get comfortable with.
It was colder than usual. Your eyes were permanently fixated on the screen above you. No matter how many times you’d watched your boyfriend race, in person or in the comfort of your shared home, it was never any less terrifying. The noises of pure acceleration, the sparks that would occasionally burst from the back of the car, the knowledge of what could happen and what’s already happened several times before. All of it was enough to keep you on your toes, wide awake, and alert every time.
Every single time, except this one.
The low hum of the engine through your headphones did nothing to help you stay focused, time finally beginning to creep its way back up to you. Your boyfriend’s voice calmly updating his engineers, the muffled chatter of the garage, all of it caused your mind to numb and breathing to begin evening out. It was so late. So, so late, and cold.
Your head suddenly lulled to the side causing your eyes to snap open, saving yourself before you slipped off the plastic foldable chair. God, you hoped the live broadcasting cameras were not allowing thousands of eyes to see you right now.
There were some eyes, though, that had seen you. The engineers dressed in orange pottering around were chuckling, they themselves trying to stay awake by toying with tools and fidgeting with other mechanical things that you didn’t understand. Most of them you were quite friendly with by now as you were a frequent member of the McLaren garage, and they all knew you were the one to go to whenever Lando needed a break. They were grateful to have you. An angry Lando is never a fun time.
Which is exactly why they decided to make an executive decision to save you from the concrete floor below. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hurting yourself.
The screen above you began blurring once more, eyes drooping against your will when a hand placed itself onto your shoulder. One of the engineers that Lando was particularly close with was smiling down at you, softly nudging you forward and guiding you to stand up. You looked at him, eyes glossy and brows furrowed, confused.
He sighed amusedly, “I think it’s time for bed.”
Slight slurred protests began to slip out of your lips but were stopped when you wobbled and had to grip onto the top of the chair for balance. The engineer’s hold on your arm tightened and your exhaustion was too heavy to resist as he began leading you towards the driver’s rooms.
You glanced back at the screen showing your boyfriend’s perspective of the car, not wanting to leave but knowing that it’s probably for the best. There wasn’t any action going on, every driver was tired, nobody was pulling any dangerous moves. It was safe enough to walk away, just for a little bit, just this once.
The door to Lando’s driver’s room was opened and you settled onto the small sofa in the corner, wrapping yourself in a papaya-coloured blanket. Darkness enveloped the room as the engineer flipped the switch, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving you to your thoughts for all of two seconds before a soft voice filled your ears. You’d forgotten to take the headphones off.
Lando spoke to his team, his voice calm and soothing, almost as if he knew you were falling into the depths of unconsciousness in that moment. He was safe. You felt safe.
The second he’d hauled himself out of the car, helmet removed, and interviews finished up, he was on the search for you. Often, you would wander off as soon as the car had been parked, for a bathroom break or to have a quick snack, refusing to do it during the race.
He walked back to his room as fast as possible, weaving between hundreds of people who he didn’t bother giving the time of day. Usually, he would’ve stopped and had a little chat, but it was so, so late and his whole body felt like it was about to crumble. All he wanted was to find you, get changed and make the small trek back to your shared hotel room.
The door was unlocked when he arrived, a sure sign that you were inside and waiting. But when he opened the door ready to be greeted with a sweet kiss, all he was met with was complete darkness. Weird.
His hand reached for the switch and light flooded the room. Sure enough, there you were, cuddled up in his bright orange blanket and sound asleep. Your face was half covered and smushed into the arm rest, knees curled into yourself and a set of headphones askew on top of your mussed hair.
The smile that had etched itself onto his face grew when he noticed the headphones. You’d fallen asleep whilst listening to him talk, even when he wasn’t with you. Even when you were jetlagged, cold, and exhausted, you still made sure he was okay. His chest warmed at the thought.
Lando placed the bottle of water he was holding down onto the table beside him, trying his best to be as quiet as possible as he changed from his suit to a hoodie. You didn’t move a muscle, only light breaths filling the silent space.
You looked so peaceful, lashes fluttering every so often. The urge to try and squeeze himself onto the sofa with you was strong, but the more logical side of him told him that it was finally time to head back to the hotel, and if you stayed in that position much longer then your neck would be unbearably stiff by tomorrow morning. He loved you more than anything in the world, so he knew you well enough to know that you would be moaning to him about it once you’d woken up, and not the moaning that he enjoyed hearing.
Carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers across your cheek, moving a few stray strands of hair. Your cheeks were warm, a contrast to Lando’s cool touch that caused you to pull your face away and tuck it further into the safety of his blanket. His lips twitched slightly. You would hate him for this now, but thank him later, he thought, as he swiftly curled his fingers around the edge of the blanket and pulled it down.
Your skin, exposed to the night air, broke out into goosebumps as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. Lando slowly rubbed his palm up and down your arm, bringing his lips to your forehead and kissing you softly.
Your eyelids fluttered open, pupils narrowing to the bright light of the room as an almost silent groan escaped you.
Your eyes darted around for a moment before landing on your boyfriend, crouched down beside you with his hand stroking your hair. He was smiling at you lovingly, eyes squinted and laced with a tinge of mischief. “G’morning, baby.”
You didn’t reply, instead choosing to open your mouth in a yawn directed straight at his face. He chuckled quietly.
“I think it’s time we get you to bed, hm?”
You rested your head back against the armrest, closing your eyes once more, “I’m already in bed.”
“I’m sure you are.” He said, before rising back up to his full height and slipping one hand underneath your neck, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and the other around the back of your knees. Your hand instinctively curled around his bicep as you were lifted into the air, taking note in the back of your mind at how effortlessly he seemed to manoeuvre you.
As Lando began to carefully place you onto your feet, a wave of adoration filled you to the core. He’d just been working for hours straight, and yet here he was taking care of you. The love you had for this boy was absolutely unmatched.
And what better way to show him this than by using the little energy you had restored during your nap to rise onto your tiptoes and press a sweet kiss against his awaiting lips.
#lovekt writes#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#ln4#formula 1#formula one#f1 x reader#f1#formula one x reader#lando norris imagine#fluff#lando norris fluff
922 notes
·
View notes
Text
Like Me Pt. 2
Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Scientist ! Reader
Art by Rendraws21 on X
WARNINGS: Mildly suggestive, power dynamics, emotional distress, endangering situations, Kraven being an asshole.
Summary: Your savior proves himself to be very much real.
A|N: Hope you like! I know you're waiting smut. Just bare with it! ;w; Reblogs and feedback are always welcome ❤️
Previous Miguelverse Main Masterlist
Kraven didn't dally and ordered the camp to be settled. The spot was rather good. A prime source of water and food next to you all, soil sturdy and perfect for withstanding the hard hammering of the tools that nailed the bases for the tents.
And after hours of bickering, russian cursing, more work and the crew doctor patching your arm up, the camp was settled and food served.
Each bite not only felt heavenly, but was scarfed down. You couldn't care less if Peter looked your way, mildly disgusted and surprised of your manners, or rather the lack of them while eating.
It was the least you deserved after surviving a ship sinking, getting lost in the jungle, being chased by a giant Jaguar and a man that left more questions than answers.
Who was he? More important, How had he survived all these years on his own?
After a second plate and extra slices of bread, one of the men approached and announced the readiness of your tent. One of the things you asked in your contract. To have your own, cause as much as you trusted Peter, there was nothing better than to have your own space and privacy in the midst of an unhealthy amount of testosterone surrounding you.
"We've eaten, replenished, and blah blah. What happened?" Peter mumbled while picking his and your plate together.
You shook your head softly as another crew member passed by. You didn't trust them, and Kraven had proved to be unpredictable.
One minute he cared for his crew and the other he was leaving you to fend for yourselves. But as long as you did your job, you wouldn't be part of the russian's guessing dangerous games.
"Kraven said we'd have to make do with the little tools we have. He spent a good time of the day trying to get some signal for the radio."
"Any luck?"
"None so far." Peter mumbled as he took your things inside your tent.
A hammock was the bed, a few boxes and other storage things were placed in a corner. A chalkboard and your investigation books in another corner and against all odds, a little broken mirror that acted as a poor attempt of a vanity ontop of another wooden box. Your hairbrush rested next to it. Whoever arranged it, at least had the consideration to make it as comfortable looking as possible.
In total, you had a couple of shirts and skirts left to use. The rest remained on the sea, floating and drifting away with unknown course.
Peter excused to go change himself and you seized the chance to do the same. Catching a cold in the jungle wasn't in your priorities list. Not with reduced medicine and victuals.
You put on a dry set and combed your hair out as much as you could. Peter joined you a couple of minutes later.
The fire cracked and sparked alive as the crew surrounded it. The day had been chaotic at best and everyone tried to soothe the nerves in their own way. Some drank, others sang, others talked and soon Kraven joined.
Others simply went to sleep. Too tired to keep up after a well deserved meal.
"So..." Peter started while sitting before you, a rag and some tubs on his hands. He was cleaning the remaining pieces of your equipment.
"Promise me you won't talk to anyone about this. And I mean it, Parker."
"I'm a geologist, not a snitch."
"I'm... kinda scared of what might happen if Kraven finds out"
"Now you're scaring me. What happened back there?"
"I know... who killed the beast Kraven is skinning." A gulp rolled down your throat upon remembering the lurid scene displaying before your eyes
"Wait... you said, who?"
A nod from you and Peter paled.
"We're not alone, that's for sure."
Peter rubbed his hands against his face, an exasperated groan escaped him.
"He's taller than Kraven."
"Bullshit." Peter mumbled almost immediate, surprised at your words.
"I'm not bullshittin' you Parker!" You had to hush your voice and soon grabbed a sketch notebook and begun tracing and drawing.
"He's freaking tall, long hair and he's naked. Well, not naked but a loincloth is everything but clothes if you think about it."
Peter frowned suspiciously as his hand pressed on your skin, to see if your body temperature had increased. Jungle fever was one of the worst things a human could suffer when away from their homeland. Cause he refused to believe anything of the nonsense that came out of your mouth was true.
A man taller than Sergei? Impossible. He was tall, but Sergei had been one of the tallest and well built men he had ever came across with.
"What are you doing?" You pushed his hands away and frowned.
"I'm sorry, I do want to believe you but.."
"I'm telling you the truth, Pete! He had... This... red hue on his eyes and fangs!"
"Fangs?" The incredulity in Peter couldn't be hidden the more he listened to your apparent rave.
"He's fucking strong, Pete. He was holding that beast by his tail! and then fought body to body against it! and He's so damn touchy. No respect for personal space!."
"And what? He smashed the jaguar to death and then kissed you?"
"Yes!" You nodded but quickly frowned when Peter tittered on his seat, unable to keep the mirth away.
"Why are you laughing?!"
"I'm sorry. You know we've been friends since college, but you seriously can't expect me to believe that, Dally."
A short for Dalhberg. The surname that put your name out in the researcher's map in London, upon discovering and naming another type of daisy and named it after you. The Dalhberg Daisy.
"You believe in the freaking Queen but refuse to believe in this?"
"I believe in the Queen's acquisitive power, nothing else. Cause I've seen it!" He explained, skeptical.
You showed him the sketch and shoved it to his hands.
"Look at that! That's exactly how he looks like!"
Peter sighed and raked over his eyes on the semi-crumpled paper sheet. Sharp features, a strong jaw and deep eyes.
"Yeah, a haircut would make him look better though." he chuckled, "Look, I know it's been a long day for us... let's rest, ok? We've got another tomorrow."
With a frown you removed the sketchbook away and tossed it on the makeshift vanity.
"He's real." you pointed at the sketchbook
"Okay, okay. He's real. We can discuss it all tomorrow when we're less tired, alright?" He held your shoulders, trying to ease your rising anger.
But you quickly removed his hands from you, hurt that your best friend didn't believe you. "Whatever. Goodnight."
Peter left with a defeated sigh and soon you cuddled in your hammock.
"I know he's real." With a huff, you pushed the pillow closer to your face, letting the day's weight to finally crash on you.
-----
The loud bangs of a gunshot echoed through the bright blue skies, frightening any local fauna that rested comfortably, like you, that nearly fell out the hammock from the initial jumpscare.
With a heavy exhale, and rub of your eyes you geared up for the day.
This time Kraven was thoughtful enough to give you a weapon. A small knife with enough sharp to slice and dice through anything weak enough to perish under the blade.
And soon everyone gathered to the morning structions. Kraven split up the crew in three parts. The first group of men would go to the beach to recover as much equipment as they could. The second group would be in charge to set up traps and hunt down for food. And the third one, meaning Peter, you, two more men and himself would go explore and study the jungle in order to gain any sort of information of new potential species.
You carried a small backpack, filled with your sketchbook, pencils, some essay and sample tubes and some snacks in case Kraven decided to return until dinner time.
And after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, everyone left.
Peter walked behind Sergei, guiding the group whenever the mercenary asked him to. You were in the middle as the other two men trailed with their guns behind.
Morning slowly poured into hours. Tortuous, running at the speed of a snail. Each breathing felt like adding more to the waiting, bringing your nerves to a much annoyed stance.
But it quickly melted away upon finding your first discovery.
The grass laid pressed in a circular pattern on the ground. The leaves were placed strategically, as if used as cushions in great amounts. A couple of fruit carcasses laid next to them. Discarded and forgotten.
"Look at that" The excitement in your voice beyond evident. You crouched to see if there was any other clues to your growing suspicion.
Kraven and Peter stopped upon you crouching to the floor.
"What is it?" Kraven pulled his gun from it's holster and walked over you.
"These are nests!"
"Nests?" His brow quirked and you nodded vigorously, to then count the spots. Around six in total.
"You know what that means? They live in packs! Gorillas live in packs!"
"About damn time we found something." Kraven nodded, pleased as he helped you up to then mark a spot in his map.
"Good job, Dalhberg."
Praised the mercenary before moving.
--
When the sun got high enough and Peter discovered some other findings like rare minerals, the group decided to take a break nearby a lake.
The five of you sat down and ate whatever thing you got left from breakfast.
Once you were done, you took your backpack, pencil and sketchbook with you.
"Where are you going?" Kraven grumbled after gulping down the water from his canteen.
"Saw some specimens of plants Id like to register. Won't take long."
"You better return as soon as possible, understood?"
The mercenary warned and you nodded while walking away from the tree. Excited to partake in the things you were brought and paid to do.
Your first specimen was a moss plant, then a new type of orchid. A fish, some birds and more plants. Even though you studied everything alive, the plants were your speciality.
You put the little backpack in a a nearby trunk as you sat down to draw yet another orchid. The place seemed flooding with them.
Engrossed beyond wits to notice you had drifted off a bit too far from the group and a little too late a baboon sniffing and ransacking your backpack.
"H-Hey! Hey! -The baboon took the backpack away, excited and driven by the tinkling within "Get back here!"
The animal hopped on the trees before you could catch it, with graceful and effortless agility, to finally stop to a sturdy looking and serpent-like shaped trunk above the middle of a swamp.
As much as you wanted to let the monkey get away with it all, you didn't want to face Kraven's anger for losing the last bit of equipment and delay the investigation. You didn't know when the next ship would arrive. None did actually.
It's hoots and chirping only increased the more things he pulled out of your backpack. The tubs shattered as they fell off.
"Stop it!" you shrieked while hopping onto the trunk with wobbly and uneven steps.
The monkey hooted louder until it started shrieking, as if mocking you whenever your balance failed and you were forced to crawl over the top.
"God, I swear... if I catch you, I'm so making an article on how annoying you are!"
The baboon just screeched at your silly threat once more before leaving your backpack pending from a twig as he jumped way through the stretched branches that favored him like open arms, with your bag of seeds.
Your breath hitched when the trunk creaked and some cracking around the base perked up your ears.
Shit.
You couldn't stop and return crawling from where you came from, not when the backpack was oh so close to be reached and your nightmare to be over.
With a deep breath, you crawled closer and closer. Paused breaths turned controlled, but quickly grunted when the hem of your skirt stuck in a jagged branch.
"No, no" You whined and pulled away, the trunk creaked harder and you immediately hugged the trunk.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" with a firm yet calculated yank, you ripped the fabric away, freeing yourself although losing a good chunk of front coverage.
A thunderous crack made your breath hitch and you moved forward as the trunk stuttered midair. It was then your eyes actually considered the generous and dangerous distance from your position to the murky water. But the backpack dangling before you, edged you to take a risky decision.
Or you took the backpack and threw it on land, hoping to take the least damage as possible or jumping to that other branch to avoid falling to the water.
None of them happened as the tree dipped forward, and with a dying groan, the cracks widened, tearing the feeble base of the trunk, unable to support your weight any longer.
As in slow motion, you saw the murky water closer and closer and closer, until nothing but darkness swallowed you whole. Cold and muddy water hit you, suffocating your body with enraged water that fought hard to drown you.
Your hands were the only thing that made it out as they failed. The sub aquatic flora begun their tangling in your boots and legs, pulling you down.
Your lungs burned as some water seeped through, the backpack sunk deeper and deeper. Like a sacrifice in exchange of your life. Because a strong pair of tanned hands pulled you with a powerful yank by the forearm, out of the water before death and crocodiles owned it.
Your head too dizzy to actually understand what was happening. Your eyes could only see the landscape sliding smoothy underneath your feet, like if you were flying.
Am I dead? Dead people don't fly, do they?
You shrieked as soon as your eyes looked upwards. Powerful and solid thighs held tightly on the growing vines, that spurted from underneath the gigantic trees, as one of his hand took your arm gently to suddenly pull you up in the air and catch you in his arms.
Your instincts told you to hold onto him as the other survival mode blared with danger alarms. The massive wall of solid muscles he had for a body was warm, full of scars and plush hair that did nothing but welcome your dizzy head on his chest.
The man quirked a brow at your sudden state. He frowned and quickly got over the foliage of a tree, before the pouring rain trapped you both.
You were put with ease against the solid and definitely not rotting trunk, and your body lurched to the side to expell away the swallowed water, clearing your airways.
A firm slap from his hand made your lungs to finally get some air as you gasped and coughed, all the while he watched you curiously.
You were drenched, against a tree, clothes sticking way too intimately against your shivering body, breathing like you were a first born, raged and fast. Lungs burned less.
Eyes finally widened when recognizing the man before you. Some fresh scars littered his Greek-god type physique.
"T-Thank you." You mumbled through clattering teeth and forced yourself to take a deep inhale to control the rising anxiety.
He grunted and approached. One of his hands slid gently under your chin to take a hold of your cheek. Your head instinctively melted into his heavenly body heat, and your eyes dared to shut for a minute. Relishing in the irradiating warmth his calloused hands provided.
He's so warm.
As if sensing the good deed, the man rubbed his hands on your cold arms, mindful of the patches around your arm, a couple of times before going back up to your cheeks and neck.
You gasped as soon as his hands were placed on your chest. His hands gently palming your breast but quickly let them go upon feeling your hardened nipples. You quickly covered your chest
He watched his hands, as if inspecting them for any damage when he felt the hardened nub, to then return to your arms, prying them away from your chest.
"Wait!"
You shrieked and he took both of your wrists with one hand and hovered them above your head, squishing them against the tree, softly. His eyes raked and took in every feature of you, before stopping at your chest again.
Your breath hitched as he slid the other hand inside your shirt. Cheeks turned impossibly warmer when he took one of your breasts and pulled it out of their confinements.
He examinated the perky mound with puppy wonder-like curiosity and then looked down his own chest. He frowned. His didn't swell like yours did.
"Wh-What are you doi-" you bit your lip as he poked your nipple, sniffed it and licked it. Earning a short mewl from you.
The sound startled him and he let you go.
"T- That's not a polite thing to do!"
You quickly put the breast back and swung your hand to slap him. You had to admit his reflexes were something else cause it caught it before it collided against his face.
"How dare you?!" You struggled to let your hand go, but stopped your outburst when his eyes watched your hands and brought them before his ever curious face.
His own hand reached up, and placed itself before yours, comparing the stretched and long digits against your smaller ones. They weren't the same size, that was much true, but the texture and lines he had were the same on yours.
His eyes shone brighter than any bewilderment. His mind had finally clicked together at the sudden epiphany that flooded his brain.
You were like him.
He pursed his lips before letting out an excited grunt. He backed away to create enough space for his arms to move freely.
He pointed to himself and spoke with the deepest yet excited voice he could manage.
"Miguel."
Your eyes went wide and you approached. He tried again while pointing at his chest.
"Mi guel."
"Miguel." His nose flared proudly and his throat grunted happily.
"Oh! I see!"
His ears perked up upon hearing your name.
"OhIsee!" He repeated.
But you quickly corrected him, with your name as you pointed to yourself and then called his name as you pointed at him.
A buttery crawl rolled down your spine as he mumbled your name.
"Exactly." you smiled.
He cupped your face again and mumbled your name once more. However, the sound of a gunshot tearing through the skies disrupted his attention from you and stood at the edge of the branch.
"Kraven" You gasped. Completely forgetting about him and the group.
Oh no...
Trouble was a tiny word of the deep neck shit you were into. Another shot rippled through, frightening the birds in the ratio.
"Kraven!" He repeated, excited.
Extraordinary. There wasn't any word to describe him better. He took you back, trapping you in between his muscular thighs and swinging through vines.
The more you approached the camp, the clearer you saw this massive black and brown spots moving away from the settlement.
Your hearth thumped with violence upon finally standing before a small group of gorillas, sniffing and hooting softly upon seeing Miguel.
Your savior wasted no time in pulling you closer to them. You shook your head, rightfully frightened.
"No, no, no wait!"
The gorillas huffed to then sniff your head, your clothes. Some even pulled at your hair softly, others examinated the clothes you were in.
Another gunshot echoed closely this time and it was loud enough to spook out the beasts out that pulled Miguel with them. You could only watch him, wide eyed, expectant. But he left.
"Miguel..."
----
Kraven wasn't one for losing his temper with women. But you, had the annoying ability to make his patiece turn to dust in the least opportunes of moments.
"I asked you, where the fuck have you been?!"
He dragged you to the center of the crew and threw you on the floor.
"I told you, I almost drowned! Why do you think I'm like this?!"
Kraven spat a few words in his native language under his breath and grunted
"You lost your equipment, didn't you?"
"I... I tried to get it back but I almost drown in the swamp, Sergei!" you explained with nothing but the truth
"You can't swim, don't you bullshit me.!"
"I'm telling you the truth!"
"Then how you survived!?"
Peter frowned as he looked at you.
"I was saved. Ok? A man saved me!"
"A man?"
"He's... Not like us. He's taller than you and he saved me!" you kept pressing, hoping the angered mercenary understood that you didn't do anything in purpose to upset him.
"He knows how to swing through the vines! And dropped me here! His name is Miguel. "
Everyone stared with derision at you and Peter seemed concerned you stuck with your story so bad to the point of risking your own neck and reputation.
Kraven' brows furrowed into a scowl and soon he pulled his revolver out and pointed at you.
Your face turned to panic, as your hands rose shakily.
"A savage named Miguel helped you?"
"He did! Otherwise you'd still be looking for me."
Kraven snorted without removing the gun's aim from your body.
"Funny you think I'd waste my resources to look up for a stupid woman like you."
"Please, you have to believe me! I saw gorillas around the camp!"
Kraven removed the safety pin from the revolver, as if peeved you'd waste his time and resources into being an idiot and not doing your work as he required.
Time was ticking and he still had no news, and for you to be fantasizing about savages and doing stupid things such as endangering yourself had proved you weren't reliable.
"You're not reliable, anymore, Dahlberg."
"No! Sergei listen to me-"
He pointed the gun once more to you "I can't keep unreliable people within my crew."
"I'm not lying!" You pleaded with all your might and tears in your eyes, "Miguel is-"
Before Sergei could push the tip of his revolver on your head and shoot, the earth underneath rumbled, as Miguel fell in between you.
Real.
Kraven stepped back as the imaginary savage was now fully standing before him. His head had to crane up to meet his burning ember eyes.
Miguel's lips snarled at him, showing his fangs and beating his chest. A clear challenge for him to fight him.
A collective round of gasps echoed through the men, but when Miguel bared his teeth, they all pulled their guns and pointed at him
"Stop!" You yelled and quickly scrambled to your feet to take Miguel's hand and shake your head with determination.
"Don't hurt him!"
Peter immediately got himself before you and rose his arms, showing he was no armed.
"I'm sure we can reach an agreement here without filling eachother with bullets, gentlemen"
"Shut up, Parker!" Sergei seethed and with a deep flare of his nose, pointed the gun at Miguel again, but Peter grabbed the weapon and the shot tore through the air again.
"Kraven" Miguel grumbled at the gun shot sound.
Said mercenary could only watch him, nonplussed for a moment. While you, again, stood your ground before the behemoth of a man. Attempting your best at protecting him.
"Have... we met before?" Kravinoff spoke confused.
"I told you he could speak! And he is real!"
Miguel remained glued at your side. Everyone slowly put their weapons down as Kraven approached to take a proper look at Miguel, fascinated by his sheer size and build.
Peter had to admit, that it was the last time he'd ever doubt your words.
"You said you had seen gorillas?"
Again, you nodded and Miguel repeated the word.
"Miguel knows them. He could help us."
"Help us? The man barely understand us, but... It's better than nothing I suppose."
Sergei scrunched his face in confusion as Miguel took strands of your hair and sniffed them, his senses awakening in pure adrenaline. Throat grunted approvingly.
"Yeah... kind of understand the personal space thing now." Peter cleared his throat behind you. The rest kept looking to see but quickly were dismissed by their leader.
"Oh, shut up." You grumbled nervously as Miguel pulled your head to his chest once more, to listen to his powerful heartbeats.
"Yeah, it's very very nice." You chuckled nervously with a soft flush creeping your cheek.
"Nice." He repeated.
Kraven could only watch but if he was the link towards the gorillas, he'd seize the chance in every way he could.
"He's way smarter than you think."
"We're running against time, how would he understand us, Dhalberg?"
Miguel moved to inspect Kraven, mimicking his gestures effortlessly. Earning a giggle from you.
"Leave that to me."
-------
Taglist:
@yhrlocalcyprus @nommingonfood @literatiastray @call-me-nyxx @gennirose @loonalockley @danubliat @marit332 @beabfleab @l3lazeit @lililapuce @prollyanvycchi @huehuehuehuehehe @nanamiscunt @ncj2837ndjcj @leviswifey-act62 @migueloharacumslut @migshusben @freehentai @animequeen4
@del-ightfulling @angel-of-the-moons
#t writes✨#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#Miguelverse#tarzan au
621 notes
·
View notes
Text
i’ve got my eye on you - neteyam sully
pairing: neteyam sully x omaticaya! fem! reader
trope: best friends to lovers
summary: neteyam came back from a raid and is injured, you help clean him up whilst he can't stop thinking about how perfect you are. when you finish healing him he wants to stay with you and helps with making more supplements as he carefully approaches the topic of finding a mate which leads to him confessing his feelings for you.
warnings: swearing, injuries, tooth rotting fluff, jealousy, light making out,
A/N: taking requests on neteyam! masterlist
recently, mo'at had been teaching you and kiri how to heal. the two of you had been helping heal the injured from the raiding parties. you enjoyed it- you liked helping people, it gave you a sense of purpose. but you did not like having to heal your best friend after he was stupid and followed his little brother into a raid and got hurt.
you and neteyam sat on the wooden floor of the healers hut, nobody but you two there as you patched his wounds up from the last raid that had occured. the only source of light coming from the dimly lit fire in the middle of the hut, no noise but the small hisses of pain from neteyam when you disinfected a wound. "sorry." you whispered apologising as he hissed once more, eyes on his muscular chest as you placed the wet cloth over the bloodied area- trying to be as gentle as possible. his eyes were trained down at you, watching as you healed him.
the tension between the two of you thickening by the second. "don't apologise." he gently spoke, you then looked up for the first time since you've been cleaning him up and met his eyes. how he was looking at you made your stomach twist into a small knot- he was looking at you as if this was the first time he had ever seen you, taking in all your features as if it was his last time.
the two of you stayed like this, just staring mindlessly into one another's eyes like you both were searching for an answer within the other. you felt heat creep up to your cheeks and looked away from him quickly breaking the intimate eye contact, "you're all cleaned up now, you can head back if you wish." you started to pack up the healing supplements and tools.
you expected neteyam to stand up but he stayed seated- eyes still focused directly on you. "do you mind if i stay?"
this made you smile lightly, "of course you can." you placed poncosh leaves into a mortar and began to grind them down with a pestle, you needed to make more to prepare for the next raid. but poncosh leaves are difficult to grind down, neteyam watched as you struggled to do so.
"here, let me help." he reached out placing his hands on top of yours which were holding the pestle, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "you need to grind it side to side, like this" he moved his hands moving yours side to side grinding the poncosh successfully, all you could focus on were how warm his hands were on top of yours as he guided them where to go.he took his hands off yours- you suddenly missed the contact, wanting his hands back on yours as you continued to crush the leaves doing the same motion he was helping you do moments ago. you finished crushing the poncosh, stopping your motion glancing up at neteyam as to ask if you did it correctly. "perfect." neteyam said but he was not looking at the crushed leaves in the mortar, he was looking at you. your face heated up once more, for the severalth time this night. oh eywa, this boy is going to be the death of you.
you grabbed a cloth, folding it as a comfortable silence fell over the two to you. until neteyam spoke up, breaking the silence. "i have heard people talking," he spoke fiddling with his fingers as you hummed in response. “that t’shæn is wanting to be your mate.”
your eyes perked up and eyes were wide open as you stopped folding the cloth and looked up at neteyam. sure you found t’shæn attractive but you could never picture yourself being his mate. “oh.” was all you replied with as you continued to fold the cloths leaving neteyam even more nervous, did you like t’shæn? did you want to be his mate?
“uh- do you want to be his mate?..”
“hmm, no not really.” neteyam felt a weight get lifted off his shoulders as you said that, he had been worried that you did.
“have you got your eye on someone yet?” he asked, praying to eywa for it to be him.
you didn’t really know how to answer the question, because yes, you did indeed have your eye on a man- that man being the one sitting in front of you asking the question. “yes, i’ve had my eye on someone for a while now.”
neteyam felt his heart pick up pace, maybe there was a chance it was him- but he knew if it wasn’t him he would know what to do. he couldn’t picture any other woman being his mate besides you. “who might this lucky man be?”
your eyes met with his, you opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it- you didn’t know what to say, you were in a battle in your head wether or not you should speak the truth and tell him that the man you’ve had your eye on is him. “he’s a mighty warrior and an amazing hunter.”
“there are many fine warrior’s and hunters in the clan.”
you hummed, “indeed there are many, but he is the finest out of them all.”
neteyam was trying to think of who it could be, having a glint of hope that it is him. “is he kind to you?”
“he is very kind to me and others, he has a strong heart.” you were hoping he was getting the hints you were very obviously dropping at him, “i am not sure if he wants me though.”
neteyam internally scoffed at the idea of a man not wanting you, you were absolutely perfect. “any na’vi that would turn you down has something wrong in the head.” your cheeks and ears had a light blush on them from neteyam’s comment, he noticed this and smirked. he reached forward, placing his hand on your chin gently tilting it up so you could look at him. you were internally freaking out about the proximity of you and neteyam’s faces, you felt butterflies swarming in your stomach. “you are so beautiful.” he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of place behind your ear. you were speechless, your stomach was doing back flips left and right. “i’ve also had my eye on a woman for quite a while.”
“who is this lucky woman?” you breathed out, you swore that your heart was about to thump right out your chest.
his thumb caressed your cheek gracefully, his hands soft on your skin as he cupped your cheek. “she is a beauty like no other and a fierce warrior.”
“there are many beautiful women and fierce warriors in our clan.”
“there may be, but she is the most beautiful and fierce woman of them all.” he continued rubbing his thumb over your cheek. you felt entranced by his bright yellow eyes that were staring into your own, staring right into your soul as if they were to judge it for itself. his hand left your cheek and moved down to your chest, where your heart sat. “and she has a strong heart.” you looked down to where his hand laid then back up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “i’ve got my eye on you, y/n.”
“neteyam,” you now placed your hand on his cheek. “i see you.” neteyam’s ears perked up, a love sick grin appearing on his face. before either of you could say anything else he broke the gap between the two of you and placed his lips on yours. you were shocked at first but then quickly returned the kiss. it was soft and passionate, speaking all the unspoken words- neither of you had to say anything more or less as it said a million words. your lips felt like heaven on his, this is what he had been yearning for since he was a young boy.
your lips chased one other, both filled with desire. your hands made their way up to his braided hands as his slipped down to your waist, delicately holding them. the two do you broke away for air, slightly panting from the lack of breath. “i have been wanting to do that for ages.” neteyam said as he pulled you back into a kiss, you had no protects against it. his hands that were holding your waist pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling his as you deepened the kiss. neteyam let out a soft moan against your mouth as his tail wrapped around your waist. you broke apart once more, your foreheads resting against each other as you saw a smirk on neteyam’s lips. “so, who was the someone you’ve had your eyes on?”
you grinned playfully, “you may know him, his name is neteyam.”
his lips were grazing over yours, you could feel his hot breath as he spoke against yours. “he is a very lucky na’vi.” as he finished his sentence he lent in placing another kiss on your lips, he went to kiss you further but you suddenly stopped feeling the presence of something. leaving neteyam confused. “are you okay? did i hurt you?” you looked around the room searching for something, then you looked up- your mouth parted a small gasp leaving your mouth, a Atokirina was floating above the two of you. neteyam moved his head to where you were looking confusedly, but when he saw what you were admiring he grinned softly. you two truly were made for each other.
the two do you removed your attention from the woodspirite to one another, large grins on both of your faces. “eywa has spoken.” he whispered.
#neteyam sully x reader#na’vi#neteyam imagine#na’vi x reader#neteyam x reader#neteyam x y/n#neteyam x you#neteyam#neteyam sully#sfw alphabet#avatar way of water#avatar#jake sully#lo’ak x reader#kiri sully#tuk sully
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
┊Impure Thoughts┊
《Part 2┊ Reader x Bucky Barnes?
Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.
Warnings - smut, metal dildo lmao?, mastrubation (f), fingering
Words - 1700
⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄
In the living room, you are settled on the couch with your book, but you pause halfway through reading a sentence when it finally sinks in.
You have unconsciously placed yourself directly across the room from the armchair, and something seems to be filling your entire field of vision—Bucky’s metal arm—pitifully, the first coherent thought that emerges, is undoubtedly something that you have been thinking about these past weeks—you grind your teeth and chew your tongue. That is followed closely by the realization that this is probably an instinctual reaction born out of being alone for too long.
Right?
The thought has you swallowing hard while you feet the beginnings of arousal, you shift uncomfortably, crossing your ankles—the beginning of the end. Here it is again: that feeling of complete addiction, of an irrational kink, need. A craving, a thirst, blood rushing to your ears to chant in your mind once again: God, I want to try it.
Your eyes flicker between the book and the prosthetic. A ripple of gooseflesh erupts down your whole body and you squeeze your eyes shut in mortification, you even change positions and straighten your back, leading to several cracks up your spine.
Why did he need to leave his prosthetic arm on the armchair?
You feel your jaw slacken. The inevitable desire floods your brain too quickly, irritation prickling at your chest.
“He is not coming home tonight…” you note mentally with a magnanimous twinkle of your eyes.
Two identical streaks of pink appear on your cheek and you avert your gaze, shaking your head. You have imagined what it might be like to use it as a pleasure tool countless times, but you have never considered that you would actually be bold enough to do it.
But even as that transient thought flits through your brain, the image of your legs spread while fucking yourself on it…the fantasy swirls hazy—
This is so wrong, but you are so exhilarated by it—but it’s akin to torture.
You rub your eyes and try to focus on the letters and shapes, but it is difficult.
"Right," you mumble to yourself, trailing your fingertip under the sentence to steady your gaze "The man who has a conscience suffers whilst acknowledging his sin. That is his punishment…”
Fuck…
You have already read that sentence twice.
You attempt a denial, tongue stuck to your teeth “Some things are beyond help” you confess, smothering a yawn into your sleeve.
You sigh impatiently, but get up from the couch nonetheless. As you head to the bedroom, you stupidly lean your body in the door frame, attempting to dispel the notion that you are so turned on just thinking about it. You let out a stealthy, thin smile, but you instinctually clasp a hand over your mouth.
You stare intently into the prosthetic.
Head clouding. Heart taking off again.
It is not that you don’t want to do it now—it is more like you don’t want your little bubble to pop just yet, the bubble of your innocence.
You have finally just given up on the feeble attempt to get your body and mind to settle down to sleep. Your phone, which you have ignored for some time by then, buzzes with a new text. The phone on the coffee table buzzes yet again, but you don’t even acknowledge it.
You make your breaths as quiet as possible, managing to walk over to the armchair without making the faintest noise. A growling soft leaves your throat, followed by an annoyed moan—mentally swooning at the idea you will actually do it this time. Instantly, you feel your blood run cold, and your face immediately falls. Embarrassment, that is all, just sheer and utter embarrassment as you find yourself caught in the act.
Quickly, you let out a nervous laugh, amused by your own antics.
“It's okay, no one will ever find out” you are quick to try to convince yourself, to urge yourself to take the opportunity.
You lost in the end.
You get on your knees in front of the armchair, leaning down to get in eye level with it before your hand reaches out and finds the metal fingers, using the pad of your thumb to brush against vibranium there. You lace the cold fingers with yours, they move so easily.
…you didn’t know that.
You are far too entranced by the arm, that you have forgotten about the appendage pressed in between your thighs, until you shift a bit. Instantly, you feel that spot between your legs head up even more and that reminds you of the throbbing sensation you have been ignoring.
You apply pressure with your free hand, prying a sharp exhale from your own lips, finding relief on the soft carpeted floor, and spreading your legs—but still the wetness between your legs is growing, and it is unbearable. You whimper as your fingers press into the clit. You start to rub circles into it as you soak the fabric.
But you need more, it’s not enough.
That's why you reach down and grab the fabric of your panties in between shaky fingers and gently pull it to the side, rapturously rubbing without the fabric in the way.
No, this is not enough.
Hands are shaking with desperation.
One by one, you place your fingers in your mouth and lick them before running them up and down your slit, finding yourself instinctually moving quicker. You slid one finger inside, shivering a little at the feeling. It is quickly followed by a second, then a third. You jolt in pleasure when your fingers nudge up against the spot. With newfound vigour, you finger yourself even harder. Your body fizzes with a heady sensuality, where you are constantly in the process of getting aroused, bringing yourself closer to an euphoric climax, but you don’t really want to orgasm like that.
You have such an unambiguously bad feeling—awful, really—but you couldn't look away, couldn't stop. But the nearness, the possibility of this fantasy becoming reality, it has dwelled in you for too long.
Every embarrassment is forgotten. It has seized hold of your heart: desire is terrible.
Your insides clench longingly at need to be filled, practically singing at the thought of something being buried within you. Your hand moves alternately in a frantic blur, then achingly slow, edging closer and closer, fingers are buried deep inside you while the thumb rubs your clit and lips, with you being so wet that you can hear your fingers' movement, but—No, no, no, this is not enough—the fingers are still inside you, moving in a now broken rhythm before stopping completely.
You are so tight around your own fingers, how will you feel around the metal ones?
You have fantasised about this more than once.
You have touched yourself to that fantasy more than once.
“Jesus…I might actually do it” It is unusual to be so nervous, but the words that come out of your sweet lips cut off any rational thoughts you have. Then the inevitable—your pussy throbs at the idea. A reflex, a response, a curse.
It is actually rather exciting that no-one will see you. You take a deep shuddering breath, eyes are stormy with a ravenous hunger.
There are resolved cracks as your desires win this time.
You latch onto the index metal finger hungrily and suck it like it's the sweetest treat, staying still for just a second before moving up and down, tongue swirling around the cold digit. Then, wrapping your tongue around a second finger and tasting the slightly metal tangy taste of the vibranium. You bend the fingers of your other hand in that come-hither motion again and again until your cunt is squirting out onto the hand in a stream of clear wetness.
Shit.
Suddenly, you get up and snatch the prosthetic from the armchair, heading to the bedroom.
Your lip quivers as you drink the sight of the arm onto the mattress, all the while loosening your panties and Bucky’s t-shirt you love to wear, but not now—whining through the back of your throat and then heaved breaths through your nose—What, what are you doing? Your mind whirres; you can hear your own heartbeat, your palms are clammy.
You take the lube before laying on the bed, squeezing some onto your fingers and applying some to and inside of yourself before you start fingering yourself, spreading yourself open and sliding your fingers inside once again. Breathy little noises, helplessly turned on, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking into it as you turn your gaze to the metal prosthetic.
“Okay…” you murmur quietly, shifting a little so you can grab the arm with both hands and finally align it with your entrance.
You are beyond ready.
“H-holy shit…” you pant as the cold surface of the fingers lightly touches the sensitive skin of your stretched hole, and you moan shamelessly, squeezing your eyes shut and arching into the feeling as your skin erupts in goosebumps, unwilling to acknowledge the frissons of pleasure washing over you with each flick of the metal.
Anger boils in your stomach as well as a fair bit of shame, because you are not sure if it will fit—it's way too big.
You want to come on the metal, want to feel the coldness, but your face contorts in both pain as much as pleasure as you try to push it inside more. You make a strange whining sound, desperate to come, desperate to fit it beyond the knuckles—you gasp out when you begin to move it, thrusting in and out in a slow, grinding motion.
You finally look down when you finally fit in more of it—your mouth hangs open and your limbs feel like they are frozen.
You have made a terrible decision, you know you have when you see blue eyes illuminated with curiosity, horror…?
“H-hey” you speak airly, shivering and groaning faintly as his coveting blue eyes meet yours.
Oh yes, you didn't check your phone.
⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄
might write a part two, i personally need more metal arm stuff fr :0
《Part 2
#im so real for this#WHAT DO I EVEN TAG LIKE BRO#metal arm kink fr#bucky barnes smut#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader headcanon#bucky headcanon#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
millaghost
まろやか
chvuya
汚れっちまった悲しみは
escalandomuros
Escalando muros
jkssoftsolutions
JKS Soft Solutions
androgynousexperttiger
Untitled