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selineram3421 · 8 months

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Hiiii you're the first blog I check every morning and I absolutely LOVE everything you write!!

How about Alastor/Angel Dust/Husker finding the reader after attempting suicide? (If you don't want to thats fine, it can be super triggering, I just want comforttt)

I went aw and then went oh..

Lol but yes, I can do this.

Attempts

Warning! ⚠

⚠ mentions of attempted suicide-drowning/overdose/cutting, descriptive injuries, blood, mental illness mentioned ⚠

Human AU for this one:

Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

Alastor🎙

He had noticed you becoming distant.

For what reason?

That's just the thing. He didn't know.

It did concern him though and he would check up on you from time to time.

But you would just smile and say you were fine. That you just had a hard time falling asleep last night.

There was something that still had him on edge. Something was wrong but you didn't tell him.

He was your friend, your best friend in fact! You could tell him anything...

Right?

Alastor had come to visit, bringing along some of his cooking to help cheer you up.

Time's were getting rough with the economy crashing. And you, his dear friend, lived alone with no immediate family around. It was just you and that cat that would occasionally come by for food.

He stood at the door of your apartment and knocked, waiting for you to open it and greet him.

As he waited, he noticed the claw marks at the bottom of your door, wondering if the stray cat had done it.

How odd.. He thought. They would have opened the door before the little creature could dare scratch up their door.

He knocked again.

But the longer he waited was making him slightly nervous. Tapping his foot until he could no longer stand still, he got the spare key you gave him and opened the door.

Calling out your name, he walked into your apartment and placed the place of food down on the kitchen counter. After closing the door behind him, he walked into the living room.

"Are you home?", he asked, looking around the room, spotting your coat and shoes still out.

They haven't left. Maybe they are asleep?

Something had formed at the pit of his stomach, the feeling of fear and worry cloaking his thoughts. He walked into their room after feeling it grow stronger.

Looking around, he saw that your bed was made and that everything was neat and tidy.

Then he noticed the paper on your dresser.

Walking over, he picked it up and started to read. It was odd, as it addressed whoever happened to pick it up, but then he noticed what it meant.

No no no no no-!

His hands shook and he flinched when hearing a loud splash of water.

Dropping the paper, Alastor ran to the bathroom, barging in. There he saw you in the filled bath tub, soaking wet with clothes and shoes on, gasping for air.

He said your name and rushed over, pulling you out of the tub.

"Darling, talk to me!", he said, grabbing a towel to wrap around your shaking form. "What-"

"I couldn't- I couldn't do it! I couldn't..", they sobbed, turning their head away from him as they sunk down onto the tiled floor. "Why can't I just do it!?"

Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on the floor and hugged them.

"Shh sh, its alright.", he whispered, rocking them back and forth.

They clung onto the back of his shirt, still shaking from their cries.

"Its going to be alright."

Angel Dust🕸

You were his buddy, his pal.

Someone he could tell everything to without having to worry about you running to the cops.

You were the friend that was always by his side, no matter how many times he fucked up.

You would encourage him, praise him, and just be like sunshine. It reminded him of his sister Molly.

He didn't notice when your smiles started to become a mask.

He didn't notice when you started taking drugs from his stash.

Angel had left to pick up some drinks for the both of you. The day was alright and you had asked to hang out for a while.

It was a little weird when you had started to point out every detail, but he had just brushed it off as you being observant.

Maybe it was one of those days when you would just stare at the sky.

When he got back, he couldn't find you in the room.

Weird. He thought and shrugged before sitting down on the couch to wait for you.

Opening up his drink, he went to take a sip before something caught his eye.

It was the vent that hid his secret stash.

Why is that open? No one could have known it was there but you-

His eyes widened and he shot up from the couch and ran around the place yelling out your name.

"Com' on! This isn't funny!", he yelled, opening every door that he came across. "You've nevah had drugs! You don't know how much you can handle!"

He found you on the floor, packs ripped open around you.

"No..", Angel said quietly before repeating it as he rushed over to your side. "Snap out of it!", he yelled out in a panic and shook you by the shoulders.

You were blinking really slow, pupils dilated and shaking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!", he said, picking you up and placing you on a nearby couch. "Stay awake! I'm gonna call a hospital, ok!?"

"Sorry Angel.", you mumbled and lifted your hand to hold his. "I just wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted to sleep."

"Stay awake. I'll come back in a bit ok? Or let me find a phone with a long enough cord.", he said before running out of the room.

He held back from crying when speaking to the nurse on the phone. Doing his best to explain what was going on.

After the call, he went back to hold your hand until the ambulance came to pick you up.

He had gotten an earful for being late for a job but he didn't care about that. All he could think of was you, hoping you were alright as he worked on autopilot to get the job done.

Damn it. He thought as he paced back and forth. I should have paid more attention to them.

Angel immediately went to visit you after finishing up, rushing down the hallways to get to your hospital room with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

He slammed the door open and found you awake, looking him up and down.

"What the fuck were ya thinking!?", he said as he made his way over to your side. "Best friends don't try to kill themselves before the other one! Best friends die tagethah!"

"I-"

"These are for you.", he said and placed the flowers on the nightstand nearby before sighing. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he sat on it. Taking off his hat to brush his hair back to try and calm himself down.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?", he said looking at you. "I'm here for you, like you are for me. So talk to me."

Husk🃏

Honestly, he didn't know what to think of you at first.

You were just another person on the other side of the bar. Ordering a drink and sitting there for hours.

He knew a sad face, as it was quite common, but yours seemed permanent.

After a while, you became friends.

You weren't annoying and he appreciated your company. Sometimes when it was a slow night, he would show you card tricks.

He didn't know how depressed you actually were.

It had been a long night.

Husk had to serve some annoying assholes but other than that group it was tolerable.

What was odd was that you didn't show up.

They probably have an actual life to get back to. He thought as he cleaned up the bar.

After he locked up, he went out through the alleyway in the back. But as soon as he walked out he saw you leaning against the brick wall covered in blood.

"Oh shit!", he yelled out in shock before rushing to check you over.

He found your wrists slit, still gushing out some blood. Quickly, he ripped the bottom part of his undershirt and tied them around your wrists to try and slow the blood.

"Fucking hell!", he hissed and ran over to the pay phone across the street.

After putting in the coins, he called the nearest hospital and rushed out what was going on.

"I found them a few minutes ago! They are unconscious, but their wrists are still bleeding! I don't fucking know! Just send someone over!"

He got fed up with the person on the phone and slammed the pay phone back to its place. The change clunk down into the machine and he ran out of the booth to take you to the hospital himself.

"Don't you fucking die on me!"

After you were taken by the doctors, Husk sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room, bouncing his leg.

He hasn't beem that worried about someone since-

It's just been a long time.

It wasn't until a few hours later that you woke up. The doctors let him know that he could see you now, and he made his way over to your room.

As soon as he entered, he pointed at you with the grumpiest frown you've ever seen.

"Don't you ever do that shit again."

All you did was smile.

"Thanks Husk."

Then he did something that surprised you.

He hugged you and cried.

"You fucking dumbass.", he grumbled. "Do you know how shitty my night was? Then I find you passed out, covered in blood in the fucking dark."

"I'm sorry Husk.", you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I had a shitty night too. I wasn't thinking right."

Both of you stayed like that for a while.

Something that both of you never talked about was your home life. After this stunt, Husk would make sure to check in on you more.

"You owe me booze."

You laughed and agreed.

This was hard. Sorry for it being so late, but I hope you are doing better now.

~Seline, the person.

ML's for Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

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seattlesellie · 1 year

Text

not about love. (part 4 & final)

read: part one || part two || part three

pairing: college loser!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: after ellie kisses someone else, you run. then, you run again. at the end? she finally fucking chases you.

warnings: some miscommunication, slight angst, alcohol & weed, mentions of homophobia (d slur), smut (mdni), oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), scissoring, top!ellie, bottom!reader, panties kink (?), mentions of strap, first time w ellie, love love love <3

authors note: i had so much fun writing this. i hope you guys like it. i’m still thinking about a short part five, but well see how it goes ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"(The Party & The After Party -The Weeknd)"

01:23 ━━━━●───── 03:43

ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

---˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹---

it's funny, how guilt begins with a subtle tickle. it's delicate at first, ignited like a gentle caress down her throat. it is not like jealousy, that dawns on you with a thud right inside. for her, for ellie, it's almost like a whisper. it glides down her body, maneuvers its way around, and then it lands inside the pit of her stomach, making it churn, toss and twist from the insides out, like an ever erupting ticking bomb.

she shouldn't have kissed that girl, that, she knew. the answer to why, she truly doesn't know— don't ask her no stupid questions. she knew it was wrong when she slid her tongue down her throat, knew it was wrong when she took the back of her neck into her palm, and felt how wrong it was when she looked deep into her eyes, panting, with a ruby blush creeping up on her cheeks. it wasn't because you left, god knows she would have felt how wrong it was even if you didn't, but alas, you did. you did leave. and that's why right at this second— her brain was fuzzy, knuckles colored white, legs moving faster and faster with no control.

truly, what ellie did wasn't wrong, neither was it selfish. you weren't a couple, she didn't belong to you, and neither you to her. she was a free woman, and so were you. and yet, your imaginations told a completely different tale. the truest colors of your thoughts— ready to erupt and spill out of you as if tomorrow never came.

she must have bumped into at least twenty sweaty, inebriated bodies. the outside world seemed to move and twist in a blur, but her mind moved oh so slowly. it was as if walking to the bathroom, took her over two hours. in reality, it took exactly three minutes, until she bumped into one extraordinarily tall man.

he rocked a bleach blonde buzz cut, a red bandana on his forehead, and ridiculously tiny sunglasses.

"yo— williams!" he declared, stopping her right in her tracks. she looked up to face him, and he was much, much taller.

"dude, look" he said, pointing right at her face, grabbing the attention of his ridiculous looking, slightly shorter pal.

"that's the girl alison likes!" he shouted, and she could feel the beer stench creeping up in her nostrils, making them twist.

"bro, you must be something special, she almost bribed the shit out of kyle just to make you kiss her"

ellie looked around the corridor, her eyes darting from his face to the floor. people... want to kiss her? it made her feel proud, inflating her ego and making it swell hard in her chest. a second later, it completely wore off. she didn't give a fuck about people— not about most of them.

"yeah, hey dude" she huffed, her lips curling up to a shy smile.

"so tell me, williams— did you scissor on the floor?" he interrogated.

"really gotta go to the bathroom" she voiced.

"no dude, wait... let me ask, i’m fucking interested" he uttered, blocking her path and leaning against the cream-colored wall with his arm.

"do lesbians actually fucking scissor?" his shorter friend questioned.

ellie always had a short temper. it would creep up on her when she least expected it, jolting inside of her brain and making the vein on her forehead pop. lately, she's been listening to some guided meditation on youtube. angela, was the name of the lady who's gentle voice she would listen to every once in a while. "deep breath in, and let it out... think of the rain, pouring and pouring, tickling down your window... and let yourself breatheee..." ellie took a deep breath in, and exhaled.

"y'all should send me a video when you're done fucking"

yeah, fuck angela.

"move out of the fucking way man, i gotta piss" she raised her tone slightly. maybe angela's voice still rung in her ears, because she didn't even consider punching him in the face.

"not fucking moving, williams— c'mon, we wanna fucking know all about it"

ellie might have been shorter by several inches, but god knows she was much stronger. with a firm grip on his bicep, she exerted her power and effortlessly tossed him to the side.

"fucking dyke" he snickered.

"die asshole" she uttered, and flipped him off.

the bathroom seemed to be closer, and her pacing was steadier. she was going to talk to you, that's it.

she opened the door, and exhaled. she didn't even know she had been holding her breath. the coppery scent of cigarettes, and overwhelmingly sweet, citrusy bathroom incense tickled at her nose. four women stood in front of the broken mirror. a blonde one, a brunette, one with braids, and one with a big cap on her head. they either giggled at each other, or to themselves, ellie truly didn't care.

"is there anyone in the stalls?" she questioned in a low voice. they clearly couldn't hear, her words barely audible over the overwhelming music that blared from outside.

she cleared her throat, and tried again.

"are the stalls empty?"

the brunette turned around to face her, a radiant smile spreading across her face, revealing a row of gleaming teeth.

"i dunno" she huffed, and turned around to face the friend by her side.

"but you can—" she stifled a giggle, and then it erupted.

"piss on the floor" she quipped, earning herself the symphony of her friend's breathless, intoxicated laughter.

"great" ellie muttered under her breath. just great.

she turned around to face the stalls, and began.

one knock, two knocks— she felt that guilt twisting in her stomach again.

fuck it, she fully banged on the door. those girls left, after they side eyed her shameless, and walked off. if you were anywhere to be found in that bathroom, it was just the two of you now.

she propelled her foot forward at the door, it swung open, propelled by the force, creating a resounding bang against the wall, echoing twice. the air caressed her face, and she shivered. It was not the chill of the room that caused her tremor. what if you weren't there? what if you left?

the third stall's door she kicked as well, and she couldn't hide her disappointment anymore.

"fuck" she hissed.

the fourth one must be empty as well. she didn't exactly believe in luck. she kicked it, the door budged slightly, but it didn't fly open. it was locked.

you lifted your legs up to meet your chin, holding yourself together in a hug. you felt absolutely embarrassed. you knew you didn't have any right to get like this. the tears swelling up in your eyes and the mascara running all over your cheeks, clinging itself to the delicate skin, making it itch and burn had no right to even exist. she didn't belong to you.

she knocked on the door again.

"you in there?" she croaked. did you hear the guilt lacing her words? it was buried inside of her stomach, after all.

"no... i mean— fuck" you sniffled, bumping your palm on your forehead. "no?" really?

"open the door" she uttered.

silence.

"please?"

you wiped the tears from your eyes, and grabbed a piece of toilet paper to wipe the mascara running profusely, leaving dark, messy spots on your cheeks.

"i’m peeing, ellie— go away"

"no you're not, open the door"

she must have heard you sniff away your snot gathering on the tip of your nostrils.

"i just wanna talk" she quietly said, her voice just above a whisper. ellie stood there, her arm steady on the door, waiting for you to let her in.

"dont wanna" *sniff* "talk"

she took a deep breath. "im not moving. i could stay here all night" you knew she could.

"well..." *sniff* "so can i" you hiccuped.

"cool"

"cool" you repeated.

ellie turned her back away from the door, and leaned against it. three whole minutes of absolute silence had passed, neither of you talking, but so much left unsaid. when the image of ellie kissing that girl flashed inside of your brain, hitting you like a lighting bolt, you giggled to yourself.

"what's so funny?" she questioned, crossing her arms.

"shouldn't you be with your new girlfriend?"

that was it for you. no more hiding. if hurt was the main feeling your heart held just five minutes ago, it mixed around with the tangy, salty taste of jealousy now, laced with the spiciness of anger. you twisted the doorknob, and let it fly open, bumping against ellie's back, making her jump to the other side.

you truly couldn't care if she knew you were crying. what's the point of hiding anymore? who gives a fuck. perhaps— it was sudden wind of courage washing over you. most likely— it was the plastic cup filled with cheap vodka cranberry emptying out inside of your stomach. you placed the cup on the sink, and washed your hands. you didn't even glance at ellie, who stared at you in disbelief.

"what the fuck are you talking about?" she probed, her arms slapping down on her thighs.

"alison, duh"

ellie swallowed deeply.

"or arielle or... whatever the hell her name is" you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you looked like a mess. ellie thought you looked beautiful, she wanted to tell you the moment you came out of the building.

she didn't even know what to say, her eyes staring at the floor, attempting to keep it together.

"was the kiss nice?" you wiped your hand on your skirt.

"it looked nice. so hot!" you nudged her shoulder. every single word that came out of your mouth sounded like you had just run a marathon. they flowed out quick, and even the dumbest person alive would know you were talking out of pure jealousy. maybe ellie was even dumber than him.

"what's gotten into you?" she muttered.

"nothing! happy my best friend's gonna get finally ged laid.. god knows you needed it, el" you patted her head. oh, you were done for.

ellie's eyebrows rose. deep, deep breaths. she stood mute, letting you finish your little speech.

it was as if someone pinned up the apple's of your cheeks together and forced you to smile.

"how long has it been since you fucked?" you tilted your head. you didn't make eye contact, you just stared right between her eyebrows. if you looked at her, you'd have probably burst crying.

"let alone... kissed somebody"

ellies tongue brushed the side of her mouth, and her jaw clenched.

"why are you asking me this?"

you averted your gaze to the side, your breath caged in your throat.

"because were best friends, and best friends talk about these thing! and... you really needed to fucking get some pu—"

she moved closer. you couldn't not face her now. you looked into her eyes and god it fucking hurt. there it was again. dont cry, dont fucking cry.

"how long..." it was as if her eyes were chasing yours. look at me, look at me. "has it been for you?"

your entire face felt like it was fucking itching. your nails dug little crescent moons into your palms. her breath tickled your nose and you swore, you've never been this close to her. you tried focusing on her freckles, counting them inside of your mind, pretending to connect the dots in a thin line. it hurt knowing that she must have seen them this close up too.

"this isn't about me, so" you whispered. you wanted to sound assertive, and aggressive, but you failed miserably. you just sounded ridiculous and sad.

"i think it is" she whispered, too. matching you completely. her lips were so plump and they felt so close and—

"why did you cry?"

"i did not cry" is it really a lie, if she knows the truth already?

"tell me" god, she smelled like the most intoxicating thing in the world. your ellie. or not your ellie, just ellie.

"leave me alone" you mumbled.

"no"

"m'not leaving you alone"

you could kiss her now. you could feel her lips brush against yours and you could kiss her, and tell her everything she wants to know, because god knows she needs it.

you were a coward.

you left, and she didn't chase you. she was a coward too.

she needed a fucking blunt.

────────────

the air felt crisp and biting against her skin. the moon, obscured by thick clouds, offered only glimpses of its pale light. shadows danced and flickered, and the distant howl of the wind rung in her ears. the blunt was delicately held between her fingers, and wisps of smoke curled and swirled in the air around her. she took a leisurely drag, and sighed.

she wasn't new to being alone. she liked bathing in solace, surrounded by her thoughts. usually, it felt nice, and it calmed her down. you, you were anything but calming. being alone was like a sunny beach day. being with you was a storm. you made her palms sweat and her heart beat faster. sometimes, she swore she might have a heart attack. you were her best friend, but it never truly felt like it. best friends tell each other everything, best friends hug and they hold each others hands. best friends dont disappear when the sun sets because they are afraid of what might happen in the dark, and they certainly don't feel like there's no more air left to breathe when they're around each other. they dont touch themselves thinking of each other, and their world doesn't crush upon them when they show interest in other people.

she wasn't your best friend, and neither were you her's.

ellie takes another hit. then, she remembers that one day in tenth grade. you both walked home from school, and you stopped right in your tracks. you asked her if she feels weird around you, if this peculiar feeling creeps up on her from time to time as well. when she asked you what you meant, you told her that sometimes it feels like she isn't your friend. that it feels like the universe has glued you two together, but not for the reason she thinks. when she asked you what you thought it was for, you shrugged, and told her that only time will tell. she felt her insides turn and her ears burned bright red. then, you sighed, and said; "maybe were soulmates" she had to stop herself from grinning, or fucking exploding, and her heart missed a beat. "platonic ones, obviously... maybe were not supposed to be best friends, just two souls who float around each other. you got any snacks? m'starving"

she flicks the blunt and the ashes fall down on the grass. she brings it to her lips again, and shuts her eyes close.

"ellie?"

she opens them fast and turns her head around. it takes her a moment to recognize, as the high washes over her body, but she finally sees.

alison.

"can i sit with you?" she asks while moving closer, and gives her a timid smile.

ellie clears her throat, and drags her body over to the side.

"sure"

the ginger sits next to her, and she relaxes her face.

they sit in silence for a moment.

"t'was a nice kiss" she whispers, and ellie looks at her from the corner of her eye. she should feel shy, and nervous being around the girl she had just kissed. for some reason, she doesn't.

"yeah..." ellie affirms.

"t'was"

the girl looks at the ground, and then looks at ellie again. she smiles, and breathes deeply.

"i wasn't the one you wanted to kiss though" she remarks, and lays her back comfortably against the bench.

"mmph— what do you mean?" ellie feels it now. the nervousness. it wasn’t there before.

"your friend" she bites her lip. she's not looking at ellie anymore, she's staring at the ground.

"what... friend?"

"the one who ran off"

ellie doesn't speak, just brings her lips to form a tight line. was it that... obvious?

"i mean... did you at least go after her? she asks, and she says it kindly, like she cares. weird.

ellie takes a second to respond. she considers denying it, running off just like you did. fuck it, she's high enough.

"yes" is all she mutters, and its quiet. she thinks this is the first time she ever talked about it out loud. only her journal knows, her brave soldier holding on to all of her little secrets, and now, alison knows too.

"and... did something happen?"

she wishes something did.

"no she— she ran off. again, so" she takes another drag, and it burns in her throat. she needs a glass of water, a cool one. maybe she needs a bucket to fall on her head too.

"and you didn't chase her?" the girl questions again. ellie feels like she's being interrogated. for some reason she doesn't even begin to understand, she feels relieved in a way, too. who knew talking could be so... nice. maybe its the high, she wonders.

"she clearly... doesn't want me around so— why would i chase her" that sentence carried a sadness to it. her voice broke when she spoke, and she feels like slapping herself across the cheek. she offers alison the blunt, and the girl takes it in between her fingers, and nods.

"so you just... let her go?"

ellie doesn't respond. she wants her blunt back. talking isn't nice, she decides.

"can i ask you a personal question?" alison takes a drag before ellie responds.

"you already sort of did so, be my guest"

"are you in love with her?"

ellie's breath hitches inside her throat, and she feels like digging a hole in the ground and burying herself inside. she knew she was, but it didn't fucking matter. you weren't in love, and that was that.

"people in this college are fucking weird, man" she comments, and in one second she has the blunt right between her fingers again. finally.

"yeah... heard this crazy girl banged up on all of the bathroom doors and started kicking the stalls"

"ah" she huffs.

"touché"

its silent for a second before she asks her again.

"what do you feel when you're around her?"

"are you a psych major by any chance?" she questions, narrowing her eyes.

"yep. so, let me psychoanalyze you. pretend its for my... project or something. i ask you questions, you respond... and then i get a super good grade thanks to you"

she bites her lips, and looks to the side. she considers hiding herself inside of the bush till the girl goes away.

"i'm your therapist, go 'head"

ellie rolls her eyes, and considers. fucking fuck it. maybe writing this shit on paper isn't enough.

"i feel like i can't breathe around her, sometimes. like... there's this fucking thing"

"what thing?"

"fucking... god... thing it’s a fucking thing. i have to stop myself from doing shit... s'fucking stupid."

alison smiles. and she nudges ellie on and on till she speaks again.

"its like— every time i'm fucking around her, it physically hurts me... that I ca— that I can't fucking have her. or that... it like, tingles in my fucking hands. and my fucking heart starts beating and my brain goes all foggy and I feel like I'm going to fucking faint. I want to be around her, I fucking want to— but every time she's next to me I feel like im gonna vomit. and she makes me fucking sick and I just wanna hold her and..."

she's never breathed so deeply in her life.

"that's... a lot" alison mutters.

"yeah..." ellie takes another drag, and barely exhales.

"doesn't fucking matter anyways. she doesn't see me that way."

alison's eyebrows rise up, and she looks at ellie like she's fucking stupid.

"ellie... she saw you kiss me and she fucking ran away. like, she physically ran away. are you blind? or are you stupid?"

"did you just call me stupid?" ellie huffs. was she? was she stupid?

"listen to me" she begins, and forces ellie to look her in the eyes.

"it's like..." the girl takes a peak at her iphone screen.

"1:30am."

"okay?" ellie huffs. her stomach's turning again.

"you're in love with this girl, and if you don't go after her right now it's gonna be too late"

"i can go tomorrow" ellie whispers. she won't. shed go back to her old habits of hiding and pining till her brain burns.

"you won't"

"fuck" she mutters under her breath.

"go!" the girl yells, and nudges ellie's arm.

"okay like— right fucking now?" ellie says loudly, and she feels her feet fucking lifting her up off of the bench, like she again, has no control over her body.

"right now, go!"

she curses herself out under her breath. fuck. it.

ellie starts running, and running, and running, and her shoes are meeting the ground with loud bangs, flopping up and down against her ass. she didn't to track in high school, but if coach charlie saw her now, he'd sign her up and shed get a full fucking athlete's scholarship. she feels her heart thudding in her ears, and she has no time to even think. what the fuck is she doing? where is she going? what if you'll tell her to go the fuck away? what if she's delusional, completely braindead, she wonders to herself for a tiny second, as she catches her breath.

and then— the image of you, mascara running down your cheeks flashes in her brain.

you cried, because she kissed another fucking girl.

"m'not— fucking" she pants,

"delusional"

she's standing right in front of rockefeller housing. brown cobblestone, as if each brick and mortar had witnessed countless stories unfold within its hallowed halls. she gets a hold of herself, before her heart punctuates in her chest, and stands still, chest heaving up and down. she looks up at your room's window, and its standing lit. you're still awake. she feels like she just won the fucking lottery.

she almost whoo hoo's! but she's way too "cool" for that. so she walks slowly, pats herself on the shoulder, and yells a loud;

"fuck yes!"

"shut the fuck up!"

oh shit. she just woke someone up.

────────────

how corny was it to lounge inside of your room, alone, the mellow tunes of lana's "ultraviolence" playing from your antique turntable?

very corny.

but you didn't mind. your tears had dried up already, and you were comfy in pretty white silk pajama's, a bowl of cheddar popcorn and that same goddamn boxed wine.

someone just screamed a terrifyingly loud "shut the fuck up!" from outside of your window. you'd have laughed, usually, but your mind was occupied. you felt tortured, and sickly, and why the fuck did you leave like that? it was embarrassing, truly, she watched you cry, and you interrogated her with bizarre, passive aggressive questions that would make the calmest man alive want to bash his head against the wall.

"breakfast at tiffanys" played on the television, and cat just ran away. you pouted, and sighed deeply. you were too tired now, and your eyelids felt heavy. you lifted yourself off of the bed, and made your way to turn off the lights, and drift away.

knock knock knock.

who the fuck is knocking at your door at 2am? it must be your roommate, jen, returning from the party.

you twist the doorknob, and yawn.

oh god.

"ellie?"

she gulps. she looks down on the floor, and up at you again. she looks absolutely panicked, and her bangs are sticking to her forehead. three of her hair strands formed a sweet little heart shape filled with sweat. her hand is shaking and she would have pounced right on you and fucking kissed you already if she had the fucking courage—

you step back.

"what are you doing here?" you quip, and your voice is so small and sweet that it truly kills her inside.

"i would've—" she takes a small step and enters inside of your room. she looks around, and the candles and the fucking lana playing in the background and she's sure she's gonna be sick because you're so fucking cute and your eyes are puffy and lips all swollen like they had been stung by a bee, and she wants to be your medicine and kiss them so hard you fall on the floor, but all she can mutter is;

"fucking brought you something... but it was all closed— all the fucking stores were closed because its the middle of the fucking night"

"what stores... wha— what are you talking about?" you whisper as you take a step back, you want to offer her a glass of water because she's sweating but you just can't.

"fuck— fucking flower shop or something, or those fucking chocolate covered fruits you like or—“

"what?" you mutter, breathless as if you were the one who just ran a marathon.

"you cried" she points a finger at you. you back away, taking a small step to further yourself away from her.

"you cried because i kissed another girl" she huffs, and her eyebrows scrunch together.

"I didn't—" you try and interrupt, unsuccessfully.

"you cried and that means that you fucking— you dont want me to kiss other girls"

you bite your lip so hard it feels like it might start drawing blood and run all over your chin. oh no.

"you want me to kiss— fuck it"

a supernova. as a dying star unleashes its final act, igniting in like a cosmic firework, it paints the galaxy like a canvas. shades of ruby red, sapphire blue, and shimmering gold intermingle together and create the most beautiful piece of art the universe has ever witnesses.

that's what it felt like when her lips were on yours.

they brushed up against you as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

when you imagined your first kiss with ellie, convinced you were indulging yourself in pure delusion, you thought it would be soft, and gentle. it felt as if her lips were running away from yours, and you had to chase them to meet against you again.

this kiss, was anything but. so perhaps you were delusional, but not in the heartbreaking way.

when her tongue first met yours, intertwining itself so perfectly, swirling around fervently inside of your mouth, bumping into your teeth and pulling you in, her lips sucking on it like she'd die if you ever pulled back, gentle was the last word you could use to describe it.

hungry, and ravenous, it was.

her knees felt like the were going to give up beneath her, and leave her a crumpled mess on the floor. if she thought that being around you felt like her heart was thudding out of her chest, kissing you was much, much worse. kissing you made her feel like her heart left her already, and leaped right into your being.

she broke the kiss first, refusing to open her eyes. so did you, you couldn't believe it was actually happening.

"you..." she whispered, and her breath tickled your nose.

"i..." you whispered in response. there were no words you could mutter, they would never come out coherent enough.

"ive..." she huffed.

"wanted to do this for so fucking—"

you brought your lips together to meet again. this time, it was softer, and gentle, but you didn't have to chase her away, because she stayed.

"me too" you whispered, or fully whined, you truly didn't know.

"no you dont..."

"you dont understand" she cupped your cheeks between her palms, she wouldn't even open her eyes, afraid of what she might do if she opened them and realized it was only just a dream.

"i do" you plead. her hands were warm and your cheeks were scorching hot against them.

"i need you"

"you need me?"

"it hurts"

"what hurts?" she whispered as she brushed her finger on your cheek. it was delicate, and soft.

"my heart" you hiccuped, a broken sob escaping your lips. you couldn't hold it in anymore, and a fat tear streamlined down your face, like a little river, rolling down inside of ellie's palm.

she wanted to kiss you again, but she had to hear you say it.

"when i'm... not with you— when i can't... and when you kissed her" you sobbed. "it hurt so bad"

"it hurt me too"

"please kiss me aga—“

so she did. again, and again, and again, till your throat felt dry and you kept seeing stars erupting inside of your brain.

chest against chest, heaving up and down on each other, she caressed your waist, and pulled you closer. when the kissed deepened again, you moaned, and it got swallowed inside of her mouth.

"you can't do that or i won't... fuck— won't be able to fucking stop"

"do what?" you asked, your bottom lip still brushing against her top one.

"can't make those sounds"

"w— why?" your chest caressed her's, and it was ellie's turn to let out a deep grunt.

"because ive thought... ive wa— i think about you all the fucking time like this"

"me too..." you admitted, breathing in her scent.

she wanted to ask you exactly what you thought about. she wanted to hear you say it, in exact, firm sentences. do you touch yourself thinking about her too? that would make her fucking lose her mind. instead, she took you in her arms, and banged you up against the wall.

thud "oh god" you hiccuped.

"yeah?" she teased, breathless. she wanted to do it better, wanted to sound more firm and stern and make you beg and tell her and whine on the floor but she was too fucking desperate for that right now.

"m'gonna— fuck" she hissed, when your tits grazed her's again.

"is this happening?" she whispered, and held your waist so tight in her arms. her body heat against yours made you completely shiver. she traced small circles on your hips but when you bucked forward her hands started shaking. she traced squares, or squiggly lines, or full on octagons.

"it's happening" you whispered back, and every time her lips brushed against yours it reminded you of how real everything was.

"can i touch you?"

"please" you whined, and you felt the saliva gathering and pooling on your bottom lip, mixing with hers.

ellie brushed her forehead against yours. she caressed it up and down, she needed to feel how your skin felt against her's because god knows she's truly spent so much time thinking about it and it didn't feel real, she needed it to feel real, so she begged;

"open your eyes"

you did. they fluttered open as your lashes flickered up and down and she chased you with her eyes again, until they directly met her's.

"tell me how bad you need this"

you gulped harshly, and it made a soft little sound. you felt absolutely limp against her, like you could crush down on the floor at any given moment.

she never thought she'd hear those words, outside of her dreamworld, sound asleep at 4am.

"i need— ellie i need it so bad" you whimpered, and she felt it twitch inside her fucking boxers, but felt it tug at her heart even more. how could have she been so fucking blind?

she opened her mouth, and she almost kept her eyes open whilst she kissed you because she needed to fucking see everything. she needed to see your eyebrows squint and your eyes close shut, your breath hitch and your hand drop from her shoulder, and then go up to grab her shoulder again and squeeze.

ellie, ellie couldn't help it anymore.

she caressed her hand up from the navel of your stomach, slowly grazing her finger up and up and up, till they met your breast and fuck she wanted to ask you if it was okay but the way you moaned inside of her mouth when she gave the cup a little squeeze, signaled her that she could do whatever the hell she wanted because you've always. been. her's.

as her tongue swirled with yours, warm saliva practically running out and streamlining from the corner of her mouth, she grazed her finger on top of your clothed nipple.

she separated her lips from yours, and moved her head back to look at you.

"you know how fucking crazy you drive me?" she pecked your lips forcefully and they made a smacking sound. you smirked, your eyes still glossy from the previous tear that escaped, and she nearly lost her damn mind.

"dont fucking smirk at me like that..." she kissed your jaw, making your entire body clench. "always fucking teasing me" kiss "always making me think..." kiss "i'll never fucking get it" kiss "driving me fucking crazy with those little fucking tops" kiss "those short fucking skirts" kiss

fuck.

"just wanted you to s— see, ellie..."

she tilted her head, and smiled so big and blushed so hard you nearly cried again.

"can i... can i take your shirt off?

you nodded up and down and fervently, like if you didn't show her exactly how bad you needed her she'll never fucking get it. old habits die hard.

she pulled the strap of your tank top off, and it slid down your shoulder. she let out a shaky breath. she's thought of seeing you bare in front of her way too many times than she'd like to admit. she saw the tip of your hard nipples poking out of the material and her breath hitched, borderline on wheezing. she delicately grazed her finger on it, stopping herself from pinching it and twisting and pulling like she always fucking wanted to. she had to go slow, she had to savor this moment.

you couldn't go slow.

you lifted your top off and ditched it on the floor. she was faced with your tits and she nearly damn went cross eyed. holy fucking shit.

"holy fuck" she hissed, her chest heaving up and down. her boxers were entierly drenched by now and she hasn't even touched them, until now.

she grabbed them with her calloused hands and squeezed them together, making them meet and form a natural cleavage. when she exhaled, a soft sound escaped her throat. it sounded like a quiet howl, or a harsh whimper.

"need to fucking taste" she growled, and your panties felt warm inside, and it tingled, that familiar yet completely different feeling washed over your cunt, as soon as her drooling, wet mouth was on your nipples, twisting and swirling her tongue against the sensitive buds, sucking and taking them out of her mouth with plop sounds, and every time she felt you squirm she moaned against them, her mouth fully vibrating on your nipples.

she detached her lips, just to look up at you with a lovedrunk smile adorning her face. she looked absolutely high on your body and you didn't even notice... that you started grinding up against her, bucking your hips inwards and backwards every time her head bobbed up and down on your tits.

"what am i..." she pulled your nipple in her finger, twisting it from side to side, making you nearly scream. you slapped your hand on your mouth, because if you didn’t— you’d fully get a stern note from the other residents tomorrow morning. "going to fucking do with you?"

"i think you know... ellie" you hiccuped.

"say my name again" she groaned, forcefully grabbing your tits now. she shook them up and down, and parted your thighs with her leg.

"ellie..." you whimpered, completely gasping for air.

"again"

"ellie!"

"fuck yes..."

her ongoing imaginations of you whimpering her name had absolutely nothing on the real deal. she picked you up, her hands grasping your thighs, and laid you on the bed. laid, would be a gentle way to say it. she practically tossed you on it, making the mattress jump up and down and creak slightly. she laid her body on top of yours, and her chest felt strong and steady, except for two perky mounds that connected directly with yours.

"please take your shirt off" you pled.

"take it off of me" she hissed, planting another sweet, sweet kiss on your breasts. she was fucking obsessed with them, and she wasn't afraid to show it now. it’s funny, how a only a week ago, she had to contemplate having her eyeballs surgically removed because she couldn’t stop her eyes from darting up and down. she could actually adore them now, and she felt it deep in her lower abdomen.

you tugged at the bottom of her top, hastily attempting to take it off fast because you yearned to see her so bad it almost hurt, but she palmed your hands and stopped you fully.

"nuh uh" she warned.

"slowly..."

you look up at her, doe eyed and begging. your breath caged in your throat, because this is real. it fucking hit you again.

when she saw you look up, it tugged at the strings of her heart.

she kisses you, and it feels like something you've never felt before. it feels warm, and it feels like fucking love. it was as if you became liquid, what was once solid, and hard, melted into a sweet puddle of warm honey.

she wants to take your shorts off already, but she stops herself. she looks you deep in the eyes, and her cheeks bloom red. she's in love.

and she knows you are too.

would it be awfully corny if she told you she wanted to make love to you? it probably would. for some reason, she didn’t need to vocalize it.

now, it was her eyes who turned glassy, making the emerald green glisten and twinkle.

"i need to..." you dont respond, you just do what she needs you to do.

you take your shorts off, and ellie simply stares down, panting, as her heart thuds inside of her chest. the way she looks, like she's absolutely famished, makes your clit pump inside of your panties that it terrifies you if she actually sees.

you shyly cover up, and she smiles gently as she grabs your wrists to peel them off of the soft, now sticky fabric.

"dont be shy..." she whispers, and when she see's the wet patch that formed, that pooled down just where your tight hole is, her face twists and she bites her lips. when she looked up at you, you turned your head to the side.

"look at that..." she chuckles, and it's fucking hypoctirical, the way she's mocking— because she has a spot even bigger on the bottom of her boxers, except she's fucking dressed and youre not.

"need to kiss it..." she desperately says, her voice low and raspy.

"need you to tell me..." she kisses your tummy, softly, as it heaves up and down. "to kiss it..." with every breath that leaves her, she kisses it again, her tongue now poking out of her mouth.

"mm— cant" you whimper. when did you become so shy?

"please" she begs, as her kisses become more wet, leaving little trails and puddles of saliva on your stomach.

"ellie..." you hiccup, feeling as if you could cum just by grinding your crotch back and forth against the air. her words are more than enough.

"say it..." she pleads, and it gets absolutely ridicilous— who's begging who now?

"please kiss— god" she simply palms your cunt, right on your panties, her warmth mixing with yours, and an incredibly loud, high pitched moan, closer to a screech leaves your mouth. the sound makes her groan into your stomach, moving her kisses further and further down. with each kiss, your body grows warmer, a certain tremor adding to your sudden jolts.

when she's face to face with your cunt, directly gazing at the wet spot, she closes her eyes shut, and plants a soft kiss upon the wet material. she's thought about doing this so many times, she has to stop herself from sneaking her hand down her boxers and start grinding up and down on it, and cum simply from just smelling you, as her nose bumps directly on your clit.

she wants to see it bad, those slick beautiful folds she had imagine so many times, the little bud poking on top, but she can't help but notice how greedy and eager you get when she teases you. she can't help but notice those cute little sounds that escape your throat, the way your eyebrows squint together and a small v shaped line forms on your forehead.

she gives a soft, kitten lick over the material, and you completely jump upwards. "ellie! fuck!" you moan, and she swears its the most heavenly sound she's ever heard. "that's it... grind yourself up against me... just like that"

you grind against her eager mouth, her tongue making the fabric transform into almost full sheerness, clinging and sticking to your cunt, every time ellie drools on it a little more.

"fuck m'gonna!— cum... ellie!" you hiccup and wheeze, and she can't help but pull your hips, move you closer to her mouth, as your thighs completely close and clench around her neck. but she doesn't fucking care.

she's going to make you cum all over your fucking panties.

she needs it. she yearns for it.

she bumps her tongue harder and flattens it against your clit, grinding you down, completely controlled by the very movements of her hands, guiding your through it and forcing you to keep moving against her.

it's closer, and closer, the white pleasure taking over your entire body, and you start shaking against her—

"cum for me... that's it" she whimpers, "cum hard all over my— fuck, my fucking face"

you barely even have time to recover, still completely sensitive, your entire body shaking when she takes off your panties, sniffs them shamelessly, and shoves them in her pocket.

"what are you d— doing?" you hiccup.

"dont worry about it" she mutters, and her entire face flushes red.

you dont, so instead, you beg for her to let you come again. she doesn’t, for now, and it was pure evil.

ellie's jaw clenches when she's face to face with your weeping pussy. her breath caged in her throat, and she lets out a high pitched, animalistic moan, followed by an adorable twist to her face. she's imagined it too many fucking times.

she'd tell you, but she's afraid to come off as pathetic.

slowly, agonizingly slow, with the intention to savor this moment, she places a soft, sweet little kiss on your cunt. you jump, and call out her name. she places another one, and another one, right on your achy clit. before she indulges herself in the first taste, she looks up at you.

"you're so beautiful" she whispers. and you know how bad she means it, because it comes out shaky, and you can taste how sweet those words are and really they’re just words.

you nearly die.

"and so fucking wet"

you nearly cum.

"mmph— ellie, please" you breathe. "pleasepleaseplease"

she doesn't need to hear any more of it, before her tongue laps up the sweet nectar of your pussy, starting with your hole, collecting the juice with the bottom of her tongue, curling it, and swallowing. "taste so fucking good"... she mutters. "knew you would"

she truly, truly did.

ellie slowly begins circling your clit with her tongue, in soft, little motions that focus right on your aching bud. one of her hands is squeezing your thigh, as the other creeps up slowly to grab your breast and toy with the nipple. its so fucking soft inside of her mouth that she can't help but grind herself down on the bed, the cream that formed inside of her boxers making it easy to slide backwards and inwards, and she releases sweet, desperate moans inside of your pussy every time it hits her clit.

when ellie feels you clench your hole in and out, she spreads your pussy lips apart, spits a big glob of saliva on top of your clit, making it slide all the way down to your hole.

"need to fill you up, fuck" she growls, and before you know it, her tongue is on you again, and her finger is teasing and begging your hole to let her in.

"baby" she coos, "let go for me"

"c— cant!" you cry out. its all too much, and you feel so embarrassed that you won't stop clenching, till she looks up at you again.

"breathe... it's okay" she whispers, "i'll be gentle, i fucking promise"

when you breathe in for her, she grits her teeth. fucking finally. she slides her finger inside, so slow you regret ever making her think you'd want it gentle, so you grind up on it, bringing your body forward so it swallows her finger whole.

"god damn" she hisses, and her voice is higher pitched because she can't fucking believe it.

she wants to whore you the fuck out, but she needs to be gentle for now. she considers… for just a mere second, to sprint to her room, grab her strap and split you whole, but she stops herself. she genuinely needs to grab her fucking knee so she doesn’t move away and lose control entirely.

she pumps it inside, lost in the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing her in, over and over again, lapping up on your clit, and when she feels you clench again, coming closer and closer to the edge, she adds a second finger.

"so fucking tight... you're so fucking tight" she says, and pushes your thighs up to your chest, your entire body shaking against her. you whimper and squeak and cry, babbling incoherently while she's scissoring them inside of you, grunting deep inside of your pussy every time your moans grow louder and louder.

the mattress seems to bump on her clit harder now, and ellie completely stops.

she hastily pulls her pants down, alongside with her boxers, and before you even have time to react to the sight of her cunt or her thighs or the abs that you're now exposed to (you honest to god, have no idea when she even managed to take her shirt off), she pulls your thigh high up, and places your leg on her shoulder.

"you're gonna cum on me— you hear that?" she hisses, when her weeping pussy meets yours. "yes ellie!" you hiccup, "louder"

"mmm—ellie— can'— need to cum on you"

"you wanna fucking cum on me?" she babbles back, and it comes out so messy and pussydrunk that she doesn't even reply back when you cry out with your forehead against her shoulder, biting on it hard, too intoxicated by your little moans and the feeling of your weeping, sticky pussy against hers, bumping her clit and it almost fucking burns inside of her.

she separates your legs further apart, and her gaze burns through you. her eyes are still green, and its still fucking ellie— but they turn a shade darker. she grinds against you forcefully, making your clit bump on her’s, your love-fluids mixing together and creating the most absolutely obscene noises that little dorm room has ever heard. when you close your eyes, because it’s all too much and she’s grunting and whimpering against you, she takes your cheeks in her hands and squeezes.

“look at me. look at me” she begs, and you keep blurting out tiny little squeals of pleasure that she cant help but let out a breathy laugh, and she wants to slap you and hear you squirm even harder but fuck— she’s gonna cum and she can’t even make her hands fucking work, so she just grabs your tits together as she grinds harder and harder, her ass jiggling up and down as she takes you.

“you’re so fucking— goddamn— so fucking cute you’re so fucking pretty”

"m'gonna cum!" you blabber, you brain entirely empty, only filled with the image of ellie's mouth hung completely open, letting out a beautiful symphony of moans, screaming and grunting your name and begging you to fucking take her, and when the tears stream down your face she can't help but wonder... how needy you'd look with her strap buried deep and when the thought hits her— when she imagined the way your hole would take her right inside, the way it would gape after she'd take it out, makes her cum so hard against your pussy that she almost, almost passes out.

when you cum, a second after she does, you tell her that you love her.

when she hears it, a small whimper escapes her lips, and it sounds almost like a sob.

"ive always fucking loved you"

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #the last of us #wlw #lesbian #fanfiction

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darkworkcourier · 2 years

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Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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aidaronan · 3 months

Text

Blood red eyes, point-sharp nails Reptile skin, prehensile tails Come one, cum all... to Monsterfucker May Details beneath the cut.

What is this?

It's pretty much what it says on the tin. Take your blorbo(s), monsterfy them, and put them in (sexy) situations. I'm calling it a Spicy Six challenge, but I did throw an asterisk (technically a dagger bc of its superior aesthetics) out beside that because you can totally also write, like, Selkie Joyce or Mothman Mr. Clarke. Or Jeff CorrodedCoffin getting his shit rocked by Mermaid Heather Holloway. I pretty much wanted to indicate that this particular challenge excludes the younger characters and there's not a great catch-all term for "every legal adult in Hawkins/Chicago/California."

How sexy does my fic/art have to be?

As sexy as you want. This IS a monsterFUCKER challenge, but... Maybe the sex is fade-to-black in your fic. Or maybe your monsters have sex in a very unique way. Maybe your art is just a ring-covered hand white-knuckling fur. Maybe it's fanged faces contorted with bliss. Sometimes anticipation and suggestion are plenty. That said, I also encourage the most unhinged freaknasty shit you can think up, if that's what you wanna do.

What counts a monster?

You tell me, pal. 😏

(Feel free to use the word loosely to include any kind of creature, fantasy/mythological being, or even random sentient concepts e.g. Death or Time.)

So how do I participate?

Write a fic and/or create a work of art that fits the challenge. Fics can be any length, and you can create as few or as many creative works for this challenge as you want. On tumblr and all other sites where hashtags are used, tag with #STMonsterMay and #STMonsterMay24 On AO3, add your work to the collection, searchable as STMonsterMay24 when posting a new work. This will open on May 1 at midnight US EST time. Please only add works posted in May to the collection/tags. (Sequels are okay! So are new works of art for existing fics/universes.)

Is it okay if I write/draw [character/ship/dark concept/etc.]?

I wholeheartedly and passionately do not give a shit. As long as it fits the parameters of the challenge, it's fair game. Just tag and warn appropriately. That said, I will kindly request people are a bit conscious of what they're doing. I'm thinking of things like not using Native/Indigenous monsters if they don't belong to you. Etc.

* Will this be moderated? This challenge will be 95% unmoderated because I expect people to act like the kind and conscientious adults they are. I also have no idea how successful or unsuccessful this will end up being yet and if it would even be possible to keep an eye on Everything.

However, if something really egregious happens re: cultural/racial sensitivity, or a serious lack of tags for a rough topic, people are encouraged to message or inbox me, and I'll look into it and make whatever call seems to fit the situation re: removal from the collection, talking to the creator, requesting additional tags, etc.

For things posted outside of the ao3 collection, there won't be much I can personally do except attempting to have a productive conversation with the creator (if there is a way for me to do that.)

Feel free to reach out if you have any Qs! Otherwise, I'll see you all in May. 😈

#stranger things #STMonsterMay #18+ only #fandom challenge

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thisreadswhatever · 7 months

Text

Only Mine: Part Two

find part one here

[description]: jax teller x fem!reader

[wordcount]: 2.2k

[cw]: 18+ only, smut, smut and more smut. unprotected p in v sex, oral m receiving, some almost getting caught tropes (kinda) and just jax having his way with you

[authors note]: so I wasn’t planning on making this a two part series but here we are! this is basically just pure smut but I owed it to you guys after that cliffhanger. thank you again to THAT anon for the fantasy that inspired this second part! it was too good not to write.

Your hands dug into the front of his leather cutte, weaving your fingers in between the cotton of his shirt. The only sound was the roaring of the bike beneath you, and the wind as it thrashed your hair into chaos against your helmet. You weren’t sure where you were going, but at this point you didn’t care. You squeezed your arms as they wrapped snug around him, tightening as he sped faster into the unknown.

Chibs followed just behind. They had been on their way to a Mayan warehouse earlier that night, before Jax decided to make a detour when he saw your car parked at the bar. When it was clear they had to go, you had begged Jax to bring you along. To your surprise, you had somehow convinced him. His dick was clouding his judgement, but you were both desperate to find an end to what you had started in the backseat of your car.

They parked the bikes in the back of a desolate warehouse, alongside a large empty truck. The building was fenced in with metal chain links and surrounded by broken security lights. From what you could see through the darkness, it was completely deserted.

Jax approached Chib as he rocked the kickstand on his bike as you waited patiently alongside his.

“Bobby and Juice on their way to the Clubhouse?”

Chib’s placed his helmet on the bike, “aye. Everything according to plan.”

“Alright, let’s get this done.”

Chibs placed his hand on Jax’s chest, “ye sure about bringing her? Could be here awhile pal.”

He knew he was right, bringing you with them wasn’t the smartest decision Jax had made tonight. He lit a cigarette between his lips as he walked back to you, “Just a straight forward drop off, Chibs. Stash the shit and get in the truck.”

Jax pulled you into him by the waist as you fumbled to undo the clasp of your helmet. His mouth pressed firmly against you, kissing you intently as his hands held your face to his. He watched you for a brief moment under him, your eyes staring up at him as he held your lip between his teeth. He broke only to smile widely down at you as he spoke, “c’mon, I got an idea.”

“We’ll be inside.” he called out, collecting a black satchel from the back of his bike. Chibs didn’t respond, only chuckling to himself as he watched Jax lead you away. “Kids.”

He pulled you through the warehouse by hand, obviously familiar with the surroundings. The building was dimly lit by a single light that shined from the entrance, just enough that you could see your feet beneath you as you walked.

You didn’t ask questions, just followed as he weaved his way through a thick maze of tall empty shelving units. He gripped your hand tighter as he pulled you into a small room cordoned off in the back of the building, housing the now derelict security unit and remnants of old office supplies.

There was a large display window that overlooked the majority of the warehouse, which would’ve been used to watch the ongoings of the building when it was up and running.

“Wait here.”

You obeyed his order, sitting on an old computer console that towered from the floor. It was just large enough that you could sit with your legs bent alongside it, straddling it beneath you.

The distant light was too far to aid in your sight as you attempted to watch him through the display window. Jax disappeared into the darkness of the warehouse. You could hear the sound of a door opening and closing from the opposite end of the building.

It felt like he was gone for eternity as you sat in silence, waiting for his return.

Suddenly an external door into the office opened, making you jump, and Jax re-entered, this time empty handed as the satchel he carried in with him was gone. He locked the door behind him. He moved toward you, now standing with his waistline parallel to your face. He was looking out into the warehouse from the side of the display window. “Just gotta wait for the pick up and then we’re out of here.”

“How long will we be? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Shouldn’t be long. Then I’m taking you home. We got unfinished buisness of our own, darlin’.”

Jax laid his hands to your cheeks, cupping your face upward to look at him. His thumb stroked your skin gently, as he peered down at you with hungry, desperate eyes.

“How ‘bout you just swallow my cock now to pass the time.”

You chuckled at his adavance, raising your eyebrows at the suggestion. “Here? What if someone comes in?”

Jax lowered himself down, forcing your head to turn on its side, as his lips pressed to your ear. He spoke slowly, unravelling you with every word. “Let them watch. I don’t give a shit. Your instructions earlier were very clear darlin’, you told me to take what’s mine. I’m going to take you, here and now. I’m going to have you where I want you, when I want you. You are mine to take, however the fuck I want.”

You nodded as he turned your face to his, your eyelids batting against your cheeks that were smushed beneath his hands. His thumb found entry between your lips and you instinctively opened your mouth wide for him. He smiled contently at how quickly you obeyed his silent demand. You held your tongue out, and he grasped at your jaw in response, turning your head side to side as he observed every inch of your face. “You are so fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”

You had never wanted him more than you did in this moment. You were prepared to beg and plead on your knees for his cock, you would do anything for it, and he knew it.

“Fill my mouth, Jax. Please.”

He leaned down to you as he unclamped the buckle to his belt, smirking against your lips as he placed them on yours.

He released his long length against your face, and you immediately took it into your hands. His head fell back as you stroked him intently, pressing the tip of his cock against your lips. You planted small, wet kisses against his shaft, as your hands caressed his erection. Once you’d kissed every inch, you took him into your mouth, forcing him in deeper as you pulled him in you by his unbuttoned jeans.

He groaned at the sensation of your wet tongue, circling his length before you choked at the fullness of him inside your mouth. There was nothing quite like gagging on Jax’s cock.

“Look at me when you take me”, he demanded. Your eyes trailed up to him as you swallowed his cock, drool dripping from your chin and down your neck. Moans escaped his gritted teeth and his hands entangled in your hair, collecting the strands into a ponytail behind your head. He tugged at the root to push you in closer, as he used your mouth over and over again.

“Get on the floor.”

You knew better than to question the order. You did exactly what he said, laying against the cold concrete floor that laid beneath you. He stroked his length as he stood above you, instructing you on every move to make.

“Take off your shirt and lay down.”

Once you were half naked on the floor, Jax lowered himself into you. His cock pressed against your waist, as he pulled down your jeans and panties.

“Spread your legs wide for me.”

Jax didn’t wait any longer. He encapsulated himself into your mound, opening your wet folds as he thrusted into you. A gasp escaped your throat as he entered, relief filtering through every inch of your core.

“Oh you’re still fucking soaked for me, babe.”

You couldn’t help but whine at the immediate pressure building between your thighs, desperately trying to hush your voice. It was near impossible to keep from screaming as the heat from your groin was burning to be released. You’d waited for what felt like forever since Jax had you in the same position in the backseat of your car, and the anticipation of being relieved was a feeling you revelled in. He grabbed your throat with his hand as you laid beneath him, your ass crushing repeatedly into the cold tile as he pounded into you.

“Remember what I told you earlier? While my face was covered in this perfect pussy?”

You couldn’t respond, let alone think of anything that happened earlier tonight. You groaned out as the length of his cock engulfed your insides, and hearing him talk this way was sending you over the edge. How the hell were you supposed to think?

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Can’t remember?”

“I can’t think straight- like t-this, Jax,” you admitted. You were staring into his eyes as he pounded into you, fighting the need for yours to roll in the back of your head.

“Let me help you.”

He sat you upright, his dick still embedded in your mound, as he lifted your legs, bending them against him. He pulled at your ass, bringing himself even further inside, the feeling of fullness overwhelming you. Your back was now arched against him, giving him full access to your clit.

“Fuck- not helping-“, you cried.

His hands travelled from your ass to your cunt, circling his fingers over the swollen nub, while he fucked you into oblivion.

“Jax- oh my go-“

He smiled as he watched you lose yourself in your climax, succumbing to his cock. His head fell back in pure bliss as he felt your orgasm squeezing him.

“I told you, you’re mine.” His cock pushed further into you as his hand tightening around your neck, the skin turning a shade of red at the force.

Your head nodded violently, “I’m yours-“ you somehow managed to muster out, your voice cracking under the pressure of your orgasm and his hand around your throat.

Just as Jax was going to unravel with you, you were interrupted by the sound of the main entrance door opening, followed by footsteps. “Did you hear that?”, you whispered.

Jax leant backward enough for him to peer over the display window. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness to realise who the intruders were. It was Bobby and Juice.

“Is it Chibs? Do we need to go?”

Jax looked back down at you, sprawled half naked against the floor and completely, totally his. Seeing you this way, he couldn’t of cared who entered the warehouse, he was going to finish claiming you no matter who watched. He gleamed at the sight of your flushed pink cheeks and hair utterly strung awry, all the result of his doing. “Oh no, darlin’. I’m not finished with you yet.”

His cock found your entrance again, sliding into your dripping mound as he bit back a groan. “You feel so fucking good- taking me so well-“

You tried desperately to suppress your scream, failing as a squeal slipped through your lips.

Jax quickly placed his hand over your mouth, and you were thankful for the aid in silencing your whimpers. He roamed over your body and face, watching as pleas left your eyes, begging in desperation for another release. His lips pulled into a devilish smirk as he lowered himself completely into you, forcing his cock to push even deeper into your mound.

You groaned into his hand, his hips finding a way to submerge even further into your core. Jax was enjoying every moment of this, watching as your composure expired around his cock, while he never wavered, just holding himself there within you.

“You gotta be quiet for me now, darlin’,” he murmured slowly into your ear. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded at his request, struggling to move from the weight of his body pressing against you. His hand tightened around your mouth as tears began to stream from your eyes, overwhelmed by the urge to stay silent against the extreme fullness you were enduring.

The footsteps grew closer, as Jax pushed deeper and deeper into you with each thrust.

You could hear Bobby lowly calling out, “Jax, where you at?”

He ignored his calls, focused entirely on you beneath him. Nothing else mattered to him but the way you felt wrapped around his cock.

He was relentless, repeatedly finding a new depth with each thrust into you. His hand stayed out against your mouth, and you bit at the skin to suppress the groans that couldn’t be muffled. He quickened his pace, and your fingers squeezed at the leather of his cutte as you found your final climax. Jax hunched his back, bringing his face to yours as he found his release with you, filling your aching cunt with his seed.

When he recovered from his end, he began to trail plentiful kisses from your chest, and up your neck. He paused at your jawline as he pressed a tight smile against your skin, nibbling at the flesh.

“You’re only mine.”

find my masterlist here

#jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller fiction #jax teller smut #reads writes #sons of anarchy #soa #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine #jax teller morrow #jax teller fic #jax teller boyfriend #jax x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller dom #sons of anarchy smut #sons of anarchy one shot

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shallyouobeyme · 8 months

Note

For the “spicy” prompt im imagining Platonic Yandere Batfam discovering your internet history, and having a confrontation about how you’re far too young for such things (reader is a full adult, not that the Batfam sees it that way).

I sadly already have something written out for today, but I really love this idea so I decided that I'd just go into the concept a bit as well - I mean I make the rules to this so I might as well use that power.

Okay, so I don't really write smut as of now because I don't read it and I do have not a lot of real-life experience so I figure it might just be a lot of cringy blabbering. But let's go with the 'spicey' meaning that horny adolescents will probably think of when reading the word in the context of fanfiction.

Now you're probably somewhere in the span of 16-20 in this scenario, old enough to live independently on your own, but young enough that the batfam can somehow justify it in their mind to treat you like a precious, fragile, little toddler. Sure, some of them logically know that you're basically a grown-up, but with how much effed-up shit they see every day they don't really wanna admit that to themselves and rather chose to act all 'I do not see'. And while that's all fine and dandy for them to do, it doesn't change the logical facts. Fact number one: You grew out of binkies and blankies like a decade ago, for god's sake Dick stop trying to make me take ten naps a day with them. Fact number two: Like I said, you're kind of (definitely) an adult and assuming that you have not always been the coddled little Wayne-baby that the Batfam wants to see you as you've probably been exposed to adult things before and aren't sensitive with seeing them. Like, guys, I was reading the news daily before you crazy people kidnapped me - stop talking about international crises as if the countries are people who have minor disagreements, okay? Fact number three: there comes a time in an adult's life when they might be craving a somewhat more intimate partner in their life - and no, Damian, I don't mean the bestest friend in the whole world forever, I mean a guy or a gal or a nonbinary pal who can rock your shit, if you get my drift (never dare say that to Damian out loud tho, you will be having your mouth washed out with soap). So while it might be a giant oversight on your part to not realize that all your precious internet time is completely monitored, you still probably haven't expected to be sat down by Bruce, Dick, Jason and Alfred and get a lecture on how you're way too little to look up these kinds of things (you looked up TikTok videos and happened to watch a few with TikTokers dancing in slightly less covered clothing) and how your mind is too undeveloped to grasp these big things you searched for (you looked up a statistic on the rate of kidnapping victims to get killed) and how you should keep playing your safe games instead of these violent ones (you looked at a game trailer for Cyberpunk 2077).

All your arguing falls on deaf ears. They just don't wanna hear that you're not their little, innocent baby. The only good thing is that they don't think you have enough logical thinking skills yet to properly grasp the situation so you'll be punished very lightly (a month without internet privileges). Once you're allowed to go online again though, you'll have to make do with the special kiddy-pad they got you with all the safety features and parental controls installed. So yeah, might wanna get used to being without the internet from now on...

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livelaughloveloak · 11 months

Text

𓂅 WISHUROSES ⊰ 🎡

𖦹 pairing : earth1610!miles morales x reader

𖦹 summary : random scenarios and headcanons of miles as your boyfriend

𖦹 author's note : y'all I'm literally running out of ideas so I would appreciate it if you guys sent me some requests 😭 btw this isn't proofread

you and him definitely have a snapstreak but it was on accident. he randomly snapped you and you'd snap him back on a daily so now you two are just stuck with a 200+ snapstreak.

he bought you a Polaroid camera for your birthday and you ended up using up most of the film on him.

you have the pictures up on the board hanging up in your room

HE'S A COMPLETE SWEET HEARTTTT through actions or through text he'll show his love for you either way.

you pulled back from the tight hug miles pulled you into and looked up at his face. "miles you have that smug look on your face again." you poked his cheek and laughed. miles gasped and was quick to defend himself although he was in fact smiling like an idiot. "I do not!!"

if he's not busy with spiderman business, school, family problems, or hanging out with you then he's busy texting you instead.

he might go to an advanced private school but he refuses to write sentences properly.

you'd receive messages from him like these

inaminit

whaddup

nuhuh

luv u

wya?

he'll abuse the living hell out of emojis when texting you

"yup 😎😎😎😎😎😎💪💪💪"

"wdym no ☹️☹️😒😒🤨🤨🤨"

omw Mami 😋😋😋🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿🤟🏿

he'll ask you for help when it's washday for his hair. his scalp is sensitive so you make sure to be extra careful

he has your contact saved as mi alma. one time his mom saw the contact name pop up on his phone and questioned him about it. he freaked out and started blabbering nonsense

he tells you stories about his adventures when his uncle aaron was still alive.

he has a picture of you as his wallpaper and a pic of you guys together as his lockscreen

he draws you two matching pfps

will definitely give you a new drawing everytime he can

was sweating bullets when he finally revealed to you that he was spiderman.

the pressure was quickly lifted off of his shoulders once you said that you accepted him and understood.

he's still scared that you'd be his canon event and swears he'll never let you die

"even if I have to destroy this universe as long as you're alive I'll be alright." you pinched his cheek and smiled. "don't be silly miles" a groan escaped his mouth as you giggled. "mami stopppp I'm being serious right now."

he let's you win in games just to see you happy but if it's basketball he's not gonna hold back 😭🙏

has his face buried in your neck while sleeping. he says it's because "I'm cold and you just happen to be warm" but yet again it's the middle of summer.

will be jumping up and down our of joy when you bought him new Jordans for his birthday

he has a bracelet with your name engraved into it and he wears it proudly

his phone album is filled with pictures of you. you and him fight eachother whenever you catch him trying to take a candid 0.5 picture of you

he 100% calls you "my heart"

says the most old man type of comebacks when playfully arguing with you

"yeah well you can go kick rocks!!"

"boohoo buckaroo"

"too bad so sad"

"nuh uh" or in other times "yuh huh"

"whatever pal"

"listen here buddy"

you two wear matching pajamas when you have sleepovers

don't get me started on this man and saying the "rizz" jokes...

"rizzanator is what I am"

"let's have a rizz off"

"call me the rizzmaster"

he'll airdrop you the most random memes and burst out laughing when seeing your reaction

he gifted you a promise ring with both of your initials engraved into it as an anniversary gift

miles won you a teddy bear in a fair and now you both call it your "child"

don't expect to get a warning because miles will randomly FaceTime you out of nowhere.

he'd give you a spiderman suit so you could match with him

when you first met his mom she liked you without hesitation and asked to take a picture with you. she made miles take the picture 😭

overall a sweet guy and will give you the princess treatment you deserve!!

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

art in the polaroids are made by purpletunabread on twitter and koscribbls on instagram

#miles morales imagine #miles morales x you #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #atsv imagines #atsv #atsv miles #earth 1610 #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse #miles morales

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queenimmadolla · 2 months

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Do you think some of Eddie peers are jealous that he’s got wife and 3 kids at home, sure Eddie feel into the rock and roll lifestyle but he didn’t let partying, groupies or drugs consume him, he’s got a loving wife and adorable kids waiting for him and they see that all of eddies love and devotion is for his family and music. Eddies just like “I do my job, rock out and go home”

Say he got invited to a big after party where he’ll party with Ozzy or Metallica but he declines because he just found out his kids are having their own Wrestler Mania back at the hotel room and he can’t miss that again

Or Eddie takes you to the party and y’all are getting approach and people like your relationship vibe and yall are getting hit on that you get both get a invitation to go to a “different party” in a hotel room and it goes over your head like “oh actually we aren’t staying long we gotta get back before the new Simpsons episode start”

Or when the band gets interviewed we see the kids in the background and the world gets to see Eddie being the best dad and loving husband. Every 80/90’s musician in the rock/metal scene are single, loves to party, and is reckless so Eddie was a change they weren’t expecting.

Sooo….You’re not gonna be very happy with me. Let’s go through this together and hopefully you wont hate me too much because it does get better.

Yes, Eddie’s peers do experience a little jealousy at the family he has, the constant love surrounding him—but he does succumb to the partying, drugs….and almost a groupie (THIS WILL BE TOUCHED ON MORE IN THE FIC IM PERFECTING, DONT THROW THE TOMATOES). He does his job, rocks out, and sometimes he craves reaping the rewards (drugs and parting and soaking it all in—not the groupies, that’s a related situation but not a part of what he craves) of his success. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, he gets caught up in it. And it eats at him because he also knows his wife and his beautiful kids are also a once in a lifetime opportunity. That’s what kicks his ass back into gear.

It’s a life that you enjoy sometimes, love being on his arm, at his side, watching him glow underneath all those flashing lights. That confident smirk on his face, he belongs. It’s completely his element, what you knew he was always meant to do. And for the most part, you love being his wife, the wife of a Rockstar. How he’s always ravenous for you, the way he handles you when he’s fresh off the stage—be stadium stage or a some big fancy hall stage for an award ceremony—the parties he takes you to, the material things, not having to work your ass off to survive anymore, not having to work at all. You hate how women literally throw themselves at him, constantly expose themselves to him (the amount of flashing is INSANE, you see more titties than you ever did in the girls’ locker room back in high l when you’re tucked under his arm) but he only ever has eyes for you (shhh, we’re not talking about the groupie rn, that will be explained and you will understand).

And sometimes, being the wife of a Rockstar is hard. The tabloids are relentless, he tours the world and you stay with the kids, he’s doing coke with his pals and their gals while you’re washing the dishes halfway across the world. He’s partying after tour nights, you’re reading bedtime stories. You’re the wife of a Rockstar alright, and while he doesn’t have a mistress, sometimes the world acts as one. Sometimes the world gets him more than you do and he forgets that. Sometimes you don’t want to be the wife of a rockstar. You just want to be Eddie’s wife.

He gets there though, he gets to the points you’re talking about. Maybe not all of them, but he doesn’t become that messy playboy the world wants him to be. Still looks like a bad boy, but interviewers always note in articles they write, about the toys lingering around the house. Empty spaces on the walls, tables and shelves that had no doubt held picture frames prior to the journalists’ arrival, he was intent on keeping every precious moment and memory with his family private and away from the vicious prying eyes of the public. It’s interesting for you to read, because the first thought of an outsider’s mind is maybe something along the lines of Eddie not being sentimental or ashamed of the family, when it’s the entire opposite.

He starts ditching parties early to go back home and party with his favorite people before their bedtime (and then party with you all night long), starts having you and the kids closer during his shows again (you used to come to a few when Corroded Coffin made it bring, would bring the kids, until the shows got even bigger somehow, rowdier and fans get invasive). its difficult, especially with having to wrangle Maple—but Eddie doesn’t mind it when she runs onto the stage. if he’s feeling particularly nice, he’ll share her with the crowd for a song—but not much longer than that. He’s stingy with his family, protective, doesn’t need people thinking they can throw their unwanted opinions about his own damn kids out there—he’s assaulted people over it. And that’s not to say he hasn’t flaunted all of you, either. Fame is such a bittersweet accomplishment, he wants to show you all off to the world and sometimes he does, but the world is not kind, so he’s gotta keep you close and away from the cameras. He struggles with the back and forth a lot.

Again, the media is not kind to him, even while watching him be a father. But a couple of years from then, when his kids are older, the media/internet/etc. will pull up the photos/videos of him from the past with his kids, being so tender and playful with them. Loving. And he’ll be properly appreciated by them then. The two of you will have risen to be one of Hollywood’s golden couples, by then too. Heavily romanticized—and they’re not wrong.

It gets messy, gets cleaned up, gets messy, gets cleaned up, stays relatively clean. That’s the late 90s and Y2K, baby 😎

#$ replies #pennyverse #pennyverse asks #eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader

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unlikelypandahologram · 20 days

Text

Reasons to ship every single version of MegOP

since Very Dumb Discourse™ exists about whether or not certain versions of this ship are valid, this is going to be THE most positive post about all versions of MegOP. refer back to this post for reasons to ship your favorite version of MegOP if anyone gets weird about it with you. now let us begin!!

G1: goofy '80s faction dads fighting each other in a denny's parking lot every week LET'S GOOO, that shit is fun as fuck. orion pax also totally had a celeb crush on megatron before megatron ruined that and shot him and his pals 😔 and there's a lot of angst you can add with megatron becoming galvatron and optimus coming back to life to see how much he's changed!

BW: it's the sheer fucking comedy gold factor of a newly minted college graduate and a terrorist dinosaur IMMEDIATELY singling each other out on a prehistoric rock and deciding to call their daily gang slap-fights the BEAST WARS, what iconic drama queens LMAOOOO. also, megatron made his final body in BM look like optimal optimus SPECIFICALLY to fuck with him, and that's just...incredible

UT: the fact that megatron CANONICALLY acted like a grieving widower over optimus after he died in armada is. amazing. never forget their absolutely insane obsession with each other that they can never EVER give up on played a direct part in unicron nearly ending the world <3

Bayverse: this is the one continuity of all fucking things that gave us the lore about megatron being prime's lord high protector. absolute galaxy brain writing from the tie-in comics. also these two would ABSOLUTELY have the messiest, nastiest, most brutal hate sex imaginable, and that's beautiful. <3

Animated: optimus being a rookie washout underdog and megatron being a super scary much older warlord is a really interesting and underrated fresh take on their dynamic! lots of fun to be had with exploring what their relationship would be like after megatron finally acknowledged him as his archnemesis, lol. also...age AND size difference ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Prime: do i even need to say anything, i'm pretty sure that one flashback still of orion and megatronus being friends is responsible for birthing a million shippers for this pairing alone LMAOOOO. the bitter ex-boyfriends energy was TRULY off the charts in this show, it's a damn shame megatron never appeared in RID15

Cyberverse: same bitter ex-boyfriends energy but this time with dates at maccadams. megatron also dies encouraging optimus to beat the unhinged alternate dimension megs AAHH THE ANGST

IDW1: they're both depressed gay war criminals in this one who CONSTANTLY live in each other's heads rent-free and that's amazing, lmfao. also, megatron becoming an autobot means this is one of the VERY FEW continuities where it's not nigh impossible to figure out a way to give these two a happy ending together in fanon

IDW2: space date space date SPACE DATE. they were falling together and everything. megatron also LITERALLY tells optimus to open himself to him...to give him the matrix...yeah megs my dude i'm sure that's the ONLY thing you wanted from optimus "opening" himself. toootally positive, lol

G1 Marvel: megatron was SUPER fucking pissed and weird as shit about the time optimus died over a video game. it counts

Dreamwave: their first fight had megatron urging optimus to join him AND they disappeared together in a space bridge explosion once which is like, a fanfic-esque setup for them to be alone. also i'm pretty sure this is the continuity where optimus accidentally gave megatron a lobotomy, so...uh...potential for angst is to be had

SG: mirror universe!! evil crazy villain optimus with noble goody-goody hero megatron has so much potential for absolute chaos. bonus if you also bring in the normal versions somehow through multiverse shenanigans <3

KP: the only way this version of prime can redeem himself from the creepy underage human girl bullshit is if he gets a good hard dicking from megatron. next

Prime Wars: huge "ex-husbands go on a road trip with their disgruntled daughter" energy here. megatron also LITERALLY says "oh optimus, if only you could see me now" <3

Earthspark: again...need i say why? they're pals and working together from the get-go, what's not to ship??

Skybound: optimus literally wears megatron's arm. truly beautiful <3

TF One: it's not out yet but give it time. the entire movie is going to be about orion and d-16 being madly in love and tragically breaking up, baby!!

#if you're wondering why i didn't include the wfc trilogy it's because those shows fucking suck and i hate them LMAO #transformers #maccadams #megop #edited after the fact to include the new comics lol

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s1ater · 10 months

Text

cherry pie.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

summary. reader never would have thought about getting high until she seems to have lost all her morals in one night with a boy she had never met before.

warnings. swearing, underage drinking and smoking

ricky rocks. YALL PLEASEEE bare with me. you can probably tell this is an older story because of the format, but just disregard the first half, i know it’s the lower end of my writing. it kinda gets better 😬 (edit: this story is so mid, i’m just trying to clear my drafts)

the room danced with colors, so many colors and shades you seemed to have never seen before. unfamiliar with their cause and purpose, unsure why you couldn’t touch them; it frightened you with the way they moved around, the way they twirled around your head like little ballerinas.

you swallowed, dropping your head back against the grungy brown couch sat in the corner of one of the back rooms of connor’s house, a boy you found yourself calling on day after day for the past two months for fun, and by fun you meant sex.

but tonight, you hadn’t seen the boy for what you could count as hours. there were other things on his mind rather than a high off their ass you. other pretty girls with less clothing on their bodies and longer hair that was paid more attention to than your own.

you couldn’t care less at that point in time as you felt so deep in a haze, nothing could pull your attention. nothing, until the seat next to you sunk in from the pressure of bodyweight and another high body, seeing the same things you were seeing, feeling the same things you were feeling.

he just had it more under control.

“you going to stare at the ceiling all day, love?”

you rolled your head to meet the eyes of a crazed blonde with matching brown eyes. delight swirled in his irises while he looked at you with also dazed eyes, almost ceased shut from swelling of the high. you looked amazed right back at him despite sober you would have been disturbed, never seeing a person so out of their mind.

“who are you?” you stared at him, shocked.

“your new boyfriend,” he wiggled his eyebrows, jumping and readjusting himself up against you, his arm now slinging up and over you shoulders. a new kind of energy swelling through his chest, “i say we go on a date.”

he stared in front of him focused full hearty, as if visualizing something at that moment. you squinted, looking to where he was looking as if trying to see what he was seeing, but not enough weed could put you on his level.

“i say, we leave right now, get some pie, maybe some coke. whatever you like sweetheart, i’ll give it to ya.” “I think your sweetheart wants some space, jake,” your eyes looked from the boy who sat next to you, jake, to the boy who now stood before the two of you, an unimpressed look on his face. his arm reached out to jake, practically yanking him from your side. “alright pal, let’s go for a walk.”

you watched jake stumble into him, “but louis, she’s pretty.”

louis glanced back over his shoulder as he begun to pull jake away from the couch and toward the door, now really coming to your attention. his eyes raked you up and down before smirking a little bit, nodding to himself, “sure man, she is.”

he begun to walk away with jake wrapped around his shoulder before you got up fast almost tripping over your feet, not wanting them to go, “wait, i want a pie.”

he looked back at you and your disoriented self. your shoulders were slung low, making you smaller than you actually were. your hair was all staticky, hanging above your head like a crown, and your eyes; dilated and filled with innocence.

he smirked, looking you up one more time before nodding you over, cuing you to follow after him, his arm still holding jake to his toes.

the boy’s car was blue. louis’ car was blue. it was one of those old, nice, restored cars that must have been worth thousands. the interior had light brown leather seating that made noise every time you shifted and readjusted yourself due to the old springs lying beneath. it made you giggle as you sat next to him in the front seat, jake lying in the back due to him not being just high, but rather cross faded. louis had apparently found him completely plastered out of his mind once he had first arrived at the party, leading him to hand jake a blunt to finalize his out-this-world experience. it wasn’t smart, but it kept louis entertained to say the least.

louis had glanced at you multiple times as he drove through the silent streets. he seemed eager or maybe even a little irritated as he watched you bounce around, lacking the ability to sit still as your eyes darted everywhere, from street lights to stop signs to anything that’d fully occupied your vision.

“have you ever been high before?” he asked, stopped at a stop light with red lights shading upon both your faces.

“nope,” your eyes wandered across the ceiling of his car. you ran your fingers along the soft carpeted interior—strange, but very stimulating and soft—making you feel all fuzzy inside of satisfaction. “louis, i love you car.”

he chuckles lowly, directing his eyes back to the road, “a lot of people do,” his lips were turned upwards into a slight smirk. it made the fuzzy feeling in your stomach turn warm as there was something very satisfying about just the way he looked. “we’re here.”

your eyes flick to the front of you where your visions bursts with neon lights beaming from the large “diner” sign pinned against the small vintage looking building. you're quick to slip out of the car to the euphoric sight.

“y/n!"

you stopped in your tracks at the sound of your name, glancing over your shoulder where your eyes immediately find a group of boys congregating together with one single boy appointed to attention to you.

louis.

"hold on. give me a minute, guys," you watch louis from five feet away, brush his friends off despite the yearning looks of amusement on all of their faces, looking between the both of you. he’s far from bothered or just doesn’t notice; brushing them off before meeting you to where you stood.

it was a wednesday after school. the sweet sound of louis’ voice and sight of his captivating face was the last thing you thought you’d come across. it must’ve been a mutual feeling with the way he looked you up and down, all winded looking.

"you're a hard person to find."

"you've been looking for me?"

"of course," he has a cigarette in his mouth.

"I almost didn't think you were real."

"of course i'm real, sweetheart," he grins harder at you. "that fucked up, were you?"

you snort. if not being able to remember half of what took place that night counted for being fucked up, you took the trophy.

"well, alright. i'll take that as you had a pretty good night."

"one of the best."

“good,” he grins, “that’s a rare occasion for girls like you.”

“girls like me?” you scoff, arching a brow. his sentence could easily be something taken for offence, but the lighthearted tone to his voice only proved he was looking to mess with you.

“yes,” he laughs with you. “usually drinking is the only thing you’d catch a teenage girl doing for non-sober purposes.”

you nod, agreeing, because he wasn’t wrong, “i’ve had a fair amount of experience with alcohol and let me just say, i’ll be steering clear of that for a while.”

“ah,” he tips forward on his feet in amusement. “i could’ve guessed you’re a wild one with your liquor, y/l/n. make some questionable choices.”

you feel your face heat up in thought, “i won’t say you’re wrong.”

louis lets out a small huff of laughter, before pausing all movement. he stares at you for a moment with narrow brows, as if trying his best to read you, “you ever wanna smoke with me, just let me know, alright?” he patted your back before suddenly walking past and away from you. your back was to him now but you could hear pat pat pat of his feet in the grass.

you frown, your eyes finding the cracks of the sidewalk as you think of how brief and unusual that was. you feel a large hole in your chest of unfulfillment.

“louis, wait,” you shifted around rather quickly as a reality hit you, but you didn’t make any moves to chase after him. he turned as well as if waiting for it. “you uh, you didn’t tell connor i was with you guys, did you?”

yikes.

that’s not what he wanted to hear.

louis pinched the bud of his cigarette, nodding to himself, thinking contently to his answer before exhaling, a thick cloud of white swirling out into the air before your eyes. you feel dazed, still high from the days before, filled with such naïve joy and lost thoughts of things you couldn’t remember now.

he threw his cigarette on the ground, eyes meeting yours again, only they were hard now and filled with no light heartedness like all times before. and his voice wasn’t soft or full of amusement either but dry as he stared you dead in the eyes, “why, he your boyfriend?”

your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your eyes not meeting his for a while until after you thought about your answer. and it was an easy answer, no, but it was never something you’d ever consider a question.

“no, no he’s not.”

“you sure about that?”

“not my type,” you smile slightly, examining louis’ pale cheekbones and facial features, the cold of the weather turning his complexion slowly red. your eyes drag to reach his red chapped lips.

him, he was your type.

“enough of your type for you to fuck him,” he gave you a pointed look as if he had caught you in the act of something, and almost immediately your cheeks burned, like you were caught for something you knew you shouldn’t have been doing.

you didn't understand why or how he knew. louis was someone you didn't know at all and what you and connor did was something you didn't tell anyone.

"you're surprised?"

"yes."

"why do you care what he knows, let alone fuck him?" he doesn't say anything more on how he knows like you hoped he would. "if he's not your type?"

you bite into your bottom lip, wincing because you didn't know the answer to it, "I don't."

"but you do," he slightly smiles but it's only out of annoyance as his voice catches up to cut you off on your lie. "I think you do, y/n. and you just don't want him to know we kissed."

"your mouth tastes like cherry."

"so does yours."

fuck.

"no, louis..." you wince, immediately regretting stopping him. "that's not what I meant. he doesn't mean anything to me."

he scoffs, "funny."

he doesn't believe you. not even close.

"you know he has label on you."

"a what?" you frown immediately, taking a step forward out of instinct.

“i’m a fool to think you’d ever stop liking him,” he holds his face, running his fingers along the sharp lines of his jawbone as he thinks about his idiotic hope that’d you so fastly fall for him as you did with connor. “foolish to think you’d drop him over one night.”

you’re even more confused now, “it was one night, louis.”

“you act like there isn’t the possibility that i’ve known you even before that night, y/n,” he has a smile that comes on his face but it isn’t something genuine. it’s annoyed. “your jerkoff of a boyfriend isn’t as secretive about you as you think.”

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

he scoffs, “you keep saying that.”

“because it’s true.”

“do you know what he says about you?”

“obviously not, louis,” four steps forward, four steps closer. “you keep speaking of ‘labels’ and whatever, but why don’t you just say it. what does he say about me that is so crazy?”

he didn’t expect the sudden brief and assertiveness you pull with your movement and words. it knocks him into a slight revelation as all he can do is stare at you and breathing, memorizing this side of you.

“did he say i was a whore?” that was the only possible thing that you could think of at that moment that could be so bad. “he tell you i was a slut?”

it’s silent. you watch him think and the way he unintentionally avoids your hard stare with the thought process.

“ask him yourself.”

“has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes.”

you feel your face burn upon the comment. everything in your body felt as if was about to burst upon the simple company of louis. even though it had to of been hours since connor’s house, and the diner, and even dropping jake off at his own home, you still felt out of your mind in the best way possible. all of your sense were still high, but your vision was fuzzy and you felt lag in your movement.

how were you still high?

“you have,” you felt yourself giggle, to which he smiles with a tip of his head, watching you.

“cute,” his fingers rubbed against his mouth in thought before reaching to you. you felt yourself inhale sharply at his sudden movement and hold your breath once they reached their destination; raking through your hair. “how does he do that to you?”

“what?”

“nothing,” he shook his head, still twisting his fingers through soft strands of your hair. you feel yourself relax, watching him and the way he seemed so focused on just you. “you’re just very pretty, y/n.”

you feel your eyes slightly widen, but his face doesn’t shift at all. he’s calm, while you feel your entire body burst once more into heat. you’re itching to move, you can’t just sit still in that burning warmth beneath his stare. you feel yourself move, leaning forward on your knees so your lips meet louis’.

louis smiles against the pressure of your lips against his--he almost forgets to kiss you back because of it.

almost.

his hands rack up and down the front of your body, lightly pressing into the hold he had around your rib cage, as if willing to crush you beneath his grasp as long as that meant you wouldn’t leave. this contact isn’t enough even for you. you want to feel him all over and the heavy hands holding your body isn’t enough.

you’re on his lap now, one of your hands holding the top of his shoulder while the other claps his cheek. louis feels as if his own body is about to burst beneath you... this is all he has wanted, for a while, and now that he’s got it, he feels it’ll destroy him. you’re ignorant to his feelings, but you feel just as feverish with your heart thump-thumping within your chest, as if speaking to his.

“your mouth tastes like cherry,” your chest is heaving up and down as you pull away, your wide stare boring into his own eyes with something of delirium.

he’s smiling wide, tipping his head back against his seat to see your face better, “so does yours.”

now you smile, “i like you louis.”

he almost groans, rolling his head side to side at the sound of those precious words, “you’re killing me,” he pulls the sentence straight out of his mouth like it was sarcastic, but he meant it, “say it again,” he wanted it.

“i like you,” you repeat, this time his hand is on your cheek. “please kiss me.”

oh, jeez.

he stares, breathless, “okay.”

***

it was a week after your fallout with louis and you couldn’t think about anything other than that. you felt a sudden emptiness and need for something that you barely even had; louis.

every little micro interaction you had with him ran through your mind like a record, over and over till you felt you were going to throw yourself off a cliff. and it wasn’t just the connor comment--which was something you really, really couldn’t stop thinking about--but the seemingly quick liking he had taken to you.

it had caught you off guard, but the more you thought about it, the more curious you became as to the whole thing; which was what led you here; connor’s house, on a friday night where he was once again throwing.

“what have you been saying about me?” you stood in front of him, connor, your vision narrowed as you stared at him, examining him as if his whole existence was strange.

“what?” his confusion was genuine as this question was rather abrupt and you made no attempt to make introductions.

“you know louis partridge?”

connor looks between you and the people he currently stood with, confusion still reeking his features, “yes..?”

“what have you been telling him about me?”

“you want to talk about this somewhere else?”

“i want a straight answer,” you feel his hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from his crowd without an answer from you.

“which i can give you if you weren’t so vague... why are you talking to partridge?”

“you got a problem?”

the two of you are stopped in front of a boy; jake.

“no, man, i think we’re good,” connor pays him no mind, side stepping him fast with you still in grip, continuing to interrogate you. you ignore connor, watching jake the whole way you’re being pulled while he watches you. you feel as if the boy isn’t real, like he was someone you had made up when you were high, but there he was, staring just as shocked, but equally skeptical as you were pulled further and further from him.

“are you listening to me, y/n?”

“what?”

“i asked you what you were on about?” you’re now in an empty corner, secluded away from the rest of the party. “haven’t seen you in days and you’re on a tangent about a boy you barely know, what’s going on?”

you finally focus on him, barely processing the words he was putting in your ears, but you didn’t have to in order to hear the fake sympathy and concern.

“how do you know louis?”

he shurgs, “see him every time i throw. gotta get to know my usuals.”

“yeah, and how well have you gotten to know him?”

he shakes his head, feeling attacked, “why?”

“because i think it’s my right to know what you’ve been saying about me to him and whoever else,” the seal of your calmness breaks as you extend an arm out, ready to scold him for anything he was about to say.

his expression drops in return, knowing any attempt to make you calm and make the situation subtle was out of his hands. connor knew you well enough to know you were too far into your frustration to calm you down.

“what’re you talking about?”

but that didn’t mean he had to comply.

“your new choice in men is obviously not working out for you. even they know i’m the best you’ll ever have.”

“what?” your head drops forward, taken aback at the sudden escalation connor had taken to his approach in words. “what the fuck are you on about?”

he smirks, pushing the red solo cup he had up to his lips, glancing around before looking back down to you, “why else do you think he lied to you about whatever it is you’re asking?”

“i can’t believe this,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “pull yourself out of that goddamn lie before you make yourself look even more like a fool. what have you been saying about me?”

“i find it best you don’t lie about this one, mate. you have an audience of witnesses,” there’s a hand on your back and a voice intervening.

the two of you focus to louis who suddenly stands behind you, daring connor to push it. the boy looks confounded looking between you, louis, and the crowd of boys behind him. he doesn’t know what to do within the corner he had backed himself into.

“whatever, this is my own fucking party. i don’t need to do shit,” he shoves past all of you. you all watch him storm away, not looking back, leaving you all to yourselves in the dust.

“let’s talk,” louis says immediately the moment you look up to him, nodding off in a random direction.

you slowly nod, following him.

“i didn’t think you’d actually ask him.”

a laugh gets caught in the back of your throat, shaking your head at the ignorance as he opens the passenger door to his car for you, “yeah?”

“yeah,” he slides into his own side of the car. “but then again, what would i know about you?”

“a lot, apparently. more than i would guess,” you lean your head against the palm of your hand, staring at him carefully. “you gonna tell me what he said now?”

louis looks hesitant, not even looking at you anymore as he thinks on how to answer. he doesn’t want to answer, it’s that simple, but he owes it to you to give you something sense he was the one who told you in the first place.

“when i met connor, he talked about you a lot. a lot for someone i barely saw. it was like every party he had something new to say or nothing new at all. as long as it was you he was talking about,” he smiles to himself, thinking of all the bragging and praising he had put into you, all for connor to just... “you were like a prize to him, y/n--until you weren’t. he called you easy, but you were his. he said he could walk you like a dog because he was the only guy you thought of.”

you feel rage and annoyance fume in the base of your chest as he speaks. he can see it form in your eyes, take over any look of calmness or subtlety from before. you make a move to push yourself back and out the door but louis is quick to grab your arm, pulling you right back to him, only closer.

“hold on there, cowgirl,” your almost in his lap. “you’re better than that.”

“am i?” you’re squirming, almost pulling from the grasp his grasp if it weren’t for how warm he made you feel.

“yeah,” he’s smiling at you. “why waste any more of your time with him anyways when you could just be here with me?”

you couldn’t help but fall victim to the pulling sensation on your lips to smile at him. you feel that fuzzy feeling creep up into your stomach at his stare like the first time you were both alone in his car and suddenly all your anger at connor melts away.

“only if you offer me cherry pie.”

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @remuslupinluvr @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @p-prettysour @sweeth0lland @heyitsmeimdead @ishwiya @thehuntress09 @Anushi @ss-tipton @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @thedeadlythoughts @amourtentiaa @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @sunsetcurving @225786As @lukewearingbeanies @voiddtrinity @kiramdd @oliviasrodrighoe @s8xwz @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @anicon_bby @itzstacie @spencybear @Msvrgs914 @whoreforsophialillis @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @alexmercer-reginaldpeters @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @dayanaralight @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @hizziestial @whoreforpsychopaths @sunsetcurve-95 @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr @youdontlikethatdoyoucupcake @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @xivilivix @morganaah @eichenhouseproperty @confusedchildstuff22 @alliechickens @moonlighy @ancientimes @gabeisinluv @thelaststraw3 @i44nishi @navyabhatnagar @iluvt4ylorswift @liltimmyst @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @esposadomd

#louis partridge #louis partridge x reader #louis patridge icons #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine #peter pan #the lost girls #enola x tewksbury #enola holmes #tewkesbury x reader #louis partridge imagine #sid vicious #millie bobby brown #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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lowkeyrobin · 3 months

Note

hello:))

been loving ur mcyt preferences, and was wondering if you would do one where reader has insomnia???

I take medication for it and i got took off it for a break UGHH. anyways luv ur writing and take ur time plz:))

ooooo okay!! ; and thank you thank you, I appreciate it 🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; insomniac/night owl

includes ; tommyinnit, tubbo, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, & quackity

warnings ; language, sleep paralysis, jokes about OD'ing (melatonin)

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

genuinley feels so bad bc the second he closes his eyes, he's passed the hell out

he'll try and stay awake with you though and wait for the melatonin or just sleep in general to kick in

"if you're too tired to work, then don't. go back to sleep, don't worry about it"

compares you to tubbo 24/7

will bring you cherries and some milk because natural melatonin ❗️❗️

sometimes he'll try and stay awake with you and turn a movie on and he'll just pass out on your shoulder

you'll walk into his stream after sleeping until like 5 in the evening and quietly wave with a groggy look on your face

he laughs (in a very lighthearted way dw)

"y/nnnnn I know you're tired but we gotta go before we miss it"

"I'm coming, I'm coming"

you're basically just a night owl, like his personal guard dog lmao

he'll joke about it a bit too, how you're protecting him in the dark from the monsters 😭

TUBBO

honestly same

you'll both be up all night and sleep all day

you can go a solid two days without sleep and start tweaking and he'll basically have to rock you to sleep like a baby

"shhh, it's okay. just relax, listen to the rain"

jokes about you overdosing on melatonin as well 💀

"Oh nah, the sleep paralysis demon is gonna get me if I sleep"

"so I have to sleep but you don't have too? mkay pal"

if he can't sleep while you finally are, he'll actually cook for once in his life

and he'll save the leftovers for whenever you wake up

he genuinley won't wake you up unless you're gonna be late for something LMFAO

he gets it tho

this dynamic you got with him, 🔛🔝

RANBOO

he can and will stay up all night with you

mostly plays video games with you in hopes you'll get tired that way

which works a bit

does insane amounts of research, gets you eating all sorts of natural melatonin before bed and even gets you like children's melatonin gummies 💀💀

"do you have a sleep paralysis demon? are you just scared to sleep?"

"I just cannot sleep, I just toss and turn all night, I swear to god"

one of those people to do endless amounts of research to try and help

"do you wanna go to the doctor and get a prescription or something? maybe it'll help"

tweeting/posting about dumb shit you do at night

"y/n made a whole loaf of bread overnight someone send help"

"tell me why I woke up this morning to my partner staring into my soul holy shit"

FREDDIE BADLINU

also feels rlly bad that he can't help you

also brings you cherries, bananas and milk for natural melatonin in hopes it'll help a bit

will genuinley take you to a doctor to get you a prescription or something

also tweets about the shit you do while he's asleep overnight

"guys y/n picked up crocheting overnight wth"

"love when my partner wakes me up at 5am for breakfast because it was going cold 🥰 (they started cooking at 3:30am)

he can't stay up too late most days, he's a busy man

he feels so bad if you're sleeping through the whole day, he barely ever wakes you up bc he knows you're tired

"love, go back to sleep, you were up all night, I'll call you in sick, don't worry about it"

he strays away from od jokes when you're taking melatonin gummies/pills but sometimes he just has to say it

if you have a sleep paralysis demon as well, yk damn well he'll find his way into your dreams and beat the bitch up

if you can't sleep but he can, he'll just hold you and hope that you'll sleep soon

you'll usually sit there and play with his hair and admire him til you gotta get up and do something

NIKI NIHACHU

like ranboo, she puts in endless research of just trying to find things that might help you

she feels so bad

especially when you're sleeping all through the day and feel groggy as hell 24/7

if you have a paralysis demon she always reassures you that she'll beat it up for you next time it comes around

anything to make you smile bro

she's so sweet about it, if you're sleeping she makes sure to keep it quiet because this is one of the rare chances when you're sleeping

if you go multiple days without sleep and start tweaking out, she'll comfort you to sleep, doesn't matter how long it'll take

"It's okay, honey. it's okay, just focus on the rain sounds outside"

dedicated a whole kinda calm music playlist to help you sleep/relax yourself

finds it so funny when you do shit during the night to try and entertain yourself and it's the most random shit

like you'll go out and feed stray cats, accidently steal a shopping cart, fight the air and record it, etc

sleepy on stream hugs >>>

"well good morning, sunshine. its seven pm"

ALEX QUACKITY

"bro how do you not sleep"

if you got a sleep paralysis demon.... oh it's over for that mf

tweets about the dumb exhausted shit you do

"how do I turn y/n off at bedtime? I'm tired of waking up to see them staring into my soul"

"I love waking up to breakfast (I've been woken up at 4am for the past 2 weeks help me rn)"

thinks it's funny and sad at the same time when you start tweaking after not sleeping

"bro, go to sleep, cmon, it's okay, you're fine" as he's trying not to laugh at you

literally stuffs you with melatonin around 7:30 to see if it'll help LMAO

even talks on stream about how he's gonna fight the demons and pretends whoever he's fighting w is one LMAO

loves when you walk into stream all groggy and tired because he can finally spend a little time w you

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #quackity x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader #alex quackity x reader #freddie badlinu x reader

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shirefantasies · 12 days

Note

Hiii!!! I love your works so so much, you're truly amazing!! I would like to make a request if that's fine with you. I would like to request Thorin's company with a reader that is afraid of heights. You don't have to do it if you don't want to, it was just a stupid idea that crossed my mind. If you do decide to do it, take as much time as you want and thank you so so much!! Again love your works, your way of writing and the way you portray the characters!!

Thanks pal 🥰 for your kind words and for being one of the longest-standing members of this blog's taglist! It's funny because someone else sent this in for LoTR a while back so it is not at all stupid, quite a common ask~

Warnings: canon typical peril, suggestive jokes in one

Thorin's Company + Your Fear of Heights

Balin

“Look at the river,” Balin encourages, taking your arm, “a fair chance we are not to see it like this again, after all!” You hesitantly hum at his side, and that is when he looks over to see your tightly shut eyes and stiff posture, your hands firm and flat against the great eagle’s soft, downy feathers. “We’re safe now,” he tells you quietly, scooting into your side. The warmth of his coat brings some comfort, but not enough for you to open your eyes, even if they shine red beneath your crushing lids. “This does not feel safe,” you reply, your voice barely exceeding a whisper. Balin does not fight, does not argue, presumably continues enjoying whatever view you did not doubt was beautiful. You simply cannot appreciate it. “I understand,” he replies, running a soothing hand up and down your back, “and I’m here. I’ll hold you down.”

Dwalin

“I bet you’ve never been afraid a day in your life.” Those were the words that set the conversation- or challenge, more like- flying between you and Dwalin, both of you huddled near the smoldering remains of your earlier fire on watch of camp. Hazes of fatigue descended upon both of your heads as you spoke, your musing bringing quite a surprise to Dwalin, who immediately sat up straighter and fixed you with surprise. “Are you mocking me?” “No,” you shrugged, shaking your head, “I simply could not imagine what that would be. It is quite difficult to picture you afraid.” It was your turn to be surprised as Dwalin’s expression softened far beyond what you were used to. “Even the greatest of warriors have them. I, then, am far from an exception.” “What is it, then?” “Pardon.” “Your fear,” you lit up, “is it the ocean? Dogs? Speaking to a crowd?” “Why are you selecting such ridiculous-” “You’re dodging,” you teased, “Thought you might be embarrassed.” “I’m not,” he crossed his arms, “Tell me yours and I shall share mine.” “Fine,” you replied with a shrug, “I am terrified of heights. Fell off a roof as a little one. …long story.” “That… makes a lot of sense.” “Hey, now what is that supposed to mean?”

Thorin

In all honesty, you’d expected the king to have no patience for such matters. You had avoided mentioning your phobia to any of the company for that exact reason, in fact. No more reason given for Thorin to see you as a liability, an outsider. At least until the booms of thunder, the slick of rain and your cold sweat alike as you slid along cliffs, eyes closed and then squeezed so shut your skin warmed and almost burned. Great stone giants you stood upon, legs rising and sending you swinging out wildly, unable to stifle your scream. As the giant slowed, having been struck by a massive rock, you were righted again, and feeling a hand tighten about your shoulder you turned around, expecting to see fatherly Gloin or Balin and instead almost starting at the sight of Thorin there behind you. “I can tell you fear the precipice. Stay here and no harm will come to you.” Your lips parted wordlessly, unable to form a sound beneath the thrum of blood in your ears, the heat creeping to your face, the echo of shattering stone still reverberating through your whole body. As if he heard you regardless, Thorin added, “I promise.”

Oin

“You’re sweating. Do you have a fever?” “No, Oin, I’m fine,” you replied, shaking your head. “Are you certain? For I’ve got quite the concoction- two in fact! One you put on and one you put in. Yourself, that is. You drink it, you see.” “I gathered.” You mustered a smile, but it was halfhearted and, judging by Oin’s expression, obviously so. “No need to be proud. Come on. I’m the one who can help you. And trust me, I’ve seen it all!” Oin was right. A fear of heights was far less embarrassing than all the accidents you imagined dwarves got into. Bofur alone had plenty such stories. “To be honest, it simply is this climb,” you nodded to the foot of the mountain, the great steps you’d heard so much about- and stars, they were nothing like the steps in your old home! “Afraid of heights?” You nodded in reply and the healer’s bearded face burst open in sympathy. “Well, that’s more than understandable! Seen plenty of- Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “Well, that is to say you’re not alone. I’ll let you in on a little secret- from what I hear, it took Kili years before he’d even get on a ladder! ‘N he’s a prince! You’ve nothing to worry about. I can give you something to calm you down as we speak, and beside that I can stay by you every step of the way. How’s that?” “That’ll be great,” you smile, “Thank you, Oin.”

Gloin

“What d’you think you’re doing? …Rotation my arse, send someone else if you’d like to avoid discussing this with the business end of my axe!” What was going on? Emerging from the brush, you followed the sound of Gloin’s voice, the volume of which had steadily been increasing, to see him glaring with all intents of intimidation at Dwalin of all people. As much as you knew you should step in and resolve any tension, you couldn’t deny your amusement. Kindling in arm, you shook your head fondly at the scene before you. Ever since he found out you were afraid of heights, rather than mock you as you’d half expected the dwarves to Gloin had made it his personal mission to swoop in and lobby for you whenever the opportunity availed itself. Such as climbing trees for watch. Muttering, Dwalin walked away with a shrug and a roll of his eyes, and you took your own opportunity to set the kindling down and sneak up behind Gloin to pull him into a hug.

Bifur

Snapping jaws narrowly missed the edges of your legs. Wargs ran to the feet of the trees, standing against the trunks and trying in vain to pull you down. They were coming closer than they should have, though, one even catching a dangling strap from your boot and tearing the buckle on it clean off. Jumping at a tap on your shoulder, you swiveled your head and peered up, admittedly a bit relieved to forget you were above ground, even if it was not by much. Bifur had gotten your attention and was urgently circling his hand, encouraging you to go further up to his branch. You shook your head. “I am fi-” SNAP! The moment you attempted to defend yourself was the moment the branch at your side was ripped off, scrabbling claws following its descent. Another tap to your shoulder, this time with the hand groping down to find yours and pry its fingers from their death grip on your branch. “What are you doing?” You hissed, panicking at your loosening grip, but your complaint was quieted when Bifur yanked you up against his chest and held you there fast. He muttered something in Khuzdul and while you weren’t certain what, his tone alone soothed you a bit more, keeping you in place there with your rapid heartbeat against his.

Bofur

“What’s the matter, no foothold? These hills can be a bit slippery, can’t they? Pesky when it’s so far to fall, pesky indeed.” “Bofur,” you breathe, voice wavering as you near tears. The sheer desperation in your voice shakes the hatted dwarf to his senses, his eyes and smile softening and falling as if seeing you for the first time. “Hey now, you’ll be all right. Thorin put you in the middle on purpose. So many hands here to catch you. ‘Sides that, I’m right here next to you, and you know I’ll always protect you, right?” Smiling faintly, you nod, eyes still blurred faintly with the sheen of tears. Strength renewed slightly, your hands dig even tighter into the rough stone and with all your might, you pull up to the next ledge. “See, there you are! Before we know it you’ll be outclimbing us all,” Bofur teases, leaning over and gently bumping your shoulder with his. “Bofur!” You squeal. “Oh, yes, right, sorry! Say, why don’t we just talk about the weather instead?”

Bombur

“I can’t.” “You must,” Bombur insisted, always-gentle voice even quieter than usual. Groaning beneath the weight of your bodies, the great pine you’d been forced to climb bent further. “If we don’t, who knows what’ll happen to us. I’m scared, too.” The shocks running through your heart calmed slightly at the sight of his soft eyes. “Who wouldn’t be scared of jumping off a cliff?” “Fili ‘n Kili, probably.” “You’re right,” you giggled, delaying the inevitable that much further.” “Why don’t we go together. See, just because we’re both ‘fraidy cats, you know?” Bombur sounded so… shy? He truly meant it, not that you doubted his sincerity much- a more sincere dwarf could scarcely be found. “Of course,” you replied, and beaming, he took your hand. “Just close your eyes. Trust the wizard. You’ll be alright if I have anything to say about it.”

Dori

“Is this truly necessary?” “Unfortunately that is the best way to keep things away from bears. Awful creatures trying to spoil our picnic!” “This is no picnic, Dori,” you giggled, “on account of we’re on a perilous journey? If you remember.” “Yes, yes,” he waved the hand that was free of the bundle, “but I will suffer much before I go this whole mess without doing something for you. Now Bilbo was kind enough to lend this food…” “You lot stole it, didn’t you?” Dori pointedly ignored you. “Be a dear and climb up to that branch with the rope,” he requested, pointing up into the tree and sending a wave of apprehension straight through you. “Can I hold it?” You asked, shuffling your feet. “Please?” Dori inhaled. He frowned slightly. His frown softened almost immediately at your slight pout. His shoulders deflated, hand loosening about the bundle. “Very well. You certainly are lucky to be so adorable.”

Nori

“Come on, let’s have a look at the stars, huh?” Something about Nori’s tone, a sort of provocation you hope to be deciphering correctly, has you shying your eyes away from the smooth-talking dwarf, hands behind your back as you nod. “That’s a good’n,” he smiles proudly, grabbing your hand tightly, a bit harshly even as he tugs you outside. Your gaze drifts up, but Nori tilts it back down to face him. “Not out here!” You are puzzled, tilting your head back at him. Rivendell’s garden is the most beautiful you’ve seen, a perfect little gazebo to sit under surrounded by pure white flowers and vines that reach up to the very stars upon which you wish to gaze. “Elrond can’t mind too much if we get a bit closer, after all, can he? Those elves love the stars as much as anything, after all.” You see now that he is motioning up to the roof of the enclave set aside for you all to stay, a conveniently flat expanse granted access to only by a risky-looking trellis. Nori wants to climb that with you. All the blood drains from your face at the very sight, the mental image of your shoes slipping from the hole, tumbling you back into the… “What’s the matter, hm? Scared? Afraid of getting trapped up there with me? I promise I won’t bite…unless you ask me to, of course.” His joke brings you back to your senses, out of the unexpected tenderness and back to your usual joking. “What’s the matter with you?” You shoot back. “Can’t get excited without being imperiled?” Cackling, Nori lets you slide, instead winding an arm about your waist and sweeping an arm, letting you lead him to the gazebo bench. “Got me there.”

Ori

“What’s the matter?” Ori ponders your name so sweetly it almost cuts through your fear. “Isn’t it wonderful?” ‘It’ being the view from, at least in your mind, the most precarious parapet in the whole kingdom of Erebor. “I see even more now why we were fighting for this,” he adds, smile growing and wonder positively glowing in his big brown eyes. In almost hilarious contrast, you struggle to feign a smile, fingers tightening around the wall’s edge like a lifeline. Which it quite literally is. It isn’t that high. You can simply take one step, no, two, and go tumbling off the whole of the mountain- The sound of your name cuts off your dread-laced internal ramblings, shaking you back to Ori, to feeling him take hold of your upper arm. “Are you alright? I can see your face, you look so-” Cutting off his desperation, the way he clearly is searching for a kind way to say it, you just sigh and answer him. “You were so excited to show me, I didn’t have the heart to tell you that, well, I have quite the fear of heights.” Ori’s jaw positively drops as he surges back, taking you away from the railing like it’ll burn you. “I’m so sorry, you never told me! How was I to know? Why, here you’ve been just-” You forget your fear entirely in favor of giggling at Ori’s kind reaction. You should have known better than to fear what he would say! “How about we go to the library instead?” Ori offers, hand still on your arm. “I’d like that,” you answer with a smile.

Fili

“Don’t let him catch me telling you this, but do you realize Kili used to have such a bad fear of heights he wouldn’t even set foot on a ladder?” Fili snickered to you, leaning with his arm along the back of your chair. “And that is supposed to be funny?” You replied, eyes wide and one brow raised. All attempts not to show your true thoughts- would Fili think you a fool? “Of course it was! I couldn’t even persuade him into the attic for all the deal it was,” the elder prince answered with a smile of great amusement. Pulling away from his warm proximity, you wrapped an arm around yourself instead. “And why was he wrong to fear harm? To- to avoid doing something he didn’t even need to do? Have you never felt the creeping of dread, of crushing danger?” Sitting back himself, Fili raised his hands defensively. “I’m sorry. I just thought it was funny the way he’d only put a toe up on it. You feel the same, do you not?” You nodded and he shifted back forward to put a hand on your shoulder. “Nothing wrong with that. I swear I won’t laugh about it again.”

Kili

For so-called ‘steps’, this climb certainly was involving your entire body, all of you company members heaving yourselves over each one and you suppressing a whimper at each slip and grind of your boot against smoothened stone. Why did the dwarves have to build their kingdoms so again? Sliding back, you winced, cringing back even harder when Fili playfully nudged you with his elbow. “Careful you don’t- oops!” He seemed to stumble back and fall, bringing you to cry out his name until he popped back up with a grin and laughter. “Quit that!” Kili stepped back down, making his way in between you two. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” Nodding, you shied away at the way he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he spoke your name softly, “mean old Fili’s going to apologize, isn’t that right?” “I’m not a child,” you teased, “I just…hate the thought of falling. Of my feet wavering and giving out.” “Understandable,” Fili added, lowering his head, “I promise I won’t actually lay a hand upon you. No more jokes. For once, Kili’s right.” Smiling again, you allowed Kili to guide you up, one hand protectively over the small of your back. “You just wanted to play the hero.” You heard Fili hiss to his brother behind your back, shakily grinning at his words.

Bilbo

“We need to get out of here. Come on.” The hobbit whispers your name urgently, extending and waving his hand at you. How you have managed to avoid losing your mind completely is what you can only imagine to be a testament to your luck. But Bilbo? You had completely lost track of him and now he’s here before you, gripping a tree branch and pleading with those shining grey eyes. This forest has your head spinning, but those eyes are an anchor, something you can focus on for once. Your heart moves, but your body remains in place, blood rushing to your face and slamming chest. “I- I-” What can you say? “Please,” Bilbo adds, “I don’t want to lose you, too. We need air. You must come with me to clear our heads.” Blinking, you look back and forth. Did you need to? Wait, need to what? “Please,” Bilbo begs again, “I’m afraid too. But it won’t be so bad if we’re together, right? I would never let you fall.” The way he begs, says your name so carefully yet so intently, has you nodding and taking his hand, smiling faintly at the warm grip. “Let’s go.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🩷

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year

Note

Soft Marc

That’s it that’s the request

S O F T M A R C ! Thank you so much for the ask! Ilysm!

(Thank you for an excuse to write some soft Marc! Also, oh no this turned into porn, I’m so sorry.)

Feels Nice

Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: typos (I feel like I wrote this one in a haze, I'm so sorry), swearing, Marc saying 'please', Marc being sleepy, oral sex (f receiving), P in V sex, dry humping (humping the settee)

Word Count: 1757

_______________________________________

You shifted your legs slightly as the movie ended, trying to wiggle enough to grab the remote without disrupting Marc.

He was dead asleep, breathing softly. His head resting comfortably against your shoulder. It was the first time you’d ever seen him resting so soundly.

You shuffled again, your movements bolder this time in a vain effort to reach the remote.

It was the first time in ages that you’d actually watched a film on live TV, and you knew it would be only a matter of seconds before an advert that was five hundred decibels louder than an aeroplane taking off started.

It was nearly in your reach, nearly close enough for you to grasp and-

“COMING UP NEXT!”

Marc jolted awake, springing into a sitting position. His right arm flew to the side and across your body, it made you think of a driver protecting a passenger when they had to break suddenly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” it was difficult to keep the smile out of your voice. “It’s just the TV.” You rubbed his back, trying to ease the tense muscles.

Marc swallowed and looked around to you. He nodded once, still half asleep. A large tuff of his hair was sticking upwards from where he had rested.

Quickly you grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. A vague silence filled the flat, punctuated by the faint buzzing of the fish tank and other electronics.

You grinned at him, dipping your head to the side as you reached out and patted his hair, trying to smooth it back down.

Marc hummed and closed his eyes leaning into your touch. “Feels nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked so serene, angelic in the weak light.

Slowly, you sank your fingers further into his hair and applied a light, but firm, pressure to his scalp.

He groaned, pushing further into your touch. The persistent force of his movement forced you further back into the settee.

You giggled as he urged you further, guiding you to laying down on your back with him between your legs. He tried to keep most of his weight off you, caging you in with his arms, but you could feel him steadily slipping as you continued to massage his head.

Small moans and shudders escaped his lips until he was completely in your lap, his head resting against your chest and left arm hanging limply off the side.

“I fell asleep didn’t I?” He mumbled into your top.

You grinned, continuing the massage, “You did.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Steven says I snore.” He spoke into your stomach, unintentionally shifting forwards into your touch.

“You were sort of,” you pause for a second, thinking, before you do your best to mimic his soft breathing from before.

“That’s snoring.”

“No, snoring is this:” you do your very best over the top impression.

Marc laughs. “Okay.”

You continue in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about anything in particular.

There is even a moment you think that maybe Marc has fallen back to sleep. His breathing is heavier than it was before, but you slowly begin to notice a slight rocking motion.

It’s almost ignorable at first, subtle enough for you to think that you are imagining it. But as you continue to massage Marc’s scalp the movements become more and more prominent.

You wait, counting the seconds in your head.

His breath hitches as he tries to bite back a moan.

“Marc?” You ask, faking an impressive level of innocence, and slow your hand movements.

He lifts his head a few centimetres from you. “Please don’t stop.” His voice is low and needy, his eyes lidded.

You push his face up a little more so that you can get a better look at him as you scrap your fingers along his skin. The sensation sparks like lightning down to his stomach.

He can’t help it as his hips rock against the settee, the inner seam of his sweatpants rubbing against his hard cock.

He groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he bites hard on his bottom lip and closes his eyes.

The sight of him is glorious as he is wrapped up in the sensations of his own pleasure. You can’t help but run your fingers over his scalp again, firmer this time and his answering moan is instantaneous.

WIthout really thinking you shift slightly, bringing your legs up to wrap around him and lightly dig your heels into his plump ass. You apply a little pressure in time with his thrusts, encouraging him to rut harder.

“Baby,” he chokes back a little half sob as heat flares along his skin, pleasure coiling tightly in his lower abdomen.

Oh this is all going too fast. If he doesn’t get a grip on himself soon he’s going to come in his (Steven’s) sweat pants.

He moves quickly, trying to not completely lose himself and give into the sweet sensations, and sits up a little.

You go to take your hands away from his head, and move your legs. Already starting to form an apology on your tongue, believing that you stepped over a boundary.

“No, no, no,” he mutters quickly, grabbing hold of your hands and pressing them firmly against his hair. “Continue, continue please.” His voice cracks with ache and want, his eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide. His skin is so warm, burning as if he had drunk just a little too much.

You nod quickly, in awe of how wrecked he looks.

Marc shifted his hands down to your waistband. “Wanna make you feel good please?”

How can you relist when he asks you so nicely?

You nod again, barely finishing the movement before he is ripping your trousers and underwear off you and throwing them somewhere to the side. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t send them flying into the TV and knocking it over.

Throughout you try your best to continue the massage, rubbing your thumbs and fingers along his skin in a now ingrained pattern you know he likes.

Marc lifts both of your thighs over his shoulders and settles down, causing you to have to curl up a little to keep your hands in his hair.

He puts his right hand just underneath your lower back, positioning it ever so slightly so that your hips cant upwards, and wraps his left around your leg so that he can rub your clit.

You let out a small shaky sigh as he touches you, so light and barely there.

“Fuck.” His hisses, his hot breath hitting your outer thighs as he leans into you. “Ugh, you’re so wet.”

He runs his nose up and down through your folds, groaning as your slick coats his skin.

“Marc-” You cut yourself off with a string of expletives as he lightly grazes your clit with his teeth before plunging his tongue into your cunt.

You pull tightly on his hair, the action involuntary and Marc lets out a beautiful high pinched wine as he grinds himself harder against the settee.

His cock is throbbing, burning for attention as he laps at you, rocking you back and forward with his right hand as he encourages you to fuck his face in time with the rock of his hips.

You’re achingly close already, pleasure sparking up and flooding your veins under his skilled actions. He continues to roll your clit between his left thumb and forefinger, pinching ever so slightly at seemingly random intervals.

You let out a gasped yelp, struggling to think, so overwhelmed with sensations and the need to continue to rub your hands through his hair.

“Marc, fuck, shit,” you can feel it building quickly, a crescendo threatening to pull you down with it.

Marc groans into you in response, fucking his tongue harder against you as he picks up the pace of his hips.

Your legs begin to shake, your stomach muscles clenching. Just a little more and-

He pulls away quickly, kneeling with your wetness shining all over the bottom of his face. He grabs his cock, barely pulling his sweatpants down.

“Can-I?” His words are so rushed that they come out all together.

“Yes, yes, pleas-”

You cry out as he surges forward and pushes into you in one swift movement. His left hand guiding the base of his cock and then pushing your leg to the side, spreading you wide so that it’s half dangling off the settee.

You grab at his biceps, screwing up your eyes as he fills you so perfectly.

He lets out a long moan, his eyebrows pinched together as he feels you squeeze down on him.

“Hands, hands,” he mutters, so mumbled and slurred that it takes your brain a second to catch up. “Please, baby, please.” He moans again as you rock against him, his own hips still.

You sink your fingers back into his hair, whimpering as you buck again.

“Stay still for me, just for a second, just for a second…”

You wine, but do what he asks. Your orgasm is so close, you taste it. Feel the edges of it running along your skin.

“Marc, please.”

He opens his eyes and nods. But he still doesn’t move his hips. Instead he reaches down and circles your clit with his fingers, rubbing soft small circles that match the speed and pressure of your own hands in his hair.

You gasp and change direction and so does he. You scrap your nails against his skin and he lightly pinches.

He can’t help but rock ever so slightly, barely moving out of you, needing to feel every single flutter against the length of his cock.

“Need to feel you squeeze me, need you to- shit,” he gasps as you come, your orgasm hitting you like a surge of electricity.

You moan out his name. Your back aching and grabbing hold of fistfuls of his hair, dragging him on top of you.

He sobs as you pulse around him, milking him for everything he could give as he comes, following you down into that mind shattering ecstasy as you pull on his hair.

Sweat begins to cool on your skin as you come back to yourself, breathing heavily. It’s only then that you realise both of you are still mostly dressed, and that you still have a death grip on Marc’s hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You release him quickly. But he just murmurs sleepily into your neck.

“It’s fine. Feels nice.”

____________________________________

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