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marblemoovt · 7 months

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Waterfall - Guts/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, AFAB Reader, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V Sex, Edging, Aftercare (Let me know if I'm missing any)

Summary:

Months after the eclipse, you're still grappling with it all. But at least you're not alone. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

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“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours.

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away.

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall.

Note:

Hello! I know I disappeared for like, almost a year. No freak accidents or anything of the like. Life has just been busy and I have poor time management. But I missed writing, even though it did not miss me ;-; The writing gods did not bless me with inspiration for a long while, not to mention I have a stubborn habit of only having one wip at a time (I have multiple ideas, but I only work on one fic at a time).

In any case, I hope this brings joy to somebody. I am frankly tired from editing this monstrosity so I'll leave you to enjoy :)

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Note: This does take place in the same universe as Love Triangle but this can be read as a stand-alone.

Water cascades down your body, beating into your skin. The temperature was freezing earlier, but now it’s numbed into a slight chill. You stare at the rock wall, trailing along the cracks and crevices that crater the surface. Sprinkles of minerals sparkle throughout, reflecting rainbows when the moonlight hits them just right.

The cold bite of metal stings into your shoulder, and you jerk away from the contact. Whirling around, you come face to face with Guts. He stares at his hand, clenching it into a fist before it drops to his side.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” he says. You notice the gray towel peeking out behind his arm.

You drag your fingers through your hair, shaking off the water droplets. A few stray drops trickle down your chin, and Guts watches them drip along your collarbone. “I’ll be done soon,” you say. The phantom blood still sticks to your raw skin, the scent of iron lingering while your body becomes a collage of self-inflicted wounds. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but it’s not enough. Not even an entire ocean can wash away the atrocities you witnessed. But maybe that’s the burden of surviving the eclipse, for living when you were marked for death.

“You looked done 20 minutes ago. Skin’s gonna start peeling if you don’t stop,” he says. You look away from Guts and pick at the dead skin underneath your nails, grimacing at your wrinkled fingertips.

“I don’t feel done. I don’t think I ever will,” you admit in a hushed whisper. Guts doesn’t say anything, offering his hand for you to take. Accepting the gesture, you’re tugged into his chest. The soft towel gently pats your skin dry and tousles your wet hair. He pauses, eyes scanning your face. “I’m okay, as okay as one can be in our situation.” Your lips twitch into a small smile, but this seems to only frustrate him more.

Guts growls, his jaw clenched shut. “I’ll kill him.” There’s no room for questioning who ‘he’ is. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, and his posture relaxes. Your thumb traces the bags underneath his eyes.

“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours.

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away.

“I’m not…. ”He sighs and finally meets your gaze. “I’m not angry at you.” Guts fiddles with the towel in his hand. “I wasn’t strong enough to save you.” His touch drifts towards the bandages wrapping his torso.

You walk up to Guts, enveloping him in a hug. “Can we pretend for once that everything is ok? That spirits aren’t hunting us, and a bunch of Apostles won’t fuck up the world?” When he doesn’t respond, you look to see him staring at the ceiling. “Guts?”

“Clothes,” he stutters. “You’re not wearin’ any.” You look down at your naked body pressed against his.

“You weren’t shy earlier when you were drying me.” Leaning in further has the desired effect when you feel a bulge against your lower abdomen. “Looks like someone has no complaints,” you say with a smirk.

Guts groans and shudders when you roll your hips. He wraps an arm around your waist, palm splayed against the curve of your back. His hand slides to squeeze your ass, and he whispers into your ear, “Don’t provoke me.” It’s a similar tone to when he shouts orders on the battlefield. You take it as an invitation to tease him further. He notices the glint in your eyes and clicks his tongue. “Brat.”

You know he’s soft beneath that tough exterior. You can see it in how he brings you something warm to drink when it’s cold, how his hands naturally gravitate to your waist or the small of your back. Guts doesn’t like saying it, but you just know. Currently, he’s scolding you for being in the water too long. You won’t point it out, but he grabbed the softest towel to dry you.

“I love you,” you say. His hands freeze, and the lines on his face soften.

Guts sighs, “How can you be so lovely and infuriating at the same time?” He cups your cheek but quickly recoils upon noticing the gleam of metal contrasting against your skin.

You grab his wrist and press a kiss onto the palm of his prosthetic hand. “It’s one of my many talents,” you reply, pressing another kiss to his lips to prevent him from biting them.

“It’s strange,” Guts mumbles. Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing along his abs to the waistline of his pants. His breath hitches, and he nips your earlobe in retaliation. “Sometimes I still feel it when you touch that hand,” he says.

“Do you feel this?” You trace the outline of his growing erection, eventually rubbing your hand against the bulge in his trousers. He bucks his hips into your touch, and a low groan escapes from his lips. “Or what about this?” Slipping your hand beneath the fabric, you’re surprised by the lack of an additional layer. “Expecting something, are we?” You grin impishly at him, inching your fingers closer to his cock. Your skin is still cold from the water, and Guts is blazing beneath your touch.

“Not at”—you firmly grip his shaft and begin stroking languidly—”all,” he forces through gritted teeth. You can almost hear the creak of his jaw as it strains under pressure.

“So you weren’t expecting to find me still naked at the waterfall and indulge in some intimate acts?” You stop stroking to tease the head of his cock, running your thumb over the frenulum. Thick precum coats your hand, and you reluctantly pull away, but only to see the frustration grow on Guts’s face. “Then I guess there’s no need for me to continue.” You wade through the pool and use the waterfall to rinse your hand.

As you’re flicking off water droplets, a broad chest presses against your back, and thick arms wrap around your waist. The sudden force pushes you into the rock wall, your hands flying up out of instinct to lessen the impact. You turn your head to see Guts, completely bare, his clothes lying in a forgotten heap by the pool. That explains what’s twitching against your lower back. You grind slow, lazy circles against his stiff cock, grinning at how he trembles with the slightest rock of your hips.

“Stop,” he pleads, squeezing his arms to constrain your movements. It’s cute; he’s pretending to stop you, but his hold is too lax.

You hum and redirect one of his hands to your breasts, sighing at the contact. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be enthusiastically rutting like a dog in heat,” you say. As if to prove your point, a low whine pitches in the back of his throat when you press against him to hinder his movements.

“So maybe I don’t want to stop,” he admits. “Maybe I want to rough you up against the wall until you can’t walk the next day.” The imagery sends a gush of slickness between your thighs, and you rub them together to ease the ache.

“Then why don’t you?” You spin around to face him and hook one leg around his thigh, tugging his hips closer. The sharp exhale followed by a groan is music to your ears. Your arms drape over his shoulders, sinking your nails into his broad back. You have him trapped. Or is it the other way around? He could effortlessly pry you off, but his dark eyes hold no intention of letting you go. “I don’t break easily, you know,” you whisper against his lips, his breath fanning your face.

Guts bites his lips, fingers bruising your hips, marks he’ll kiss in the morning when you’re bedridden. “I—“

You cut him off, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Let me make myself clear, Guts. I want you to fuck me.” His breath hitches, the click of his throat silenced by the rush of water. “Fuck me so damn hard I don’t remember a thing about this shitty world we live in.” You want to spend at least an hour free from the waking nightmare that plagues your daily life. Maybe this isn’t the best way, but it is the most pleasant.

You know you’ll go to bed and dream of crimson skies and shrill screams. A world where the tang of metal never leaves your mouth. Where rot and decay fester in your lungs, smothering you alongside the scent of burning flesh. And then you’ll wake up, touch your face to feel the wet streaks streaming down your cheeks. Guts will be sleeping beside you, faring no better in his dreams, relaxing only when you hold his hand and lay on his chest.

Yeah, the world is fucked up, and so is your mental state. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

But enough about later. What’s happening right now is important. And what’s happening right now is Guts pleading with his eyes to please you. He has one arm hooked underneath your leg to support it, the other still wrapped around your waist, hand dipping to cup your ass. He grinds his erection against your clit, and you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

Guts kisses behind your ear, sucking on the spot. Your blood thrums through your veins, buzzing with electricity. “Guess the waterfall will be useful,” he says.

“How so?” you hum, closing your eyes as he trails his lips along your jawline. You tilt your head back, and he peppers your exposed throat with kisses, playfully nipping but careful to avoid breaking the skin. A tingle shoots up from the base of your spine when his teeth scrape over your pulse, tongue laving over your racing heartbeat.

“Others won’t hear any of your screams.” He hoists you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “I get to have you all to myself.” Your back thuds against the wall, the rough rock leaving a light sting on your skin. There’s a hunger in his eyes that threatens to devour you. He always gets that look when he’s determined to spoil you rotten.

You ignore the throbbing heat in your core, focusing on the slanted curve of his lips. “Ooh, confident are we?” you tease, dragging your nails across his back, grinning at the shudder it elicits.

“I’ve always been skillful with my hands,” he says, lowering your feet. At the shallow end of the pool, water laps at your knees. The chill heightens the burn of your skin, and the slickness between your thighs becomes impossible to ignore. Guts sinks down, kneeling in front of you, hands parting your legs gently. He tuts and gazes at you with mock scorn. “You cleaned up earlier, but now you’ve made a mess again.”

“And whose fault is that?” you reply, inhaling sharply when his fingers rub circles into your thighs.

He hums and plants a kiss on your kneecap, lips skirting up closer to the source of your dripping cunt. “A man should always take responsibility for his actions.” His warm breath is like a spark of flint on kindling. It starts a blazing heat that crawls up and pools in your stomach, spreading throughout your veins until your entire body is engulfed in flames.

A thin veil of fog blankets your mind. For a second, you almost forget how to breathe. He looks up at you from between your legs, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He looks eager to taste you; it causes you to clench tightly, gripping around nothing but air. And you want him to fill you up, to replace the void the eclipse left behind after it tore almost everything from you.

Your body seizes up. A cool jet of air against your clit catches you off guard. Guts looks you in the eyes, trapping you in their dark depths. “If—at any time—you want me to stop, tell me,” he commands. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he holds your gaze. He won’t continue unless you agree.

You wrack your brain together, drumming your fingers on the wall behind you to form a coherent thought. But all you can focus on is his warm breath against your skin, the burning ache in your core that beckons for his attention.

Guts sighs, drinking in your scent deeply. He licks his lips, and his fingers dig into your flesh. “I don’t want this to be like the other times,” he admits.

You stare at him quietly, observing the clarity in his eyes. This isn’t the first time you’ve sought each other’s company. After all, who better to seek comfort from than someone who’s been through the same traumatizing event? Overcome with grief and guilt, you found solace in the warmth of his body and vice versa. It wasn’t always sexual, but sometimes you crave the shelter of having no other thoughts besides pleasure. To know nothing else but pure bliss for a brief respite.

Guts mistakes your silence for rejection. “Let me cherish you,” he pleads. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.” And you recall dark nights of clashing teeth and tongues, scratches and bruises made just to feel something—anything. There’s still a tinge of purple around his collarbone, the imprint of your teeth long faded. The harsh lines on his face are nonexistent. His touch is light, revering.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this important. Guts doesn’t treat you like glass. He looks like he would raze the entire world in flames for you, and all you need to do is ask. Cupping his chin in one hand, you stare into his earnest eyes. Guts pulls away to plant kisses along your knuckles. The corners of his mouth curl up at your sigh when he nips at your fingertips. It’s hard to describe this feeling. All the tension and worry in your body building up like a brick wall suddenly crumbles to dust.

And how can you say no when he looks so eager to please—to love you? A brief taste of copper coats your tongue, and you ignore the phantom claws dragging down your lower abdomen. You focus instead on Guts’s soft touches, the steady gurgle of water, and the moonlight filtering through the pockets of sky in the ceiling.

You are safe.

“Ok,” you whisper. Slowly, you spread your legs apart and cool your burning cheeks with the back of your hand. “Please touch me.”

Guts plants a kiss on your inner thigh, trailing upwards. He wants to drag this out and tease you until the anticipation has you dripping with need. With one calloused hand resting on your pubic mound, he licks a long stripe through your folds, groaning at your intoxicating taste. A jolt of pleasure crawls up your back before slamming into your core.

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when he eats you out messily. Obscene slurps and groans bounce off the rock walls. Guts slings one of your legs over his shoulder and focuses on your clit, inserting two fingers into your dripping cunt. Spots of light dance across your vision when he crooks his fingers to stroke your sweet spot. It’s a wonder how you’re still standing.

Just as the band in your stomach goes taut, Guts pulls away. The pleasure building in your body drops and transforms into a sharp ache that has your body screaming for release.

“Your legs are trembling,” Guts points out.

You press harder against the wall and try to remember how to stand. “No, I’m not,” you say.

Guts hums and plants a kiss on your clit, the kind that fills your veins with lava and sets off the butterflies in your stomach. “You can be so damn stubborn.” He stands and carries you with ease, wading towards the edge.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Some underwater training,” Guts replies, refusing to elaborate further. He stops and sets you on the ground. The water reaches just below your chest in this position; the sudden coldness shocks your skin. It makes you hyper-aware of your sensitivity.

Gus parts your legs, and you lean back slightly, using your arms to support yourself from behind. His touch radiates familiarity, hands caressing all the spots that work you up. You lick your lips and part then to ask another question. “Wha—“

“Always wanted to see how long I could hold my breath,” Guts cuts you off, petting your clit gently. He gazes at you through hooded lids, a grin ghosting his lips. “They say the average is 3-5 minutes. Let’s set a new record.” His words send tingles throughout your body, and you clench at the thought.

“What do you mean?” you ask, distracted by the circles he’s drawing with his thumb. If you time it just right, you can buck your hips and have him stroke your swollen clit.

“Don’t worry about it.” And the next thing you know, his head’s underwater and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. Your fingers immediately thread his hair, tugging his scalp when his nose brushes against your clit.

The water and walls blur into blobs of colour, your heartbeat thundering in your eardrums. The throbbing between your thighs quickens, and that band in your stomach threatens to snap and give you whiplash. Guts brings a hand up close to your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, dangling on the precipice of an orgasm.

He surfaces from the water. His shit-eating grin only widens when you vocalize your discontentment. A flick to your clit shortcircuits your brain with a jolt of pleasure, eliciting a scream from your lips. One of your hands slips, and suddenly the world is careening backwards—or is it forwards?

Strong arms wrap around your body, and suddenly you’re face to face with Guts instead of the ceiling. Water splashes and drenches both of you in the crossfire. You try to stand up, but Guts digs his fingers into your hips. Something warm brushes against your bare cunt.

This new position has you straddling Guts. Even the most minuscule movements cause some degree of friction. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s barely restraining himself. Since his hands hold your hips in place, you lean forward and attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Guts hisses and immediately stands up, hoisting you with him.

“Let’s move to land. Wouldn’t want you to drown,” he rasps, shuddering when you lick over his racing pulse.

“I can think of other ways to leave me breathless,” you whisper, lifting your head and baring your neck. The perfect place for his hands to wrap around.

“Another time. Right now, I want you to sit on my face,” he says, setting you on the ground. Your cunt throbs in response, and you crawl—a little too eagerly—into position. You stop mere centimetres from his face, hovering in your hesitation. Inklings of doubt blot your thoughts. What if you’re too heavy? What if you smother— “Too long,” he grunts, interrupting your inner monologue. Guts grips your thighs and pulls you down, wasting no time ravaging you with his tongue,

You suck in a breath, hips rocking at a steady rhythm. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when his mouth latches around your clit and sucks greedily. He pulls away with a pop, the bottom half of his face glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips and groans, “Fuck, you taste amazing.”

“Less talking, more licking,” you say.

“What, no please?”

You don’t humour him with a response and take matters into your own hands. You lift your hips and grind against the ridge of his nose.

Guts swears under his breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent. “What am I going to do with you?” he groans.

You huff in frustration at the loss of stimulation. “What you should have done ages ago. Now shut up before I make you.”

Guts doesn’t move. “Not until you say please,” he says.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you moan, wriggling your hips to no avail since his hands have barred you from moving any lower.

“I just want to hear you beg for it.” He spreads your lips and admires how wet you are. When you remain silent, he massages the area surrounding your clit. “No? Not gonna cave in?”

You narrow your eyes and scrape your nails against his broad chest. “Fuck, you.” It comes out through gritted teeth.

Guts chuckles. A low sound filled with mirth. “Oh, love. You wish.” His thumb probes your entrance, pulling out to slide along your slit. “I do have to praise you for holding out this long. It must feel unbearable.” And it does. Your skin is about to burst at the seams as the pleasure threatens to drive you mad. Never given enough to bring you over the edge, but just enough to stimulate the ache in your core—the desire to be filled.

“Not. At. All.”

Guts clucks his tongue, drawing circles around your swollen clit. “Liar.” He slowly pushes a finger into your cunt, adding another when he feels how wet you are. It doesn’t take long before the squelches reach your burning ears. His fingers curl and stroke that sensitive area on your walls. The pace is agonizingly slow, and it only deepens the ache. You bite down on your bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

Your body trembles when he plants a kiss on your clit. Ah, to hell with playing hard to get. You might die if he doesn’t give you an orgasm right now.

“Guts?” you groan, clenching when he pets your clit in response.

“Yes, my love?” He sounds so smug. You don’t even need to look to see the smirk on his face.

“…Please,” you whisper, hissing when he stops his ministrations.

“Didn’t catch what you said. Gonna need you to repeat that.” He slowly resumes his movements, rubbing his fingertips against your walls.

You grunt and try to focus, blinking to clear the fog in your brain. “Please. Fuck. Me.” You punctuate each word with a thrust of your hips. Guts’s fingers immediately retract, and you whine at the loss, only to throw your head back when he eats you out like a man starved.

His hands hold you in place, only allowing enough freedom to ride his face, which you do—greedily. He runs the flat of his tongue across your slit. Every so often he comments on how good you taste, normally ending with how he can never get enough. You don’t know. You don’t really care. He’s drawing patterns on your clit, each stroke bringing you closer to climax.

And you’re so close. You can almost feel it. Guts must sense it, too, because he focuses on your clit, hands locking you snugly against his face. With his unrelenting tongue, you cum with a scream. Your entire body buzzes with electricity, clit throbbing in time with your clenches. Guts doesn’t stop, and soon the pleasure borders on pain. It’s too much. You jerk away, but he keeps you trapped in his hold.

You can’t think anymore. You can only incoherently babble for him to let you go. And then it creeps up on you. The aftershocks of your last orgasm, combined with the continued stimulation, tighten that band in your stomach again. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision. It’s too much. You want it to stop.

But it feels so fucking good.

Guts swaps his tongue for his fingers, filling you up once more. Your back arches when he brushes over your g-spot. You mewl and beg him to do it again.

“One more time. Cum for me one more time,” he orders. And how can you say no when he uses that tone? Guts pays special attention to your previous request, fingers curling with practiced precision. “I want even the gods to hear you scream my name.”

He doesn’t need to convince you. Liquid heat pools in your stomach, bubbling like a pot about to boil over. His name is the first sound to leave your lips when you come undone. Guts is gentler this time; he draws out your orgasm slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your vision burns with tears as your body curls up before sagging bonelessly.

You heave a sigh and crawl to the side, shuddering when the cold air hits your sensitive skin With a content smile, you stare at Guts in a daze, fuzzy warmth blanketing your mind.

“Good?” he asks.

“Mhmm.” Your eyes drift to his erection; it twitches under your attention. Suddenly you’re aware of the heady scent of musk in the air. Licking your lips, you look back at Guts. He doesn’t say anything, but his pupils are blown. “Can I?” You inch closer to him, and he nods. You spread the precum leaking from the tip with your thumb. On an impulse, you lick the remainder off your finger, smirking when you hear his sharp intake of breath.

A bitter saltiness greets your tastebuds, but it’s milder than you anticipated. You well up some saliva in your mouth and use it to lubricate your hand to begin stroking. Slow, firm pumps have him twitching against your palm.

“Faster, please,” he groans, jerking his hips upwards to match your strokes.

“Ooh, so you do know how to be polite,” you say as you tighten your grip and increase the pace. Guts’s chest rises and falls faster than before.

His face distorts in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure. “Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, nose scrunching.

You laugh and rub his thighs soothingly. “Just this once,” and you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can manage. Running your tongue across the underside of his cock, you widen your jaw to avoid scraping him with your teeth. Anything you can’t fit gets stroked by your hands. Glancing up, you notice him watching you with a tenderness that’s been rare as of late.

He’s been worrying and training almost to the point of obsession. You want to ease that ache in his chest and have him forget momentarily about all you’ve gone through together. Although, judging from how his eyes are starting to glaze over, your objective doesn’t seem that far away.

It started out small, but now the walls echo with his moans and breathy whines. Each sound is like a lightning bolt between your thighs, burning you with strikes of pleasure. You bring a hand down to play with your clit, hoping to ease the ache.

His cock pulsates in your mouth. His entire body starts shuddering, and you know he’s close. So you slow to a halt and chortle at his frustration. The look he gives you could wither the low-level spirits that hang around. Taking a breath, you inch slowly down to take more of his cock, chest brimming with pride at how his body immediately tenses.

“You’re going to kill me here, my love,” he groans, hips stuttering between pulling away and pushing further in.

You slide your mouth off his cock and lick your lips, massaging his balls with your hand. “I want to milk as much of your cum as I can and drink it all,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the tip. You feel a twitch against your fingers and smirk. “Seems like you’re on board with my plan.”

One of his large, warm hands is placed against your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Not the only place I’d like to fill you up,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his tone.

“Are you sure you can last that long?” you ask, and his fingers cheekily tug on your hair. The gesture draws a chuckle from you. You open your eyes to see him full of amusement.

“You’re underestimating the stamina of a great swordsman,” he boasts.

You raise a brow. That’s a big claim. “Hm? Then why don’t you show me what your sword can do?” You straddle his hips, your drenched cunt seated against the shaft of his cock. It twitches against you, and you bring a hand down to tease the leaking tip.

“Change of plans?” Guts asks, tone wavering as you slowly pump his cock.

You hum, “I’m feeling a little impatient today.”

“What happened to milking me for all I’m worth?” The cockiness in his tone returns. “Going back now on those big claims?”

You chuckle and flick the head of his cock, watching Guts writhe in response. “You’re trying to rile me up, but it’s not working,” you say.

“Can you blame me? You’re irresistible when you get all fired up,” he says,

You line up the tip of his cock with your entrance, slowly sinking down until his entire length is inside you. “Sorry to disappoint, but the only one losing their cool today is you.”

You start bouncing your hips, finding a steady rhythm to keep. Angling your body, his cock drags against your walls in all the right places. Guts begins aiming his thrusts when he notices how you cry out each time he hits the mark.

Guts groans, face screwed tight in concentration. “You’re gonna squeeze me to death,” he moans.

You smirk, running your hands across his chest. “It took you this long to realize my intentions?”

He responds with an airy laugh. “You always were a damn good strategist.”

“And you’re living up to your title, General,” you say, feeling a twitch inside you. “Oh? You like it when I call you that, don’t you?”

Guts looks at you with a sheepish grin. “If I say I do, will you call me that more often?” he asks.

You hum, tracing his abs with your fingertips. “I’ll consider it, but it would have to be sparingly. Don’t want to inflate your ego too much,” you tease. A spank smarts your ass. The sting is quickly soothed by a gentle massage. You retaliate with slow, deep thrusts, grinning when Guts curses and loses his ability to form sentences.

His cock throbs inside you, swelling up in preparation for his release. Guts’s fingers are bruising your hips, and he’s rutting into you. Slamming yourself down, you remain seated.

“Fuck, I was so close,” he groans, cock twitching in your warm cunt.

“I know. That’s why I stopped,” you say.

Guts looks at you with betrayal. “You, my dear, are a cruel lover.”

You tsk and clench tightly around him. “I may be a bit mean, but never cruel.”

“If this isn’t cruelty, then wha—“

You cut him off with a roll of your hips, successfully speech-jamming him. “You’ll see,” you say.

You continue drawing out his release, bringing Guts near the edge only to wrench him away. You’ve lost count—not that you were even counting in the first place—of how many potential orgasms you’ve robbed him of. But from the sour gleam in his eyes, a few too many.

Any of his attempts to take over the pace are thwarted when you turn into an immovable object. The loss of friction is not deemed a worthwhile risk because Guts soon lets you have your way after only a few attempts.

“Good boy,” you purr, a chuckle tickling the back of your throat. “Look at you, getting turned on when so much as a compliment is awarded.” You drag your fingers down his chest, sloping along the defined ridges of his muscles. “It’s kind of cute,” you admit.

Guts watches you through hooded lids, mouth parting as incoherent pleas spill between his lips. You tsk and twist your lips into a mock frown. “Oh no. Did I wear you down already?” You cradle his face in your hand, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I can feel you throbbing inside me. Do you want to cum?” you ask, receiving a shudder in response when you roll your hips.

“Mhmm,” he grunts, nodding in fervour. Guts runs his hands along your thighs, gently squeezing the soft flesh. “Please,” he adds politely.

You hum and slow your movements. “Do you deserve to?”

It’s borderline hilarious to watch the gears in his head turn. The vacant look in his eyes shifts as they widen. “I do,” he says, but the slight wobble in his tone is tinged with nerves.

You can’t stop the grin forming on your face and opt to kiss his damp forehead to hide it. “Relax,” you hush, “I’ll let you cum……

“…eventually.”

Guts groans and slides a hand between your thighs, fingers searching for your clit. You clench tightly around him when he taps it gently with his thumb. “Looks like the blood’s starting to rush back into the right head”—Guts slams his hips upwards, nearly winding you—“Ow, fuck! Ok, ok. No more jokes during sex.” You wince from your sore abdomen. “I’ll cut you a deal,” you pause to gain his attention. “If you make me orgasm within the next ten minutes, I’ll let you cum.”

“You can’t take back your word,” he grunts through gritted teeth. You squeal, arms flailing to wrap around his neck when he flips you onto the ground. There’s a pregnant pause as you stare into each other's eyes. Warm. There’s so much warmth in his gaze for you. “Beautiful,” he says, running his fingers along your face.

Your chest squeezes tight. You turn your head, feeling the cool stone floor press against your burning cheeks. “9 minutes,” you say. Guts clicks his tongue and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He angles his thrusts, ramming into the deepest parts of you. The inferno consuming your body melts your bones to liquid.

“With the sounds you’re making, it won’t be long,” he grunts. You clench tightly around him like a vice. Every well-aimed thrust sends your walls pulsating around his cock. The familiar tightening in your stomach takes hold and threatens to tear you asunder. “Fuck you look so good like this, I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

You feel calloused fingers brush against your clit, and a bolt of electricity strikes the base of your spine. He chuckles at the way your body curls open like a flower, eager to meet the sun’s rays. When your hips raise to meet him halfway, who is he to deny you of more pleasure?

He brings a finger to his mouth, groaning at your lingering taste on his skin. Before you know it, the building pleasure threatens to burst. He rolls your clit between his fingers, applying constant pressure. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.

How much time was left? Gods, you don’t remember anymore. All you can think about is how you’re a second away from release.

The intensity drops. Guts’s thrusts remain deep; his cock drags along your walls in a sweet, slow torture. The flames licking your body from the inside are dying, but the embers are stoked just enough to keep the fire going. “You wouldn’t dare,” you seethe between clenched teeth. The muscles in your jaw are almost as tense as the knot in your stomach.

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Guts remarks calmly. A slight chill creeps up your spine, and you begin to sweat for reasons other than physical exertion.

“But then you don’t get to cum,” you say, trying to build a counterargument to sway him. You were so close; you needed just a little more to get there. In all honesty, both of you knew that if he really wanted to, Guts could easily ignore the bet. But that would mean destroying the mutual trust you spent years building. And you know both of you would rather die than betray the other.

“You said within the next ten minutes, I still have two left.” He slaps your pubic mound lightly, fingers resting above your swollen clit. “It’s not like you specified a time, only a period. So it doesn’t matter if there’s only a second left as long as you cum before it’s over.”

You shudder. What have you done?

Guts begins mumbling to himself. Between the grunts and groans, you can just barely make out a decreasing string of numbers. He’s seriously counting down the seconds he has left before the bet is over??

You arch your back, fingers fisting the stone floor with nothing to ground you. “Fuck me,” you sigh, lifting your hips to feel his cock brush against that sensitive spot.

“Already am,” Guts rasps, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Any other requests?”

“Yeah, fuck me harder.”

He leans down to plant a kiss on your damp forehead. “As you wish.”

And fuck you harder he does. You swear you must be above the clouds with all the stars you see. The slap of flesh echoes in your ears, filled with strained grunts and moans. You like it when Guts is vocal; it makes you feel like you’re doing a good job. One of the quickest ways he can turn you on is by moaning your name, which he’s doing right now. His breathy sighs as your name slips out of his mouth repeatedly like a prayer… it drives you crazy.

There’s only one thought in your mind; it overtakes all the others. You’re on the brink of an orgasm, standing at the edge of a cliff as you wait for the final push. “M’ close,” you say. Your clit throbs, and you feel a tug in your navel as the pressure builds.

“Then let’s bring you closer.” He slowly increases the pace, and your nails claw his back, leaving scratches in their wake. “I want you to look at me when you come undone. Can you do that for me?” You nod, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he rubs your clit. “Good.” His fingers maintain pace, and he consistently rams his cock against your g-spot.

Your body thrums with pleasure, ready to come undone at his command. Guts wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes gently. He wasn’t affecting your oxygen supply, but fuck did it do things to you. His thrusts become deeper, pounding into you at a steady rhythm.

That was all it took to shove you off the edge. Your walls spasm around his cock in a toe-curling orgasm. All you can focus on is the waves of mind-numbing pleasure crashing into you, the force of the undertow sweeping you away.

Guts continues to thrust, helping you ride out your orgasm. As you come down from your high, dizzy and lightheaded, you feel his cock swell inside you. He pulls out, pumping his cock as his warm seed spills onto your stomach.

You laugh a breathy chuckle, staring at the mess he made. “I think I need another bath,” you say.

Guts kisses the top of your head and says, “Then let’s get cleaned up.” He scoops an arm underneath your knees and wraps the other around your back.

“Guts!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” he says, walking towards the pool. Wading in, he brings you to the stream of water. Already, the spray of droplets is freezing against your skin. You shudder and cling closer to Guts and the heat he radiates. “I’ll help you wash up,” and he lowers your legs, a hand still resting on the small of your back.

“I am capable of washing myself,” you say. Hopefully, the rising sun made the water at least slightly more tolerable. But from how it feels like your feet are encased in ice, you don’t have much hope.

Guts cups some water in his hands and pours it onto your shoulders. “I know you can, but I want to,” he says, kissing the side of your temple. “So stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t kn—“ Guts flicks water at your face with a smirk. You pause, your brain struggling to process what happened. “You!” Your eyes narrow into a glare.

Guts bolts, his laughter reverberating the cave walls. You run after him, but it’s difficult despite the water reaching only your calves. Guts is somehow brute forcing his way, but you adapt a weird mixture of hopping and running to catch up.

Once you’re within arm's length of Guts, you kick up the water, successfully splashing him. The smug grin on your face falters when he turns around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He moves only a single step before your flight instincts take over.

Your heart is thumping against your chest, thundering in your ears. His fingertips brush against your spine, and you squeal, dodging to the side. Large splashes grow closer and closer. But they suddenly stop. And amid your confusion, you stop running.

Looking over your shoulder, you see no sign of Guts except a few ripples in the water where you expected him to be.

“Got ya!” Big, strong hands wrap around your waist, and the ground disappears beneath your feet. The world spins in a whirlwind of lights and cool shades of blue and purple. As your surroundings grind to a halt, warm arms pull you into an embrace. Your laughter is dampened by his hug, and you blink to quell the dizziness.

You stare into his eyes, watching black swallow brown. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “Shower?” you whisper, unwilling to break the stillness. If the universe would let you, you would spend every day like this with him. To wake and sleep together, sharing the mundane moments of life and experiencing the little pockets of joy as they occur. But that’s not the kind of world you live in— not if Griffith has anything to say about it.

Guts leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, let’s get cleaned up.” He guides you back to the waterfall, fingers intertwined. You follow him without resistance. All the running around has warmed you up, but that only makes the water feel colder. Guts is careful as he washes you. “I know it’s cold, but you’re being so good for me,” he coos. His hands firmly glide across your skin. You feel him pause to trace the scars on your body, gently tracing the thin lines on your lower abdomen. His touch dips down between your thighs, and you part them.

He does nothing more than clean up the mess he made, but you’re still sensitive. Little tremors run through your body, the aftershocks of your ground-shaking orgasm. Guts surprises you with a kiss on your neck. You swear this man is trying to kill you with his affection. With the uncomfortable slickness gone, you lean against Guts and relish in him pampering you. If only you had brought more soap. You could have asked him to wash your hair.

“Done?” he asks, to which you nod. Guts picks you up again and carries you to dry land, where he dries you off with the towel again. “Arms up,” he commands. And before you know it, a shirt is pulled over your head. The fabric still smells like him. Smoke from a fire pit and the medicinal scent of herbs from his ointment. You glance over and watch him put on his pants. Your eyes trail along the scars on his body. Most of them have healed nicely, but they’ll always remain to remind you how close to death you were that night.

Your fingers absentmindedly rest against the area of your brand. Before you can slip into a spiral, Guts calls out your name. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are focused on where your hand is. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. You’re unsure if he believes you, but he nods and doesn’t pry further.

Your eyes begin to droop, and a big yawn escapes your mouth. “I think it’s time to rest,” Guts says. Luckily, your sleeping arrangements aren’t too far. With Rickert’s help, Erica was able to find a larger bedroll for you and Guts to share. You never voiced the thought out loud, but you liked the closeness it forced. Something about sleeping in his arms brought you a sense of peace and security.

When he holds you at night, the nightmares leave you in peace. The screams quiet, and the stench of iron is replaced with cedar and smoke. The arms around your waist are tender. Guts is like a kiln; you’re dry clay—fragile at first but robust after exposure to his warmth.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Guts asks, petting your hair. You’re lying in bed, limbs tangled like vines wrapped around a tree.

The corners of your lips curl up. “Like what?”

Guts leans his forehead against yours. “Like I’m everything to you. That’s my job,” he says.

You’re smiling so much your cheeks ache. “I love you.”

Guts mirrors your smile. His hand slides down to cup your face. You can feel his breath tickle your skin. His eyes dart to your parted lips before closing the gap.

The kiss is slow and tender. Soft, pliable lips that leave you panting for air. Guts trails his mouth along your jawline, leaving a path of fire as he moves to the hollow of your throat.

You can’t help but let out a content sigh when he pays attention to the sensitive area. Your cheeks tingle at the thought of waking up and being greeted with a new mark. Guts plants one last kiss on your collarbone before drawing you closer to him.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin. You snuggle into him, wanting his scent to envelop you. His next words are so quiet you almost miss them. “Promise me you won’t leave, too.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You look into his eyes and see a reflection of what you’ve become. His dark circles fare no better than yours, and that vengeful spark has dulled, having been weathered over time by grief.

You lost your friends and family, but so did he.

With the brand carved into your skin and the spirits waiting around every corner to devour you…. “You know I can’t promise you that,” you say, and you hate how your words feel like a punch to your own gut.

“Then lie to me and promise anyway,” he whispers, staring at you through glossy eyes.

You bite your lip but refuse to look away. Raising a hand to wipe his tears, you say, “I promise to stay for as long as I’m able.”

Guts nods, soothed by your response. “Rest. I’ll keep us safe.”

Us. The word sends your heart a flutter. You shift into a comfortable position and drift into darkness, dreaming of campfires and starry skies for once.

End Note:

It's like I can't decide whether I want the fic to be sad, happy, or horny. So why not all three?

I also decided to bite the bullet and get image dividers, because trying to get center formatting and having it stay consistent across platforms is tiring. Do they look ok? I got them from a Tumblr post by @/saradika if anyone wanted to know.

I have no idea when my next work will come out. I already have some fics queued up and knowing myself, I'll either speed right through them, or drag them out too long and lose interest lol

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#guts x reader #guts x reader smut #berserk x reader #berserk fic #berserk #afab reader #otherwise gender neutral #no y/n #fluff and smut #Angst #But just a smidge #It helps season the fic #This sat in my drafts way too long #Why is writing smut so hard #Why can't I have some sort of divine oracle to enlighten me?#Time to yeet this into the void and never look back

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abellyfulloffriends · 1 year

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Naga's Picnic

Surprise! It's a self-indulgent Naga g/t vore fic! Full of teasing, naga anatomy lessons, and lots of vore!

(aka my OC Tero is hungry for tinies again, but he's a sweetheart about it.)

***

The air is crisp, and the sun is poking out from behind a few clouds; Tero spreads the towel neatly across the grass with his tail, pressing out the wrinkles. Grasped in both hands is a special picnic basket containing delicate cargo. He leans over, gently placing it down on the towel, then moves his serpent body around it protectively.

The idea for the picnic was presented to him by a few mutual friends, and there was no way he could pass on it once he learned the details. Tero was already quite hungry. He reaches down for the elastic clasp undoing it simply enough, then hesitates. The end of his tail quivers; his anticipation is crippling. He attempts to hold his composure as he flips up the lid.

Tero looks away and covers his mouth, exhaling a chuckle. Inside the picnic basket were five tiny people, each about the size of his hand, looking up at him. He thought they looked adorable, lying about in the soft lining. The sensation in his tail didn’t seem to go away. He tries not to make eye contact as he speaks, “You all seem. . . eager.” Upon seeing what kind of task he had up against him, was he sure he could still do this? There were so many, how could he pick who to consume first? Should he simply ask? Tero’s stomach protests at his indecisiveness, growling loudly. He decides to not keep his stomach waiting.

***

“W-who wants to go first?” He had tried to mask his apprehension, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms, but when a single tiny had jumped up on the rim of the basket and waved he couldn’t contain it. Tero smiled and sighed. He might as well enjoy himself, right? “Alright then, hold still for me.” He brings the end of his tail over, curling it around the small person firmly. Bringing them a little over his head, he watches intently. The tiny nods their head, signaling to continue. Tero spreads his jaws and uncoils his tail, letting them drop head first onto his tongue. The tiny swims forward, letting the wet warmth overtake their senses. Tero swallows once, then again, sending the tiny down. He traces their form sliding down his gullet with the tip of his tail. The subtle taste of the tiny lingers as they drop into Tero’s stomach.

***

With new invigoration, Tero shifts on the towel, uncoiling from the basket and letting his serpent half splay behind him. He leans over the basket eyeing his choices. Who would be next? One didn’t seem to be paying attention, staring up into the sky. Tero waves his hand over them, the tiny barely spares a glance and shrugs. He laughs at this tiny’s nonchalance. Was this a challenge? The tiny flinches as they’re grasped by their feet and picked up. Their world spins as the naga lifts them upside down over his head. He grins mockingly, “Having fun?” Tero lowers his lunch down like a cluster of grapes, leaving them halfway out of his mouth as he seals his lips around them, and lets his fingers release. The naga spends a short time exploring the small person’s taste with his tongue, the slightly salty flavor pleasing his taste buds. He further slurps them in and begins swallowing immediately, as his stomach wasn’t quite content with a single occupant. The naga’s body takes care of the rest, as the tiny disappears into him.

***

Tero wipes his mouth, feeling slightly sated as his stomach groans. He takes a moment to run a hand over his abdomen. Admittingly, he was enjoying himself, but he had good intentions. He wasn’t trying to scare any of them. Tero feels something brush against coils, he looks down to find two of the tinies had left the basket. Notably, these two were holding hands. “Oh? What do have here?” He took a moment to study them; what are they planning? “So, which of you is going in first?” The pair glance at each other and then back up to the naga, shaking their heads. Incredulously he stutters, “T-Together?” Theoretically, he could do it, all he had to do was stretch his throat a little wider, but he didn’t want them to get stuck either. He figured his best shot was to take it slow. After considering his options, He coils his tail around them a few times, lifting them. “Try not to squirm too much in my throat.”

The naga strains his jaws wide, lowering the pair of tinies past his tongue to his gullet. He unfurls his tail from around them, then uses the tip to inch them into his throat. Swallowing them now would send all the saliva down, causing the pair to get stuck. Tero’s glottis ensures he won’t choke, but the last thing he wanted to do was to cause anyone to panic. He pushes them in a little further, just until his throat muscles can do the work for him. The pair begin to form a noticeable bulge in his neck. He moves his hands to massage his throat, coaxing the pair downward. Tero’s heart rate picks up as he finally swallows, the feeling of his gullet stretching to accommodate two guests at once takes his senses by surprise. Tero quickly contains himself, holding his hands into fists and curling his tail. The feeling quickly subsides as the pair of tinies are deposited into his belly.

***

Tero feels the fullness in his gut set in, as his belly goes from two to four occupants. His stomach is visibly distended, poking out from his hoodie. Inside, the tinies have begun to move around, exploring their new space. The naga grabs his writhing gut in protest. “W-Woah! Don’t squirm so much, you’ll-urp!” Tero burps and quickly covers his mouth; His face flushes red. “I t-told you.” His belly occupants continue to move, and out of desperation, he coils his midsection with his tail, holding his gut in place. The spastic moves finally stop as the tinies stop squirming. Inside Tero’s stomach, the group has arranged themselves into a cuddle pile; finding a spot nestled into the interior wall of the stomach lining. The ambient warmth and tight confines coaxing them into relaxing into each other. He huffs relieved, his tail still shaking from what just occurred.

Tero sighs, dropping his shoulders. “One more. . .”

***

The last tiny in the basket looks up at the nearly full naga, towering over them. “I didn’t forget about you.” He reaches down for them, and the tiny holds up a hand, palm facing him. “Hm?” The tiny gestures for him to lean closer, cupping their hands. Whispering the idea of savoring them thoroughly. Considering the previous two had passed over his tongue entirely, Tero would happily take his time with the last one.

Tero holds the tiny up to his face, gently cupped in his hands. He slips his tongue out, presenting it to them. The tiny leans in, and hugs the tongue, soaking them in warm saliva. The naga pulls his guest in slowly, as the tiny hangs on. Tero closes his eyes, moving the tiny into his cheeks. The taste was slightly sweeter than any of the others. He maneuvers them with his tongue to the other side of his mouth, and he admires the flavor a bit more.

He reaches in and pulls them out of his mouth with his tail. He plants a kiss on their forehead, “Never tasted someone as sweet as you.” He whispers. The tiny giggles. “You should join the others, don’t want to keep them waiting.” Tero repeats the motions, slipping them in, admiring their taste, then pulling them near his throat. He’s reluctant to give up on the tiny’s flavor just yet, so he squishes them to his palate, softly sucking on their body like peppermint candy. When the taste subsides, Tero takes opens his mouth and looks up, light from the sun pours in, glistening over the slick face of the tiny. The muscles in his throat collapse over them, and a pinhole of light is visible as they are sent down with a gulp!

***

As the final tiny hits his stomach, Tero takes inventory. He has an empty picnic basket, five excited guests staying in his belly, a feeling of fullness, and the lingering taste they left behind. He licks his lips. He could definitely still taste the last one, the slightly sweet sensation on his tongue causes his tail to twitch slightly.

Tero moves his serpent tail to coil around him as he lays down, using his coils as a blanket and pillow. He sighs deeply as he moves a hand down over his distended belly. Inside his gut, the last tiny joins the cuddle pile, careful not to jostle the walls as the rest move to accommodate.

Tero basks his scales in the open sun, his stomach full and satisfied. He focuses on every little movement. His eyelids were heavy, yet he continued to rub circles into his belly. Knowing they were all safe and secure, Tero could give in and doze off eventually, but until then, he would live in this feeling for a while.

#safe vore #soft vore #extreme cuddling #naga pred #multiple prey #gender neutral prey #g/t vore #vore writing #my writing #I sort of teased this fic a little bit ago with that moodboard #also #the tinies are like five inches tall #I had so many ideas but couldn't fit everything #it would have been too long otherwise #nonsexual vore

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marblemoovt · 1 year

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Cowboy Riding - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Porn With Plot, AFAB Reader, Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Bathtub Sex, Pet Names (Love, Pet, Darling).

Summary:

Working two jobs to make ends meet, you keep running into a certain cowboy.

------

His words snap you out of your daze. “Tell me, love. Have you ever ridden before?” It’s a random question, but maybe this is his attempt at small talk. You search his eyes but can’t decipher the emotion they hold.

“I don’t own a horse, but I can ride one,” you reply. You can barely afford for yourself, let alone another creature. One day you’ll scrounge up enough money and get the hell out of this town. But for now, you remain stuck. Stuck pouring drinks. Stuck dealing with drunkards. Stuck bathing adult men who can’t seem to bathe themselves.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?”

Note:

I can't believe I finished this. I probably should have waited until after my first final, which is on the 10th, but oh well.

I'm still learning how to write smut. I struggle a lot with it because I'm so used to reading other people who write it beautifully. But you know what, if I keep writing, one of them's bound to turn out decent lol. Just pray to the rng gods.

Since this is my first fic for Ghost, I wasn't sure how to capture his character, especially since this is in a cowboy setting.

Thank you @pipops for introducing me to cowboy!ghost

Am I projecting my red dead redemption 2 hyperfixation on this? Maybe.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Bang!

The saloon doors slam open as a body flies in and collides with a table. The splintering of wood catches your attention from the bar. You set down the glass you were drying. The patrons erupt into hushed whispers as everyone cranes their heads to get a good look, but no one moves. Sighing, you walk around the counter to check if the poor soul is still alive. You knew you shouldn’t have picked up this shift, but the other bartender begged you to cover for them. Plus, there’s a nice revolver you have your eye on.

The creak of the floorboards fills the silence in the room. Upon closer inspection, the heap of debris and limbs is an unconscious, but very much alive, man. You kick his shin but receive only a groan in response. Your boss is not going to be happy about this. As you roll up your sleeves, the doors swing open, and a shadow looms over you.

“Hands off,” a gruff voice locks your body in place. Turning your head, you meet a broad chest. Huh. You crane your neck, and there’s a skeleton glaring at you. Your lips are glued shut, words trapped by an invisible seam. His eyes are dark; they remind you of coal that has been set aflame. Maybe that’s why his gaze feels scalding. Despite being autumn, the room is unbearably hot.

Without another word, the mysterious stranger picks up the unconscious man like a sack of potatoes and slings him over his shoulder. He turns to exit, but you grab his vest. He stares at you in silence. You look at the broken furniture and swallow the lump in your throat. The fear of having your pay docked pries your lips apart.

“You need to pay for that,” and you point at the heap of wood. For a second, you think you’ll end up like that man: battered and unconscious. Arms thick like tree trunks and a frame that hulks yours. You don’t stand a chance, but that’s why guns were made. You eye the shiny pair of revolvers around his waist and grimace. Let’s hope he’s a terrible shot.

The skeleton man grunts, “Later,” and leaves. The second the saloon doors click shut, the chatter resumes. The atmosphere returns to normal like nothing ever happened. You grumble and fetch a broom and dustpan, wracking your brain for an excuse to give to your boss.

Unfortunately, your boss is incredibly pissed. He doesn’t dock your pay, but damn, did you receive an earful. You rub your temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. But the shrill scream of your boss still haunts your eardrums. The only reason you keep this job is that the customers tip well, especially once you get them piss-drunk.

Exiting the saloon, you head to your next job at the inn. It’s not common for you to work two shifts in one day, but you’re short on money. You pass by the gunsmith and pause at the display window, looking in with a sigh. When you arrive, they assign you to the baths, your least favourite task. There’s just something repulsive about bathing strangers—men—who feel entitled to do as they please with you. Sometimes you get lucky, and they only require you to fetch items and set up the bath. Other times you have to tend to customers with wandering hands. And let’s just say you were relieved of your bath duties for a few weeks after shoving a bar of soap down a man’s throat—but not before breaking his hands!

The stairs creak underneath your weight, and you hug the basket of towels and soap to your chest. You silently pray that whoever is behind that door isn’t a complete asshole. You knock and hear a muffled “Come in.”

You open the door, and there’s a skeleton staring at you.

Fuck.

You close the door without a word. Should you leave? But you can’t not do your job. Another incident like last time and you could find yourself fired. It’s not like he remembers you, right? You crouch in front of the door with your head in your hands. What are you going to do?

The door swings open, and a shadow looms over you. “Are you coming in, or are you gonna dillydally?” His husky tone redirects the throbbing in your temples elsewhere, and you press your thighs together. “Either you get in, or I ask for a replacement.”

You shoot up and rush past him into the room. Wordlessly, you set your basket on the counter and check that the water in the tub isn’t too hot. Flicking the bubbles off your hand, you stand to the side and wait.

“Aren’t you gonna undress me?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his. “What?” you sputter, blood thrumming in your veins.

He tilts his head. “Isn’t that your job?”

You pad over to him like a wary animal, watching for the first sign of danger to turn tail. His dark eyes remain fixed on you; they pull you closer to him. Your fingers graze his neck when you untie his bandanna. You take off his vest, your touch trailing along his broad shoulders. The air feels heavy, and your lungs ache from the pressure. Breathing in deeply, you hold it in before exhaling slowly. Your pulse continues to quicken. He never looks away from you. Even when you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes burn into the crown of your head. You pull the fabric apart and suck in a gasp. Muscles, well-defined and chiselled, wherever your gaze wanders. An array of scars litter his body like brushstrokes, and you restrain yourself from tracing every single one with your tongue.

Clearing your throat, you reach up a hand towards his mask. “Don’t.” The command is sharp, and it cuts through the building tension. You look at him with wide eyes. His grip on your wrist isn’t harsh. You’re more startled than anything. You didn’t even see him move. “The mask stays on,” he says, releasing you. You nod dumbly and fumble with the button on his pants, tugging the material down. All that remains are his undergarments. You swallow, and your throat feels like it’s covered in tar. You undress him, and he’s—almost—as bare as the day he was born. The words clog your throat. It’s not like you’re surprised since he’s a behemoth of a man. But holy shit is he also massive in other parts of his body.

He doesn’t say anything. You haven’t decided yet whether that’s a blessing or a curse. No command to touch him, no order to undress and join him. He walks around your dazed form and lowers himself into the tub. The water sloshes and spills over the sides. Bubbles obscure most of his body. Damn it. You grab a towel and a bar of soap from your basket.

Standing behind him, you dip the soap in water and lather it between your hands. Then you rub his shoulders, fingers travelling along every bump and ridge of his muscles. You start a light massage, keeping in mind to use more pressure than usual. Kneading any knots you find, a low rumble purrs from his throat, and your legs press together. His head leans back, and even in the bath, he’s almost as tall as you. Your hands move down to his biceps, and you bend over to reach them.

You take a peek at his mask and admire the white skull against the black fabric. Obsidian eyes meet yours. They steal all the air in your lungs and turn the blood in your veins into molten lava. His gaze searches your face, and there’s a rush of heat simmering beneath your skin. You blink and avert your gaze, pulling away to get the rag. Wetting the cloth, you wipe down his body. He smells like pine trees and campfires with a faint whiff of bourbon. It’s sweet and earthy—addicting. You shudder, doing your best to ignore the pulsating in your core.

“Alright there, love?” he asks. There’s a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he rakes them over your figure. “Promise I don’t bite. Much.” You can hear the smug grin in his tone. The pool of heat in your belly bubbles and overflows into the rest of your body. The man knows exactly what he is doing to you.

“Fine,” you squeak, blaming your rise in temperature on the warm water and manual labour.

“I went to pay for the table, but you weren’t there,” he says. You stop scrubbing his arms and rewet the towel, wringing it out to buy yourself more time.

“Oh?” That’s all you manage to say. Oh. No witty remark or even a complete sentence. Just oh. You bite your lip and turn to face him. Much to your surprise, his eyes aren’t black, but a deep brown. The flicker of candlelight makes them look like pools of honey. Colour does not affect their power to hold you in place. For a brief second, you wonder how they would look between your thighs. “Were you looking for me?” you whisper.

“Not at all.” And his voice is husky, rough as the gravel on the road. It leaves you raw and wanting. You drag the towel across his chest, feeling his pulse beat steadily beneath your fingertips. Your heart is thumping in your ears, twice the rate of his. Trailing down between the valley of his pecs, you wash his abdomen. It feels like you’re cleaning a statue, albeit a squishy one. You hesitate to go further.

He stops you. “I can take it from here,” and he takes the towel. You stand back, fiddling with your fingers now that they have nothing to hold. The splash and drip of water fill the void of silence.

“How’s that man?” you find yourself asking. “The one you carried away.”

“In jail,” he responds. Simple and short. The silence stretches. You fidget with the buttons on your sleeve, picking at them until you force yourself to stop in fear of loosening the thread.

When the quiet becomes too much, you ask another question. “Was he bad?”

He shrugs. Beads of water roll off his collarbone and down his chest. “Don’t know, don’t care. Had a pretty bounty on his head, and that’s all that matters.” Your head perks up. Bounty hunting always fascinated you, but you have neither the equipment nor the skills for it.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” You step closer to the tub, fingers grasping the metal rim.

Amusement glints in his eyes. “When I want to be.”

His answer is vague; too vague now that your interest has been peaked. “What else do you do then?” you ask, leaning forward in excitement.

There’s barely any white beneath the skull mask. You’re treading in an ocean of coffee with nothing to keep you afloat. You would risk drowning if it meant having his gaze on you for a moment longer. He examines you and cocks his head. “Do you do this with everyone you bathe, or am I an exception?”

The question catches you off guard. You can’t remember the last time you worked a bath where the company was enjoyable. “Just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

He chuckles. It’s low and sinful. You know the sound will repeat in your head later tonight once you’re alone in your room. “Darling, the less you know, the better.” The pet name sends a pleasant buzz through your body. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes you bolder and drunk on impulsivity.

You tilt your face forward, your nose brushing against his mask. “Why? Would you have to kill me otherwise?” You’re joking, but the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine. And then you remember that you know nothing about this man. You don’t even know his name.

His eyes trail down to your lips, and you almost miss how his throat bobs. “Wouldn’t that be a shame,” he mumbles. He locks his gaze back onto yours, and you inch closer. Would you have kissed by now if the mask wasn’t in the way? Your lashes flutter, lips a hair away from his face. He waits for you to make a move. Your fingers dig into the wooden boards of the tub, and your lips graze cotton. At the last second, you wrench yourself away, staring at the wooden floorboards.

Tar coats your throat once more, and the words feel like molasses on your tongue. “If you don’t need me anymore, I can head on out.”

You’re moments away from bolting, but his stern tone stops you. “No,” then a bit softer, “stay.” You peer at his eyes and relax your shoulders.

Your lips quirk into a smile, and you mock salute. “Yes, sir. I promise to be on the lookout. No one will attack you while you’re buck naked.” You pull a stool up to the side of the tub and sit.

He chuffs and rolls his eyes. “Ghost will do.”

“Ghost, huh? Unusual name,” you comment, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Yeah? Well, it’s not as stupid as Soap.” You have no idea who Soap is, but you feel sorry for them.

“Who would name their child—”

“Do you live alone?” he interrupts you.

You pause at the sudden shift in conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

“You work two jobs. No one to go home to?” And there’s that look again like he’s studying you.

You frown. “I don’t think that’s very polite of you to assume.”

He leans back and closes his eyes. “So that’s a yes, then.” You swear he’s smirking underneath that mask; he sounds too smug not to be.

You bristle, heat crawling up the nape of your neck.“Well, what about you? Got a ranch with a wife and five kids?” you snap.

He cracks open his eyes and gives you a sidelong glance. “Jealous?” he teases with a lilt in his voice. “No. I have my horse and my… brothers. That’s enough for me.”

“You don’t get lonely?” you ask.

“Never, especially not right now.” His stare is a permanent brand on your skin. You shift in your seat before getting up entirely. Grabbing the towel from him, you walk behind the tub.

You clear your throat, and he leans forward, exposing his muscular back to you. You hold your breath and trace what looks like an old knife wound. “Where did you get this?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Like I said. The less you know, the better.” You don’t press further, cataloging each scar you come across and tucking the information into the far recesses of your mind.

When you’re done scrubbing his back, the bubbles have dissipated. The water is cloudy from the soap, but you can see the long curve of his cock twitching. Your fingers itch to explore his shaft and trace every vein you find.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?” He looks dead serious. Is this attractive man flirting with you? Your eyes flick towards the water and fuck if you thought he was big before.

You bite your lip and walk around to his side. “Not lately,” you answer. Your fingers dip beneath the water and skim along his stomach. “Are you offering to take me on a ride?” And you’re drowning, swimming in endless depths of honey and gold. You sink deeper. Feel your blood turn to sludge as your limbs become heavy. All oxygen leaves the room when his large hands encompass yours.

“I am. Won’t throw a fuss if you decline,” Ghost murmurs. It’s an offer, not a demand. Calluses brush against the back of your hand. You pull away and take a few steps back. He nods and places his hands on the sides of the tub. Before he can lift himself out, your clothes plop onto the ground in a pile. The soft thump draws his attention, and his irises darken.

You preen under his appraising stare, rubbing your thighs together for relief. The air teases your nipples into stiff peaks, and you hear him swallow. His eyes follow the sway of your hips as you strut closer.

He sucks in a breath. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” and his voice cracks with want.

You drag a finger across his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your touch. Leaning into his ear, you whisper, “Is there room for one more in there?”

The groan he utters sends a spike of arousal to your core. He looks at you with blown pupils and gives his shaft a few pumps. “There’s a seat right here,” he says, and you climb into the tub to claim it. The water is lukewarm at best, but the man beneath you radiates heat. Your clit brushes against the tip of his cock, and you hiss through clenched teeth. You definitely need some preparation before attempting to take his length in you. Not only is he long, but he’s girthy too. And the thought of it splitting you apart makes you clench. You seat yourself on his thighs, his erection pressing against your stomach. His hands cup your bottom, and he kneads the soft flesh. “Gotta stretch you out first,” and his fingers spread your slick folds. Your breath hitches when he draws circles around your entrance. “Ready?”

“Fuck yes,” you respond, aching to be filled. Ghost plunges one finger inside, and your nails dig into his shoulders. One of his fingers feels like two of yours. The slight burn fizzles when he sets a steady pace, pumping his finger in and out of you. Your hips rock to match his movements. “More,” you plead.

A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “As you wish,” and he adds another digit. Crescent moons mark his skin, and the sting spurs him on. He crooks his fingers to reach the spongy area on your walls. All your nerves short-circuit, and you beg him to do it again. So he focuses on that sweet spot, stroking until your vision becomes spotty. When the meaty part of his palm grinds against your clit, your walls spasm as your orgasm hits you like a stampede. He doesn’t stop, pistoning his fingers with deadly precision.

“No more, please,” you beg. You’re starting to become too sensitive. The pleasure is teetering on that fine line that separates it from pain. You try to wiggle away, but his other hand pins you in place.

“You can take it. I know you can,” Ghost coos, fingers seeking to coax another climax from you. You bite your lip and shake your head. Tears sting the corner of your eyes. Still riding your previous high, you’re dangerously close to that precipice. He adds a third finger, sending you careening off the edge. The second orgasm rips through you, electricity sparking through your veins and setting every nerve ablaze. This time he slows down and allows you to ride his fingers. Your hips roll, grinding against his palm, anything to add to the friction.

“Fuuuuck,” you moan, trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. You slide off his fingers and bring them to your mouth, licking them clean.

He groans at the sight. “Fucking hell, pet.” His hips jerk when you grip his cock, sliding your thumb across the tip. “Ride me,” he orders. The authoritative tone makes your stomach coil. His hands rest on your waist, fingertips bruising your hips. “Don’t be shy. Show me how well you can ride my cock.” His words are filthy, and you want him to kiss that dirty mouth of his.

You take in a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.” Aligning yourself, you sink down slowly. The stretch is incomparable to earlier. Even after three fingers, you’re still struggling to take him. He grunts and digs into your waist, thighs quivering with anticipation. There’s a delicious burn as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girthy length. He disappears into you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he spits out. You try to even your breathing. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, and you can feel him throbbing inside you. His tip kisses the entrance of your womb, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. “Alright there, love?” Your mind is unable to process his question. There’s a thick fog blanketing your head, and all you manage is a whimper. He chuckles and strokes your lower back. “You haven’t even started moving yet.”

Like a newborn foal, your legs struggle to support your weight. Using his thighs, you lift yourself up and sink back down. The sensation of his cock dragging along your walls knocks all the air out of your lungs. You’re eager to chase that feeling. You pick up the pace, finding a comfortable rhythm. The water around you sloshes, and waves form with each bounce of your hips. His hands trail up your body, and he brushes your nipples with his thumbs. He hums, admiring how they pebble from his touch. You shudder and lean into him, mewling when he tugs and twists your nipples between his fingers.

“You’re riding me so well, pet.” His praise is music to your ears. You want to hear more, want him to moan your name as you milk him for all he’s got. So your hips move quicker, slamming into him at a brutal pace. He’s consistently rubbing against your cervix, and you’ve already cum multiple times because of this. “Gonna kill me with that sweet cunt of yours,” he grunts.

The only thought left in your mind is to feel his seed spill inside you. And when you beg him to fill you up, the look he gives you is predatory. His hands return to your waist, and he starts using you. He uses you like an object for his pleasure. His strong arms lift you before slamming you down onto his cock, and he repeats this motion. You don’t move, too cock-drunk to do anything but take what he gives you.

All you can smell is cedar and bourbon mixed with the musk of sweat. It overwhelms you, and you don’t think you can work at the bar anymore without your arousal smouldering like the embers of a flame. A salty aftertaste remains on your tongue, and you wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. Ghost curses when you clench around him like a vice. You could listen to him make these noises forever.

He’s twitching wildly inside you, and your clit throbs alongside it. “Fuck, darling. Gonna stuff you full just like you asked. You’re filthy like that, aren’t ya? Riding a man you just met like a whore, begging him to fill you with his seed.” You clench at his words, and his amused chuckle tightens the knot in your stomach. His deft fingers find your clit and mercilessly tease the bundle of nerves. The toe-curling pleasure is too much. You’re starting to lose track of where one orgasm ends and another orgasm begins. “Again. Cum,” he commands, and your body obeys. Your vision blurs, and your heartbeat crescendoes in your ears. He’s officially ruined having sex with anyone else for you.

His hips rut into you, chasing his own high. Your walls flutter around his cock, and it throbs in response. He chants your name like a prayer, dissolving into a groan as he empties his seed inside you. Thick ropes of hot cum paint your walls. You stay seated, panting to catch your breath. His chest heaves, glistening with sweat. He admires the bulge in your stomach before gingerly unsheathing himself from you. A grimace tugs at your lips as you clench around emptiness.

Ghost steps out of the tub and dries himself with a spare towel from your basket. He gets dressed and wordlessly moves towards the door.

“Will I see you again?” you ask, clambering after him. Your knees knock together, but your grip on the tub keeps you upright. The breeze chills your wet skin, and you can barely walk. You’re worried he’ll disappear if you let him go. Like an apparition. Like a ghost.

He pauses in front of the door and looks at you over his shoulder. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“I’ve been meaning to learn—”

He interrupts you. He seems to have a habit of doing that. “Sunrise. At the lake. I’ll teach you,” and he leaves without another word.

You stagger over to your clothes and slip them on, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. When you grab the basket from the counter, you nearly drop it from the unexpected weight. Rummaging through the towels, your fingers brush against cool metal.

Inside is the revolver you had your eye on, and engraved on the barrel is a familiar skull.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

The number of headcanons and plot bunnies that spawned from my brain is insane.

Could this be an entire series? Easily. Will I write it? Probably not. Maybe eventually.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #cowboy!ghost #no y/n #afab reader #gender neutral reader #Simon has a large cock and you can't convince me otherwise #The 141 and Los Vaqueros live on a ranch together and you can pry that from my cold dead hands #I wrote this instead of studying #Pray for me #Time to cram for finals

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