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#ghost bc x you
fortheharbingers · 2 years
Text
characters: dewdrop/sodo, gn!reader
cw: blood ment, finger sucking, suggestive content – minors dni
a/n: the bloody guitar thing? he did it for the blood kink girlies he did it for me he is all my mind can think about right now have this short little thing<3 (also hi i still dk whether to call him dew or sodo LOL)
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you can hear the sound of a guitar long before you make your way to the familiar chambers, the front of the door you've grown a bit too accustomed to and the firey ghoul residing there.
when you knock on the door firmly, once, and open it right after without even waiting for a reply however, you do not expect for the sound to triple– much more passionate ...and aggressive, enough so that you can feel your ears, your head and hands hurting.
and in the midst of the chaos, stands tall and proud Dew, as always, either unaware or uncaring of your arrival.
the sudden shift of his playing morphing into a mini impromtu guitar solo and you think 'yep, definitely the latter.' whenever he has the opportunity, he makes sure to show off, especially to you at all times– maybe top it off even, with a hand sliding down or fingers moving in ways not a single soul could deem 'innocent'.
walking past him, making sure to brush against his side, reeling in the fact that his playing stirs, even if just for a second; you make yourself comfortable on his bed and enjoy the show.
in his element even off stage, he holds your attention on him and him only, hands trailing down his body, his arms, the way he bounces his legs in sync with the melody, how he sways and moves and lovely, lovely fingers working their magic–
red.
your eyes spot it once and that's all they can see now, reminding you why you've decided to pay the ghoul this early visit in the first place.
jumping from his bed and rushing all the way to him, you catch the ghoul off guard with how sudden your mood shifts.
okay, maybe you should've been a little more careful and not haste because grabbing his hands and pulling them down to yourself, all the while on your knees certainly do not make up for the best of sceneries.
and he makes sure to remind a tiny partion of your mind that, with a low chuckle and quick joke about how you're so eager to kneel before him tonight.
sending a stern look his way gets him to shut up quickly, and so does the worried look on your face maybe.
though the worry is appreciated, ('aw, you like me that much, sweet thing?'), he brushes off all your comments to follow– about how he should be resting his hands, take it easy, let them recover and so on and on... and oh dear satan, doesn't that hurt? sting? demon or not you've got to have some pain receptors, no? well, what about making a mess, huh? surely it should be tedious to clean all up all that blood–
"you can always help with that, you know."
and he brings your train of thought, more like train of rambling off apparently, to a stop abruptly.
"well? no?" he speaks up when you stay silent for too long, "and here i thought you'd always be here to help– from what you've told me countless times before, at least." he teases you.
you'd probably hit him on the bicep or nudge his belly and trail off to find a first aid kit of sorts in regular circumstances.
but being on your knees in front of one fiery ghoul, his hands in yours, the scent of blood so sharp, heavy and delicious and his equally bloodied guitar as well as the crotch hidden behind it now– the circumstances are far from what your usual requires.
your grip on his hands loosen but gets more preceise. he can feel your fingertips ever so slowly moving against his skin now, tracing the bleeding areas, the lines of his palms, every small curve and vein– have you hands always been this cold?
and if so, why do they seem to burn now?..
raising your eyes from his hands to hold his gaze, you look up, not even needing to bat your eyelashes, parting your lips oh so slightly, donning that innocent look... oh no, the sight of you on your knees, with some of his blood already smeared on your hands, making you smell like him, is more enough to send him off.
"you're right, my apologies." your soft words fill what little space left between the two, ah, the pleasantries, always the pleasantries with you when you know you've got him hooked.
"i am a person of my word, after all. please," your words clouding him, your fingers going up and down his hands all the way to his wrists leaving him wanting. "allow me to help you."
he settles for a nod when words seem to fail him– your scent mixing with his not helping the situation at all.
he has had you in positions more obscene than this, surely, so what is it with now that has his senses overdriven with you, you and only you?
slight movements abandoned, you stroke a hand over the back of his hands with a hum, seeming to inspect the current damage his hands have endured. "we should get these cleaned up first, no?" you inquire, no caring for his replies.
turning his hands up and down, letting your nails slightly graze against the skin, dew watches your every move intently. "i doubt you have anything lying around to help with that." you talk more to yourself than anything.
"guess we've got no choice but to–" before he can ask 'but to what?' you bring a hand you were holding to your face and suck on a finger, he watches as two phalanges get lost behind your lips.
if your breath hot and fawning over his skin wasn't enough, your lips closing around the digits and rolling a tongue over certainly does the job.
dragging the fingers out, you turn the hand a little again, a frown making its way to your face. "what is it, pretty thing?" he finds himself asking.
"it's not working as efficiently as I've hoped," you say with a pout, now holding the hand with both your hands and dragging a tongue over the knuckles, slowing your movements when you taste the blood, eyes closed and your face carrying an expression he knows to be of 'content'.
at the contact of skin and saliva, your tongue and his bruises, open wounds, dew barely holds back a hiss.
opening your eyes, you look up to him again, a faint smile forming on your now blood stained lips.
"i'm afraid this will take longer than i anticipated."
bringing his other hand to cup your cheek and letting it fall slowly, his index linger a tad longer, dew tilts his head to the side.
"it's a good thing the night is young."
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voidcat · 2 years
Text
— what the cat dragged in
characters: papa emeritus iii/you, cardinal copia, nameless ghouls, sister imperator
wc & genre/notes: 8.1k – strangers to friends/lovers, fluff, suggestive content (minor discussion of kinks and terzo being terzo during mummy dust. That part starts with “I’d say you’re deflecting,” and ends with the divider.) neighbors au, reader has a cat… I’ll b honest idk what else to say
a/n: this is My blog and I get to choose how cringe I want to be. Yes I said I’d not write for ghost and did it anyways after one (1) bad day. Yes this file is titled “hatehatehatemyself” on Google drive. The part after the burgundy divider is an optional ending. You can read the entire thing as platonic or slowly growing into something romantic. have fun x
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Head turned left and right, looking around, no sign around.
The neighborhood is rather quiet today, the sun up and everyone out, at work or else. Rustling of grass with each breeze reaches your ears, and each time you whip your head toward the direction with hope.
In a breath, you cross the road and walk and walk and walk. It’s a long one, not unbearably so but still a little unnerving. You don’t recall many people going this way after all.
Now standing before the grand door, the little mailbox a few meters away awfully standing out, you raise your fist and knock.
And wait.
And waiting you do for almost a minute, if it weren’t for the noises you hear, a clutter of something, a shatter there and finally footsteps.
The door swings open– though it looks too heavy to be opened just like that and the man stands tall before you, forearm resting against the frame, leaning his entire weight to it, eyes barely open and you don’t need to see the barely filled bottle he holds to tell he is drunk.
The scent of alcohol reeks off him just enough.
Your nose scrunches up at the smell.
Squinting his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light coming from the sun, he doesn’t acknowledge you right away.
You doubt he has noticed you.
Isn’t it a bit too early to be drinking like this already? He looks trashed, to say the least.
Then he seems to notice you, though he makes so little movement to fix his posture, the belt tied around his waist barely doing its job to hold the robe together.
Decent on the eyes, you’d have thought for the guy, if it wasn’t for the weird face paint.
Getting too far and a little too early on the halloween spirit?
“Ah…” you clear your throat and try again. “So you see, my cat was lost and–”
“Oh perfect! That’s just lovely now.” he cuts you off, quite loud too. Head thrown back, he holds a sneer. “And what, little one ? Decided to come here and accuse us?” bottle dropped on the floor, rolls off to the side, hitting to an end by the door frame. 
With both hands free, he throws them up in mockery, mimicking what you can only think to be a kid’s voice: “‘ Oh no the big bad mean satanists stole my cat and used it for their sick rituals. ’” hands dropped to his sides immediately as he is done with his imitation, he glares down at you: “Well guess what? Buzz off! As if I don’t have enough bullshit to deal with right now. Go find a more creative way to get in sherlock.” 
So they were satanists after all…
Good to know you suppose, not that you care in all honesty. The whole church-like air of the building only gets more confusing for you though.
Before he can close the door to your face, you place your palm against it to stop him. “Hey!” 
The force behind the door comes to a pause, probably didn’t expect you to fight back.
“Listen, Mr. Halloween or whatever poor Jack Skellington look you were going for.” you begin speaking, ignoring the way his face morphs into pure confusion. “How about you listen to people before barking assumptions at them?”
A moment of breath, the resistance behind the door ends completely and he opens it full again, waiting for you to continue but doesn’t seem all too happy.
“My cat likes to go outdoors and one of my neighbors said to me once that he often visits this place. So can I please come in?”
Seeing it written clear that you won’t be leaving any time soon, the guy sighs and steps aside. “Don’t touch anything and don’t leave my sight.”
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Footsteps echoing in the hallways, you ‘pspsps’ here and there in hopes of your cat turning around but to no avail.
It’s only when passing a door that the guy pauses and curses to himself, you can hear the hints of an accent.
Turning to face him, he takes in your raised brow as a question.
“Copia has rats– pet rats. Your cat better be a vegan because I will not deal with his whole…” he gestures with his hand at nothing, “mourning or Sister Imperator’s reprimanding if a single one of them is missing.”
“Mr. Whiskers is a well behaving, domesticated cat with manners, thank you very much.” you say and turn your head with a huff.
Copia? Imperator? You have no idea who these guys are but you’re sure you can handle a couple of …dorky satanists, if the rest of them are just like this man baby at least.
You can always leave town before night too, if it comes down to it.
Only few steps away and the man watches as you disappear, yelling after you about ‘what did he say’ and all that bullshit but you couldn’t care any less because there he is, your precious baby!
All pulled up into a cozy little furry ball by the corner under a window, in what appears to be someone’s bedroom.
Pretty messy too.
The man seems to catch sight of you and say something he thinks is amusing, or sleek, from the tone he uses, though you pay no attention to his words or how they suddenly run dry. (‘ well if your eye on me the whole time, you didn’t need to make up an excuse about a lost c –’)
Picking up your cat despite his protests, you turn and thank him with a nod. His words register in your mind with a small delay. 
“Maybe consider tidying up your room, what are you, twelve?” and with that, you exit his warzone of a room and walk back the path you took, with Mr. Whiskers purring in your arms the entire walk home.
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The second time your cat goes missing while you’re home, you know better.
Instead of wasting hours searching around, you hike up all the way to that dreaded place and knock on the door with force and impatience.
It is a woman who answers instead.
A woman who does not seem to be the slightest bit impressed.
Staring at her bored face, you take notice of her clothes you can deem as formal for the place, the sound of fabric brushing as she crosses her arms, you snap out of it, trying to formulate the words regarding your cat and and all.
Whatever thought seems to pass her mind, you conclude that she doesnt care and watch as she leaves the door open, walking back inside. So you hurriedly follow.
“Sleek, black hair you said?” she asks, still walking ahead as you nod– shit, satanist or not, she can’t have an eye at the back of her head now; letting out a hum of affirmation you fasten your steps and try to walk by her side.
Steps come to a halt before a closed door, she knocks firmly, once.
Upon receiving no answer whatsoever, she rolls her eyes and opens the door.
They must have quite the savings you think, to have a place with soundproof walls and doors. The unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and all, you wonder to yourself, couldn’t your cat have picked somewhere …normal to take his afternoon naps.
Paying the scene before her eyes no mind, the woman steps in– is that who the man referred to as Sister Imperator?, and you catch her words about grabbing the darn cat now and continuing his pity party later.
The sounds of sex stop and you can hear someone walking around all the while mumbling something.
Before you can thank the woman however, she turns and walks away.
Less than a minute later the same man from before peeks out his head through the door.
Wearing a different robe this time and doing a poor job of holding your cat, though Mr. Whiskers doesn’t seem to mind, the traitor, he watches as you take the cat from his arms.
As you turn to leave and call it a day, maybe open a bottle of wine and see where the night takes you, a ‘hey!’ catches up to you from behind.
Leaning against the door frame like he did the first time, he waits for you to face him.
“Just let me know next time your cat comes over. I doubt neither you nor Sister would like to become frequent acquaintances.” 
You eye him with a suspicious look. Sure the woman does seem like if she sees you 3 times a week or more for your cat, she might sacrifice you and Mr. Whiskers to Lucifer with her bare hands but hey, you cannot control who answers the door now.
As if sensing your train of thought, or, a part of it, he lets out a sigh, “My windows are pretty wide. Pretend they’re doors or something.”
“...right.” Sounds more and more reassuring with each word for sure, great , thank you Mr. Whiskers.
Then an after thought seems to follow as a whine can be heard from inside his room, “ Just – maybe let me know ahead before you come through the window, yeah ?”
“And I should do that, how?” you ask, wishing the whole encounter to be over “I don’t want you charging me if a stone happens to find its way in.”
From how he mumbles the words ‘charging’ and ‘stone’ confused, it seems to be taking him a while to register your words.
The implication of your words seem to dawn in as his face goes down “Last I checked, cellphones exist.” he states, not sounding too happy about the possible danger his precious windows may face. 
“And how should I know this isn’t some weird excuse to get my number?” you sound skeptical, on the edge, probably finger hovering over that dial button to the police if it wasn’t for the cat in your arms.
At your words though, he chuckles. “I do have a girl in my bed right now, you know?”
“And my question remains unchanged.” staring at him with a dead serious expression, you watch as his amused face falls, his eyes rolling and he shoves a hand down one of his pockets, taking out a pen.
Expectant eyes on you– wait, what is up with his eyes? , he pushes off the cap, shaking his left arm so the robe’s arm can slide off, revealing his skin, waiting. Waiting for you.
“You better not send me any weird crap or call-” you state then say out your phone number.
Well, worst comes to worst, you know a good lawyer.
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Third time's the charm is how the saying goes. You have your doubts but perhaps there is truth to it as the man’s ridiculous window idea works.
It takes no time to figure out Mr. Whiskers spends his afternoons there because the rays of sunlight hit just right, and right next to where he sleeps is a comfortable armchair with black and white hair decorating its surface a little.
Few steps ahead of his windows, the view of a wonderful garden has attracted your attention but you know better than to ask, or enter without permission. The amount of times you’ve dropped by increases at record speed, yet the air between you both is still tight.
He lets out a warm laugh when he gets a good look at him once, but when you ask, you get no reply. Surely this cannot be the first tuxedo cat he has ever seen in his life.
One silence after another, he must've sensed how tense and awkward it feels too, as a little after he tries to make conversation and apologize.
So they are a satanic organization, that’s fine.
You’ve always wondered as a kid about the gatherings you’d see within a distance but never bothered to check for yourself.
A rock band to spread their word and message however, now that is odd. You’re starting to think their anti church might be the most normal thing to them.
Yet you remain your silence and let him speak, listen, and try to make as much sense of them as you can because god knows you won’t be leaving this place any time soon.
He says he is– was the frontman of the band, and their beloved antipope , but was dethroned , or so he claims, few days prior to your arrival.
You can understand frustration over something you have dedicated your time and effort into, and for you to be pulled off it without a logical explanation. That explains drinking until the brain shuts down despite that scent of alcohol still stings your senses.
Nodding to his words, you take his apology and leave with Mr. Whiskers that day. He asks if you’d like to see the garden the next time your legs are dangling off the windowsill.
You accept in a heartbeat.
With the weather warming up and all, your cat seems to enjoy the garden as much as you do.
Trees and flowers of all kinds tended to with care and love, you can tell. Each arranged with care, the entire place paints a beautiful picture before your eyes, and endless too.
Same as the window, this becomes a habit too. To stroll in the garden and sit on one of the stone benches, talking or staying like this in silence.
He seems fond of Mr Whiskers for reasons unknown to you, until he pulls out a photograph of someone in what you make out to be a tuxedo of sorts, on a stage no less.
The photograph is of small scale, you cannot make out much of the details, so he takes it upon himself to explain that it is indeed him in the photo and the looks of your cat caught him by surprise because of his looks.
Without waiting for a reaction, he offers to show you the outfit he wore back then, though he sounds a little melancholic about the whole thing still.
Sure , you agree, but keep it to yourself that the regency shirt and black pants look just fine on him.
It blurs at one point you begin visiting even without Mr. Whisker’s presence in his room.
Bursting out into laughter, he looks almost offended at your reaction. “I’m sorry-” your giggles break through as you wipe off a tear, “what did you say it was again?” 
“Emeritus.” he says flatly.
“Emeritus.” you repeat, this time doing a better job at containing the giggling.
“Yes, Emeritus,” he says again and adds, “The third.” 
If your laughter before was loud, this is something beyond, enough to make him go deaf in comparison.
“Okay no, I’m not calling you-”  you bring your hands up to finger quote, “Emeritus The Third.” you say in a serious tone. “And I’m certainly not calling you ‘papa’ or some bullshit title.” you cut in before he can get a word out.
“We’re going to need a nickname, what about ‘em’?”
“Em.” his tone asking ‘are you for real?’, his turn to repeat now.
“Okay no, that’s just as bad, give me some time to th-” hand covering his face, he just shakes his head with a sigh. 
“Just call me Terzo , caro mio.”
Seeing as to no reply from you comes, he removes his hand and looks up. “It means ‘ the third ’ in Italian.”
“Oh,” you manage to say, though you do sound a little different now, perhaps you thought from his reactions you hurt him and now feel sorry about that? 
“Yeah, I can do that, Terzo.” speaking with more confidence now, testing the name on your tongue, you talk more to yourself and nod your head than to him– he finds watching you act like this, how you operate and think as you talk endearing.
You find yourself liking spending time with Terzo more than you’ve realized.
Work is work, adulting is the same and sometimes relationships with friends feel dull or far away.
To say the least, he is interesting. Usually something to catch you off guard or wondering, it is guaranteed your time with him is never one to fall victim to boredom.
So he speaks of his life, of things he has done on the road and whatnot, even going as far to recreate when he tried to kick off a beach ball only to fall, basking in the waves of your laughter, even complaining to him by nighttime that your face hurts from laughing so much.
In return you feel you don’t have as exciting stories but he listens as if they’re the most wonderful things he has ever heard.
You deem them mundane and every time without a beat, he says only to you.
It comes down to, more like remembering, those scenes from when you were a kid.
He is awfully quiet that day, when you speak of seeing figures in black walking in tow, a kid or two that seemed to be your peers but how their estate in the eyes of some were off limits, and it was always at an odd time for you to be walking up there and talk with the kids.
A shame, the two of you could’ve met much earlier, yet he doesn’t voice it and you do not realize it.
Of all the things he has experienced recently, entering his room, to a bed unmade, finding you wrapped in the covers and sound asleep, would score high on Terzo’s list of things he wouldn’t expect– that is, if his brain could even muster up such a scene.
He doesn't need to, though, as it becomes real before his eyes and he makes way for the loveseat that night.
He doesn’t pry about it and all you say under your breath is that you felt lonely.
‘What about Wh-’ before he can ask, you open the covers partly to reveal that Mr. Whiskers is indeed with you, in his bed.
He just hopes the cat won’t switch his usual spot for his bed when he comes next time.
The nightly visits from you start to occur more, by the third time he knows it’ll become another constant, though not as frequent.
You do appear upset that he has to sleep on the couch, yet he waves his hand dismissively, that he doesn’t mind– he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or cross any unnamed boundaries. Which is a little outside the usual for him, he is known for being bold, for holding and kissing hands and doing much more when he can even smell from a kilometer away the slightest of interest the other party has in him.
The next time it repeats, he is startled by a sudden noise as he makes for the couch as always. Turning on his heel only to see you patting the spot next to you in his bed.
Sure, it is a spacious bed, more than enough space for the both of you, and Mr. Whiskers, yet he still feels tense about the whole situation.
What if he wraps an arm around you or something in his sleep and you wake up angry, that he jumped into conclusions, that this wasn’t what you wanted at all and that you’ll never visit again and file a restra–
“You think too much.” 
You draw him out of his pocket sized crisis with few words and a flock on his forehead. “Keep doing that and you’ll end up with wrinkles in no time.”
What else can he do but chuckle at that and sink into sleep, safe and sound?
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Wine is a skillful loosener, as the two of you rediscover together.
On days you stick around for longer, he makes his offer– though you refuse it as much as you can.
Despite dropping by unannounced after a while, you haven't walked into any intimate moments. And against your initial claim, your phone does get bombarded, usually photos of Mr. Whiskers when Terzo catches a glimpse of him, or when he thinks he is being adorable.
The latter is worse, because Terzo always finds him adorable once he warms up to the cat. The way he acts through text makes you picture him lying on the floor, hands supporting his chin, legs behind him dangling in the air, watching the unknowing cat as he sleeps or does the most mundane cat thing anyone can think of.
Neither of you are aware just how fascinating mundane is to him.
You can sense his pout from meters away.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” you put down the stacked papers. “What is it?”
Crossing his arms, he turns away partially, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t know what youre talking about.”
Getting closer to Terzo means many things, witnessing the absolute manchild that resides in him included.
Picking up your phone to turn the volume down, your eyes find his figure again– either he resembles Mr. Whiskers more than you gave them credit for or your time spent with him making you delusional. “Out with it already,” his form shrinks only further, “or no more visits from me or Mr. Whiskers.”
Now that , gets his attention.
Eyes focused somewhere near your face intentionally, he almost appears reluctant to say the words.
“How come you never listen to any of my songs?”
It takes you few seconds longer to register his words.
Before you can answer, he begins rambling, so rushed and in a whisper, all you can hear is few words in italian, which you’re sure are curses slipping his tongue and terms of endearment.
“I just… forgot?” you offer with a shrug.
Okay, maybe not the best response as this gets him to throw his arms into air, “ mio satana , you are unbelievable.” a finger pokes into your side, you haven't even realized he already crossed the distance between you both.
So he gets jealous when you listen to other musicians, huh , you save the information for future use.
As you begin laughing, he chuckles, muttering under his breath. “I guess, I’ll  have to bring a ritual to your feet.”
It goes unknown to you that Terzo semi-regularly orders cat food for Mr. Whiskers, not that the cat ever seemed to be hungry when he was there, but hey, cannot hurt to try. If the cat only decides to visit him, with you in cue, more often, now there is no harm in that.
Another thing unbeknownst to you, is that, despite the distance between their estate and your house, Terzo can spot your lights without much effort.
If he were to dramatize the entire thing between you both and more, he’d refer to it as a beacon of light. But he doesn’t need to, because there is nothing more to what it is between the two of you, even if unnamed, even when he cannot help wondering “ what if …”, wondering if he is misinterpreting things.
So when he doesn’t see the lights turn on by the night time one evening, he doesn’t care, maybe the power went out, maybe you just want to try something different for a change. He certainly doesn’t care in the morning when he sees a second figure come out of the door, or when you drop by later that evening, a throbbing headache and ‘ long day at work’ you just murmur as you fall asleep on his shoulder.
You accept the wine when you're taking another stroll in the gardens.
With the weather beginning to cool down, you welcome its warmth to your very bones.
Booze loosens your tongue first, and soon your senses, your train of thought. Whether it’s a good thing or not that you’re not the only victim… you don't know.
“Was it worth it at least?” he muses as you’re seated on the same bench, glasses sat on the ground.
You twist your face, trying to recall, “Once I tuned his voice out, yeah I guess?” he snorts at your words, “Isn’t this the usual case?” 
“Nah,” you drag the word as you reach for your glass, “He could also suck in bed. So the entire night wasn’t a waste I suppose. Never going back to that place though, I’m picky for a reason.”
You say the words more to yourself as a mantra than anything, Terzo watching you with a giggle hanging on his lips. 
“Bad drinks as well?”
“It’d be charity to call them as such, ugh,” with a sigh, you drink down the remaining half of your wine, tipping the empty glass to his direction.
Taking your glass, he switches it with his and you take no time to bring it back to your lips.
“But this?” you raise the glass, “now that is a quality product.”
With another chuckle, he reaches for the bottle and fills the empty glass in his hand.
The topic of your recent and unfortunate endeavors morph into complaining about work, people in the streets, weird posts on the internet and whatnot.
“Okay, okay,” you try to speak inbetween laughter, “so what about weird preferences when it comes to sex?”
He just gives you a teasing smirk as you place your finger on his lips as a means to shush him “we already know weird shit and food combinations the other likes, consider this a slight change of topic.”
“I’d say you’re deflecting, but alright, I’ll buy.” he shrugs, throwing his head back to drink from the bottle– the glasses cast aside an hour or so ago.
“Any kink you can think of, I’m most likely into already, so just ask me yourself.”
You bring a finger to your chin, contemplating what to say for a moment, “Socks stay on or?..” you let your voice trail off, gazing at him from the side with a smile.
Bringing a hand over his heart and another against his forehead, he faces you fully and lets out a loud gasp. “Caro mio! You wound me. I might be the antipope but I am not a lunatic!”
He opens one eye to seize your reaction, and when your gazes meet, both of you burst into laughter.
“But the face paint stays on, no?” you gesture to your face once you stop clutching your stomach.
“Everyone has a preference, tesero.” he shrugs.
Considering his position and the closest people he can find to fuck, it does add up, you suppose.
“Now enough about me, what about you ?” He leans in to you, flashing his teeth. Not letting him get to him, you snatch the bottle from his hand. 
“What about me, indeed huh? Just your basic, vanilla bullshit.” you close your eyes as you gulp down the wine.
Your comment only ignites him further, with another chuckle, he scoots closer, “You? Vanilla? I’d beg to differ,” and again, with the poking to your sides, he pleads “Don’t keep your papa waiting now.” “Okay first of all–” 
You snap your head to him, only to be nose to nose, “ Not the ‘p’ word, we went over that ages ago, not calling you that.”
“Only because you’re being such a tease,” he sing-songs, his head thrown back.
 “You are such a child,” you mumble as you place the bottle between your legs, hands gripping its neck.
“Biting, I suppose.” You can hear him open an eye and look your way, “Nothing extreme as I said, but people aren’t exactly dying to be covered in red and purple, you know?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” he answers, “their loss.”
You can sense he wants to pry further but keeps himself, and hell , the wine is good, there is another bottle waiting by his foot, and compared to the amount of black mail-level footage of him you've got, this feels like nothing.
“Taking risks.” you say in a whisper, partially hoping he doesn’t hear.
“Now, this falls vague, bella.” he says. “Risks of conceiving, catching STDS–” he begins counting with a finger,
“ No ! I said risks , not being an idiot.” You cut in, a hand covering your face.
You know he is waiting with that smug smirk, “risks of getting caught, like, dunno , semi public spaces and the likes?” you ask more than speak, meeting his gaze as you finish speaking.
“So that’s where the biting comes,” he speaks in a knowing tone, “leaving telltale marks blooming everywhere?” he muses as his hand begins to move, finger grazing against your skin.
“Like this?” he asks, hand going up and drawing patterns on your thigh, slowly going up, his eyes gauging your expression. 
“...yeah” you say in a breath, letting his hand reach the inner side of your thigh. A finger flicks against the bottle, drawing out a trembling note, making your eyes flash though all your times here, you never saw anyone else in the gardens.
The bottle has long gone warm but his hand feels cold against your leg, you’re aware of his eyes locked on your face yet make no haste to draw yours away from the plants up ahead.
His hand begins to travel upwards, making way to fiddle with the hem, going under and his skin meeting yours.
Before he can do anything further however, you both jolt with the sudden noise coming from behind, between the windows.
“Cazzo!” he mutters and gets up, making way to enter his room through the windows.
While waiting for him, you go for the other bottle, pouring yourself some more wine, at least with a glass, you can keep count.
Pausing to listen around, you hear the commotion has died down.
Picking up the other glass and hoisting the empty bottle under your arm, you make way for the stained glass windows you’ve grown familiar with over the course of time.
Terzo doesn't seem to pay much mind to the interruption though, the conversation picks up from where it left, now talking in a more general sense.
“You give off vibes of someone who’d make a sex playlist,” you begin as he listens with a nod, “ and add your songs to it.”
“As I said gioia, everyone has their preferences.” he reaches to take the bottle from you, not expecting your arm to draw back, “yet I cannot help but be upset,” he sheds a nonexistent tear, “that you think my thrust game is so weak.”
Seeing as you freeze at his words, he takes a step to you, grabbing the bottle from your hand with a smile and places it down, not stepping back afterwards. “If you want a demonstration though, I am always happy to help.” 
As if your silence was anything to go by, now it is deafening, the warmth and flush of your skin; you’re unsure if the cause is alcohol or him .
“And I did promise a demonstration of my songs to you before, didn’t I?” he says as he takes another step your way.
“So you see, we got this fan favorite song, Mummy Dust,” he speaks while pretending to be interested in the ceiling, gesturing with a hand in the air, “but not because of the lyrics.” he remarks with a smug expression, redirecting his gaze to you as he takes another step, barely any space left separating the two of you.
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You’re unsure what to say or do, when left alone in a room with a bunch of people wearing identical masks.
You think, Terzo must’ve pulled a rope here and there, or acted in secrecy considering his sudden drop of position in the band, to have gotten into this studio– and bringing you no less.
The people he referred to as Nameless Ghouls stare at you, and you back at them. You can imagine the confusion they must be going through.
Then the man of the hour reappears with a clap of hands, dressed up in an outfit resembling a suit, and his previous remark at Mr. Whiskers suddenly comes back to you, finally making sense.
A concert– or a ritual, as he put it, he promised and one he delivers.
A ghoul begins playing his guitar in sync with the drums, as two of them walk to stand at their both sides and with a sudden stomp of foot, they all play in, in a fashion you can describe as ‘ knocking the wind out of your lungs .’
Only when Terzo’s singing, and soon the instruments coming to a stop that you realize you've been holding your breath the whole time. And quickly find out you may as well die due to lack of oxygen by the time the day comes to an end if they only keep up this momentum.
One song after another, they captivate you gradually. Be it the way the ghouls play or the way Terzo moves as he sings, radiating with energy. Walking around and messing up with one another, bothering each other at times– it all creates the illusion of a found family.
Briefly moving his hand, the ghouls pick acoustic guitars once another song comes to an end.
After each song he tells its name and some information– or funny memories he finds important you know.
With a signal of his hand, the ghouls switch to acoustic guitars and Terzo begins humming: “a one, a two, three, and four.“ 
With a move of his hand, they all enter the song.
One hand in a fist, resting against his hip and the other in front of him, he sways his hips softly as he sings.
It doesn’t miss your attention how some of his moves arent as innocent or random as they seem– when he brings his other hand to join the stray one, hoisting them up in the air as if holding something, or how after he holds the microphone with one hand and violates the poor stand with his fingers. Hands thrown into the air and shaking in the air as a ta-da once in a while, he takes a step back to point at one of the ghouls’ playing.
The song comes to an end and you think you’ve done good so far– then he decides to announce that the song is called Jigolo Har Meggido and you burst into laughter, leaving the men in the room utterly confused.
It takes several minutes for you to gather yourself, wipe away the tears all the while ignoring Terzo hovering over you with concern, unsure whether to approach you or leave you be in your violent laughter.
“I’m sorry-” your words die in your throat as another wave of laughter takes over again, “it’s just-” hand clutching over your stomach, you do your best to look up, “you do re-”, meeting his face only makes you laugh again.
A tap on your shoulder distracts you a little. Taking the water bottle one of the ghouls have brought to you, in your frenzy you didn’t even realize him leaving, you take a few sips to calm your nerves.
“I know you’re flirty and all, but witnessing you calling yourself a manwhore caught me off guard.” 
Definitely not something worth laughing to that extent over, Terzo doesn’t say a word and instead flashes you a toothy grin.
“You’d be surprised to hear it was his brother who wrote this song.” you hear someone say, the same ghoul from before.
“Ah!” Terzo waves a hand dismissively in the air, “enough talk of that geezer. Now , what do you say to a grammy winning original?” 
The ghouls slowly begin as Terzo walks back, their eyes on him and his hands, watching every move and tilt, following his guidance. Compared to the other songs they’ve played so far, this one comes off much softer, gentler, making you wonder what will come next.
Raising both hands in the air as if in praise, the ghouls all stop and silence takes over, waiting, and with his signal, they enter the song, picking up stronger than where they left off.
The melody matches the lyrics somewhat, the impression of a thunder, it builds up and carries smoothly.
He begins singing what you assume to be the second verse, drawing closer to you at a steady pace. His voice becomes the only thing you hear as the instruments falter and die out, quietening one by one. The microphone now held in his left, his right hand reaches out to hold yours, bringing it up near his face as he keeps singing: “ Can't you see that you're lost without me?”
And with it, they all reenter the song with a bang, your hand still in his, Terzo kisses the back of it in between lyrics and steps back to his initial position.
Drumming his fingers in the air, swaying them at the direction of either of the ghouls, they all circle around the keyboard playing ghoul as the song shifts into an instrumental part.
Eyes never leaving theirs, especially not his, not when he makes sure to lock his with you, you watch the entire performance almost in a trance, mind going blank.
When the song ends, you can see his expectant looks on you, already beaming with whatever compliment he’s positive you’ll be giving him.
So you decide to pick the teasing route. 
“It was nice.” he stares at you, his face clearly showing he wasn’t waiting to hear that. “Nice?..”
Humming in affirmation, you nod your head. “Yeah, nice.” tilting your head to the side, you speak up, “ Say , this helps you get some?” 
The man stands there, blinking at you for what feels like eternity.
The ghouls in a similar stance, though you’re sure you’ve heard one of them snort, and another snicker.
The eternity ends with a shake of his head and a faint smile on his face. “Yes, sorella , it helps me …get plenty actually.” he uses your phrase.
“Well,” he clicks his tongue as he places the microphone back to its place, “if it’s a …meretricious song you desire, how about I give you,” his pace of speaking slows down, as if holding his breath, waiting for imaginary drum rolls: “Mummy Dust!” He drags the words in a low grumble, shaking his hands in the air once again.
From how he starts swaying and moving his hips, you immediately recognize the song.
As Terzo begins singing, the sound of a door opening and clicking close reach your ears and when you twist halfway in your seat, you see a man with pencil stache dressed up in black, his hat partially resembling a bat, same painted eyes and upper lip like Terzo yet lacking the rest of the face paint.
The man stills in place when he sees you, only gets his feet to move again when you pat the vacant spot near you.
Whispering greetings back and forth, you immediately remember his name.
“Ah you’re the Cardinal!” Your voice comes out a tad more excited than expected. The man on the other hand seems confused as to how you know him already.
“How are your rats? Happy, I hope. I am so sorry, I never got the chance to apologize to you or to them because of Mr. Whiskers.” The words leave your lips in a breath, leaving the man dumbfounded, repeating your cat’s name in confusion and unaware, 
“ah, I-, my most sincere apologies, who?..”
“Mr. Whiskers, my cat, didn't Terzo t- oh.” Unfortunately the mention of a cat before you can stop makes his eyes go wide, and you try your best to assure him that your cat didnt even set foot into his room, somewhat calming the anxious man down.
The music on the other hand, as well as the singing, gets louder and a tad more aggressive. 
Probably unhappy with how your attention was led somewhere other than him. So needy and grumpy, spoiled like a cat.
“Uh, we can save our discussing for after the song?” Cardinal suggests, to which you nod. “I'd hate to impose on this- uh, special performance his excellency was displaying for you.” He says, coughing on his words at the way Terzo moves.
“Its alright Cardinal. I was given a demonstration of this song already, I am not missing out on anything.”
Again, you must’ve said something wrong, because instead of relaxing, the Cardinal’s face tenses up and goes bright red.
“ Oh !” You wince, “poor choice of words on my behalf. That's not what I meant.” You try to offer an explanation with a sheepish smile, but to no avail. 
At least Terzo looks quite pleased with the interaction, as clear from the smug expression taking over his face.
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The previous incident– goes unaddressed between the two of you but the air between doesnt waver.
Still, it must have triggered some sort of change, you conclude, as Terzo’s texting habits only evolve into a different stage.
Sure, it went for quite a while that the initial purpose of exchanging numbers was abandoned yet he still possessed control, a sense of self restraint, when texting you.
Definitely the absolute opposite of whatever it is going on as of now.
Maybe you’ve spoiled him too much, your brain reaches another conclusion as the lips on your skin snap that thought in the middle, pulling you back into reality.
You still don’t visit him as regular as to say daily, or even biweekly– so you hold onto the benefit of doubt that he has absolutely no way of knowing youre busy trying to have a nice night, focused on pleasure and the feeling of euphoria–
Another vibrating sound against your nightstand cuts into the air, your sceeen lightning up right after.
You ignore it only so far until you find yourself scrolling and typing up a reply, the light coming from the screen reflecting against you and the man you’ve forgotten about already.
As you smile at his newest text, hearing that stupid whining of his voice and the pout, someone next to you clears his throat, snapping you back.
“Anything I should know about?” He only asks and in all honesty , you cannot blame the guy. You’d have reaches into equally ugly assumptions, were this to happen to you.
But it didnt, and it isn’t right now, so its only a little too late that you put yourself in his shoes.
“Nope.” You say, walking up to your bookshelf and placing the phone screen down, “just a friend.”
The guy hums, sounding skeptical but doesn't pry.
You give him the benefit of the doubt but few too many repeats and you know it's intentional.
You did spoil him too much it seems.
Another afternoon by his side, you're sitting on the window sill, one leg tucked under yourself, he is busy on the other side of the room, who knows what he is preparing this time.
“Wine?” he turns on his heel, holding a glass and the bottle’s neck tilted slightly already. 
“None for me, thank you.” 
Eyebrows raised in curiosity, a scheming expression takes over. “Ooh? Any plans for tonight?” He inquires. You don’t need to know that he is dreading the confirmation that'll leave your lips. 
“I guess,” you shrug, turning to look outside the window, “promised Steve we’d spend the night together.”
Heavy silence spreads from your words and takes over the room. 
The teasing remarks signature to his natural charm never comes and you turn your head to see if he even heard you in the first place… or left the room before you spoke… or somehow passed out in silence as you spoke.
Your worries ease upon seeing him standing there, still, not even a muscle moved from his last position, unreadable eyes staring at you.
Only when you tilt your head towards, asking ‘what’s wrong?’ and only then he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, coughs and tried to laugh it off with a ‘ have fun’ , pouring himself a glass.
Unbelievable.
Discreetly taking a sip from his wine to distract himself doesn't do much to ease him and the now unimpressed look you're giving him makes even the wine taste bitter on his tongue. 
“Wh-“ “you are unbelievable.”
Okay, you don't just seem pissed, disappointed?, something definitely negative; you sound like it too.
“For wishing my friend a fun night?” And with a guy he has never heard you mention before– the word friend stings to say. “I’m sure Steve is a good gu-“ “ Again,” you dont let him finish, “you are unbelievable, absolutely childish and overall a great idiot.”
Okay now you're just being mean. A scowl makes its way to his face before he can even notice, making you shake your head in disbelief like a mother scolding her kids with a smile.
“If youre done with the insults cara,” he says and raises his glass, appearing pissed and upset as he downs the glass.
“Terzo, you met Steve.” His head snaps up at your words. “Steve?“ you repeat in question, “Steve Whiskers?” ‘ ring any bells? ’ He can hear you say in following–
The faint smile of yours slowly evolve in a giggle as you watch the gears turn in his head and finally connect the two and two together.
“The cat?!” His voice comes out louder than he meant to, suddenly straightening up and wiping invisible dust off his clothes, he clears his throat. 
“Excuse me for my sudden input of volume.” You reply with a smile, “Send my best regards to Mr. Whiskers.”
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You see the ghouls around few more times you're in the perimeter, as well as the scary woman from before.
Sitting in the gardens with Terzo again one warm afternoon and she passes in the distance, her eye catching sight of you no doubt.
Jumping in your stead, you rush to where she is. Terzo watches as you speak with more animatic gestures, Sister remaining stoic as always. You bring a hand up to scratch your head in unease, then holding out a box of sorts. As you are about to turn, he sees your body beam , most likely at something Sister has said as she walks away.
You pattle back to where he waits, trying to contain a big smile and pulling out few cookies from behind in surprise. Just as he does with anything else you offer, he devours the cookies, making sure to express his gratitude and worship before and after.
You settle back next to him, laughing at the way he acts as he ignores the crumbs on his thighs, resting your head against his shoulder and relaxing.
Yet you never tell him what it was Sister Imperator has said to you that got you in high spirits; not then, not later.
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When you wake up with the sunlight grazing your face from the wrong direction, your first instinct is to return to sleep.
Having falling asleep by Terzo's side a reasonable amount of times now, it feels just as comfortable as your room. Despite his chest not being as soft as your pillow, the comfort of his mattress easily beating yours makes up for the loss.
Just as a content smile makes its way to your lips and you, more than eager to return to sleep, the situation of now sinks in and you can feel the warmth drain from your entire body.
Sure, this is not the first time you've found yourself falling asleep here, even in his arms, limbs tangled up no less; but all those instances contain one huge difference from the predicament you find yourself in now and it is last night.
Maybe you should pretend to stay asleep until he is summoned for anything, but the chances of this are dangerously slim. The light coming from between the curtains doesn't burn into your eyes just yet so it must still be fairly early, maybe you can sneak out before he can return from the land of dreaming. But that'd would leave bigger problems for future you and frankly? future you has gotten sick of your 'dancing around with nothing acknowledged' bullshit.
You take a deep breath, and shut your eyes further– hey perhaps they'll glue themselves together from how tight your muscles are contracting and with your sudden admittance to the hospital and the emergencu of the entire situation, it'll all get forgo–
A sudden noise stops your entire thought process crashing. A trainwreck, yes that's what this is.
Sucking a sharp breathe in, you think 'now or never', suck it up once and face on with courage.
Creaking one eye open and meeting Terzo's eyes on yours, every single muscle in his face loosened and his expression what you can only describe as to be 'at peace', all your anxiety from bare seconds ago gets washed down the drain. 
And for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax, fully, and bask in whatever the future– and he, along with it, will offer you.
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luvit · 4 months
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can u please do a little blurb of Simon/ghosts reaction to younger!girlfriend!reader! When he takes their virginity and they are so tight he can barely fit. And maybe if ur feeling up to it make reader cum ON JUST THE TIP like he’s literally not even in. Also…….maybe reader’s a squirter…
(female!reader, mdni 18+)
THE SCREAM I SCRUMPTTTTTT EUUUARGHHHHH. this honestly created a new wrinkle in my brain. thank you. i kiss you on cheek 😗 (fem!reader)
simon who knows how big he is, s'the first thing he said when you first brought up sex. a gentle warning that he's going to be a lot to handle. but he's sweet on you, lets you bring up when you want to talk about sex. when you want to have it. but just because he lets you lead that topic doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking about it. dreaming about it. craving it.
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the way you look up at him with such sweet, innocent eyes has simon's heart aching. you poor thing, don't know what you're in for. but he keeps your mind off of it with the way he continues to kiss up and down your body.
you've totally entrusted yourself to simon. he thinks it's dangerous with the way you've opened yourself up so willingly for him. because although he's a trained soldier who has endured some of the worst. the biggest challenge yet as to be refraining from ravaging you with when he hones in on the damp spot on your panties.
it's the only guard you have against him right now. otherwise stripped bare for his hands to touch and his lips to press into. he starts mapping out your body so it can be prepared to fully claim it as his. wants so badly to be your first and your last. knows he can make it so, because he plans on wrecking you tonight.
"simon, when are you going to-" he cuts off your sweet voice by kissing your breast, nipping at it playfully and smirking when you whine. he pulls back to stroke your hair back and look you in the eyes with a teasing grin.
"going to wha'?" it makes you blush to even think of trying to get out the words properly. it'd already been enough to work up the courage to tell him that you were ready tonight. made you blush even harder by the way he bared his teeth in a feral grin when you said so.
"to... to f-"
"fuck you?" he interjects. "no, no, baby. not going to fuck you silly. not tonight. can't handle that yet, no matter how badly i want this pussy t'be mine." he grins down at you and softly cups your cheek. "i gotta introduce myself to her first, get her used to me and give her a proper welcome."
"her?" you ask timidly and he shuffles again between your thighs so that his boxers press up against your clothed pussy. makes you look at the size of him between your legs, and then at the size of his bulge.
"your pussy, baby. my pussy." he hums and strokes your thighs lovingly. he enjoys that little panicked look in your eyes, because he knows it's not because you want to back out. he can sense you're still okay with this. he just wants to coax you out a little bit, help you gain more confidence in this setting. because it would be further than the truth to say that he isn't so sexually attracted to you right now.
"how are you going to do that, simon?" you ask and hold your legs back for him. oh, so obedient. didn't need to ask. he awards you with a squeeze on your thigh and a pat to the knee.
"can i take these off, princess?" he asks while holding his hands at your hips. they're resting just above your underwear so he's not actually touching them, just barely above the hem of them. when you nod, he gives you a reassuring smile and slowly slips it off of you. he lets out a breath when he sees your pretty pussy underneath him, spread open from the position your legs are in since he's already so wide and you have to accommodate. "such a pretty pussy. can i touch?"
"yes, please." you look at him with hands by your chin, brought up since you weren't sure what to do with yourself. simon can't help but hum at the way you're so good for him, so polite. your breath hitches when you feel his fingers prod at your pussy lips, spreading them out even more.
he takes a gentle finger to slowly feel at your slit. there's enough of a sticky mess down there from all the kissing and licking he did at your neck and nipples. the way he was whispering promises of how good he was going to treat you and your "princess cunt" made you excited to experience what he wanted to give you.
"gonna put a finger in, yeah?" he confirms with you. you nod again and then he gives your hip a squeeze. "need you to use your words, baby. gotta make sure you tell me yes or no."
"please put a finger in me, simon," you beg him. he has no choice but to oblige. and then he's slowly pushing in a digit, his fingers already thicker than what you might expect and the stretch is a lot. your walls squeeze tightly down on the foreign feeling and he gently shushes you with a thumb to rub at your clit.
"i gotcha. need to prep you good if y'wanna take my cock. y'wanna take my cock, baby?" he asks while gently massaging your walls. it feels a little weird at first but the way he circles your clit is too good. you squeeze down on his finger again and he curses in his head. oh, how tight you were. just a wonder of how you'd feel wrapped around him. but he knew patience. he could wait just a little longer.
"i do. i want to feel your cock, simon. please make me cum," you watch him as he kisses your tummy. he tells you that he promises to. tells you that he was sure he was put on this earth to please you, to make you cum so good around him. he adds another finger when he feels that you're ready, and then another after that one. he has you stretched on three fingers with him rubbing little circles on your clit to help ease the pressure from him.
but when you're close, he stops the slow thrusting of his fingers and takes his thumb off. doesn't miss the way your thighs twitch and how you whimper when he pulls his fingers out. "hush, love. you'll get to cum soon enough. don't want you coming from anything but my cock first, though."
with that, he settles with his hips between your thighs again and slowly thrusts his cock against your folds. you feel for the first time just how thick he is, how far he spreads your pussy lips already as he smooths out a path between them. and you watch how far his tip goes up your tummy when he thrusts forward all the way.
"simon," you nervously call out, gripping onto his wrist. he's quick to pause and cups your face again.
"talk to me, love."
the concern in his eyes that lets you know no matter how bad he wants it, that he's willing to drop everything for you tonight if you tell him to stop. it has you making up your mind, trying to squish down the nervous butterflies in your tummy.
"go gentle, okay?"
he smiles, eyes crinkling as he gives you a nod. brings your hand up so he can kiss it and then intertwines his fingers with yours. "always."
he checks to make sure you're still good by playing with your pussy a little more, continuing to rub against you and ensure that your clit is getting the attention it needs. when he asks if it's okay to put it in, you tell him yes. but as he begins to push in, your body locks up and your hand squeezes so tightly on his.
"simon!" you yelp out as your back arches off the bed. he stops immediately, tip barely pushing past your entrance.
"shit, s'fucking tight. thought i stretched you out enough, princess," he says while locking his eyes with the way his cock splits you open at just the barest intrusion. he can see your cream slathering the tip of his dick. "wan' me to stop?"
you take in a deep breath and collect yourself. you're brave enough to try. you want it that badly. "n-no."
"don't think i can keep going without hurting you, baby." he prods his dick at your slit again and thinks of what to do. doesn't think you really want to be fingered again, not when you got this far. he doesn't want to squash your confidence either so he opts for the next best thing. "how 'bout just the tip?"
"just the tip?" you huff out. you look down and see the dripping head of his dick, hiding the full length of his meaty cock at the angle you're looking at. you look back at simon and nod. "okay."
"s'my good girl." he praises you and slowly pushes the tip in again. he bites in a loud groan at the way you squeeze down on him. what a tiny pussy. he feels the head pop in and huffs out a breath, watching to see the way you're reacting. your face is scrunched up in discomfort but you take deep breaths to work through it. deciding to help you, he starts working your clit again. "atta girl. look at you. tip's in this tight fuckin' pussy."
you look down and see that yes, his tip did go into your hole. can feel it too, how it stretches you so widely. you whimper at him when you realize that, unconsciously clenching down around his tip as you focus on the feeling of it. he hisses and grips your hip a little tighter. "move, please, simon?"
and he takes your words as if it were a holy order. allows himself shallow thrusts as he watches his tip pop in and out of your wet pussy. he pants as he watches it and feels the way you squeeze on him so nicely.
"hear tha', sweet girl?" he asks. you focus your ears onto what he might be talking about. and then you moan because you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy every time his cockhead slaps against your slit and stirs your juices around your pussy lips. "mm, s'right. s'all you. pussy so tight, so messy. and it's all mine."
he pinches your clit and it makes your legs squeeze around his hips now. the sensation of him stretching you out with just the tip and how it barely enters you combined with him rolling your clit between his fingers is too much. your eyes roll back and you moan, enjoying the way he plays with your pussy. although it's only the tip, his cock is so long and wide that it feels like it hits you so deep.
every time he pulls the tip back, he can see the messy strings of your juices still connecting him to your pussy. drives him absolutely mad.
"c'mon, baby. feel you clampin' down on me. you gonna cum?" he grunts out as his shallow thrusting becomes faster. you silently praise him for having the self control he does to not go any deeper. but you don't realize that he's become so addicted to just his tip dipping in and out of you. loves the way your pussy engulfs his tip and makes him so slippery.
"mhm," you hum as you look at him with lovesick eyes. "i... i think i'm going to cum." you aren't sure, never having cum around anything before. was it supposed to feel like this? you pant and squeal when he starts abusing your clit, swiping it back and forth. goes between squeezing on it and swiping the underside of your clit with his thumb and using his three fingers to move it back and forth.
and then you're cut off as you gush around him. you cum so much and shut your eyes as he continues to rapidly thrust in and out while you cum. takes a second for you both to realize that your juices has spurted all over your thighs and simon's stomach. he slows himself down as he takes his dick out and starts slapping the head on your clit, making you squirt even more.
you wiggle your hips to try to run from the sensation, but he keeps going and gives himself a couple more shallow thrusts into your pussy before finally pulling out and cumming all over your stomach. you catch your breath as simon slowly pumps his cock.
"i came a lot," you comment as you look at the mess that's slathered over his hips and probably darkening the sheets below you. he hums and looks at you questioningly.
"you ever cum before?" you shake your head no and he has to clear his throat so he can focus on hiding the way his eyes darkened at that. "you didn't just cum, love. you squirted."
your face turns red and you sink back into the pillows behind you. you let out a sheepish, "oh." and simon can't help but chuckle. he shifts his hips and his cock bounces up, letting you know that he's still hard.
"s'alright, love. i liked it a lot. you got another one in you? want to try to make you squirt again like tha'."
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do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
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sprout-fics · 3 months
Text
Neighbors Alpha Ghost except he’s extremely polite for a man who is the biggest scariest alpha you’ve ever met. Alpha Ghost who’s lived beside you for years and has developed a rapport of trust with you, the sweet omega that lives next door. Ghost, who trusts you to watch over his place when he’s deployed and in return he helps you repair the various odds and ends in your place. Ghost who routinely asks you if you need anything from the store, and in return you give him baked sweets to take to base.
Ghost who’s gone for weeks at a time for work and you try not to entertain the idea that he may not come back, that one day you’ll wake up to your landlady emptying out his apartment and learning the hard way that you’ll never see him again. Ghost who always comes back, and feels a warm flush of fondness at the relief on your face when you see him again.
Ghost who once came home to find you cornered in the stairwell by an alpha you’d rejected, your face horrified at the things your would be suitor was snarling at you. Ghost who bodily hauled the smaller alpha down the stairs and threw him into the street with a snarled warning to never return, fangs bared beneath his mask. Ghost who returned to make sure you got home safe, and the next day helped you install a secure deadbolt for your safety.
Ghost who allowed himself a rare encounter that night when you hugged him in thanks, swallowing down tears and apologizing for the hassle. Ghost, who’s thought of the moment ever since, of how nice you smelled, how the feeling of you in his arms felt right.
Ghost, who hears you through the thin wall you two share a few weeks later, crying your eyes out. When you answer his gentle knock your face crumples. You confess that said rotten alpha showed up to your job and made a scene, and you were reluctantly let go because of the disturbance. Ghost, who for all his cold hearted demeanor and apathetic nature, feels only anger when you tell him this. Silently, Ghost vows to track down the fellow and discreetly ensure he’ll never hassle another omega again.
Ghost who stays at your request despite himself, allows you to put on old TV reruns and sniffle into his shoulder before you fall asleep there on the couch. Ghost, who’s instincts swell with pride at this omega who deems him safe enough to let into your den, to keep you safe while you rest against him.
Ghost who hears from you a week later, when you knock on his door embarrassed but standing strong with your fists clenched at your sides. Ghost, who is amused at your demeanor and listens as you tell him you have money for rent and groceries this month, but not for your suppressants. Ghost half expects you to ask for money, but is floored when you instead steel yourself and ask him to help you with your coming heat because you trust him. Ghost who freezes where he stands and finally tells you he’ll consider it, unable to shake your pleased smile for hours afterwards.
Ghost who sits on it for a few days, ignores the possessive, prowling thing in his chest as he weighs his options but agrees to help you. Ghost, who watches Price raise an eyebrow when he puts in for leave- his lieutenant who never seems to stop working, but approves it anyways. Ghost who researches what omegas need during heats, from nesting supplies to physical touch to…everything else and tries to remind himself it’s just a favor. It doesn’t mean anything, even if you asked him out of everyone else you know.
Ghost who gets a text on a lazy Sunday morning and is in your flat five minutes later willing but oddly nervous. He expects to find you in a state of debauchery but instead pads into your bedroom to find you curled under the covers sweating and glassy eyed, still coherent to smile and offer a weary thanks. Ghost who supplies a bag of scent laden clothes that has you curling into his familiar smell with a pleased whine. Ghost who tries his best at making you food while you arrange the clothes into a nest with sluggish limbs.
Ghost, who stiffly sits at your bedside and dabs at your sweaty brow, ignoring the flare of base instinct at the sweet, hypnotic smell of an omega in heat. His omega, his instincts purr. Just not yet. Ghost who cedes to your demands to cuddle, watching you go pliant and soft in his arms with a sigh, drinking in his scent as you drift off to sleep.
Ghost who wakes up hours later to you squirming and whining against him, panting and hazy eyed as the telltale scent of slick clouds his nose and draws an answering, primal growl from deep in his chest. Ghost who, with great restraint and gentleness works to prep you with large, calloused fingers, taking more time that he should just to make sure you’re ready. Ghost who firmly hushes your complaints and instead allows himself the selfish act of being completely involved in you, far beyond that of a clinical touch. Ghost who smears your tears of desperation with his thumb, murmurs a dark and heady “pretty omega” before finally, finally sinking into you.
Ghost, who maneuvers you as he pleases, watching the awareness fade from your eyes only to be replaced by heat-addled lust and your lips begging for more. Ghost who braces his full weight on you and rocks with slow, powerful motions that have you hiccup and writhe under him, pushing back onto his cock. Ghost who’s fangs pop out as he carefully refuses the instinct to bite the gland of the mewling, whimpering omega underneath him, but failing to restrain the instinctual growl of MINE that thunders in his chest.
Ghost who makes you come so slick dribbles down your thighs and you fist the sheets with a whimper of his name. Ghost who coos praises into your ear and grinds his cock into you so your eyes roll back into your head. Ghost who has you come twice more before he finally empties himself into you and silently feels the instinctual hope that it takes. Ghost who has no need to measure his stamina, ready to go again in minutes as you reach blindly for him, presenting oh so prettily for your alpha.
Ghost who takes all the time in the world for the days that follow, allowing himself to cave to the alpha instinct of providing, protecting, caring for the perfect little omega in his care. Ghost who watches you like shark as you fall asleep in the bath, sitting you in his lap after and making you eat before sinking you on his cock again. Ghost who coos at you as you go slack jawed and glassy eyed as he mounts you once more- ruining the sheets he just changed as you gush around him.
Ghost who wakes on the third day sore in all the best ways, noticing the way you cling to him like an octopus as you sleep. Ghost who pets at you fondly and noticed the scent of your heat finally ebbing away, blissfully shortened by his attentions. Ghost who watches your peaceful face and once more purrs happily at the thought that you’re his.
Ghost who can’t help but think about the next time he’s due to rut, about stretching you out on his knot and feeling the sensation of you clench down on him in climax. Ghost who reminds himself that it’s only one thing to look forward to, that courting is a careful process and that you deserve to be treated well in the duration of it. Ghost who now lays a palm on your scent gland and rumbles deep and primal, fulfilled at you being soaked in his scent, warding off any other alphas. Ghost who promises you and himself to do this right, to be the mate you need him to be.
Ghost who drifts back off thinking how beautiful his claiming bite might look against your throat.
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wispscribbles · 6 months
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Rest for the wicked
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starry-bi-sky · 4 months
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i've mentioned in a few past posts about an au where Danny is a variant of Jason Todd. I haven't made a post about it yet because I need a good rhythm flowing however i've been listening to Gladiator by Jann and I have been having thoughts.
but first, let me set the au:
Danny Fenton is Jason Todd, or at least, a variant of him. A him from a universe separate to the major Batman timeline - but still Jason Todd, down to the structure of his face and his name itself. The only thing that changes, is who picks him up - and, that he follows old Batman canon, and was an orphan. Jason Todd steals the tires off the batmobile and wallops Batman with his tirejack, and then runs off. Shortly after, he gets picked up by the Fentons.
(Customary line break,,,, word count check: 5k)
And his name changes from Jason Todd to Danny Fenton. He doesn't care much for the new name change, it stems from his mute refusal to share his name to the people that picked him up; an attempt to make him untraceable should he get away from them, and to keep something of his to himself. So they name him something new. He grows to like it enough as he acclimates to his new family.
(He hangs onto the name Jason Todd like a secret - he may be 'Danny Fenton' now, but he'll never forget his time on Gotham's streets. He'll always be Jason Todd.)
(Jazz is the only one who he tells his name to in the family - she affectionately calls him Jay whenever she wants.)
He becomes friends with Sam and Tucker and deals with Dash and his bullying. And when Danny steps in during a fight between Dash and another student, Dash gives him a bleeding nose and mockingly says, "Do you think you're Robin just because you're from Gotham, Fenton?"
Jason looks him in the eyes and he bares his teeth, "Why not?" he asks, spitting blood, "being Robin gives me magic."
The nickname sticks. It's supposed to be an insult; Daniel Fenton is not Robin, he'll never be Robin. Not now, not in a million years. Jason Todd has always wanted to be Robin, so he takes the insult and wears it proudly. He buys a school varsity jacket and painstakingly undos the stitching of all the school's motif on it. On the breast of it, he embroiders in a black circle with the Boy Wonder "R" on it instead. It's not good stitching, but the next day Danny wears it down to breakfast and into school.
In normal au canon, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton (its a mouthful, just call him Danny) only meets the Waynes after he becomes Phantom - an event that leans more towards Daniel Fenton's accident than Jason Todd's death, but traumatizes him all the same. (Is it too much to want to be mourned? His best friends like to deny that he died - and Danny - Jason? - wishes they wouldn't, even if he did come back.)
(The accident embitters him, even more when his parents don't seem to pick up on it. He stops calling himself Danny Fenton - he's always been Jason Todd. It shows itself in his ghostly form. He doesn't want to wear the thing he died in, not in something that belongs to the Fentons, and his suit reflects that.)
In this timeline, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton, aged 13, meets Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne after a mishap with magic on the other end of the reality sends the three of them careening through time and space, and spat back out on the other end, in a world not their own. And together.
Danny is paired with a very confused Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Luckily, there's a few heroes there to help them. Danny can hardly comprehend the idea that he's in another universe - he doesn't know why Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are seemingly handling it well.
On their way to a secondary base with the heroes, Danny turns to Bruce Wayne and asks, "So, is it part of rich-person training that you're just totally chill with being sent into another universe, or are you just weird?"
Bruce Wayne huffs at him, rather than get offended, and he smiles that dumb lopsided billionaire smile that Danny's seen on every vogue magazine he's been in. "I'm not so worried with these skilled heroes here to help us get home."
Danny silently concludes that he's just weird. At least Dick Grayson is biting back a smile behind him. "Riiiight..." He says, dragging the vowel out dryly.
When they get to that secondary location -- a safehouse that one of the heroes had set up -- the three of them are sat in a living room-like room while one hero, Zatanna, goes and calls someone from the Justice League. The other two heroes stay with the three of them.
Within a few hours, Danny is face to face with Batman - someone who he hasn't seen since he whacked him in the stomach with a tire iron - and Nightwing. For a moment, Danny swears that the both of them look almost spooked by him.
Batman stares at him for a moment when he enters, and then he goes to speak with Bruce Wayne. Danny doesn't care enough to hear what they're talking about, he pulls out his phone as Nightwing goes to speak with Dick Grayson.
"Are you a fan of Robin, little man?" Someone says, and when Danny looks up he locks eyes with Dick Grayson -- who is leaning around Nightwing to talk to him, the both of them are smiling. And considering who Nightwing was, Danny finds himself turning pink to the ears.
But he will not hide his jacket. He forces a grin through his embarrassment, "Hell yeah, man, Robin's cool." He says, and pushes his arms down to pull out the hem of his letterman, showing off the emblem. "I made it m'self out of a school varsity after the A-Listers started callin' me Robin."
"A-Listers?"
"Popular kids," Danny corrects, loosing his hold on the hem and brushing invisible wrinkles out of the embroidery. "They didn't like that I kept stepping in when they were bullying. Dash asked me if i thought I was Robin because I was from Gotham."
Dick Grayson looks intrigued -- and concerned, and he leans forward onto his knees and raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"
And Danny grins a shark-like thing, straightening back his shoulders with a burning sort of smug pride and all the sharpness of broken glass left in Crime Alley. "I told him being Robin gave me magic, and then I punched him."
Dick Grayson's smile widens, splitting into showing teeth as he leans back into his seat. Danny isn't sure why he's so delighted - but Nightwing looks incredibly amused, and he suddenly remembers that the Robin himself was there in front of him.
Danny's face burns anew and his arms fold themselves in front of him once again.
"I don't think I ever caught your name, Robin." Dick Grayson goes, his voice thick with laughter, and Nightwing steps off to the side as Batman and Bruce Wayne walk over to join them both. They're just close enough that Danny can see Bruce Wayne raise an eyebrow at them both.
"It's Jason." Danny says before he can think about it, and barely stops himself from frowning at himself for the slip. He amends himself, glancing over at Batman and Bruce as they get closer. "But everyone calls me Danny."
Dick Grayson's head recoils slightly, and he looks a little surprised. "Why Danny?" He asks.
"Why Dick?" He shoots back, and Bruce and Dick both smile at him, with Dick Grayson shrugging with an expression that looks like 'you've got a point.'
In the end, the three of them - yes, three - get sent to this world's Wayne Manor, and Danny is bewildered by that decision to include himself -- he's not a Wayne. Why not just send him to the Fentons?
Batman tells him that the Fentons don't exist in this world, and Danny falls silent. "Oh." He says quietly, a pit growing in his stomach with an ill-kind of dread. He can't keep Batman's gaze, looking away with unease.
No Fentons in this world. No Fentons. Where was he then, in the grand scheme of things? Where was he in this world? What happened to Jason Todd? Was he even alive? He can't keep the worry off his face, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks up, Dick Grayson squeezes him gently.
Dick Grayson is steadily beginning to remind him of his sister.
-
They end up driving back in the Batmobile. It's such a shock to Danny that he momentarily forgets the lack of Fentons. He makes a laugh sound, actually, and immediately he covers his hand with his mouth and stares at the car -- tank? with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.
"Jason?" Dick says, and hearing his name being spoken feels like someone touched him with a livewire. It's weird, it's foreign - he hates, in some way, that it's foreign - and it's so nice. Yes, that's me.
He drops his hand immediately. "Sorry." He says, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks, "I -uh, was just surprised."
"It's not every day someone sees the Batmobile." Dick agrees. Nightwing has his back to them but Danny swears he sees his shoulders shaking a little.
"Yeah," Danny nods slowly, dragging his eyes over the batmobile as Batman opens the driver's side and gets in. He thinks for a moment, of what he should say next - whether to admit that he's seen it before, or to pretend that he's seeing it for the first time. Snd as Nightwing opens the door for him, Bruce, and Dick, he chooses the funnier option; "The last time I saw it, I was stealing its tires."
To his surprise and unsurprise, Danny only gets two pairs of eyes on him. Nightwing gets into the passenger seat as both Bruce and Dick turn their gaze onto him; Dick's eyes big like they were going to bulge out of his head.
"You what!?"
So Danny tells an amazed Dick Grayson that he hit Batman with a tire iron after he stole his tires - something he is very proud about and also incredibly embarrassed about when he retells what happened in the backseat of the batmobile, with Batman and Nightwing listening in from the front seat.
(Bruce Wayne doesn't ever tell Dick shit, he's going to lord this over Bruce's head the moment they are alone.)
"Please tell me this didn't happen in this world." Danny groans behind his palms as he sinks into his seat. Dick Grayson is killing himself laughing on his left, and he saw Bruce Wayne stifling a smile before he obscured his vision with his hands.
Much to his luck, its Batman himself who speaks next, (Danny was being mostly rhetorical). "It did." He says, and his voice sounds like the rumble of the earth before a stampede. It will never not throw Danny off every time he hears it. "It takes quite a lot of spunk to steal the tires off the batmobile."
He can't believe it. Batman is making fun of him. Fucking, Batman.
He wants to die with embarrassment. He groans even louder as Dick Grayson's laughter crescendoes. Danny risks a peak through his fingers, he doesn't know whether to regret it or not because he can just barely see Batman smirk very faintly from his position in the middle.
(His world axis tilts five degree leftways seeing it; like someone dunked a bucket of ice water on him.)
"He ended up being adopted by the Bruce Wayne of this world."
Danny's hands drop with his jaw into his lap. Dick Grayson on his left chokes on his laughter and careens into a coughing fit. Bruce Wayne on his right chokes on air, and quickly recovers himself with a cough behind a closed fist.
"What?" Danny croaks.
-
Apparently, Bruce Wayne's family is much larger in this world than it is in his. Danny can barely wrap his head around the idea that he ends up adopted by the man, but now he has to learn that Wayne had several children in this world?
He's still not wrapped his head around it when the three of them wind up at Wayne Manor, finally, or even when he's standing in front of him himself. For his effort, Bruce Wayne does a good job at looking unruffled by it.
God, he's weird. Danny's starting to quite like it, actually. How human of him.
He still can't wrap his head around it when he meets the rest of Bruce Wayne's children, all of whom are already aware of the three of them. Danny thinks that someone from the Justice League might've alerted them before they got here.
It makes sense, he supposes.
It helps that they are just as weirded out as he is. A boy named Tim Drake sees him for the first time and blurts out; "Oh wow, you're tiny." In a tone like he's just seen a two-headed snake burst out of the ground.
Danny is still offended. He's still growing. It's not his fault he spent twelve years of his life malnourished. "I'm gonna be taller than you," he tells him seriously, "and when I do I'm gonna kick your ass."
Tim snorts at him.
The other Bruce Wayne -- Mr. Wayne's -- youngest looks at him up and down with a face of carefully controlled judgement. His name is Damian, he's Bruce Wayne's only biological son. Danny can't believe that there's only one.
If anything, Bruce Wayne himself looks surprised too.
"Todd, yes?" Damian says, his green eyes narrowed at him.
Danny feels like the specimen under his parents' microscope, he feels like he's standing on a platform that's being slowly spun by scientists. He looks over at Bruce Wayne in confusion, and then back at Damian. "I- yes?"
Damian Wayne nods, and then leaves.
Danny does not once see himself. That is unsettling in and of itself - surely Jason Todd would have been told about another version of himself in this world, wouldn't he? How old is he here? An adult, probably. Danny doesn't know if he wants to see him. What does he look like when he's grown up? He pulls his Robin jacket around him a little tighter, like a cocoon, like a shield.
"It's weird to hear them call me Jason Todd." He says aloud to himself, and it leaves a weight behind in his chest that shouldn't hurt the way it does. It shouldn't be weird to be called your name. It shouldn't cobweb up your throat to hear your name being said. It was his name. It was his.
-
Danny acclimates to the manor slowly. The house is big, massive. He's never been in a house so large before, he feels like a stray cat being taken in for the first time, again. He and Bruce and Dick Grayson are all given their own separate rooms - one of many inside this mansion - and the sheer size of his bedroom is bigger than his living room and kitchen combined.
it's daunting. Danny sits outside on the balcony and stares at the stars he can see - Wayne Manor is far enough away from Gotham that its light pollution doesn't obscure the sky here like it did in the heart of it.
Danny finds the constellations he can find and wishes he had his books with him. He finds the library the next day and buries himself in the back, curling up into a comfy armchair next and inhaling each book he can get his hands on.
Tim Drake wanders past him at some point, Danny would have missed him if it weren't for the fact that Drake stared at him strangely when he saw him. He walks away when he realizes Danny was staring back.
It's a rinse and repeat for the next few days. Danny doesn't go to meals, he sneaks food from the kitchen afterwards, and then buries himself in hundreds of books in the library.
Dick Grayson, the one from his world, goes and finds him three days later. Danny's eyes hurt with strain by then, but he is furiously halfway through a Jane Austen novel when Dick sits down across from him.
"Have you been here all day?" Dick asks, he drapes himself across the side of his chair, contorting himself into a position that Danny doesn't think is comfortable when he looks up at him.
Not that he looks up at him long - he hums absently and goes back to reading. Frowning when he realizes he lost his place on the page.
Dick Grayson raises an eyebrow, "Have you at least eaten anything?"
Danny hums. No, he hasn't, and he hadn't thought about eating all day. Until now that is, his frown ever deepening as his stomach pangs with a deep hunger.
"That's not healthy."
"Mhm."
"Are you going to eat something?"
"Mhhh."
And this gets Dick to frown. He straightens himself up, propping onto his elbows to stare at Danny. "Jason." He says strongly. And it's that that gets Danny to finally look up from his page, jumping like he'd again been poked with a live wire as he stares at Dick with wide eyes.
"Yes?"
"Put the book down." Dick orders, gesturing towards the side table next to Danny with a nod. "And come eat something." There's very little room for argument in his voice, he sounds like Jazz when she's trying to parent him, but instead he actually sounds authoritative. Not bossy.
Danny still frowns at him. "You're not the boss of me." He says, sinking back into his chair with a thumb bookmarking his page.
Dick gives him a look and makes a decisive noise, swaggling his head side to side while he does. "I'm pretty sure that for as long as we're here, me and B actually are the boss of you."
He's never really liked authority figures, not ones that tried to boss him around, that is. Danny doubles down, his lips curling into a shadow of a scowl. "Just because you're my brother in another world doesn't mean you can act like it."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"I don't want to go eat."
"It's not good for you to skip meals."
"Quit talking like Jazz."
"Danny."
Danny sinks his teeth into his lip and scowls darkly at him, shrinking into the back of his armchair in hopes that it'll swallow him whole. The idea of going into that large fucking dining room fills him with a dread that makes him completely forget his appetite.
"Your fucking- dining room is- it's too big." He grits out, finally closing his book and hugging it tightly to his chest.
Dick blinks at him. "What?"
"You heard me! It's too big. This whole place is too big. It's- what do you even do with this much space? I don't know how this- other me ever lived here."
Dick Grayson surprises him, and his expression softens. "Oh," he says, "I get it."
"You do?" The tension bleeds slowly out of Danny's shoulders
"Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved in with Bruce. I lived with the circus for most of my life, but I slept in a trailer." He says. And he talks more.
The end result of their conversation ends with Dick Grayson offering to let Danny sit across or next to him during mealtimes, and that he can talk to him if he starts getting uneasy. But he can't keep skipping meals - it was making them all worried.
Danny agrees, and Dick takes him down to the kitchens for food.
"They look at me weirdly too." He grumbles as they leave the library, Danny's book returned to the shelf where it belonged. When Dick looks at him curiously, he scrunches his nose up. "The - your other siblings. They look at me like I'm- I'm someone else. S'weird."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, "You are someone else."
Dany shrugs, staring at the ground with a heavy frown. "I don't know."
-
Danny seeks out Dick more after that. And vice versa. Dick reminds Danny of Jazz, and he latches onto the familiarity like a leech. If Dick is bothered by it, he doesn't show it, whether he's talking to his other world's self, to the Bruce's, or to one of the other Wayne kids.
Damian Wayne seems particularly keen to seek him out, Danny finds. He thinks it means that they're close in this world, and that Damian wants to see more of what a young Dick is like. That's what he would do, at least.
He takes up on Dick's offer of seating near him during dinner, and finds an open spot across from him. Unless he has something to show him, then he sits next to him.
("You can call me Jason." He tells him one day when they're in the Wayne's massive, fuck-off gym and they're both climbing over the jungle gym. Dick's showing him how to be more flexible. It's the most Danny's worked out ever, he likes the burn it gives him.
Dick looks at him in surprise, "Really?" he's doing a handstand on the bars and Danny's more than a little jealous at his balance.
"Yeah, dipshit," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll even let you call me Jay, it's my nickname."
Dick happily takes him up on that offer, and much to Danny's embarrassment, starts calling him Jaybird. All because of his stupid Robin jacket.)
Danny has yet to meet his other self still, it's scaring him a little. Where was he? And matter of fact, how long until he could go back to his home dimension? The three of them hadn't gotten any updates since they arrived.
Speaking of, he was starting to talk to Bruce more, it was just... strange. Even stranger than talking to Dick. Bruce Wayne in another life would have been his adoptive father, Danny can't wrap his head around it for the life of him.
Whatever did Bruce Wayne see in Jason Todd that made him worth adopting? He's too afraid of the answer to ask. They start talking more after they run into each other late at night. Danny had been hit with a bout of insomnia and was going to the library.
He ran into Bruce on the way. He was just.. staring, out the window, with a faraway look in his eye. He didn't even look startled to see Danny standing there.
Danny asks him if he wants to go to the library with him. It was out of panic. He isn't expecting Bruce Wayne to agree, and they walk there in suffocating silence. Danny keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye.
("You're staring?" Bruce doesn't sound upset, Danny jumps anyway.
"Yeah, sorry." his voice sounds stilted, "it's just..." his jaw wires itself shut for a spell, "...you looked like you were about to disappear."
"Ah.")
When they reach the library, Danny leads Bruce Wayne into the science section and takes out books upon books about stars. He leads him over to the armchair and fire and they both sit down on the ground.
"When I lived in Gotham I would stargaze." Danny says, it's the first thing he can think of. Bruce Wayne looks at him quizzically. "Well, I would try to. The sky's too polluted for that. Mostly I would just watch the skyline and try and spot Batman and Robin, was the same thing."
That cracks a smile out of Bruce. It's a small one, barely there. "I hardly think the two are comparable."
Danny is still serious. "Not to me."
He goes on, talking about how after he was adopted he got his hands on every star book he could find. He loves english and he loves to read, but something about the stars drew him in like a song. He rambles about every star fact he knows with Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne surprises him by telling him facts he didn't know. Danny soaks it up like a sponge, listening intently to him speak. And when they run out of star books to talk about, Danny tells Bruce that it was his turn to find something for them to talk about.
Bruce Wayne smiles again at him, a sly little thing like Danny's challenged him, and gets up. He comes back with a stack of film books, and they spend the next few hours going through them. Bruce Wayne rattles off every single movie fun fact he knows, and there is so much that he knows.
Danny is in awe, and moves to press against Bruce's side to see the stuff he points at in his books.
"You're smarter than people give you credit for." He says at some point, when his eyes hurt from being open for too long and his head leans against Bruce's arm for support. It follows with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tries and fails to stifle.
"Thank you, Danny." Bruce says, his voice soft and soothing and not helping with Danny's weighing exhaustion. His eyes drift, and then jerk open. "Do you want to go back to your room? You look tired, chum."
He bites back a smile at the nickname, and fails to keep it bitten. "No, no, I'm awake." He mumbles, shaking his head slowly. "I wanna hear-" he yawns again, "-hear you talking."
Danny swears he can hear the smile in Bruce's voice as he speaks; "Alright. Now, where was I?"
In the end, Danny falls asleep on the floor of the library next to Bruce Wayne. He doesn't even realize it until he wakes up the next morning. But it's not to worry, Bruce Wayne fell asleep too, an arm thrown around Danny protectively like he was his own kid.
This becomes a thing for them soon enough. When neither of them can sleep, they go to the library and talk and talk about whatever comes to mind.
There comes the dreaded night after they've finished whatever book they were looking at when Bruce, the little shit, turns to Danny and goes; "You never mentioned what happened after you hit Batman with a tire iron."
Danny groans, big and dramatic, burying his head in his arms, and ignores the low chuckle. "I thought he was gonna chase me down for sure." He complains, his voice muffled by his arms.
"Why did you hit him with a tire iron?"
The look Bruce gets is one of pure disbelief. "If Mothman suddenly showed up behind you while you were taking the wheels off his ride, you'd hit him too!"
"Last time I checked, Mothman isn't real." Bruce told him amusedly, and Danny flops over onto his back to stare him down. His arms sprawl out like a starfish, intentionally hitting Bruce in the shoulder.
"You don't know that, Batman's a cryptid and he's real."
Bruce roars with laughter, and Danny preens like a bird.
That next morning when Bruce passes by him for breakfast, he reaches over and ruffles his hair. It's the same thing he does for Dick every morning. It's the first of many, and it gets many stares from the surrounding family.
Bruce has a newspaper tucked under his arm, and when he sits down Danny stands up and skedaddles over to him, leaning over the side of his chair to peer at the paper.
"Any cryptids spotted, Buzz?" He asks, getting a startled laugh out of Bruce, who looks up at him.
"Buzz?"
"Well, yeah," and Danny states it as matter-of-fact. He gestures his head at Dick Grayson. "Dick calls you 'B', and B is for bees, and I can't just call you Bees, that's dumb. So; Buzz."
He grins triumphantly when Bruce laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking imperceptibly. "I know," he tilts his head up proudly, "I'm a genius."
Now he's actually laughing, dropping his head into one of his hands and trying to quiet himself as much as possible. Danny is positively beaming, ignoring the stares of the other Waynes as he flounces back to his seat just as the other Mister Wayne enters the room.
-
When Jason Daniel Fenton Todd meets Jason Todd for the first time, they both just stare at each other.
Danny recognizes himself immediately in the library, and he freezes up. His tongue ties to the roof of his mouth, and he's unsure of what to say.
He doesn't need to say anything at all, because when Jason Todd looks up and they lock eyes, they both just stare. And stare. Jason Todd is a large, hulk of a man, built like a brick shithouse, with a tired, traumatized look in his eyes and a white streak in his black curls. The same black curls that Danny himself has.
He has no idea what to say. Or if he should turn back around and leave.
Jason Todd sighs at him, "I know they told me you and another world's Bruce and Dickie were here," he says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. Even moreso when he mutters half-heartedly, "-but I was hoping I wouldn't run into you."
Danny feels small next to him. He doesn't know why. "Sorry." He says lamely, his one foot skips back, "I can leave if you want." It's unlike him to be meek, he thinks. Not after years of Gotham living and dealing with the likes of Dash and his Jerk Jocks.
But this also isn't the streets, and this isn't other kids being dicks. Jason Todd shakes his head, and gestures with one large arm for Danny to come over. "You don't need to do that, you were coming to read, right?"
He nods, and tentatively makes his way over. When Jason looks at him, he sees him cast his eyes over his Robin jacket - he wears it everyday. Danny sees him narrow his eyes, just slightly. But he says nothing.
It's... a strange conversation. Interaction. Jason Todd doesn't talk to him much, and if he does it's stilted and awkward, like he doesn't know how to treat him. Like he's holding him at arm's length.
Jason's getting tired of being treated like a ghost.
They talk about their books. They compare lives. Jason Todd was picked up a few days after he stole the wheels of the batmobile. He wasn't an orphan, he lived with his mom and his stepdad before he lived with Bruce. They both like to read, only Danny has an interest in the stars.
("What do your adoptive parents do?" Jason Todd asks him, one arm slung over the back of the armchair, he looks relaxed. He looks tense. Danny feels like he's back in Crime Alley again.
"They're 'ectologists'." He says, making air quotes over the word. He rolls his eyes, "Ghost hunters. They study the dead and all things afterlife."
Jason Todd makes a dry laugh huff, a sarcastic half-smile on his face. He doesn't explain why he does, Danny doesn't ask why. It doesn't seem like his business.)
Danny wants to ask him where he got that white streak in his hair. It doesn't feel right. It feels like his parents' lab, and that isn't right. Nothing ever feels like his parents' lab.
Jason Todd leaves first after giving him a few book recommendations. Danny isn't sure how to rate the experience. Being in Jason Todd's presence was like standing in a liminal space. An empty parking lot at night. When he leaves it feels like much the same thing.
He struggles to read his books afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of being haunted.
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sky-is-the-limit · 5 months
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Both my lips smiling rn.
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simon--ghost--riley · 5 months
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Where's. The. Damn. Dog.
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ethereal-maniac · 13 days
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ghosting-fox · 1 year
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a moment of silence for our Sunman, a plushie gets more game than he does 😔
Bonus:
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s0fter-sin · 3 days
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something happening on a mission, something personal that has soap spiralling; panic and rage making him reckless, thoughtless, and ghost has to draw the line
“you’re compromised johnny; you know what that means?”
“you’re not pulling me out,” soap immediately snarls. he turns on him and ghost barely recognises him; venomous fear turning his eyes to unyielding ice. "you're not sidelining me; i need to be in this-!"
but ghost has never been afraid of venom; spat or dripped straight from bared fangs.
he snakes out a hand grip the back of his neck, jerking him in a rough shake. "if you can't think, you can't be a soldier," he growls and he flinches like he's been struck.
his lips quiver as they twist in a sneer and he wrenches, trying to free himself of his hold.
ghost doesn't let him.
"it means you give your body to me because your head ain't fucking attached to it anymore."
soap stills, body trembling beneath his hand as he sucks in shaking breaths.
he tightens his grip, pulling him closer and digs his forehead hard into his. “it means you give yourself to me so i can have the weapon that you are and use you the way you're meant to be used."
the ice in soap's eyes fractures.
ghost’s voice drops to a whisper, spoken only to johnny, not this facade of vengeance and pain, and wills it to reach him through the glaciers.
“so i can keep you safe ‘til it’s done and i can bring you back.”
#in my head its bc graves abducts his sister and is using her as hostage to draw him out knowing ghost will always follow him#but the intensity and intimacy of saying ‘you cant trust your mind not to betray you so let me be in charge of your body until you can’#after what happened to tommy he could never deny johnny his right to save his sister#but its bc of what happened to tommy that he knows he cant let him do it alone with only his rage to guide him#hes more likely to get himself killed and ghost wont live through that#so he has to balance it#and the only way he knows how is to completely shut down soap’s mind until hes no more than instinct and muscle memory#if he cant think practically then dont let him think at all#reduce him to a place where he can only follow orders#and when its finally over and his sister is safe and graves is dead#only then will he drag johnny back up to the surface#he’ll do it even if it means dragging him kicking and screaming back to humanity#instead of letting him sink in the depths where nothing hurts. theres no fear down there. no pain. only order#and thats the risk ghost took sending johnny to that place but he only did it bc he would stop at nothing to bring him back#and help him through the after#the breakdown. the rush of panic and rage and relief and anguish johnnys been supressing on his order#it was his word that turned johnny into a ghost#and its his touch that brings him back to the man#coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt#we’re a team. ghost team#cod#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghost x soap#ghoap#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#john soap mactavish#soap cod
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fortheharbingers · 1 year
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notes: gn!reader/rain ghoul, dacryphilia, nsfw content below, minors dni
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When compared to the others, Rain found himself to be pretty tame– and as Dew put it… vanilla. Not that big on kinks, he enjoys the sentiment as it is, two bodies converging, becoming one, in the same breath, same kiss, same beat of the heart.
He can understand the sentiment for wanting to add a little spice, a little difference to the bedroom but he is not that big on it.
Or so he thinks–
Until one day, lying under him, skin glistening with sweat, glowing in his vision.
Then you meet his eyes and say in the softest, most beautiful voice his ears ever heard; “I feel like crying.”
Rain has never been one for such things behind closed doors, yet the sight of you with adoration in your eyes, tears swelling up already and creating an image he won’t forget until the day he ceases to exist.
Rain looks at you for a moment at your confession. It’s not even something born of negativity, just pure sheer emotion.
“Then cry.” he whispers and closes the gap between the two of you, his breath fawning over your neck again.
He never thought of these things before but he finds himself enjoying the feeling of your body around his. How you seem to pull him in further just as he thought there was no space left, so warm, inviting, welcoming, begging him to stay, to never leave.
An expression of surprise passes through your face quickly, another scene to commit to his memory forever. How you bury your to his neck in desperation when he draws close to you, small kisses placed on his skin, sucking and biting and nibbling in an act of desperation, like no one exists besides the two of you.
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voidcat · 1 year
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characters: rain ghoul, gn!reader
a/n: listen,, i am TIRED and sleepy and water has always been a source of serenity for me so its only a lovely coincidence the ghoul represented with water symbol is becoming a comfort character for me<3
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the weight of the entire day doesn't dawn on you until a weight of someone does from behind.
arms sliding from both sides and wrapped around with ease, chin resting on the spot connecting your shoulder and neck, rain's form fits into yours perfectly, as always.
you do not realize just how exhausted you have been, since the morning– for the past couple of days, until rain's chest meets your back and as if on cue, your body drops all its weight onto him, leaning for support.
it is a relaxing position, despite still being on your feet. to let go of the muscle tone without a care, knowing you're in safe arms now, holding you, holding onto you, in a similar search of support like yours, you assume.
this kind of intimacy does not come so easily.
it is special, in its own way, to allow the vulnerability, to have your mind clear of everything, of every nagging thought, the fog that's been consuming your brain, the constant stream of worries– all that vaporized with a snap, no, dispelled swift and smooth, even from the moment you hear rain's footsteps approaching you, when your nose catches his scent, when you feel his warmth against yours.
and that's why, you do not see the need to turn back to see who it is that's holding you now.
not that you'd risk it either, the feeling of skin by your shoulder tells you he has forgo the mask for the time being– something rare for the ghouls themselves, especially outside their chambers.
his steady breathing puts you at ease easily, fastening the 'melting into him' process. you can feel the beat of his heart, the vibrations, the sounds, maybe it is delusional to say but as your pulse continues to drum in your ears, a part of you thinks the beats of your hearts start to synchronize with each passing second.
on moments like this, no words are needed, as you've both learnt together. swaying right and left slightly, rain's weight still pinning you down, you can hear him take a deep breath in, inhale and let go in a sigh. as if burning the sensation to his memory, to make it last for ever.
(but that's how it usually goes, no? to commit the feeling of him, of his touch, of the sounds he makes, of the way he acts and gestures as he talks into your memory– each detail, minor or not, a part of you and a part of him always work actively despite the serenity taking over. all that hard work so these moments will remain inside you forever.)
the thought of him inhaling your own scent shouldn't bring a smile to your lips, but the body does what it wants, the heart feels what it desires– and so you close your eyes, let your head fall back and leaning against his with a smile.
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luvit · 4 months
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Tattoo artist Simon definitely makes reader promise that she’ll never go to a tattoo artist that isn’t him while he’s fucking her. Pounding like a madman while she can barely get her moans out - edges her until she promises that he’s the only one who will ever touch her.
(female!reader, mdni 18+)
you sound like you've experienced this before. how'd you get into simon's parlour, hm? have you been taunting him with that tattoo that isn't his? riling him up? daring him to finally claim you as his pretty little client? oh he takes the bait alright. among other things
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you don't really know how you got here. pressed down into the tattoo chair on your hands and knees. actually, you have an inkling of it. probably has something to do with the way you posted on your social media page again, posing with the tattoo on your shoulder that wasn't done by simon.
and little did you know how tightly he clenched his phone when he saw that you had added könig as a friend as well. knowing full well that könig requested to follow you first before you followed him back. trying to one up him, simon bets. trying to stake his claim as if simon didn't already have you first.
you didn't think anything of it when simon asked you to stay after the shop closed. has all the lights off except the half of the room where he's plowing you into the seat. watching the way your juices glimmer around his cock every time he takes such long strokes from your pussy.
"how bad y'wanna cum, love?" he grunts. doesn't even sound like he's broken a sweat! how dare he.
you groan into the leather of the chair, ruining it as if your cunt hasn't been leaking all over the seat of it. simon doesn't care. can easily replace it. don't think he will. not when you've finally left a mark back for him >:)
"mmmh!" that's all you can say. he coos and grips your jaw to turn your head. spits into your open mouth and goes back to fucking you nice and deep, making sure to drag his cock the full length along your walls.
"aw, can't even speak? s'okay. don't need to speak to anyone other than me. don't need anyone else trying to ink you, mark you. not when you're mine."
you feel like you've been going for hours. the normally sweet and attentive simon is gone, replaced with someone who looks so mean. is so feral. and can't get enough of your pussy! he pounds into you and slaps your ass meanly, leaving a temporary mark of his that feeds the urge to claim you.
"si-moooon," you drawl out as he starts hitting that one spot. he smirks behind you, pushing you even more into the seat as he fucks you so good. "w'nna cum."
"yea?" he moves his hand from the back of your neck to your hair and pulls you back to look at him again. "y'only get to cum if you promise to come to me only."
you blearily gaze back up at him as he plunges into you. can't focus too well. you just nod your head in your haze, too drunk on his cock to think.
"need your words, sweetheart." he growls out. "tell me, who is it who's fucking you?"
"y...you, simon," you pant out. he grins and slaps your ass again.
"'nd who is going to make you cum?"
"you, simon! please!" another slap, this time he rubs your cheek gently and grins at the forming handprint,
"you promise to come to me only? i only work with what's mine."
you nod, desperate to feel you cum around his girth. because he's just been toying with you all this time. just filling you up nice and slow and whenever you get close he'll pull out to rub between your ass checks. "yes. i'll only go to you, simon! i'm yours!"
"damn right," he says with a final spank and starts fucking into you with newfound strength. finally giving into his primal need to claim you. "you're mine to ink, mine to fuck, mine to make cum. mine, mine mine."
you feel like you're about to burst at that. and you do when he leans down to groan into your ear with a, "and mine to cum in and mark from the inside."
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do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)
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alwaysshallow · 6 months
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Just saw ur post w a higher rank reader and im in love!
Imagine getting to work with a higher rank/colonel reader who doesn’t bark out order and is always calm, friendly, yet professional.
Treats everyone on the team like an actual person and is very understanding. They get everything done on time or EARLY (like a 3 week mission took only 1 week) with zero backtracks.
Bonus if reader gives everyone a “break time” even if its in war zone lmao. But some how everything works out and ppl are working w max efficiency and min casualty.
“Team bravo pls retreat to point B and switch places w team delta and take ur 40 min brk pls ty ty💞🫰”
Ghost hearing it 1st time on the radio: “ESCUSE ME!!?! WOT!!???🤯”
!!!! years of experience told reader that nothing does better than good environment and she's more than determined to make her people not only efficient, but she's kinda like price? like, you know you can trust her and tell her shit you probably shouldn't, but her lips are sealed.
she also has many friends considering her years spent in military, so maybe it is easier to end missions on time/early, bc of her connections and being a manipulative bitch she can be if she wants something.
break time maybe not 40 minutes but like. 15-20, reader saying that they're supposed to take break, check their guns, check if there's anything they need before they will continue pushing forward. it's not because she's friendly, it's because she likes to work alone and check if there's any more danger than she already saw.
ghost is absolutely flabbergasted LMAOOOO and doesn't believe in shit like this so he follows up after reader. "tough time? we should take east route. we can move by the river" he'd say, seeing her in deep thought.
"i told you to take a break. it's disobedience to your colonel" she'd look at him, almost rolling her eyes
"it's not really a break, when you're thinking for all of us" and he gives her the look. "we're a team"
reader has a lot going on her mind and simon is the one to actually notice that between her playful nature and being all bubbly almost all the time. their bond grows stronger after this situation imo
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synthe4u · 7 days
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The stress was beginning to seep in. Your eyebags becoming more visible by the day. No one could tell you were more tired than the past week.
You were more quiet and less aggressive in your talking. You seem to have lost your spirit in a way, but of course, the man in the mask figured it out.
Ghost eyed you on the other side of the room. You were bobbing your head, nearly falling asleep before being shaken awake by the slight fall of your body.
You were being distracted by the lights and paid no mind to Ghost's wandering eyes.
It wasn't until around 2100 (9:00pm) when he knocked at your door. You weren't asleep yet. Your light was still on.
Opening the door you asked, "Is something wrong?"
You hadn't changed out of uniform and still seemed out of it.
"Why aren't you asleep?"
"Why are you awake?"
You snapped back at him. You weren't in the mood. You've been tolerable all day, no arguments or fights, but it's clear he came to ruin that.
He stared at you in silence. The mask made him more intimidating which caused you to fess up.
You ran your hands through you hair, frowning in disgust at the knots in your hair.
"Just some family problems is all."
"Losing sleep over your family?"
You sighed, "What do you need?"
"Need you to sleep so we could complete this mission."
"I'm not broken, I can still do the mission."
Silence permeated the hall, other than the occasional fizzle from that one light the base swears isn't broken or haunted.
"Can I come in?"
The door widened a foot further, allowing the masked man inside. You didn't understand why you would let him in. You don't let anyone in your room, at least, not for silly matters like this.
He followed you further into your room after shutting the door, and settled on the side of your bed. You didn't have time to question it before you fell.
Collapsing on the spot, Ghost caught you before the ground could do actual damage to your body.
I guess the sleep had caught up to you, just as Ghost had caught you.
Sleep truly is not for the weak. Stay healthy, guys.
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