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originalwinnercheesecake · 3 days

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Wish list for CBS ghosts season 4

Make Patience a recurring antagonist for at least 2-3 episodes before that story gets resolved and she gets regulated to a background character.

Patience character to be 50% good religious farm girl, 50% crazy witch. She also needs to have a wicked(ly cool) ghost power

More of Isaac loving dinosaurs

More solo development for Isaac

More of Isaac and Hetty's awesome friendship

No Nigel for a while. I do not like him. He did a lot of things in his and Isaac's relationship that are textbook abusive partner behavior.

I think it is about time for Jay's restaurant to start up, and I would like that to actually become pretty successful/profitable. Mostly because I would like Sam and Jay to have a bit more disposable income to do things around the manor, and I know the B&B is unlikely to become super busy next season (unless the show is ending , which I really do not want).

The difference in treatment between the above ground ghosts and basement ghosts to be addressed. I know after season 3 that they aren't going to move them all up stairs. But it would be nice if Sam and Jay could like furbish the basement , and then more Basement ghosts than just Nancy got invited to come upstairs for games or discussion.

Just to be clear I still want Nancy to keep making her frequent visits up stairs and hang out with the man 8. I just also would not mind seeing Stuart or another nameless basement ghost standing or walking by in the background on the occasion.

Explore Pete's power more. He does not need to hop on a plane and go across the country or anything, but let him keep going out into town and having adventures. Also let him keep going on dates with other random ghosts outside of the house.

I know that Pete&Alberta will probably happen at some point in season 4. The thing is though while that ship was cute in season 1, the way the ship was handled in season 2 soured it like milk to me. Both characters need a lot of development, and separate explorations of what they want out of a relationship, before I can ship them again.

H-Money is still a couple I kinda like. I do not expect them to get back together in season 4 (Please not another season that is fully devoted to coupling up all the character), but I would like them to start scheming together again. Let them figure out how to interact together as friends, and build a stronger foundation to eventually, in season 5 maybe, try again.

I have heard people suggest that Pete's power could maybe be extend to getting the other ghosts through the barrier if they are like holding onto Pete's hand. I want this. Now I know Sass will want to visit a Pizza Hut, and Issac a dinosaur museum, but I would say the most important thing to do with that would be to take Thor and Flower over to the Farnsby manor to visit Bjorn and his girlfriend Judy. It would also be cool if there was a lesbian ghost living there they could set up Nancy with. Since Nisaac is on a "respite" and queer representation (preferably healthy queer representation) is important.

Everyone remember in season 2 when we learned about Flower's super protective, formally MIA, army vet brother : Rob. You remember how the show's staff said they would love to have Rob come to the B&B for a visit, and were already considering actors who could play him? I want this episode. Also if you cannot directly tell Rob his sister is a ghost on the property, then can Trevor or Alberta use their powers to help Flower send a message to Rob. To say that she still loves him. I cannot deal that both siblings spent like 50 years thinking the other hated them when neither did. It is to sad.

It would be cool if we could also have Ira visit once too. I know Flower did not love him like she did Michael or does Thor, but he was still someone who was a big part of her life for a while, and knowing her cannonly had a large impact on his. Maybe we find that while he has done charities in her memory, trauma over watching her be killed by a bear has also lead him to sponsor bear hunts or poaching. Flower is horrified. Then Sam and Jay have to spend his visit looking for a way to convince him that is not what Flower would have wanted.

Four standard episodes for each season are a Halloween episode, an episode where Bela visits, one where Stephanie wakes up, and one where Crash appears and is slightly relevant. I have no idea what to do for an episode with Crash, but for the others

-Ghost animals on Halloween

-Home theater night for ghosts and guests on the night Stephanie wakes up, complete with all the drama of set up and shenanigans that going to the movies encores.

- Bela is broken up with Eric, she does not even like him. This time her and Jay's parents come with her for the visit. Bela wants all the latest gossip surrounding the ghosts, but they have to tip toe around the parents. Jay's dad does not fully support the B&B even without the knowledge that it is haunted, and Sam does not want to give her mother in law another reason to suspect that she might be crazy.

Owning back to the "Can Pete take the other ghosts off the property" theory, can Thomas Woodstone be a ghost who died visiting a neighbors property. We have no reason to see Elias again since he has decided to stay put in Hell. But Thomas reappearing could be interesting for both Hetty and Alberta. If he does show up though I want the twist to be that he is actually severally cognitively impaired (think Lenny from oMaM)... I mean the man was from an inbred family, played with lead based toys as a baby, had a cocaine addict mom, and a father who was a lot of things. He could not have been all there. Also address more on if Earl ever actually cared for any of the people he was two timing (again development that needs to happen to make Alberta want to go from dating an Earl to a Pete).

A Sasappis based episode that is not his death story. I feel like he needs at least one more episode exploring what his life alive was like, to be appropriately gutted when we learn about his secret death.

Actually maybe we can hold off on Sass's death and Hetty's ghost power until season 5. let's keep the element of mystery in the show for a little longer.

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starry-bi-sky · 1 month

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I am absolutely loving your Danyal Al Ghul au. While I have a soft spot for the whole plotline of Danny becoming his canon personality almost right after breaking away from the LOA all because of Jazz, I'm just as much for your take in which he goes through the same character development as Damian.

Now I'm curious. You already tackled his relationship with Dani, will you eventually take a stab at when he, Sam, and Tucker meet Gregor? Given that it's one of my hated episodes as I couldn't stand Sam's infuriatingly hypocritical attitude to Danny's suspicions of him, I'd kill to see your spin on it.

Aw, thank you! Danyal Al Ghul aus are what got me into DPDC first, so I have a major soft spot for them. That being said, uh, its exactly that soft spot that causes me to have Many Opinions about the trope you just mentioned. Like the trope is all fine and dandy, i don't blindly hate it, my main issue with it is that most aus i've seen treat his backstory as an ex-assassin more like a pretty cosmetic accessory rather than something that actually should have had an impact on him. Especially if he remembers being in the league.

Like i cannot stress enough the fact that being in an ecofascist assassin cult (regardless of his standing in it) should've left him, in some way or another, screwed up morally and psychologically because that's just how development works. Nature vs. Nurture is like a game of tug-o-war that never ends, where they are constantly fighting against each other and one side usually has the upper hand or greater influence. Children model the behaviors of the adults around them (ex: bobo the clown doll experiment), and what impacts them in childhood can stick with them permanently.

Like how my psychology professor put it: a baby's brain is like wet cement; if you slap your hand on it, it leaves an imprint, and the cement dries that way. The same rings true for small children.

I could go on, but I frankly have so many thoughts on that alone that I would end up completely derailing from the second half of your ask, and I don't want to be more critical than I already have. Especially since you just mentioned you have a soft spot for the trope.

[Okay, hold onto your hats because this is long. Naturally lmao.]

Gregor! Man, I'll admit I last watched the show back in middle school on a dodgy illegal website (it had surprisingly good audio and visual graphics, and full episodes. But really annoying porn ads.) but I only made it to like season 1 before my hyperfixation faded and I lost interest. So I never actually saw the Gregor episode.

But... it is relatively easy to find free websites that stream Danny Phantom :), so finding the episode took me like. Thirty seconds. Plus the Tv.Tropes recap page because my damn earbuds just died and im out in public as of rn.

I'm not sure if I'll write something for the gregor episode like I did with Dani, since Dani's a bit of a special case in that she's a clone and tends to be a reoccurring presence in DPDC, and I thought the new dynamic with Danyal would be interesting.

Plus, I'm not a big amethyst ocean shipper for the pure reason of I'm just not all that interested in it; its kinda bland to me. I'll admit I've entertained the thought in this au due to the whole balcony scene i wrote, but I would've entertained the thought anyways if it was Tucker in that position instead. Big multishipper, me.

But, if I had to make it official? Danyal is not interested romantically in Sam when the Gregor episode happens, regardless of his relationship with Valerie. Who, speaking of I'm trying to think about how that would go, and I'm torn between including him almost-dating Valerie or not.

Because on one hand it helps point out Sam's hypocrisy (and i love her but i am always happy to point out her flaws and address them in au) in this episode in terms of Danny spying on them, but on the other hand I'll want to include a lot of set up in order to make Gray Ghost work in this au and wow will that take a while.

Especially with the Flirting with Disaster episode because it happens due to Technus' meddling, and Danny is, well, the son of the Batman? A trained assassin? An ex-assassin nonetheless, but still an assassin? A prodigy child in this au? He might not have needed to use most of his skills in the last few years, but like... there's just a bunch of 'what if' and 'well technically...' and 'would he? he could, but would he?' things that is getting in the way of my thought process and making my head spin.

Mmm. Okay. Flirting with Disaster occurs relatively the same as canon with a few exceptions; like Danyal noticing the strange coincidences, and he might take the idea into proper consideration because Sam has a point it is strange, especially out of nowhere.

However,,, he really enjoys Valerie's company, and he does really like her. He's been adjusting to civilian life for the last four years and while he's made a lot of progress, he's still. an ex-assassin child living like a wolf amongst sheep. This is normal, typical teenager stuff, and usually his friends like to encourage him doing normal teenager stuff.

So he's stubbornly holding out on the thought that this is normal, that ghost stuff isn't interfering here. He's a little hurt that his friends are discouraging this, he's not bothered by the fact that Valerie is a ghost hunter and he a ghost -- his mother is an assassin, and his father is Batman, and they still had a relationship. (Granted, he's not gonna tell them that)

If anything, being diametrically opposed to each other but still being in love is part of the family! Granted, usually both parties are aware of said opposition to each other, but he'll make a special exception this time around.

(And man now that i'm thinking about gray ghost, im now thinking about various like. scenes i could write between the two of them. maybe in a reblog.)

Anyways uhhh things relatively go the same as canon. Yeah. I think Sam still has a crush on Danny and still spies out of jealousy with Tucker.

Now, the Gregor episode! With that out of the way; the TVTropes recap for this episode isn't the best because it doesn't go into detail about the entire episode like it does with Flirting With Disaster and Shades of Gray.

(which i looked at earlier because I made a section of this post talking briefly about what changes I'd make to the Shades of Gray episode to help set up Gray Ghost, but ended up deleting because it was kinda irrelevant for the matter at hand.)

So I'm taking in bits of the episode clips at a time, I'll try not to get too nitpicky about how each scene goes because then it's gonna take me a longer time to write this.

But! First thing's first; since Danny is not romantically interested in Sam, he is also not jealous of Gregor. He is however, a bit eyebrow-raisey at him in their first introduction, but that's because Gregor is coming off as obnoxious.

Danny thinks he's kinda annoying, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Gregor is trying to impress Sam. But since they've only known him for five minutes he takes the good faith assumption and assumes that Gregor is genuinely trying to show interest in Sam's interests too because he likes her, so he keeps mum. The fake hungarian accent is weird, but it's overall harmless, so he doesn't point it out.

He does do the spying thing when he starts suspecting that Gregor might be working for the GIW. The episode only has this happen twice, but for the au this happens a handful of more times over the course of the week, with Danyal's suspicion steadily rising more and more each time.

Hah, when he brings up wanting to spy on Sam and Gregor because of this reason, Tucker still does his "woah! you wanna spy on Sam?" thing.

Danny immediately turns to him, completely unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Tucker," he says, deadpan, "you and Sam spied on me and Valerie."

He uses a combination of his ghost powers and his regular stealth ability to spy on them. He's hiding in a tree when they're skipping rocks, close enough that he can use his powers to hear them talk but far enough away that he has a good view of their surroundings.

He's invisible in the cinema, but doesn't accidentally get in front of the projector. He checks the inside of the room for the GIW, and then waits outside the actual room itself, keeping an eye on the area and occasionally flying in to watch the movie out of boredom. It reminds him of being back on a recon mission with the League, but it doesn't end with him orchestrating someone's death.

Then when they're at the mall he stays in human form, blending in with the crowd. He runs into the GIW there, but realizes that they're not there because of Gregor; they're just shopping. They didn't show up at either of the last two locations, and he follows them to make sure they're not also trying to blend in. But they're literally just there for shopping.

Danny is rather pleased with this turnout; so far Gregor isn't a spy, he's just annoying. The next day at lunch he asks Sam how her date with Gregor went, and that's how she figures out he spied on them, because well, she didn't tell him that.

"Have you been spying on me?"

Danny messes with his food a little bit, and Tucker is sinking into his seat with embarrassment. He frowns, "Only last night. Those incompetent government dodos--"

His lip curls up; he gets all 'Shakespeare-y' (as Sam and Tucker put it) when he's insulting someone, "--kept appearing whenever Gregor did. I followed you and him last night to make sure he wasn't a spy."

A roundabout way of saying, "I was worried".

Sam is, as canon, furious. Danny understands why, he knows generally speaking that people don't like being spied on. But he's confused on just how angry she is, and is a little irritated by it.

"Why would you do that!" She exclaims, "That's way out of line, Danny."

"How? You spied on me when I was going on dates with Valerie." He narrows his eyes, and points his fork at her, "I'm not blind, I noticed."

"That's different, we told you why we were suspicious. And we don't have ghost powers like you do."

"I don't need ghost powers to sneak around, Sam, you've seen this firsthand. And I just told you why I followed you, I thought he was working with the guys in white--"

"So you think someone can only be interested in me if they're after you?" (this is a paraphrased quote, folks ;D)

"No! If that was the case I would have voiced my concern the moment I thought it. I don't get why you're so angry, you spied too."

Iiits.... a mess. Sam storms off with Gregor, Tucker tags along because okay, yeah, maybe Gregor isn't with the GIW, or maybe last night was a fluke. Either way he ends up tagging along. Danny overhears that conversation between the GIW and Mr. Lancer, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong; but something is up.

I've gotten to that scene in the locker room where Gregor tells Danny that he knows he doesn't like him, and I've paused at Danny's reply to say this: Danyal doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"I know you do not like me."

"You're right; I don't."

"Ah, let me finish. I know you do not like me because you want to protect your friend, Sam, and I respect that."

"...That's correct."

"Good! Because I am going to ask her out."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he stands up, claps his hand tight on Gregor's shoulder, and leans close to him with a threatening smile, "so you understand me when i say; if you break my best friend's heart, you're as good as dead, right?"

"Ah,, yes. I am so glad we got that cleared out of the way, and now I hope after we can.. how you Americans put it, hang out?"

In the episode he hugs Danny and gives him a la bise (which is that french greeting where you kiss someone on the cheek two or more times) after they end their conversation. But here, when he goes to do that to Danyal, Danny leans away, points an accusatory finger at him, and says; "Absolutely not; we are not close."

The next scene after that is like, end of day. Sam, Tucker, and Gregor walking away. Sam looks over her shoulder to glare at Danny, then gets forlorn. Tucker looks back and just looks forlorn.

(When did I start narrating each scene?? Eh, I'm writing this in brief spurts of time throughout the day. Don't fix what's not broke)

After that there's this whole scene with the two GIW agents that have been chasing Phantom all episode. They're there because they have Tucker's PDA that Skulker took, and it's got the information of their purple backed gorilla assignment on it. They've been going around seeing who Tucker associates with in hopes of catching Phantom.

Uhh ahaha and that is where this gets a little interesting imo, and also allows me to mention that im retconning Danyal's (already) redesigned ghost form. Which I've wanted to retcon even before this moment bc it was just too busy. I'll get to that in a moment.

The GIW suspect Gregor for being the Phantom because of his white hair and green eyes, which is all fine and dandy until you remember: Danyal (and by extension Phantom) has that very noticeable, rather identifiable facial scar that goes across the middle of his fucking face. The GIW could easily suspect that Phantom hides his scar with makeup if he's in disguise, but if they meet a kid with a seemingly identical facial scar and similar disposition? Hoo boy.

Solution? I've got two: Gregor is canonically a kid from Michigan who faked everything to impress Sam. Considering he knows she's gothic and knows that she's ultra-recyclo vegetarian? He probably watched her from afar or got information on her somehow. His hair is dyed, his eyes might just naturally be green, but if he notices that she's got a crush on either Danyal or Phantom? A little sfx makeup could help him recreate a similar looking scar.

My second solution that's gonna happen anyways bc its that suit redesign; Danyal does hide his face as Phantom. Ghosts are emotional creatures and its a popular headcanon that their interests, ambitions, etc, influence the way they look as a ghost, not just their death. A big reoccurring theme of my au is that Danyal did not leave the League unscathed, and that being an assassin is an important part of his identity.

So i'm discarding the hazmat suit look entirely and leaning into the 'assassin' thing. But the general (stylized) feel is like, white ribbon/cloth vambraces that he has used as a garrote at some point, a hood, a gaiter scarf-type thing. I'm keeping the cape. I did a doodle a few days back that's not the official redesign, but a redesign for Phantom. I may reblog this post with that attached because it's got the general feel down. There's very little white involved, but the inside of his cape flares out and looks like the night sky.

Now, the hood and gaiter scarf gets rid of most of the problem, but Danny's hood doesn't stay on all the time, so the GIW have likely seen the upper half of the scar. :] Gregor's own drawn-on scar doesn't have to be 1:1, but it looks close enough, right? A small scar cutting through the edge of his brow and ends right below the corner of his eye. A 'cool, badass' one opposed to Danny's 'garish' scar.

But! Back to the episode scene. Canon Danny gets written off as being 'too prepubescent' to be Phantom, and honestly it'd be hilarious if Danyal was written off for the same reason (he's calling them idiots in his head if they do). But instead -- leaning into the GIW's incompetence here -- he gets written off as being too mature or too talkative. Or something equally as absurd.

Sam breaks up with Gregor for canon reasons, but when Gregor does his "i really like you, but, come on-!" and gestures to tucker, he adds on "and that scary friend of yours too, seriously!"

Things go relatively the same as canon after that. Danny does end up apologizing for spying, however. Sam does it first. Sorrows, prayers, all that.

Things usually end up changed or different when I actually write it down, so I'd likely add more or adjust different scenes according to the flow of the oneshot. This is just like, a general vibe of how things would go, and where some of the more obvious changes would be if I did write this oneshot.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the ask :]

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #danyal al ghul #i dont even mind the trope that danny becomes like his canon self i just want *some* kind of impact on him. but as it stands most aus i've #seen lowkey treat his assassin background as an accessory. like dyeing your hair or piercing your ears. that being said its also a silly #au where they're brothers and are related to each other and thus doesn't have to be that deep at all! im just bored of seeing the same thin #all the time. especially considering danny is usually depicted as the paler/whiter passing twin and being the 'kinder. more compassionate'#one between the two of them. give me danny who suffered crises of morality! danny whose morally darker than a cloud #morally orange and blue danny who sooner understands 'dont litter' than 'dont murder'. arrogant danny! he dotes on the people he loves but #is an utter bitch to everyone else and thus has to learn to be kinder. danny discovering himself outside being an assassin #his brother remembers a kind and compassionate older brother because thats how danny interacted with him. But danny had no qualms turning #around and slicing the tendons of one of the other assassins because of smth they did that displeased him.#he can still be like his canon self but shouldn't there be something that stays behind? Lingering like a blast shadow?#danny who carries weapons on him always even though he knows he doesn't need it but it makes him feel safer.#danny who spits out the oddest. most foreboding shit sometimes and his friends just stare at him and go 'bro what the fuck??'#idk if i can share the website where i found the episodes bc of risk of copyright. but just search up #'where can i watch danny phantom for free' and look for a reddit post with that question. the comments give website options.#i keep thinking about gray ghost now. valerie finds herself becoming a member of the 'danny fenton protection squad' with sam and tucker #danny takes a page from his beloved mother's book and calls his partners 'beloved' and equally sappy pet names.#he also throws the BIGGEST shitstorm of the century when he finds out about what Axion Labs did to the dogs. hoo boy.

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soft-cryptids · 1 year

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...you guys are enabling my brainworms, so here, have some sketches.

#Ghostsoap #soapghost #Ghostsoap AU #Ghostsoap fanart #Listen LISTEN Ghost trying v hard to braid Soap's hair???? and being like ...just stop moving? But Soap is just like :DD?? Cute #Also Soap wondering why the hell people don't really talk back to him anymore when he says some shit???#and all the time Ghost is just standing in the background like ....#it is FUNNY ok #ORGANIZING TAGS:#Games #Call of Duty Modern Warfare II #all the historical inaccuracies are my own #had to let ghost keep his mask ok #viking AU #let them be all rough tough but also soft ok #messy sketches #I know #but it just sketches ok

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ohtendril · 3 months

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two of you. always in sync

#you know what i wasnt gonna do this but i rewatched prodigal son and uh. some of the frames made me crazyyyy this time around #and i love imagery it has to be said #its like. this time around i actually Perceived them. and not watched them like. every time liv looks at el its like. she cant believe it #like she's looking at a ghost. like he's gonna disappear any second #and at the same time. she can barely look him in the eye. she looks at him when he isnt watching. lest he sees. lest he recognizes her #and what shes feeling. lest she recognizes that he still knows her and *sees* her even after all this time. and she cant have it. she wont #so she watches him and observes him like shes both memorizing him and recognizing him.especially in that interrogation room... fuck me bro #that metaphor. of her standing right between el and the suspect. up against that mirror. and we're seeing her reflection.#the present liv the captain watching like a hawk and the past liv. right behind her back in the room with el sensing him and seeing #him getting ready to pounce. like the shot of her with el's fists in the background. oh mama. she just knows “do you need a break detective #and then them being literally divided in some of those shots. by the window binds by kathy and space and actual doors #(and her sliding those doors in the first place and then watching from the other side and the cut to her again watching through the door an #OPENING IT???)#and i havent even talked about el lmao. but it's svu it's supposed to be liv centric (well) but anyway #i havent essayed in the tags in so long i forgot to tag this in the beginning oopsie daisy #svuedit #bensleredit #eo #lawandorderedit #svu #benson x stabler #*mine #*svu

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certifiedyapperx · 12 days

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imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

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greenglowinspooks · 3 months

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Thinkin about a DCxDP where Danny’s helping ghosts find peace while he’s laying low in Gotham.

Like, he moved away from Amity for whatever reason. Maybe the reveal went badly, maybe he just couldn’t stand staying any longer. For whatever reason, he’s in Gotham, because the rent is cheap and he’s nowhere near the strangest thing there so no one looks at him twice.

However, this city is cursed. Like, cursed beyond cursed. It’s actively alive with how many curses there are, and the ghosts there are extremely unhappy about it.

(Of course, that’s not a problem for Danny. His ghost side filters out the toxic smog and the chemicals in the water, and his human side gives a resistance to the rank ecto and the hexes that are actively trying to devour him.)

He doesn’t really want to do anything about it, to be honest.

He’s sick of playing hero, considering how it went last time, and he’s busy working at Waffle House or Walmart or whatever other store doesn’t bother doing a background check (in Gotham, that’s probably all of them), and maybe trying to find a way to get highschool credits that don’t immediately disqualify him from every college in existence.

Still, the ghosts know he can hear them. They know, and they keep coming for help.

So, hey, why not? He definitely can’t put this as experience in any sort of job application, but he really doesn’t have much else to do.

So, he becomes errand boy for a bunch of ghosts.

Sometimes he’s finding objects that are important to them, sometimes he’s giving evidence they collected together of their murders to the police, sometimes he’s getting them the last meal they never had, sometimes he’s just spending time with them like they’re not dead.

The ghosts don’t always move on, but they’re always more at peace. Occasionally they pay him back in charms and blessings and the locations of valuables that he can keep or pawn for cash.

Eventually, a new ghost shows up.

She looks like a shadow, like all the ghosts of Gotham, but she seems stronger than usual. She asks him for a favor that those who came before him were never able to fulfill.

She asks him to find her engagement ring, and give it to her son.

Easy enough, he thinks. It’s a bit of a pain to buy the ring from the seedy pawn shop it’s in (he would usually just steal it, but he doesn’t want to implicate her kid in anything, which she seems grateful for), but everything’s going mostly alright.

Then, she tells him who her son is, and wow, no wonder no one’s helped her yet.

He’s Red Hood. The guy who is(/was) the crime lord in charge of crime alley. The title sounds a bit stupid to Danny, but he’s still a genuine threat to a living person.

Good thing he’s not one of those.

And so, the next time he sees Red Hood out and about, he goes right up to him. The man seems mostly unbothered, but Danny does notice how his hand slightly drifts towards one of his many weapons.

He tells Red Hood outright that he’s there on behalf of the man’s mother, then just holds out his hand with the ring inside, dropping it into Red Hood’s open palm.

Then he leaves, not waiting for a response.

—

Jason has a mystery on his hands, and he might just cash in some favors from Babs and Tim to figure it out.

He’s got to find the guy who gave him his mother’s ring, and find out everything he knows.

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #MAYBE ship maybe not you decide lol #also a fun idea for this would be Danny (scrawny blue eyed black haired guy of indeterminate age)#giving Bruce something that one of his parents wanted him to have #maybe a family artifact that was lost like a necklace with a photo inside or something #and he gives it. to batman #utterly unaware of the absolute fucking chaos he just caused #but yea not specifying the age so you can go ship route or adoption route

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stevieschrodinger · 8 months

Text

Part One of Rock Star Eddie and Baker Steve wrong number AU

Link to Part Two

Eddie's got dubious history with picture messages. Only a very small group of people have his number, considering he's the front man of a multimillion best selling metal band, he doesn't ever want his number to be public knowledge.

So yeah, picture message from and unknown number? Dubious.

Eddie's had enough dick and...vag...pics in his time that he, honestly, doesn't really want another. But when the picture is followed by a message, "were you thinking something like this?"

Well, Eddie's a curious guy. So, committing himself to the idea that this might be new number time, again, he opens the message.

To be confronted with a cake. A really fucking cool cake actually, it's got a car dashing around a muddy track on top with a big '5' in the middle. All of it looks edible, made out of...cake stuff. Eddie has no idea what it is, but it looks delicious.

"One layer chocolate, one layer red velvet? I can do any combination of flavours you want."

Well. Eddie isn't anything but impulsive and he was trying to figure out what the fuck to do for the 'quiet' celebration they were planning for going platinum. Again.

"I think you have the wrong number'" Eddie types, "but I definitely want to order a cake from you."

"Oh my god I'm so sorry, unsolicited cake pics are the worst 😉"

And Eddie can't help it, he laughs, and types back, "if I told you I wanted three tiers of the darkest, spookiest, cherry chocolate what would you come up with?"

It takes a couple of minutes, but Eddie's phone pings twice in quick succession, the first picture is of a spooky orange cake clearly Halloween themed, covered in ghosts and skeletons and stuff. The second is jet black and has a coffin on top that looks like it's leaking green corrosive stuff and Eddie nearly throws his phone in excitement. "That! The second one!"

"🤣 that's an old pic, I was just starting out then, but everything is edible, the green slime is made out of jello"

"Where are you based and can you make it for the 15th? I'll get a courier to collect."

"Sure thing, how many portions? And I need a deposit up front. I'll do chocolate ganache and cherry filling."

"Errr...like, 150? Maybe?"

Eddie sits and watches as the dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, and then there's a pic.

It's a selfie of the most beautiful man he's ever seen. And he's standing in a kitchen, holding a cake pan. Suddenly Eddie's phone is ringing in his hand and he is panicking because beautiful man is calling him. "Hello?"

"Hey, man, it's Steve, the cake guy?". Eddie assumes he makes an affirmative noise because Steve keeps talking, "anyway, that cake pan I'm holding is literally the largest one I own, even if I did three tiers, no way will it cater that many, I'm a small business, you know, it's just me. I can recommend you some companies I know would do a great job."

But then, Eddie will never get to talk to beautiful man ever again, "what if you made like, three cakes?". He asks desperately.

There's a long beat of silence on the phone, "I mean, in theory, I mean, it might cost you more than-"

"I'll pay it. I'll pay double, for, inconvenience, or whatever-"

And oh no, beautiful man has the most beautiful laugh too. Eddie's fucked. He's so fucked.

"I'll raise you, two cakes and fifty muffins?" Steve laughs again, and Eddie laughs right along with him.

Steve grabs his phone when it pings, hoping for Eddie. It is Eddie. It's a selfie from the neck down, like always, Steve still doesn't know what the guy looks like, but Eddie's wearing a deep red shirt that he's clearly just dumped a whole cup of coffee down, "hope your days going better than mine, sweetheart,"

Steve sends back a selfie with a lump of uncooperative modelling fondant in the background, "that depends, can you tell what this is supposed to be?"

Steve's pretty sure it's wierd to talk to a customer every day, but he's started to find he's looking forward to Eddie's messages. Even when they turn flirty. Especially when they turn flirty, maybe.

And maybe it's not exactly professional that Steve's found a lot of reasons to call Eddie. He just, needs to get this right, and if Eddie wants chocolate covered cherries on the cupcakes, well, Steve needs to call him and check, right? Right.

Steve heads out into the lounge with flour on his nose and a mixing bowl under his arm, Dustin, Lucas and Max are sprawled on the couch, El lying on the floor. He can hear Mike and Will fucking around outside. He spoons up some cherry mixture, "hey will you try-"

"Shhhhhhhh!"

Well. Rude. Steve looks to the interview they're watching on the TV. It's some metal band Steve vaguely recognises, and when the lead guy speaks...Steve has to sit down. Because that sounds a lot like-

"So, Eddie," the show host guy starts, and Steve's knees would go weak of he wasn't already sitting down. He's certain his stomach has left the building. "Seeing anyone?"

Eddie laughs, says no, but the band mate next to him makes a show of nudging Eddie and sharing a look.

The host picks up on it immediately, "so there is someone," Eddie's still shaking his head, but he's got a shy smile on his face that makes Steve feel like he's melting. "Come on Eddie, give us something."

"It's not a thing," Eddie flaps his hands, "don't make it a thing."

"Oh it's a thing alright," the audience laugh, "come on, give us something!"

Eddie looks uncomfortable for a second before shrugging, "they, uhm, they make the most amazing cakes you've ever seen."

#eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #baking #baker steve Harrington #rock star eddie munson #wrong number au #fan fic author #my fic writing #fan fic stuff #fan fiction

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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omg, imagine how the 141+ könig would react if reader fell asleep on them? not in a relationship i mean, maybe they are just sitting on the couch in the common room and reader is tired and falls asleep on one of them?

This is precious and also a mood lmao

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Doesn’t move a single. fucking. inch.

The man goes rigid in his attempt not to wake you, he knows how hard you work so it’s no wonder you’re nodding off in the common area, so to him, there’s nothing wrong with getting some rest

So he’s sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread (as usual), and he’s fighting the urge to rest his head on yours, not his fault you seemed so comfortable

He’s glaring at every poor bastard and dares them to even try and make a comment

Needless to say, your sleep is undisturbed

Eventually you wake up and start apologizing profusely

“Don’t worry about it, sergeant. Just get to bed yeah?”

As you walked away, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s got his arms on the back of the sofa and behind your head and he starts to feel a weight against his chest

Then he looks down and sees you nestled up against him, your head on his chest and he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise

You. are. precious.

100% takes a selfie with you (and Gaz in the background throwing a peace sign)

After the initial thrill settles down, his arm that was draped along the back of the sofa has now come to rest against your own

You’re so warm and the weight of you on his chest is so grounding and soothing, the steady rise and fall of your chest, it’s all so relaxing

Soon enough, he’s nodding off too and he winds up with his head almost draped over the back of the sofa, snores coming out of his mouth

(Gaz definitely filmed it)

Eventually his snoring wakes you up and you can’t help the embarrassment at falling asleep against your teammate like that, still you felt bed that you essentially trapped him there so you gently shook him awake

He massaged the back of his neck with a groan and a wince, your hands replaced his as you gently ushered him upright,

“Come on, Soap, I owe you.”

John Price:

He’s low key melting as soon as he feels your head on his shoulder, he takes a quick glance at you and chuckles

He lets you have a few minutes, knowing full well how tired you are, before he gently jostles his shoulder to softly rouse you before you dozed off deeper,

“Think it’s time to hit the sack, don’t you?” His voice is low as he leans in close,

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. Get some rest, see you in the morning.”

He’s kind of touched and honored that you feel safe enough to fall asleep against him like that, honestly, he would’ve let you sleep there as long as you wanted

But he knows the comfort of one’s own bed is second to none, and he’d hate for you to wake up with a kink in your neck

And maybe his bones were getting a little stiff and uncomfortable from having to stay still for so long

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’s smiling softly to himself and resting his head on yours

He does that thing where you shift in your seat a bit to get comfortable and he shuffles a little lower so he can rest his head against yours

And he falls asleep too!

And honestly it’s the best sleep either of you has ever had because no one has been successful in waking you up, short of shouting or dumping water on you

You wind up waking up first and it’s already morning, you stretch and gently shake him awake,

“Gaz, we slept through the night.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, you laughed quietly and took his arm to stand him up,

“I think we’ve got just enough time to sleep a little longer.”

“What’s the point? We’re already awake.” He reasoned with a yawn and a stretch, “Come on, I’ll make coffee and then we can hit the showers yeah?”

König:

Doesn’t move a single muscle. Like Ghost, he gets quite stiff at first as soon as he feels your head against his arm (even sitting you down you barely reach his shoulder)

So he shuffles a little in his seat until your head is at a more comfortable angle and is resting against his shoulder

But now this means that his spine is curving in uncomfortable shapes, and a good portion of his butt isn’t even on the couch anymore

He wouldn’t dare wake you but holy shit his back hurts

So he slowly and carefully maneuvers you into his arms so now he’s sitting normally and he’s got you on his lap with your head tucked against his chest

He’s got his arms around you to support you and then he realizes that it’s not that much more comfortable

Eventually he gives up and winds up carrying you to your room

You wake up the next morning with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a sticky note with your name on it (and a little heart)

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ceilidho · 5 months

Text

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 3. (read 1, 2) tags: dubcon

The Christmas party presents a whole new challenge in trying to ward Johnny off.

It’s hard because at first you almost gravitate towards him, weirdly enchanted by his ugly sweater with red reindeer on the sleeves. It’s only when he finally spots you—and you shudder when you notice the way his eyes scan across the crowd of other employees, seeking you out—and he practically lights up that you snap back to reality.

He blazes a path towards you like a heat seeking missile, dodging around your other coworkers. You stand there awkwardly as he cuts across the room, wondering if maybe you should’ve just texted your manager some excuse about feeling sick and stayed home. Too late now though.

Fortunately for you, the assistant manager intercepts before Johnny’s able to make it halfway across the room, stepping between the two of you like they don’t even realize they’ve interrupted anything. There’s a split second where you can see Johnny wrestle with the urge to push them aside, fury clear in his eyes. Maybe only to you. The assistant manager opens their mouth and talks like nothing’s amiss, like it isn’t clear that Johnny is only a handful of seconds away from causing serious harm.

Then it passes; recedes into the dark. Johnny’s blue eyes go pellucid again, unbothered by the real world. The smile that spreads across his face seems sincere; if you hadn’t been watching him that entire time, you might not have even thought that he’d harboured any violence inside of him.

You saw it though. You saw it.

It makes sense in the context of his background. You’d never given the ex-military thing much thought, but every so often you can almost feel the ghost of its presence in the back of your mind. When his reflexes kick in or the gleam in his eyes grows dark. He doesn’t ever talk about his past life in specifics, only grand overtures meant to distract anyone listening, but what he does reveal sometimes makes your stomach clench.

You swallow and turn back to the conversation with your other coworkers, steadfastly avoiding Johnny’s eyes peeking over the assistant manager’s head.

The breakroom is decked out in cheap Christmas decorations, a fiber-optic tree set up in the corner, iridescent bristles shifting colours with every blink. Someone passes you a vaguely alcoholic drink and you sip at it nervously, reaching the bottom of your first cup faster than you anticipated.

Your secret Santa gift is on a table just outside the breakroom in the hall, along with all the other gifts. Something about it draws your eyes several times throughout the evening. Maybe something you saw but didn’t register. It’s hard to keep focused on the conversation happening around you when your attention oscillates between Johnny and the gift table, but you respond hastily when someone prompts you to answer.

It comes to light when someone clinks a spoon against their glass and directs everyone to gather in the middle of the room. Two of the warehouse guys awkwardly try to bring the table into the room without knocking any of the gifts onto the floor. There are a few casualties, but when they manage to twist it enough to get it through the door, someone pulls up a chair to stand on and read off all of the names to hand out the gifts.

Several people coo when you’re revealed as the recipient of Johnny’s gift. There’s no reason for it to come as a shock, but your stomach clenches anyway.

He stands practically right up against you when you open it. You know the second you unwrap it that the delicate bottle of perfume in your hands must have been in the three figures. All you did was get someone a handmade mug from a local craft fair. He stares at you when you unwrap it, beaming when you give him a very controlled thank you because the alternative is screaming that this is way too expensive for you to keep.

“Ye should put it on,” he tells you, breathing just a little heavier. “Really want ta smell it on ye.”

You don’t know what possesses you to give it a spritz on your wrist, letting him guide your hand to dab it against the base of your throat. It’s intimate enough that his eyes follow the movement of your throat when you swallow, mouth going dry. They drag up to your lips when they part, a hesitant thanks hanging off your tongue.

“Jesus Christ, get a room already,” someone near you murmurs, but it doesn’t take long for their attention to slip off you as the next gift recipient is announced. Not Johnny though.

Your mouth snaps shut.

He hovers at your back for the rest of the gift handouts, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. You flinch at his bitten off groans whenever you so much as fidget, rubbing against him. Shaking him off seems like a hopeless task until someone asks if you have a lozenge, giving you an excuse to take them to your locker.

You can feel him stalking you like a shark around the breakroom when you chat with some of your other coworkers, the smile on your face becoming forced.

“Did’ya know Johnny actually—oh, sorry, burped—he actually paid me…to get your name?” your coworker giggles, absolutely sloshed. You’re tipsy too, but her words make you go a bit cold.

“Pardon?” you ask. The red cup crackles when your fingers tighten around it.

“He paid me. Fifty dollars. Jus’ to get your name for the…for the stupid Santa thing. The secret Santa.”

You can feel the way your mouth hangs open, just a bit. Her words echo in your head, the conversation long over. You let her prattle on, still stuck on the thought of Johnny paying someone off just for the opportunity to give you a gift. The longer you stand there and chat with your coworkers, the more difficult it gets to look normal.

“Isn’t that something?” she prompts, nudging you with an elbow. Even the slightest touch hits you like a battering ram.

“Yeah,” you parrot back, “it’s something.”

Perhaps you’re overdue for a conversation with Johnny about boundaries. More than overdue. The package has been signed, sealed, and delivered. It was overdue months ago, the day you started working at the same store as him. By now, you should’ve quit or transferred, hell you should’ve yelled at him that one time he stopped you in the garden section to apply his own personal Chapstick to your lips (you don’t think about how you’d bitten them raw from staring across the row of potted flowers as he stacked bag after bag of fertilizer onto a customer’s pallet before pushing it to their car, his sleeves rolled up and thick biceps on display the whole time).

Can anyone blame you for being confused? It’s obvious what he’s offering. He does nothing to hide it. It’s also obvious that it would be, unequivocally, a terrible idea to take him up on it.

Maybe you just need some fresh air. You make an excuse and peel off from the rest of the group, heading for the door. Someone lurches out of the shadows in the corner before you can make it out.

“Look, bonnie—mistletoe,” Johnny teases, not letting you so much as glance up before snatching you by the hips and reeling you into him.

The kiss he plants on you is filthy and wet. Open-mouthed too so he can slip you his tongue, licking over the roof of your mouth. Sucking your bottom lip when you can’t help the whimper that slips out and he breaks away for only a split second to whisper oh fuck under his breath. Your mind reels when he dives back in for another kiss. He’s as good of a kisser as you might have expected, messy but forceful, threading a hand into your hair to hold you in place. The way he roots you in place licks at something delicious inside of you, a secret, buried urge.

Johnny finally pulls away when he can no longer convincingly ignore the way you push on his shoulders and squirm in his arms. His lips are wet when he pulls back, a thin strand of saliva clinging between your lips. It breaks when he runs his tongue across the wetness.

Someone whistles and Johnny grins from ear to ear, bashful under the joy brimming out of him. You stumble away the second his hands loosen on your hips, wiping a hand across your mouth.

“Good for you, John!” someone shouts through cupped hands and several of your coworkers cackle.

This time you actually manage to make it out the door and down the hall to the employee restroom. You spend the next few minutes washing your hands until your fingertips go pruney under the warm water and you try to think of anything except the texture of Johnny’s lips.

You touch your lips no less than three times. Each time, your fingers come back trembling. It’s what you’d long expected from Johnny, from someone that looks like him, like the physical embodiment of ‘for a good time, call…’ written in lipstick on the back of a gas station bathroom door.

The last thing you want to do is give him an inch, throw him a bone—actually lead him on, as your coworker might say. Still, your finger trembles on your lip. You know he’d make it good. Even if he didn’t, looking like that, who could blame you? The thought makes you wince, conscience of objectifying him, but haven’t you been subject to worse by now? You’re due far more than some measly peck for how many times he’s slapped your ass, stolen your scrunchie (two so far), or said something nasty to you.

It’s not hard to track him down when he’s always hovering nearby, this time just off by the watercooler with your manager and a few other coworkers. The hand not holding a drink is buried deep in his pocket, the smile on his face strained by a mask of politeness; you can tell at a glance that he’s only playing at civility, that he’d rather be anywhere else but chatting with his boss and colleagues at the office party.

When he spots you approaching the group of them, his eyes widen, excitement bleeding back into them. It takes your breath away.

“Ah, there’s your other half, Johnny,” your manager says and you freeze.

“Aye, so she is. She’s a good little kisser, did’ye see?” Johnny gushes, pulling you in by the waistband of your pants. You’re a bit too tipsy to protest when he slips his hand around your waist.

It clicks into place. When he pulls you into his side, it feels like slotting into a space made just for you, unwelcome or not. You don’t even notice if your other coworkers laugh or not, fixated on his eyes. He can hardly pull them away from you. Every long shift waking up on the sofa in the breakroom with Johnny standing over you, eyes glinting like a predator’s in the woods, and every coworker’s joke about being Johnny’s girl feels like it’s been leading to this. You have to know what it’d be like.

“Um…Johnny?” you start, tugging on his shirt gently.

“Yeah, hen? What’s it?”

“Can we…um…do you wanna go somewhere more private?”

His breathing stops, body frozen against yours. “Ye serious, kitty? You’re not joking?”

You shake your head. “Just…just one time? Maybe?”

The first sign of movement from him is a full body shudder that nearly makes you step back. The frazzled look in his eyes borders on manic, flitting around the room looking for the nearest exit. Johnny tosses the group some hasty, poorly worded goodbye (you think he even flubs your manager’s name) and tears away from them, you still glued to his side. Someone giggles as you leave. You can’t pay them any mind though, not with how frantically Johnny pulls you out of the breakroom and down the hall, his long strides nearly making you trip over your feet.

“Johnny—slow down—”

“Hen, I’ll carry ye over my shoulder to the closet, I swear.”

He nearly barrels you over with how forcefully he pushes you into the closet, hot mouth latched onto the side of your throat. You hear the sound of the lock clicking behind him. The closet is swathed in darkness, only the barest hint of light bleeding through from underneath the doorway. It’s hardly enough for you to see anything in front of you, but that almost doesn’t matter with how Johnny curls around you, his body caging you in against the shelving behind you.

“Please, please, fuck, I cannae believe it, fuck—” Johnny groans into your neck, a pathetic desperate sound that you’ve never heard from him before. He even keens a bit. “Oh Jesus, baby, I’ve been—dinnae if ye knew or not, but I’ve been fuckin’ obsessed with ye for ages, Christ.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, embarrassed by how breathless it sounds. “I—oh—I f-figured.”

His hands drag up and down your back, tugging at the fabric of your shirt and practically ripping it out of where it’s been tucked into your pants. If you had buttons, you think you’d burst straight off, zip off the walls and roll under one of the shelves. Johnny’s eagerness bleeds through—months of barely concealed lust unravelling right in front of you, his hands practically shaking when they grope along your sides and under your breasts. His fingers dig almost painfully into your flesh until you whimper and he murmurs a broken apology into your neck.

“Wha’d’ye want, baby? I can—fuck, anything ye want, I promise—” Johnny begs, the sound almost pitiful. It makes your pussy ache.

“Your—your mouth—”

The speed with which he drops to his knees almost makes you flinch. His kneecaps are only saved by the carpeted floor, present nowhere else in the employee section apart from the supply closets. His hands go to the zipper and button on your jeans, yanking viciously, almost snarling when they don’t immediately come undone. When you try to help him, he bares his teeth, more animalistic than you’ve ever seen him before.

“Do these fuckin’ pants even come off?” Johnny growls, giving another yank. You hear something rip and wince.

He manages to wrench your pants down until they pool around your ankles, only enough concentration left in him to pull one leg out and drape it over his shoulder.

“Johnny—my underwear—holy shit—” you gasp when he mashes his face into the crotch of your panties, laving his tongue over the fabric. You can feel the heat of it through the gusset of your underwear, each desperate lick trying unsuccessfully to pull them to the side.

“Fuck, s’ry, baby, I’ll take ‘em off,” he apologizes, voice muffled where his mouth is still pressed to your pussy. Reluctant to move even an inch away from you.

It takes him a couple more seconds before he’s able to move away just long enough to pull your underwear down as well, struggling with getting it over the leg still draped over his shoulder and nearly losing his patience twice over.

He takes to eating you out like something he’s done for years—naturally. Crudely. Eyes fluttering shut when he drags his tongue from your slit to your clit, unabashedly enjoying himself. His moans drag through you, making you nearly shake right out of your skin. His chin is already wet when you glance down. He spreads your inner lips with two fingers to open you fully to his gaze, lapping at your clit until he can hardly pull his mouth away from your cunt.

Johnny drags one of your hands from his hair to cradle the side of his face, turning into your palm to take a deep inhale. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, eyes several degrees hotter when they meet yours through the curtain of his lashes.

“Fuckin’ smell like mine too,” he growls. You jolt at his words. He draws a finger into his mouth and gives it a suck, making you trill.

“D-don’t get any ideas,” you gasp, other hand threading through his hair now, turnabout fair play. “S’just a—ah, ah—a one-time t-thing.”

“Aye, one time, one time,” he repeats. “Gonna make it so good f’r ye, baby.”

The two fingers spreading you open push against your entrance insistently. The initial stretch makes you tug at his hair, flushing when all that does is make him moan, mouth hung open sluttily. He looks even more strung out than you, eyes dark and heady. He’s also never looked more attractive.

Shelves jab into the small of your back, the ache growing the longer he keeps you like that with one leg slung over his shoulder, your knees almost buckling. Impossible to concentrate on the voice in your head screaming that this is a bad idea, not when he runs his tongue over your clit and sucks. Not when you’re forced to clamp a palm over your mouth to drown out your sounds.

The press of a third finger into you makes you flinch and yank at his hair, harder this time. Hard enough for Johnny to back off, an apology muttered into your wetness. The two splitting you are more than enough, you think, a bit wildly. He shouldn’t be prepping you for anything more. There’s a furrow to his brows though, a bit of frustration wedged in there. Like putting up with your complaints annoys him just a bit.

“John—c’mon, please, not so loud,” you beg.

He pumps his fingers into you, eyes trained on the spot where they disappear. The look in his eyes borders on reverent. “Always mouthin’ off, huh? Even when I’m getting ye off? On my knees ‘n everything?”

“There are p-people outside,” you hiss, clamping your hand back down over your mouth when he curls his fingers and presses up into you.

“Yeah?” The question sounds rhetorically, almost a challenge. The smile on his lips goes wicked sharp. “God, we wouldnae want ‘em ta hear, huh? What ye pulled me away from the party for?”

You don’t know why that’s what sets you off, but it does, eyes watering with the force of your orgasm. Back arched. Your head aches from where you knocked it back into the shelf behind you. Johnny groans when you clench around his fingers.

It’s a few seconds before you feel like you can speak again. The first thing you can utter is a hiss when Johnny laps at your slit again, far too sensitive for him to still be touching you.

“You can, ah…you can let me go now,” you pant. Coming back to your body takes an age, legs still trembling, held up by Johnny’s hands alone.

His fingers grip harder into your flesh. You stare down at him.

“Oh, pretty baby,” Johnny coos, eyes black with desire, “we’re jus’ gettin’ started.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ikea soap #soap x reader #soap/reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap x you

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flamingpudding · 3 months

Note

I love your writing so much but I'm here with a crack idea just imagine deage Dan is Klarion.

Dan was able to find out who he is outside of Danny then he was able to change his name Klarion Jackson Fenton/Nightingale he is still a little villain boy also now a mom boy.

Ghost King Danny is his mom young justice was so confused when Klarion you're the best gifts get your mom after not talking to him for a while to also begging them to pretend to be his friend . Justice League dark is panicking in the background about the electric being that just shows up.

Danny in full ghost king attire standing there with a plate of cookies ready to meet his son's new friends.

Thanks so much! I am glad you enjoy my writing!

Also thanks because I absolutely love this Idea/Prompt! Sooooo please enjoy this piece inspired by it! Also I haven't consumed a lot of DC material lately so i am basing this all on my memories. In other words.... I went with Tim's little team here.

Hope that's okay and that this won't disappoint.

-------------------

Dan, who was going by Klarion for some years now, had a massive problem. It was the huge kind of problem build on small bubbles of lies that then turned into this one giant bubble that was about to pop just because of one little question asked by his mom when his sister decided to throw him under the bus to deflect from herself and the fact that she was dating a demon. Don't get him wrong he still loves her, but man did he want to strangle Danielle right now.

"So Klarion, Ellie is right. When will I get to meet your friends you told me so much about?"

It was such an innocent question from his mom. And while his moms titles don't scare him, cause at some point in time they could have been his too, the happy dopey smile like nothing was wrong in the dimensions with little expectations directed at him was the scariest thing his mom could ever direct at him when he had asked THAT question.

So now Klarion was in need of a quick solution. When his mom had asked he had mumbled out a quick: "Next week maybe. We won't be busy with hero stuff then." He had started to form a plan. First of all, he needed to remember what all he had told his mom about his new and redeemed life on Earth 43 he had build for himself with the name Klarion Jackson Fenton-Nightingale.

Which fuck. There was a lot he had told his mom just so he wouldn't worry.

Cause now he also remembers that whenever he had gone out to cause some chaos he had made it seem to his mom like he was going out to bond with his new friend or help them with their hero duty. Well, in a way maybe his chaos causing could be seen as bonding. The ghostly kind, that is. And as for helping with the hero duty... he did give them work, something to do with their hero status. Anyway Klarion tried to remember all possible names he had dropped. Shit why did he also mention to his mom that he was working with heroes to make her proud? He should have name dropped some villains instead but nearly all of them were adults. He knew his mom would have frowned if he had only adult friends and no one around his age.

He was pacing his room in their castle. He need a plan, a good one at that. He knows he name dropped Robin, now Red Robin, Superboy and Impulse on a whim once. Superboy more so cause his mom had been interested in the Alien Heros of the Earth of the dimension he was partially living on now. He had mentioned Robin for the joke of knowing that there is a Dinner in an other Dimension with the same name. And because his Grandfather didn't like the Flash-clan which meant his mom didn't like them too much because of their messing with timelines either, he had mentioned being friends with Impulse on pure spite because of a punishment one day and to see their reactions. So he had to get these three on board anyway, and because for the heck of it he would get Wonder Girl involved too. It was never bad to have a girl in a friends group.

Klarion stopped his pacing. Turning towards his demonic ghost cat companion, kind of what Cujo was to his mom now. "Teekl, I think I have a plan. I will convince these Idiots, that shouldn't be a huge problem. Most of them are normale little flesh sacks." Teekl and him stared for some time at each other and after a moment Klarion huffed turning away with crossed arms. "It's a good plan don't be so sceptical, they are heroes right? They will not refuse my request!"

Well maybe Klarion should have planned this a bit better.

The next day Red Robin blinked at the witch boy up from the ground in the living room of what looked like to be an normal apartment. He had just been in Gotham, working on a case and now he was here? Looking to the left he also noticed that Superboy (the older), Impulse and Wonder Girl were also with him. They all looked stunned he observed and partially disoriented. Additionally they hadn't heard from Klarion since the last time they had foiled his plans on raging chaos upon the earth, that had been weeks ago.

"Kla-"

"I have summoned you heroes here. For the moment it is fruitless to try to leave because of the magic barrier." Okay rude to be cut of but that explained why he suddenly wasn't where he remembered to be last anymore. It was now Superboy who opened his mouth first but before he could even make a sound Klarion decided to speak over them again. "I have presents."

Four young heroes collectively blinked, confused, stunned and weirded out. As the which boy before them waved over to wards a table filled with boxes and packages. "I come in peace today, to proof that I brought these are presents, filled with various goods from different dimensions that should be to the liking of you all. Technologie, accessories, snacks, weapons, as well as clothing styles."

Red Robin shared a glance with his friends, a silent communication but before he once again could say anything Impulse was already by the table going through the stuff. They could here his 'oh's and 'ah's, which inevitably made them curious and they wandered over too. Klarion was not acting hostile at all yet but Red Robin did not trust that so he kept the which boy in clear view the entire time.

"Rob! You gotta see this! That actual futuristic Tech!"

"Look at these snacks."

"These accessories don't look to bad..."

His eye twitched when he noticed Klarion was sporting a smug look. Red Robin had to ask now, because this was not normal for the other. "Okay usually you would have started some big shot chaos plan by now. I don't buy this peace offering act and your way to formal talking. So what is going on?"

The other three, thankfully in Red Robins opinion, finally looked away from the tempting gifts and also turned their attention fully on Klarion. Who's smug smile falter as he let out a sigh and stared at them with what they could only describe as a frustrated look.

"My mom is planning to visit me."

"And?" Impulse asked between munching on three different bags of chips that where on the table.

"And he believes I am friends with you idiots."

They stared slack jawed. Impulse was pinching himself like he couldn't believe what they had just heard. Did one of their Villains, just informed them that their mom believes they were friends? Red Robin was starting to think he might be in a sleep deprived Hallucination.

"Why would she?" Wonder Girl questioned next to which Klarion glared at her with fire in his eyes.

"First of, my mom uses the pronouns he/Him. Be rude to my mom and I will find a way to make your life a permanent hell on earth." Wonder Girl blinked lifting her hands as in a sign of peace. "Second, my mom is under the believe that i work with heroes not against them. I do not have the heart to disappoint him after everything that happened in the past. So I embellished the truth a little."

"A little?" Superboy retorted sarcastically, to which they caught a light blush dusting the which boy's cheeks.

"Look my sister threw me under the bus and my mom wants to meet my friends now! So I need you idiots to play nice with me for when he visits!"

"And we will do that because?" Red Robin crossed his arms, watching their villain sceptically still not really buying this entire act. This was to strange of an behaviour change. Something was up, and he was going to get behind it.

Klarion on the other hand was starting to panic internally. His plan was not as he had hoped. The presents he had specifically gotten from other dimensions with what he believed was their interests did not work to make them simply accept his request. This was the last time he would listen to old man Vlad on how to bribe humans, he wasted his entire week on getting all that stuff. His mom was going to show up soon enough he need to have them act as his friends by then so he could remove the magic barrier. Or else his mom would notices he faked everything.

They left him no choice. He would have to throw his pride away for the sole reason to not disappoint his mom.

All four Young Justice Heroes blinked as Klarion suddenly threw himself on the ground before them into a pleading position.

"Please! I beg you, just for the time my mom is here. Please act like my friends!"

"I didn't think Klarion was a mama's boy...." Impulse whispered to the rest of them in pure disbelief as they stared stunned at the kneeling witch boy.

Cut to the heroes that noticed their teens were missing.....

"Where is he?" Batman growled at the Constantine who was sighing tiredly.

"Look mate, the way you and the other Spandex wearing friends explained it, made it sound like they got summoned by a being of the Infinit Realms." The blond man sighed lighting another cigarette eying the four heroes, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash. Zatanna was behind him pouring over a book about the realms and trying to find a tracking spell to trace it back and to where they could have been summoned.

"Don't you have something like a tracker on your boy?" Batman only growled something under his breath to which the Brite couldn't help to arch and eyebrow. Constantine was going to say something sarcasting as Deadman suddenly appeared a panicked look on him. "The Ghost King has chosen to come to our dimension."

"Say bloody what now?" All attention that had been on the heroes and their problem of missing teenage heroes turned now to Deadman and the news he brought with him. "The ghost, shades and spirits talked, for the king has decided to visit our Dimension. They are in an uproar, no one knows of why our King is on his way."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Constantine cursed. "We are fucking screwed! Isn't that guy a fucking tyrannical eldrich war maniac?!"

Deadman nodded solemnly and Constantine uttered another hearty and colourful 'fuck'. While the heroes present exchanged worried glances, not only were their kids missing but now a, by the sounds of it, highly dangerous being decided to appear in their dimension? Batman couldn't help but think that there had to be a connection to the missing teens and this.

Meanwhile in the Infinite Realms the Ghost King Castle...

Danny smoothed out his fur trimmed cape and adjusted his crown so it was floating nicely and evenly on his head. Today was the day he would get to meet his sons friends. He needed to make a good first impression. That was why he had chosen to take on his Ghost King form for this. With the wave of his hand he made an ice mirror appear before him, checking how he was looking once again. Once satisfied he nodded to himself looking over towards Fright Knight who was holding the plate of cookies he had baked himself. It was the fifth batch, and the only one that didn't turn out burned. He had needed Jazz help for this one to turn out well. It was only proper if he brought some cookies for the kids. Also he would have loved to bring his families fudge but... the last time he had tried making them had turned into a disaster.

"Thanks Frighty. Do you think Klarion's friends will like these? Wait don't answer! If they don't like them I will just get something else to thank them for taking care of my boy." Danny rambled on as he glanced at the plate of cookies in his hands. Why was he so nervous? He was just going to get to meet his little boy's friends. Sure his boy had dropped some stories about them and his adventures with them here and there. But hearing stories and meeting the kids were two different things.

Shaking his head Danny put on his best smile as he summoned a portal to Klarions apartment in the 43th Dimension of Earth. It was time to visit his boy in the place he had made his second home and thank the people that looked after his kid.

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nastybuckybarnes · 6 months

Text

Welcome Home

Pairing: Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: Nothing shatters the tension of a fight quite like needing your boyfriend to rush home to save you from people who would do you harm.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fighting, Fluff, Kind of mean!Simon but not too bad, very minor violence, home invasion, I think that's it...?

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: we're gonna dip a toe in the COD water and see what happens. I love ghost and Konig so we'll see what else I do there. For any and all COD stuff, I use Canadian Military as a basis for the readers background.

~*~

"I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna argue with you about somethin' so stupid," he hisses, glaring at you with hard, cold eyes.

"It's not stupid, Simon, you just don't want to ever entertain the idea of talking about things that might make you slightly uncomfortable!"

"Oh fuckin hell." He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head.

"Everythin's always gotta end with you being right, doesn't it?"

You frown at his absolute lack of any sort of understanding or empathy.

"This isn't about me being right, this is about you at the very least hearing me out!" You try.

"You knew what you were getting in to the moment you met me, m'not sure what you're expecting of me now. S'not like I can go and change the way things are, now can I?"

You narrow your eyes at him and his blatant ignorance.

"I understand full well, Lieutenant. I've been there, which is something you seem to conveniently forget."

He lets out a humourless chuckle and shakes his head, "don't go put yourself in the same category as me now, lovey. You know you weren't exactly at my level when you served."

His words are a slap in the face.

Sure, you were never quite JTF2 or SAS level, but that doesn't mean your time in the military is any less valid than his.

Seven years of your life you devoted to serving your country, the medical help for teams like his, and all he can do is turn his nose down at it as if it means nothing to him.

"You know what? Fuck you, Simon. I never even insinuated that we were at the same level and for you to try and..." you stop, pinching the bridge of your nose as anger fills you.

"What? Got nothin' to say now? That's a shock."

It takes all your strength not to lash out at him and even more to stop your bottom lip from quivering at just how mean he's being.

Sure, he's always been a little rough around the edges, a little harsh and brazen, but never has he been so downright mean to you.

"Get out."

"What?" This seems to genuinely catch him off guard, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

"Get out. Leave."

Simon Riley isn't a man who gets scared. He's been chewed up and spat out of hell before. Nothing on Earth can get the jump on him and nothing can scare him.

At least, that's what he thought.

His palms tingle and he needs to grind his teeth together a few times to collect himself before speaking.

"So that's it then?" He asks, his deep voice barking the question like he would an order.

You two have had your fair share of fights in the time that you've been dating, even more since you moved in together, but none where he's thought you might end things.

"I'm not gonna stand here and take a verbal beating from you, Si. Get out and come back when you've had a chance to fucking cool off."

He stares at you for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting to see if you really mean it.

When you hold his glare, not backing down, he grabs his coat, mask, and keys and storms out of the house without another word.

You stand there in the kitchen for a long moment, the silence ringing heavily in your ears before you storm up the stairs to take a shower and, hopefully, argue out all your hostility in private.

The warm water runs over your tense shoulders for a few minutes and you try your hardest to relax, to let the anger seep out of you and run down the drain, but when you hear the front door open you're filled with rage once more.

You stand in the shower silently, waiting for the door to open and close again, signalling his departure, but instead you just hear boots on the kitchen floor.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you start to seethe.

As if he's wearing his shoes in the house on top of everything else.

You yank the shower curtain aside and step out onto the mat, not bothering to turn the shower off.

A crash from the kitchen makes you freeze.

Simon is never this loud.

Like a deer on the highway, you stay still, silencing your breathing as you listen to the noises coming from the kitchen.

Instead of calling out to him and potentially causing more trouble, you take a silent step to the counter where your phone lies.

You grab it and hit his icon quickly, listening to it ring for a while before he sends you to his voicemail. A loud beep sounds tauntingly in your ear and you huff out an angry breath.

You hang up and call him back, grinding your teeth together when he sends you straight to voicemail again.

The noises in the kitchen continue, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Answer your phone, Simon.

You shoot the text off quickly then immediately call him again, your stomach settling when the call connects.

"Are you home?" You waste no time on pleasantries, and instead hear him sigh heavily.

"You told me to get the fuck out, didn't ya? Why would I be home."

Your breath hitches and you press your back to the bathroom door, turning the lock silently as panic fills you.

"Simon, someone's here."

The fear in your voice has his blood running cold, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as your fight gets shoved from his mind.

"What do you mean 'someone's here'?" He asks, his voice lacking the anger it had only moments ago.

"I heard the door open and I can hear someone in the kitchen."

You hear his tires screeching on the pavement and his engine roaring as he speeds home.

"Where are you right now?" This isn't Simon talking now. You recognize the change.

This is Ghost.

"I'm in our bathroom. Door locked and shower on."

"Good. Keep that water running. As long as they think you don't know they're there, you should be okay until I get home."

"Okay." You feel a little bit safer knowing he's on his way home.

"Keep me on the line."

"Okay."

There's a few seconds of just breathing before you speak again.

"How far are you?"

"Two minutes away."

"Okay... After you deal with these guys we can go back to yelling at each other," you whisper, wrapping a towel around your body and leaning against the wall across from the door.

He chuckles softly and the sound makes a small smile tug at your lips.

As much as he pisses you off and even sometimes hurts your feelings, deep down you know you'll never love anyone the way you love him.

You don't realize you've been quiet until he calls your name softly.

"You still with me, dove?" His voice is soft and you hear him turn the car off.

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm home now, don't come out of the bathroom 'till I come get you, understood?"

"Understood."

Sometimes living with Simon reminds you of being on base, and there are times when you despise it.

And then there are the times when you don't mind it as much. This is one of those times.

You hear the muffled sound of what must be him putting his phone in his pocket, and you close your eyes as you hear the soft click of the door handle through the speaker.

His footsteps are silent, even through the phone, and you feel ridiculous for ever thinking you'd hear it if he came home.

You can hear him as he takes down one intruder, and then what must be a second one.

He says nothing to them, that you can hear. But a series of dull thuds echo through the house before silence remains.

A few minutes go by of nothing, but you don't dare speak or open the door.

Ghost gave you an order, and you have no intentions of disobeying.

There are a few more moments of silence before you hear a crisp knock on the door.

"Lovey? You can open up now."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you open the bathroom door and are immediately engulfed in Simon's strong arms.

He walks you backwards into the bathroom and squeezes you to his chest, mask hiked up over his nose so he can breathe in the scent of you.

"You all right, love?" He asks softly, his voice gruff and ever so rough.

"M'okay, Si. Thank you for coming home."

"S'my fault anyway. I shoulda locked the door before leavin' in a huff the way I did."

You frown and shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

"This is in no way your fault, Simon. I could've easily locked the door after you. I'm just happy you got home in time."

Though you're not sure what the intruders really wanted, you're glad you didn't have to find out alone.

"I'll always come home."

And with those four words, he puts to rest not only the intruder situation, but also your argument from earlier.

Because he will. He'll always come home to you, regardless of what he needs to do, he'll make sure he comes home to you.

#simon Riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon Riley x reader fluff #simon x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #soap #price #gaz #fluff #angst #simon Riley fluff

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ozzgin · 6 months

Text

Completely outside my usual fandoms, but I’ve been tempted to scribble out some ideas for the longest time.

Edit: Alright, alright. I’ve officially added CoD to my fandom list. Part 2 is out!

Yandere! CoD Headcanons: König x Reader x Ghost

Featuring two men, one mission, and a female reader that caught their interest more than they’d like to admit. TW: Obsessive behavior, violence, dubious consent, mildly NSFW

[Part II]

It really shouldn’t be that fucking difficult. You go, you complete the mission, you return. Repeat. That’s what they’ve been doing for years. So much, in fact, that most of it is really just a sequence of mechanical actions, done so often they’ve become part of the subconscious. Crushing the throat under an armlock, stalking the target, mounting the suppressor before a sneak shot. Like driving a car, it becomes a learned routine.

Naturally there are elements of novelty to each mission. New teammates, new places, new requirements. It’s all part of the job. People come and go, comrades stay in your heart. What happens, however, when that latter part isn’t enough? Both Ghost and König have become accustomed to the classic rule: don’t get attached. Yet this time, for whatever reason, the nagging anxiety in the back of their heads just won’t go away. A pitiful need is clawing the walls of their pride, like a stray dog whimpering after the first sign of shelter. People come and go, but (Y/N) stays. Somehow this statement has materialized in their hearts and no other truth can be accepted.

They cannot pinpoint the exact moment this insidious feeling has nestled its way in. It started rather innocently. The first brief greetings were done on the loud, bumpy ride towards the temporary base. ‘Greetings’ is a generous word for it. Ghost had nodded at you in acknowledgement, and König merely glanced at you before staring into the distance.

You scarcely interacted with each other on the field, although that’s probably where their respect for you had gradually built up. You’re swift and efficient, nearly competing in ruthlessness. For König, the most memorable affair was you quietly twisting the neck of an enemy he failed to detect in time. His eyes widened upon seeing the barrel pointed at him, but just as speedily your form emerged from the shadows and you lunged at the assailant. Once the deed had been done, you merely lifted your hand in a thumbs up gesture and you went on. He remained there for a good minute, staring at the massive man you took down without hesitation. Similarly, Lt. Riley felt the cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his teammate shouted into the radio, demanding reinforcements. He wouldn’t make it in time and the anticipating guilt begun knotting in his stomach. He was searching for a solution when a prolonged round of bullets jolted him back to the radio. Moments of static silence, before you spoke in your headset: “Targets down. Out.” And just like that, you had vanished.

The realization hadn’t truly hit until they encountered you out of battle. They were going over the map when a small, dainty hand pointed to a random location. For a second they were startled, wondering if a civilian somehow entered their base. They hadn’t even registered your presence. Standing next to König’s enormous frame, you almost faded into the background as one of the furniture pieces. You were still in uniform, sure, but the heavy combat accessories and the dust of the bloodied fields seemed to have added more inches to your posture, at least in their imagination. You glared incredulously and inquired if it’s dementia or misogyny stopping them from recognizing (Y/N) (L/N). Ghost cleared his throat and curtly apologized for his reaction and König mumbled a continuation to it, suddenly and unexplainably awkward.

Such a faux pas would normally be swept under the rug. Had tactfulness and diplomacy been their key strengths, they wouldn’t be out here shooting people. But whatever embarrassment struck them on that particular day continued to linger, tugging their focus in a restless reminiscence. Until it finally occurred to them it wasn’t embarrassment persistently occupying their minds. Rather, and it should’ve been obvious, they have since become helplessly infatuated with you. The elephant in the room had gotten a name. But this particular elephant came with thick tendrils of obsession, spreading out relentlessly and asphyxiating any attempts to subdue it.

It really shouldn’t be that fucking difficult. Except it is. It’s hard for Ghost to look you in the eyes and give you the orders without clenching his fists and desperately trying to bury the avalanching thoughts of pushing you against that very wall, railing you until you forget his name. König can barely peek in your direction without being plagued by indecent images of your flushed, drooling face as he slams into your frail body.

Even worse is when the men become aware of each other’s intentions. Ghost had meant to check up on you after the latest expedition, but he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of König inspecting your wounds, his large hand resting innocently on your thigh as he squatted before you. You were in too much discomfort to notice, but it was clear to him. This bastard had a death wish. Days later it was König’s turn to taste the bitter betrayal when he heard your vibrant laugh approaching. You were thanking your companion for the entertaining workout and Ghost took advantage of your relaxed, distracted mood to place a hand against your arched back. That’s when he looked over with a predatory, malicious glint in his eye, as if marking his territory. You smiled, blissfully unaware of the suffocating tension within the room.

It’s no longer a matter of you accepting them or not. It’s who gets his hands on you first. You really must try to see it from their perspective, (Y/N). Put aside their love for you for a moment, and think about it. They’re only doing what’s best for you. Someone like you will never be satisfied with just any other man out there. You need a fitting partner, one that can protect you with imperishable, incessant loyalty. That’s truly the logical conclusion to it: there’s no one else for you. Just like nobody will ever compare to you in their eyes. And lamentably, you can’t afford to doubt their argument. The clock is ticking, and before they know it, the mission will be over and you’ll all be shipped to the next task. They can’t have that. They must act now.

“Isn’t it kind of early?” You ask, stretching up to check the ammunition shelves. Ghost asked you to help him gather some supplies from one of the storage closets, yet no one else is currently preoccupied with it. The hallways are empty and the only sound is your own shuffle between the cramped walls, emphasized especially by the tall man next to you. “I like to plan ahead” is all he answers. He bites his lower lip underneath the mask, contemplating his next step. How the fuck do you casually tell someone they’ve been your wet dream for months and you’d like to make it official, with or without their input? He should probably leave out the first part. Yeah. You don’t need the details of his nightly activities. Nonetheless, he has to make it clear who you belong to now. Afterwards he’ll deal with the pest that’s been wagging his tail around you.

“Oh, fuck this.” He eventually huffs out, exasperated. You jump slightly at the sudden outburst and turn to him, confused. He approaches you until your back hits the shelves, at which point he slams a hand above your head and effectively traps you between his sinewy arms. Perfect fucking spot. No, he shouldn’t get sidetracked. Plenty of time for that later. “What the hell?” Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. His eyes are hollow, yet determined. A cold shiver runs down your spine and your eyes dart around the room, looking for an escape. At this distance you wouldn’t be able to tackle him down. He’s too big. Goddamnit. You grip his forearm, hoping to find some switch that pulls him out of this bizarre behavior. Ghost opens his mouth to speak, but the words dissolve into the explosive noise of the door ripping from its hinges. You yell at the sudden commotion.

König walks in, bending under the small doorframe. He seems to have just returned from the battlegrounds, vest splattered with fresh blood and sleeves scratched and torn. Despite the usual cloth draped over the head, you can discern a feral expression plastered on his face. “Du Landschlampe.” He growls and extends a hand towards Ghost. He clicks his tongue, annoyed, and is forced to release his hold on you to block the incoming blow. This is your chance. You nod at the Austrian man, grateful for his help, and proceed to sprint for the exit. Contrary to your expectations, he swiftly blocks your path and you slam into his body as the air is abruptly expelled from your lungs. You fall to the ground from the powerful momentum.

“You’re not leaving until we settle this”, König states in a low voice. Ghost reaches for one of his pockets and pulls out his hunting knife with a parading twirl. “That, I agree with. Let me show you exactly what happens to the fucker that messes with my woman.” König lets out a chuckle. “I was going to say the same thing.” You can only stare in terror.

What on Earth is going on?

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dejwrld · 7 months

Text

CHOSOIST KINKTOBER GAMING PLAYLIST — WEEK 1

( DEMON TIME) 🎮 INCUBUS!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X READER

— game synopsis: your boyfriend has been quite neglectful when it comes to your needs. not particularly being the best book boyfriend similar to the books you've read. but the one demon that visits you in your dreams seem to give you everything you need.

( cw ) ⸻ fem reader, female anatomy described, mentions of reader having a boyfriend, doggystyle, unprotected sex, dirty talk (simon calls reader a slut), mentions of wet dreams, pillow humping, infidelity, kinda monsterfucking, mentions of simon having horns, gaslighting, i changed the ending like 5 times omg

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

You planned the whole night out for you and your boyfriend—a Halloween tradition that you two always did every year. Binge-watch some Halloween movies, give out candy to children who knocked on your shared apartment door, and have wonderful sex as Jason Vorhees kills his next victim playing in the background. But tonight, you sat alone on the cream-colored sofa with a half bowl of candy (because trick-and-treaters didn’t stop coming despite your boyfriend did). You felt embarrassed, the running thought that you should have let this relationship go sooner flashing through your mind similar to a light bulb flickering on when someone has a wonderful idea.

You were grasping onto a dead relationship and yearning for a happy ever after that wasn’t even there. You turned the television off and decided to clean up for the evening. Putting away the snacks you laid out and the pizza that grew cold as minutes went by. Pure disappointment sat at the pit of your stomach while cleaning up and eventually finding yourself in bed a little earlier than usual. You quickly did your evening routine of skincare and brushing your teeth before letting your feet guide you to your bed. The sound of late-night partygoers was heard outside and you can only tune out the squeals of excitement as you drift off into a deep slumber.

But as your body finally fell into the comfort of getting some rest, you soon felt your body jerk up suddenly at the sound of your wooden floors creaking. You wanted to be excited that your boyfriend actually came home and maybe you could do the activities you had planned. Expecting to see him tugging off his button-down shirt and complaining about his supervisor being up his ass during the eight-hour work shift—but instead, you were met with a large figure staring at you. His burly arms crossed over his chest causing the tight black t-shirt to clench upon his upper body. You blinked a couple of times assuming you were dreaming. You even reached to your wrist to pop at the beaded bracelet your boyfriend got you at this carnival you guys went to. The beads sting your wrist after you do that action and you still don’t jolt up in a completely cold sweat.

“You’re not dreaming, love.” His deep voice erupted your thoughts that were racing with questions. “Actually, kinda in the middle. Not dreaming, but actually dreaming. Hard to explain,” He points out before tilting his head at you.

Now you wanted to scream. A large man with a black mask that had a skull imprinted on it was standing just inches away from your bed and your body shook with fear as you inched away from him but was met with your cream-colored headboard.

“It’s no need to panic, you summoned me here. Well, kinda.” He explains. “Fuck.” He utters before clearing his throat and trying again.

“Every Halloween, some lonely single person's guilt and hurt is so strong that it summons me or one of my peers. A mere incubus that they can have for just one night,” The masked man explained, and when he saw you look at him as if he’s grown an extra pair of arms (which he could do if he put his mind to it, he was fuckin’ demon after all). “You’re actually the first person I’ve been assigned to in a while.”

“I’m so fucking confused right now.” You swing your feet over the ledge of your bed, sliding into your slippers, and walking over to the mysterious man. When you got closer, you immediately poked at his arm and were met with hardness.

He was real. He wasn’t like some ghost and maybe you had gone crazy.

“But I’m not single…” you pointed out as you circled around his large frame to get a good look at him. If he wasn’t a ghost, he still was here, and if anything went to shit to the point that you had to call the cops—at least you had a visual of his stature.

You couldn’t tell if his face scrunched up in a confused manner, but his eyes told the rather confused feeling he possessed. You stood in front of him crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m actually taken…” Your voice trails off and for some reason saying that left a bad taste in your mouth.

It didn’t feel like you were taken. Especially when you went to sleep alone tonight.

“Hm, that’s interesting. It doesn’t seem like that. So if you’re not taken…you’re hurt. Did the little boyfriend and yourself have an argument?” The stranger waltzed over to the small loveseat in your room and sat down. It was as if he was a therapist questioning you about life.

“No.” You quickly admit. “We didn’t…he just didn’t show up tonight when I planned something for us. He hasn’t answered his phone, nothing. So, I’m just confused about what I should do because this has happened before.”

“I see.” His voice trails off and he rubs at his clothed chin before standing up. “Let’s go have some fun, love.” The mysterious man whose eyes you were hypnotized with extended his large hand for you to take.

“What? I’m still in my pajamas.” You pointed it out. “I need to go change, maybe fix my hair.” You motion to the silk scarf that was tied upon your head.

“Eh, don’t worry about that. I’m a fuckin’ demon. I have it all figured out.” He says.

You met his gaze and you saw this twinkle in his light-colored eyes. It was a similar twinkle and glint that your boyfriend had when you two were in your cupcake phase during the relationship. “What’s your name? I can’t just go out with a stranger that claims he’s a demon.”

You heard him kiss his teeth, “You’ll figure it out soon.” And with that, he grabs your hand and in a blink of a moment, you’re both in a crowded bar.

You knew exactly what bar you were at because it was one that your boyfriend frequented a lot with his friends and co-workers. You had to pick him up countless times when his alcohol intake had hit its limit. But as you stood in the middle of the bar, you noticed that no one didn’t notice you. A person walked by you and you were expecting to feel their shoulder roughly bump into you—but instead, their body went through yours as if you merely were a ghost. No one in this bar knew you two were here, which sucked considering your attire.

Your hands roamed your body as you wore a blood-red leather corset and a black leather mini-skirt that hugged your lower half perfectly. On your head was a headband that was decorated with two sparkly red devil horns. Of course, he would ensure you were dressed up as a demon. Your eyes searched in the crowd for him and you saw him behind the bar looking at the massive choice of alcohol. You walked towards the bar and watched him closely, “Why are we here?” You asked.

“To have a good time.” The man’s fingers tapped at his masked face before grabbing a random bottle and some shot glasses. “So, drink this and let loose.”

You took the shot off the bar and drank it quickly just in time to hear a loud cheer from the back of the bar. Your head turns to follow the commotion of people dressed up for Halloween while playing what seems to be an intense game of pool. When you saw the familiar figure with a football jersey on, your heart sank immediately. There your boyfriend was playing pool with a huge grin on his face while his friends cheered him on. The shot you took, immediately helped your stomach form the most horrendous knots and you wanted to go home.

“No.” The demon behind the bar said before filling your shot glass up again.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” Your eyes stared at the liquor in your glass and you then watched him lift the mask just a bit so he could down his own shot. “You brought me here on purpose.” Your eyes narrow at him.

“I did. To see that you’re all sad for that.” His fingers motion to your boyfriend. “He has seen your text messages by the way and five missed calls.” He adds and you didn’t even want to question him he knew that you had blown up your boyfriend’s phone.

“It’s really no point to be here. I’ll just talk to him when I get home.” You adjusted the headband on your head. “So, can you please teleport me back home Mr. Demon?”

“No.” He adds before walking around the bar so that he is sitting on the barstool next to you. His large callous hands grab the end of the stool you were comfortably sitting in and bring it closer to him. “We’re going to make your lovely boyfriend so paranoid that he’ll be groveling at your feet.”

“And how the hell are we going to do that if he can’t see us?” Your eyes met with the mysterious demon and you felt hot under his gaze. Maybe it was because you couldn’t see his face and since it was Halloween, no one was going to question why he wore a mask.

“Who said he can’t see us?” His head tilts just a bit before he snaps his finger and suddenly when he snaps his finger and moves your stool just a bit—your boyfriend glances in your direction quickly. So quickly he did a double take at how close you were with the demon who popped up in your life this evening.

Your boyfriend’s eyes enlarged at the sight of you and what you were wearing and soon the demon snaps his fingers again. You watched as your boyfriend still glanced in your direction, but it was as if he simply was imagining things. He shook his head and went back to sipping his alcohol.

“He’s going to lose his mind by the end of the night.” The demon adds with confidence oozing from his tone.

“I guess, this will work. But, I must ask. Why’d the mask? Also, where are your horns? Don’t demons have horns?” You took it upon yourself to take the cocktail that the bartender just put on the bar since no one could see you two.

“I do have horns, just think the horns give everyone a good spook.” He points out. “Last time, a lady threw a glass at me. So, I settled with the mask and no horns.” He takes a sip from the beer bottle that the bartender sat in front of a talking customer next to him.

“Hm,” was the only thing you said. “Are you ugly? A lot of horror stories perceive demons as ugly.”

“Quite the opposite.” He backfires. “Can’t really haunt people's dreams to have sex with them and solve their problems if we’re ugly.” He jokes.

“Then can I see your face?” You asked, your fingers twirling the straw in your cocktail and you gave him a grin.

“After you stop being so uptight and help me…help you.” He finishes his beer and he stands up motioning for you to follow.

With a quickness, you’re downing your cocktail and following the man in the crowd. The music was so loud that you had to practically yell out anything you wanted him to hear. “What about your name? Do you have a name?”

“Simon, or Ghost. Whichever you prefer.” He walks over to the pool table, and leans against the pool table adjacent to the one your boyfriend and his friends were at.

You watched as some random woman dressed as a cheerleader placed her arms around your boyfriend's waist as he was trying to hit the pool ball. You felt jealousy, anger, and betrayal seeing this. He ditched your plans to be out with her. That douche.

“Don’t have such a down face.” Simon nudges your side before grabbing the pool table. “Like I said, we are going to make him lose his mind by the end of the night.” He grabs a hold of your waist after grabbing a pool stick. “Just go with the flow, love.” He whispered in your ear and you felt your skin decorated with goosebumps.

Simon helped guide your hand towards breaking the balls in the middle of the table. Despite the bar being fairly cool, you felt hot with how close he was to you. His crotch pressing against the fatness of your butt in the skin-tight mini skirt. His breath itching at the shell of your ear. Just as you are about to hit the ball, he snaps his fingers again making you two noticeable in the crowd of people. The sound of wolf whistles could be heard seeing your figure bent over—if Simon wasn’t here, strangers would have been to see what your momma gave you. There as Simon helps you break the group of balls perfectly, you squeal in excitement gaining the attention of your boyfriend’s friend and soon your boyfriend again. His face goes red at the sight of Simon’s hands all on you and you watch as he scrambles to remove the pretty woman off him. He made his way to the pool table, but Simon snapped his fingers again causing your boyfriend to be confused once again. Your eyes scan over his face while he shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath.

“And now he’s going to call you. But you’re going to ignore his call because that’s exactly what he’s been doing to you.” Simon leans against the pool table and the two of you watch as your boyfriend pulls out his phone to call you.

You were astonished at what you were viewing, he was panicking. The mere thought of you being with another man had him about to explode. You watch as your boyfriend runs his fingers through his hair, a thing he does when he’s overthinking his ass off. You knew for a fact that he was overthinking the fact that you were probably out having just as much fun as him.

“So, Simon. Do you have sex with all the women whose lives and dreams you hop into?”

“Not all of them. Some just want someone to talk to.” He shrugs. “You on the other hand just need someone to teach your nitwit of a boyfriend to appreciate what he has.” He adds.

“So, you wouldn’t have sex with me? Just put my boyfriend in check.” You playfully nudged his side and you were met with hardness.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” His eyes met yours and you were forced to swallow the large lump in your throat. “Because I may have known your boyfriend is an idiot, but I also know he hasn’t touched you in weeks…a month and a half to be exact.” He adds as he turns to face you. This time, he’s caging you from leaving since you were still resting on the pool table.

“I could have gone the sex route, but that wouldn’t solve your shitty boyfriend situation which would mean I would be stuck with you until you’re no longer miserable.” He says. “But, you and I know that you’re a good girl.” His hand adjusts the red devil horn headband on your head. “You wouldn’t cheat on him, even though..he’s probably going to cheat on you with her.” He motions to the brunette cheerleader who is still by your boyfriend's side even as he is attempting to call your phone.

“You don’t know me, Simon.” You pointed it out. “Only what you observe about my life.”

“Then do you want to prove me wrong, love?” His hand rests on your waist tugging you closer to him.

“I’m sure that’s what you’ll want.”

“It is, I’m not going to deny it. But, I’m not going to force it out of you. You’re a grown woman, use your words and make your own decision.” He drops his hands from your waist and walks away from you, disappearing in the crowd and towards the bathroom.

Like the touch-deprived woman you were, you followed before him. But just as you were walking to follow him in the bathroom, you bumped into your boyfriend. You expected your body to go right through his since Simon did snap his fingers, but you collided with your boyfriend’s shoulder gaining his attention. When he saw you, that look of shock appeared again and his lips parted to speak, but just as his hands reached out for you—your boyfriend's confused expression returned and his hand that went to grab at you, went right through you. You started to feel bad, but as you walked further away—seeing the woman clutch on your boyfriend made all the guilt that was bubbling inside of you burst.

You walked into the bathroom and it was filled with many girls fixing their makeup and drunkenly complimenting each other. Bit by bit they scattered out the bathroom when they heard some generic pop song come on. Simon was leaning against the pink-colored tile walls waiting.

“So, you’ve made your decision?” He asked with his arms crossed over his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t.”

Simon chuckles at your words before he brings his hands to the fabric of the black mask. You were preparing yourself for what you were about to see. You knew he was attractive behind the mask, his whole demeanor screamed it. The way he carried himself. His confidence. You can go on and still be naming many other attributes.

He pulls the mask out and you have to catch yourself from letting your jaw drop. Despite his face being decorated with scars, you had questions about—he still looked like he could have the face of an angel. His dirty blonde colored strands were ruffled due to the mask and his eyes—you’d stared upon them all night but finally putting a face to them made your knees go weak.

You walked closer towards him, “Will they see us?” You asked as you glanced back at the door.

“Only if you want.” He closes the gap between you two.

You mentally were weighing out the pros and cons of this. Frankly, the pros benefit you much more than the cons. So you took that leap and kissed Simon immediately. The sound of the bathroom door swung open, and someone walked in to grab a paper towel. Because of Simon and his silly demon powers, they didn’t even know you two were there. The drunken stranger walked right through you and Simon as you were making out. His hands roamed your body as if you were a precious gem he had just found. Your body attempted to guide him into one of the stalls, but he didn’t budge. You weren’t sure if it was because he had other plans in mind or if it was because of his huge stature.

“It’s not like anyone could see us.” Simon's words mumble against your skin as he places kisses on your neck. His body guides you towards the bathroom sink before he twirls you around.

You were forced to stare at yourself in the mirror at your reflection. The clear lip gloss that formerly stained your lips was smudged across your face. Your eyes were glossy of anticipation and need for a demon you had just met. The feeling of his bulge pressing against your butt causes you to close your eyes and inhale sharply.

“That’s true, but—one mere snap could make them see us.” You spoke out.

“They’ll be too intoxicated to notice.” His eyes met yours in the mirror before he rolled the skirt that left practically nothing for imagination up around your waist. The coolness of the bathroom causes your skin to be garnished with little goosebumps and your hair to stand up on your limbs, you clutch upon the porcelain sink.

You only hum at Simon’s words while he pulls your panties to the side and begins to line himself to insert you after removing his cock from his bottoms. The tip of his cock rubs against your wet folds collecting the essence that stains the inside of your thighs. Each push forward into your pussy, the grip on your waist grew tighter. The sound of his cries of pleasure was like music to your ears. Completely distracting you from the fact that his cock was stretching you out bit by bit.

“Just give me the go and I’ll keep going, love.” He professes. His eyes once more meeting yours and seeing the way your lips part apart to let out a broken moan, gave him the answer he ached to hear. His hips push forward being met with the cushion of your ass and he just wondered with not being touched in so long, how do you like to be fucked.

“How’d you want, Y/N?” Simon questions, his hips rolling in a slow and sensational way causing you to moan some more. “Slow.” He adds before pulling himself fully out of your cunt. “Or.” His voice trails off as he’s lining himself back up to slam inside your addicting pussy again. “Hard.”

Your brain couldn’t comprehend his question quickly enough because he soon gave you a mixture of both. Slow strokes to have you crying out his name as if the people entering and exiting the bathroom could hear you. Fast and hard strokes to have your breath hitch in your throat and for you to hold onto the surface tighter.

The vulgar sound of skin slapping against each other begins to ring in your ears like a sweet jazz tune. Your hand reaches back behind you to slow down Simon’s movement, but he swats your hand away as if it were a mere inconvenience to him. Simon lifts the shirt he wore to bring it up to his mouth. Despite the two of your bodies already crossing a boundary, he needed you to be closer. His teeth held up the ends of his shirt as he thrust forward inside you. Simon has pleasured many people in the world, but nothing was like this. No one has ever clutched around his hardened cock like this. Sweat beads form on his forehead and he felt completely pussy drunk for you.

Your knees were growing weak but, Simon assured you that you don’t fall. With each stroke and thrust, he held you closer to make sure his motion didn’t get interrupted. Tears decorate your lashline causing your mascara to smudge.

“Fuck.” You moaned out. “I’m so clos-” Your words were interrupted by the bathroom door swinging open and your boyfriend walked in making out with the brunette who seemed to be attached by his hip all evening.

“Don’t pay attention to him, only me.” His fingers coil into your hair tugging you up so that your back is pressed against his chest. His eyes never broke eye contact with you in the mirror. “It’s just me and you in here, right?” He questions as he thrusts inside of you.

Your eyes averted to your boyfriend as he was making out with the girl, but he broke the kiss quickly. “I just need to call her, ensure she’s okay. She hasn’t answered my calls and that’s not like her.”

“Hmm, wonder what she’s doing.” Simon teasingly whispers in your ear. “Is she home watching her silly little Halloween movies or is she getting fucked like a slut in a bathroom?” With each word, he thrusts inside you.

“She’s probably just sleeping.” The brunette pecks your boyfriend’s lips. “Or getting fucked.” She jokes and your boyfriend pushes her away.

“That’s not funny.” He says before he tries to leave the bathroom and through the sound of your heated flesh slapping against Simon’s toned thighs, his finger snaps just in time for your boyfriend to see a glimpse of his pretty girlfriend (who he assumed was home) getting fucked a stranger he didn’t know.

Your boyfriend’s eyes enlarged at the sight but before he could fully react, Simon snapped his fingers once more causing the two of you to be merely an illusion once more. Your boyfriend ran his hand over his face finally coming to terms that he had to get out of here. He had to ensure that you were home right where he assumed you were. As Simon continued to fuck you until you were seeing stars, your paranoid boyfriend rushed out of the bathroom calling your phone that was still home. Each second, your phone went to voice mail causing your boyfriend to spiral even more at the thought that a handsome stranger had you bent over in the bar he frequently goes to.

“And my work here is done, love. Sweets dreams.” Simon kisses the side of your temple just in time for you to finally orgasm all over his cock—but eventually, jolt up in your bedroom in a cold sweat and your panties soaked.

Instantly, your hands run over your body where Simon formerly touched. Your fingertips dance upon your lips that he once kissed trying to process everything that just happened. He did say you were dreaming, but it felt so real. The demon costume hugging your body like a latex glove felt real. Simon’s cock being inside you felt real.

But your suspicions were deemed true as your boyfriend burst through the room in a panic. Sweat droplets embellish his forehead as if he ran all the way home to you.

“Y/N, did you go out tonight?” Your boyfriend asked.

With false confusion plastered on your face, you blinked a couple of times.

“No, is everything okay? Maybe you’re being just a bit paranoid, babe.”

And in his own realm which was the home of incubus demons around the world, Simon viewed the conversation unfold with a smirk.

“That’s my girl.”

⸻ TAGS // @syndrlla97 @leoyayzies @salaciousdoll @xintothewoodswegox @bxrbie1 @lilvampirina @wiinterz @dvafoxxystrashcan

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader #female reader #call of duty x reader #video game x reader #angelshubnetwork #chosoistkinktober23 #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

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saksukei · 8 months

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simon ‘ghost’ riley and his love languages

masterlist | i think i may have wrote too much??

there’s one thing lieutenant simon ghost riley knew when he began dating you. he had to be the best version of himself or at least try. you were the only person he met that he ever wanted to try for.

i. words of affirmation

initially, simon has trouble adjusting to calling you any pet names and just calls you by your name. it isn’t until he gets comfortable enough to say, “love” which is his go to nickname. he says them only in private though.

and then it’s nicknames galore. he calls you his sunshine because he literally adores your smile so much!!! the type to say, “i brought flowers for you. they needed sunshine and you were the obvious choice.” and he also says things like, “my darling angel” when you get him a cup of tea.

most importantly, if you ever do something that’s like daunting or difficult for you or if you learn something he’s gonna say “that’s my girl, always so intelligent.” if the two of you ever hit the gym together and you hit more reps than your regular ones, he’s gonna be so happy for you. “atta girl,” he kisses your cheek as he pats your back.

ii. gifts

he wasn’t very heavy on gift giving. that was until he saw something that he knew you’d like and bought it. and the smile that graced your face with the stars in your eyes made him want to do it more often.

and he felt his heart jump when he saw you cherish the letters he’d written when he was deployed. ever since then, he’s been leaving cute little notes for you, making handmade things you’d like such as bracelets, necklaces. he knows how to sew and he sewed a cute little shirt for you. this also brings me to the fact that he likes knitting a lot and loves making mug warmers? it’s endearing really. he can also carve wood apparently? so he makes sweet little decoration pieces for your apartment. (but also lumber jack simon making me insane)

all in all, he loves giving gifts. he’s the type to make a special notebook for just you and put pressed flowers on each page. “got you something you liked, darling.”

iii. acts of service

simon’s strongest way of expressing love is through acts of service. he’s a military man and a firm believer of ‘actions speak louder than words.’ i’ve said it before that his eye for detail is insane and he uses it in the relationship as well. alongside with his ability to literally commit you to memory, he remembers everything. (except birthdays, but he’ll remember yours).

from bending down to tie your shoelaces, to refilling snacks that he knows you like, to picking up heavy stuff, to guiding you with a hand on your waist, everything really!!! can read your facial expressions like it’s the only thing he knows and can immediately figured out what you like and don’t like. “you okay?”

and god, he's also aware of the sidewalk rule! never lets you walk on the outer side. the type to place a hand on corners and edges so that you don’t get hurt. he’s always looking out for you, ensuring you don't have anything in your way. he’ll always stand behind you because he feels it gives him a better chance to protect you.

iv. quality time

such a sucker for spending time with you but that’s mainly because he knows his is limited. and he would never risk not spending another minute with you. from watching movies, to watching you do make up in front of the vanity, to reading books together, training together, having tea. he finds your presence alone to be comforting. it's like you deal with all of his inner thoughts and reservations without even knowing it.

he also enjoyed doing mundane domestic tasks with you like getting groceries, setting up ikea furniture, cooking and cleaning together, honestly he loves it all. especially if there’s some jazz music playing in the background. i can absolutely imagine rubbing a little flour on simon’s face and he’ll get so offended, chasing you around the entire house, pining you down, just to do the same to you.

v. physical touch

simon is hesitant to become physically affectionate. that's not to say that he doesn’t enjoy it, it's just that when you’ve been met with violence all your life, gentleness is hardly something you expect.

but god, did he want to melt into a puddle when you held his hand or when you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. he swears he forgot how to breathe. and little by little, he got comfortable. hands hesitant to be on your waist, until that's the only place you found them, his head always nuzzled in the crook of your neck. “this might just be the favorite part of my day,” he says softly.

from lacing fingers, to kissing you the first thing in the morning, once simon’s comfortable, he won’t go a day without being intimate. “c’mere give me a kiss” to “you’re my good luck charm, love.”

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leychin · 3 months

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All of it.

part 2

Tomura is due for his procedure in one week.

You don't bother trying to talk him out of it. Whats the point. His brain is too clouded by his hatred and rage towards heroes, towards his master, towards everyone around him.

It overpowers anything he feels for you.

You want to believe he hates you so it can be easier, but its never easy with Tomura. He knocks on your door at night so gently as if he isnt the most feared man in all of Japan, sits on your bed as if it's a rocking ship, and asks you to hold him like he's made of glass.

But Tomura wouldn't say it, he can't, he doesn't know how. He's lived with this hate for so long that loving you isn't something that comes to him naturally, in the mornings you don't exist. Just another League member with a job to fulfill, so why is he here with you like this?

It's because he's scared. His entire body is going to be ripped apart and then put back together for months, who wouldn't be scared? You're scared for him, he comes into your room at night and you press sweet kisses to tear sodden cheeks as he truly realizes what hes going to do. He knows hes going to leave. Its going to hurt. But it's something he has to do.

Not for his master, but for you.

He could never say it though, because how could he expect you to understand? Would you believe him? He knows you would try and convince him to stay how he is, he doesn't need to he stronger.

But Shigaraki needs to, he has this overwhelming urge to protect you, the one good thing in his life. He needs this power to keep you from disgusting people like master and the heroes. He wants to keep you in this room right here, with the minecraft music playing softly in the background as you ask him for more iron for some lanterns.

Its things like this that Shigaraki is fighting for, His hatred overshadows everything but you've lit a candle in his heart. When you fall asleep with your controller in your hands he's taking it from you and tucking you in, ghosting his lips over your head in his own form of a kiss.

God, he really does love you.

But it's never said, it can't be said. It's too late. Shigaraki will be gone for months and he'll be different, All for One will have everything he's worked for and he'll take your Tomura from you, and you'll be nothing to him as he moves to things much larger than the two of you in this shared space that's littered in old wrappers and empty cup ramen.

Eventually though, you wake up one morning and Tomura is gone, the menu music still playing softly in the background, the pause screen only showing one player showing he's logged off long ago.

Though, you unpause for a moment just to take a final walk around the world you two created. Beautiful cherry blossom trees lining a pathway to the updates village you made, ugly creeper holes Shigaraki didn't bother to fill up. You keep them uncovered, as a way to permanently mark the time spent with him.

You decide to log off and never play this game again, to never let yourself feel this hurt again, to never love again. But theres a spot in your enchantment room you've never seen before, Its hidden by clever bookshelf and stairs placements but theres a button wedged between the blocks, and when you press it you hear pistons whirr and open to what looks like an armory.

Theres an empty armor stand and one thats in full enchanted netherite armor, its his armor. The chest next to it is full of valuable items but one stands out to you; a signed book.

The glow makes you quickly add it to your inventory and open it yourself.

"It's all for you. Everything." -T.S.

That fucking idiot.

#tomura shigaraki #x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #fanfic #tenko shimura x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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1800titz · 1 month

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The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin.

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places.

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter.

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals.

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents.

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes.

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.”

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder.

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band.

“Can I grab you another?”

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip.

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth.

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?”

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice.

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures.

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc.

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation.

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth.

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again.

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split.

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation.

It’s a different story behind the door.

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges.

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?”

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again.

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together.

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.”

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.”

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.”

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway.

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet.

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters.

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing.

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to.

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana.

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.”

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph.

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough.

Eventually.

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat.

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock.

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry.

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.”

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing.

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head.

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini.

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