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hazelfoureyes · 1 month

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The Safeword is RadioApple (part 2)

This part doesn’t have the Alastor x Lucifer scene I previewed! I pushed it to the next part since this was already a big chunk of text. I hope you still enjoy it! 🥺 I can do a male reader, I just need a little time as I’ll need to rewrite quite a bit

Locked doors

「Luci was pining to return to your bed, even if he couldn’t fully understand why Alastor exists in it. Luckily for you both, You got a night alone with the King of Hell and before Alastor can implode the whole situation, he had a change of heart perspective.」

[warnings/promises: Lucifer x FemReader, smut, No AlastorxReader this part, Luci eats you out, Luci has a nose, Alastor thinks about gardening but in a jerk kind of way, s e x, Husker is reminded of his chains, Charlie is naive, Facesitting, Luci’s horns, sweet little kisses, aftercare at the before part, creampie is like nyquil, Luci is an entire daddy kink]

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

minors DNI 🤌🏼

He didn’t want to be fully naked near Alastor, but the idea of bathing with you overpowered his hate. When he entered the bathroom, he found you reclining into Alastor, back to chest, as Alastor’s fingers massaged soap into your upper arms.

Your eyes, closed in comfort, popped open when you sensed his presence, “Luci!” Your legs folded, “Get in.”

Lucifer looked around the clawed foot porcelain tub. He didn’t want to admit he liked the style, obviously picked out by Alastor. With the same hesitancy as before, he stripped and lowered himself in the water opposite you and Alastor.

A wave of stress, again, watching you two intertwined in each other’s attention. But you pushed back against that feeling, hands slipping past his hooved feet until you found his calf. Lifting his leg up, Lucifer yelped as he slid down into the water. Your hands rubbed along the muscle of his leg, humming softly.

He watched you, Alastor disappearing from view entirely. “Thank you, Kitten.” Your smile widened. Eyes wandering down, he found your foot and pressed into the arches with strong fingers. You moaned, visibly relaxing into Alastor’s chest. “Feel good?”

You nodded, “Your hands only ever make me feel good, Luci.”

He nearly choked on his breath, cheeks brightening a scarlet red. How could you get so brutally fucked and still speak to sweetly? Was that really the same mouth?

A stupid grin spread across your face as you pressed into Alastor.

“Happy?” He asked, low and into your hair.

“Happiest.” Eyes closed, basking in the glory of your conquest. “What do you like to do after sex?”

It took Lucifer a second to realize you were talking to him, “Oh! Uhh,” a nervous scratch to his cheek, “Kiss? Cuddle. Normal things.” He hoped Alastor took the word normal as an insult but unfortunately he seemed to not be paying any attention. Without opening your eyes, you spread your arms and invited Lucifer to kiss.

He felt his knees graze Alastor’s legs as he shifted, leaning in to you he let his lips touch yours gently. Your arms came around his shoulders and pulled him in for more. He fell into your chest, pressing your body further into Alastor’s. You cooed into his mouth, opening to lick across his lips, finally looking at him. Staring into each other’s eyes, you hoped he could see it, hoped your absolute bliss was palpable to him. Sandwiched between your own personal rock and hard place, you struggled to keep a naughty giggle in your chest. What a lucky girl you were.

Properly cleaned and doted on, you found yourself in Alastor’s large bed with the men. Alastor had no issues slipping under the blankets and into sleep, your body curled up against his. You were facing Lucifer, who looked exhausted.

“Sorry for the shock.” You whispered, hand slipping from under the blanket to hold his own. Your mouth opened to say something else, but you stopped yourself. You felt like Lucifer needed space to process.

And he did, taking a moment to look over your face, large red and black deer ears peeking from the blankets behind you.

“Why did he have to be here?” His fangs bared, “Why not just us?”

Your fingers twirled the wedding band on his left hand, “We have our own little set of rules for what is okay, and he’s always going to be there. That’s the only way this can work.”

Always? This? He wasn’t sure which to grab ahold of first.

“I’ll never get you alone?” He thought he hid his sadness, but he was in fact pouting very noticeably.

“Not unless Alastor says so.”

Neither noticed Alastor’s grin slipping through his fake sleep.

His pout deepened, “I hate him.”

“I know.” You laughed, because it was funny. There was really no reason for either of them to hate each other but it seemed neither of their egos could exist in the same room without causing the bad kind of friction.

“But I -,” He laced his fingers with yours, stopping the reminder of his own vows and to some extent your own, “You. I don’t hate you.”

“Do you not-hate me enough?” said quieter than your other questions, as nervous for the answer as you were the first one of the night.

“Enough?” Brow knit, Lucifer’s pout melted away. You squeezed his hand. Could he tolerate Alastor enough? Get enough of you for himself? His mind came to greed, to Mammon and his disgust for the sin incarnate. Lucifer had been greedy before, tried to take more than he was allowed, and it led to very terrible things. Some would argue the very worst of all things.

His nod was barely perceivable. You wondered if you’d imagined it. Perhaps your heart was beating so fast, your eyes shook just enough to see what you wanted.

Lucifer fell asleep, hand in yours. When he woke, he found himself turned around. At some point he must have rolled away from you, but before he could wake enough to correct the situation, he noticed your own sounds.

“Allie~” You purred, a tone he had never heard you use before an– Allie?? He gagged.

He could feel the blankets shifting, bed dipping behind him.

“You’re in odd form, beloved.” Alastor said it softly, not meant for anyone else to ever hear, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

A huff, a sigh, you made the smallest whimper, “Do you think Luci -?”

Alastor didn’t let you finish, “I don’t ever think about him, darling. So, no.”

Lucifer heard a smack of skin, you playfully hitting Alastor’s chest. “Be nice,” It was a warning, not a suggestion. “I didn’t want to wake him up yet…” The bed dipped again before he felt your hands slip under his arm and down his chest. He tensed, “Luci” you whispered a sing-song form of his name, “Wake up, please. I need your company before I start my day.”

He wanted to whip around but knew that’d be suspicious, he needed to play it cool. Be a man who was totally asleep this whole time. Lucifer closed his eyes, as if you could see his face at all, and forced out a yawn. “Hmm?” He hoped he sounded sleepy, as he was fully alert at this point.

“Good morning, your majesty.” Your hand snaked down his stomach, “Can I have a moment of your time, sire? I’d like an audience with you.”

He bit his bottom lip, loving the way you spoke about his position. “Sire” was now second to “Daddy” to his ears. His mind couldn’t play along, already overwhelmed. “I’m not busy at the moment…so…”

Stupid. Terrible.

Alastor agreed with the sentiment Lucifer didn’t vocalize.

Your hand slipped immediately into his boxers, little blue shorts with bright yellow duckies. Taking long, gentle strokes you found him eager to wake up for you, too.

Luci folded the pillow into his face, stifling a groan as he grew under your fingers. You let his foreskin slide up and down his shaft, rubbing along his head until he had grown too large to accommodate. Luckily for you and Luci, he was leaking like a faucet and providing you just the lubricant to keep your hand gliding over his length.

He rolled over and began to kiss you, but you quickly pushed him onto his back, coming to straddle him. “May I?” You ground your hips down, wet lips sliding across his cock. Lucifer choked out a reply, something between “yes” and “please” fell from his mouth. You were already naked? Had he missed something?

His eyes flitted to Alastor, who was leaving the bed and going to his armoire. You brought his attention back to you, one hand on his stomach, the other lining him up. Still soft and sore from the night before, Luci much easier slipped into you as you sank down until he was fully sheathed. Taking a moment, you sat on his impossibly hard cock and tried to think of where to put your hands. You leaned back, finding the angle to press his length along your plush g-spot. Slowly, hands on his thighs behind you, you rose up and lowered yourself.

Luci’s hands came to your hips, needing something to hold on to. Watching you bounce on his cock was making him sweat, not taking into account the feeling of your tight heat so early in the morning. His sweet angel, taking his cock so well. He fought the urge to push you down and let months of pent up affection pound you into the bed.

Soon enough, you were rising and just letting your full body weight drop onto his lap. When you tried to take a hand to touch yourself, Luci’s tail wound up your thigh. You were startled, slowing to see the spade tip pressing down and flicking across your needy clit.

“What the fuck, Luci?” a breathy rhetorical, hand going back to his thigh to regain the speed and force you lost. As you found yourself coming up to that edge, pleasure peaking, you began to moan out his name. Little “Luci”’s and Lucifer”’s chanted to the ceiling.

Luci’s head pushed down into the pillow, mind unfurling. “Enough,” He whispered into the air, hips rutting up to meet your frenzied thrusts, his reply lost in the sounds of your bodies connecting.

⫘⫘⫘

Lucifer tried to be normal around the hotel, but as hours turned to days he found it harder and harder to keep it together. While always aware of you, always looking for you, he was now noticing the dynamic between yourself and Alastor. The two of you were often in the same spaces, but rarely together. It baffled him. If you were his, he’d never take his hands off you. His fingers would always be in yours, hand on your back, arm linked in arm. How could Alastor exist around you in any other state than at your feet?

He began to wonder what exactly you saw in the deer demon. Yes, his dick did work, much to Lucifer’s surprise. But surely that wasn’t it. Because Lucifer’s dick also worked. The math was not mathing.

His bed was suddenly too large. Silk sheets too cold. Room too quiet. Lucifer found himself pacing the halls at night, mind wandering to what you were doing. What you both may be doing. How he would, could, fit in.

Any time he could, he found a reason to touch you. Handing him a plate? Fingers gliding over yours. Entering the same room? Ah, his hand fit so perfectly on the small of your back as he let you go first. Look at this paper! Slide beside him, let his hand come to rest on your waist. Before, he avoided every chance to feel your skin under his own. Now, he was hungry for every little taste. He felt like lightning bit him with every connection to you. He wondered if you felt it, too.

Alastor wasn’t blind. He saw Lucifer’s eyes watching you. How he followed you like a lost puppy.

He nearly snapped his microphone in two one morning, seeing Lucifer’s hand around your waist. It was odd, the sex? No issue! Who cares? It’s just bodies. He knew you were satisfied with him regardless of if you ever fucked. You both were quite content to just lie in bed and read, kissing and cuddling under the blankets before bed.

But something about this was getting under his skin. Maybe it was the public setting, almost an insult to him. Showing everyone how the King of Hell could have anything he wanted. Anyone.

Or maybe it was something messier. These weren’t lustful touches. His hands were always so gentle on you, tender. There was emotion behind the way Lucifer’s fingers grazed your body. He was fine with watching another soul lust after you. Your body was something he could share, just flesh. Your heart? His hair bristled. Would Lucifer undermine what he had?

Mint. His mother planted it once in the yard. Mint grows exceptionally well. Too well. If not properly contained, it will spread across the garden and become a weed and overtake the other plants.

He relished in uprooting the mint by the fistfuls.

Seeing Lucifer laugh loudly, leaning into your ear to whisper something that made you giggle in return, Alastor thought about mint. Best when ripped from the ground and muddled with a ridged dowel.

When you knocked on Lucifer’s studio door later that night, the place he had built specially for himself in the new and improved hotel, he frantically tried to clean up the space. You hadn’t been alone with him since that morning nearly a week prior now.

Truth be told, you hadn’t actually planned on Lucifer agreeing to join Alastor and you in bed. You weren’t sure how to politely invite him back without sounding like you saw him as just a fuck buddy. When you voiced your concern to Alastor, he laughed. Then patted your head.

Not overly helpful.

“Hey there! Long time no see huh?” He laughed a little too hard.

“Luci, we saw each other at breakfast.”

His hat seemed to wither on his head, “Right yeah haha that— time away from you feels so long! The heart —,” he stopped talking, “Inside?” Wide eyed, he gestured for you to enter.

With a nod, you walked in. Just, so many ducks. An ungodly number of ducks. Too many, some could argue.

“What’s the latest creation?” You searched the room for anything obviously special.

Lucifer grabbed your hand as he walked past and pulled you to the desk. “Check this out.” He cupped his hands, holding up a duck with six wings and tiny horns. The wings flapped gently.

“Little Luci duck?” You tapped the beak.

He hummed, “Do you like it? I thought maybe for your bath.”

You genuinely didn’t know what to say. Your finger slid up the head and down the back. Bringing it to your lips, you kissed the tiny orange beak. “Now I can have you in my bath every night.”

A smirk, squiggly and long spread across his face. Shoulder to shoulder at his drawing table, he leaned over to kiss your cheek. Your finger tapped your lips, instructions for where to bring his lips next.

“Dad?”

Lucifer flipped around, knocking up against the desk and causing ducks to cascade down, “CHARLIE! Haha! HEY!”

Charlie was standing in the open doorway, eyes bouncing from you to Lucifer and back. “Sorry, are you… busy?”

If you stayed very very still maybe she wouldn’t see you.

No? Yes? Which— which was the least suspicious?

“No?” Lucifer offered.

“I wanted to talk to you about some hotel stuff. I can come back later?”

You folded, sliding away from Lucifer, “I was just going, actually.” You nodded at Charlie, hands behind your back holding your duck.

Alastor lied on your bed while you wallowed, your upset amusing to him. Where you saw an issue, he saw an opportunity. His wide smile seemed to shine under the dim light of your room, “Charlie is too innocent to make such a leap, dear. She’d need much more than that to suspect anything.”

“I just don’t wanna cause him trouble. His life has enough strife. I didn’t start this to make things harder on him.” You buried your face into the pillow.

His hand petted softly at your hair, “Why did you start this?”

You and Alastor weren’t a very sexual couple, and though your libido was stronger opposed to Alastor’s distinct lack of one, that was never an issue. But part of why he even allowed Lucifer to join your bed was to help round out your pleasure. Not that Luci was just a dick to you, literally. Alastor knew how badly you wanted to dote on the monarch, and when we you discussed your desires he was happy to oblige. As long as you didn’t stray from his side, Alastor was fine with holding the reins of this extension, of sorts, to your own relationship.

But he was, at his core, a mortal soul. He was not impervious to feelings of envy.

“Well, yes, more sex with powerful people is quite nice.” Alastor nodded in agreement, the openness something he was fine with. “But I just wanna see him smile more. He’s so-,”

“Insignificantly small?”

You glared from over the pillow, “Cute.”

His fingers traced down your cheek to your chin, lifting your face to receive a kiss, “Do I still have the controlling share of your heart?”

Rarely, nearly never, did Alastor admit worry. You immediately sat up, the simple question sending off alarms. “Of course! Say the word, I’ll lock the door. Our doors only open as wide as we decide. Together.” Alastor hummed, content with the answer.

“That’s all I need to hear! I will be back by midnight, don’t lock anything before then.” With a kiss to your forehead, he excused himself down to the bar.

Sure enough, within an hour Lucifer pulled himself into a bar stool and asked Husk for a soda water with lime. He notoriously avoided alcohol.

From his chair, Alastor watched the king of hell frown into the glass. If he could, he would drink that pitiful look by the bottle.

Alastor appeared beside Lucifer, flashing two fingers to Husk.

“You look like the dog who got kicked.” Alastor’s grin, toothy and sharp, smiled at Lucifer. A laugh track faintly played in the background of his static voice.

“Hey here’s an idea! Go fuck yourself.”

War requires sacrifice. To truly get what you want will always cost you. Alastor knew this well, having paid many prices along his life and death to ultimately come out ahead.

“She’s quite sad, you know. Poor thing is in her bed now, cradling a small duck.” Alastor tipped his glass into his mouth. Lucifer didn’t reply, frown pushing into a pout.

“She’ll be asleep by 11, normally when she starts to doze off. Unless, of course, she’s otherwise preoccupied.” The whiskey burned, he only drank it neat. Unadulterated.

“Are you bragging? Why are you telling me this, you haunted broomstick?”

The glass cracked in his hand as he set it down, “Because, you empty headed lawn ornament, I’m giving you my blessing to visit her.” Alastor’s bones seemed to snap as his head turned to look at Lucifer with an eerie jerking.

Immediately he perked up, “Oh. Together?” Suspicious.

“I’ll be there later.” Alastor’s head cocked to the side, “You can go ahead.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Why so suspicious?” Alastor’s eyes rolled, now with a smaller grin, “My darling just has such an appetite, whereas I don’t need quite as much, as often.”

That made… sense. A lot of sense, actually. Lucifer let that bit of information blanket the past week of observations and everything lined up.

“Oh!” Lucifer swivelled his chair, “Okay….does she..want me to see her?” He gripped his cane, a nervous reaction, “She hasn’t actually brought it up since.”

“How would I know? I was as shocked as you when she asked for you in the first place.” Husk watched Alastor’s smile twitch, hearing what sounded like pure annoyance in his voice as he said it.

Lucifer opened his mouth to make a jab, but thought better of it and abandoned the drink and the bar to find you.

Husk tried to sneak away, but felt the tug of his chains.

“What did you hear, Husker?” Husk’s fur stood on end as he slowly turned to face the fearsome radio demon.

“Nothing, boss. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hand had to set the bottle he carried down, shaking too much to be sure he wouldn’t drop it.

“Good boy.” Alastor finished his whiskey, “I’d hate to have to find a new bartender. Another, please and thank you. I’ve got some time to kill.”

⫘⫘⫘

“Luci?” You looked around the hall, wondering if perhaps someone else had come with him, “What’s up?”

He opened his arms, “That piece of shit said I could see you. Alone.”

Your smile fell, “Why would he do that?” Lucifer laughed, shrugging it off.

“Maybe he knows he is no match for our connection.” His brows rose up and down his face.

“That….definitely isn’t it, Luci.”

He looked wounded, “May I still come in? If you want me, that is. Want me TO! Want me, to enter. Inside the room. Your room. Bedroom. This-.,” You opened the door the rest of the way and moved aside.

“What exactly did Alastor say?” You sat on the small bench at the foot of your bed.

The worry was visible on your face.

“Something about different appetites. Aaand I could come up before he came to bed. Oh, and that you were sad.” Lucifer set his hat on the dresser, resting the cane to the side.

Those were true things.

Yes, you had been sad. Moping just before Alastor left, come to think of it….was this a little gift? Why wouldn’t Alastor tell you beforehand? You rarely did anything without discussing it first.

“Did you not want to see me?” Luci misread your face.

“Oh! No!”

He winced.

“No, I mean– no, I did not …not want to see you.” Fuck, his nervous energy was spreading. How did you ever manage a private conversation with him before? “I am very happy you’re here. I felt so bad, about earlier. Did I cause you any trouble with Charlie?”

Luci plopped down beside you, “Don’t be silly! She thinks we’re run of the mill pals!” A laugh, “I think.”

Your eyes searched the room. Alone together, in a truly private place. But again, you wanted to show Lucifer more than just your lust for him. You wanted to see him smile, to feel appreciated and seen. That was harder to do when in a dick fog.

“Are you okay with starting with a cuddle this time, Luci?” Standing, you lowered the lights with the dial on the wall. “We can move past it if you’re feeling it. Or just enjoy being in each other’s company.”

“I love cuddling! I’m a pro at cuddling! Haha, yes. Totally okay.” He paused, “Why are you laughing?”

You pulled back the covers, getting into bed, “You’re so cute, your majesty.” He felt that stupid grin creep across his face, “Come to bed.”

With a puff of red smoke, he was in his boxers and scrambling to you. You tried to stifle another laugh, what a silly person the Devil was. “You could have done that every time?” You asked. He just nodded, hands coming around your body and pulling you close to him. “You’re so warm.” Your nose brushed against his.

“Fires of hell and all that.” He kissed the tip of your nose, before lightly pressing his lips to your own. Another peck, his hands roaming up your hips and then your arms, then coming to your cheek. He pulled you closer now, deepening his once chaste kisses.

Was this cuddling? You thought you had wanted to dote on him. But now it seemed you were the one being showered in adoration. He sighed into your mouth, and your mind went blank. Yes this was cuddling. This was anything he said he wanted it to be.

Lips soft, mouth warm, tongue forked. His head tilted, desperate to get himself deeper into your mouth. You tasted like heaven, something he was too scared to miss. Tongue rolling over yours, you moaned into the kiss. Luci’s hands slid from your face to your hip, hand gripping you as he groaned in response. Hips slowly rolling into nothing, he tried to calm down. He finally had you all to himself, and his body reacted with an eagerness he had forgotten. Your own hands pushed gently against his chest, not to make distance, but to feel his body pressing up against your own skin.

His lips parted yours, he went to speak but instead returned to kissing you. Leaving your lips and travelling down your neck, he found the will to talk, “Tonight, let me take the lead?” You nodded, wondering what his lead would look like.

Alastor was always chasing something in you, feeding off more than your body. The few times he would want to go beyond just caressing, he would wring pleasure from you like a deserted man to an empty canteen. His body quaking with every drop he could manage.

And Lucifer? Your already wet cunt clenched around nothing but possibilities. You nodded, watching a fire light behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in the bedroom before.

“I’m going to spoil you rotten.” His face was bright, both hands pulling your hips onto him as he rolled onto his back. “You don’t need these.” Clawed hands tugging at your panties beneath your open robe.

Oh. That was quick.

As you leaned back to remove them, Lucifer’s mind was on timing. He could eat you out for hours if afforded it, but he knew Alastor would be coming in eventually. Lucifer had no intentions of sharing you tonight.

When you sat down, his hands hooked under your thighs and pulled you up. And up.

“Luci?”

“Let me show you how I ruined eden.” He opened his mouth, long tongue snaking out in a truely debauched display. Your body was just near his chin now, and you were too stunned to move. His hands slapped your ass playfully, “Please take a seat, kitten. Your throne awaits.”

Would you suffocate him? Did he need breathe? Were you heavy? Shou-

“Pet.” His hands drummed on your thighs, “Just grab the headboard.”

Mortified. You placed your knees on either side of his head and gripped the headboard. You barely had a chance to lower yourself before he pulled you onto his mouth.

Hot breath. Luci had been dreaming of this for weeks, long before your initial invite. His tongue lapped up the slick from hole to clit, humming into your skin. Your thighs clenched and you had to focus to open them again. You apologized, but Luci just winked and made a show of taking two fingers and setting them on your thigh where he held you.

You’d never done anything where you were the one on watch for the tap tap. It felt…. Good. Deep breath, relax into the system you made for each other.

His tongue dipped into your heat, you hadn’t considered the positive attributes of its length until now. Your hips rocked slowly, the feeling of his soft and determined tongue along you walls making your mind reel. How could something be so gentle but so ravaging? Had anyone’s tongue ever been so deep in you?

Resting your forehead on the headboard you watched Luci’s eyes close, his smile felt from thigh to thigh. Nowhere was Lucifer more in his element than mouth under a wet cunt. As your breath quickened so did your hips, grinding down more and more as you felt the pleasure spiking with every touch.

Luci’s tongue left your now dripping hole to latch onto your clit. Sharp teeth pricked your skin as he began to suck, expert tongue intermittently lapping at your little bud of nerves.

Your knuckles were turning white as you considered snapping the headboard in half in an attempt to chase the euphoria. It felt so good, but as the time was going forward you could tell it wasn’t enough to get you over that hurdle.

Cold air rushed to your flushed skin, “What do you need, kitten?” Two large eyes, yellow and red, looked up from your lap.

“I want to feel you. Inside.” Your eyes flitted up as his mouth returned to his measured pace on your clit. Whimpering, you thought about reaching back and inserting your own fingers when you found your new friend beat you to it. His spaded tail folded in on itself and slipped past your twitching entrance.

You choked out a noise, the sensation something entirely foreign. Smooth and cold, he just needed to get the tip inside for you to start moaning in earnest. Your body was rocking between his tongue and his tail, shortening the intervals as you ramped up to your orgasm.

His hands on your thighs tightened, clawed hands digging into your flesh. His moan made your feet cramp, legs now twitching. “Close— Luci!” Talking felt like losing your place, but the way he moaned in response egged you on, “Luci! Please don’t sto-,” your abdomen tight, body locked as it edged to that peak, your pleas to not stop devolved into whispered a, “no no no no god no” into the wooden bed frame.

Lucifer’s hands snaked up your sides, holding onto your waist he pulled your full weight down into his mouth, tail twisting as it thrust in and out of you. Just deep enough that the large edge of the spade was spreading your lips with every movement.

Eyes closed, your body shook violently over his face as you finally broke through, orgasm flooding your system with endorphins. Feet, legs, stomach, hands, everything loosened. Luci’s tongue stopped, tail slipping out.

You didn’t make a move, needing a second to just bask in the feeling.

Before it fully waned, Luci’s arms came up and over your thighs before he pushed your body toward his chest. And then you felt yourself falling backwards.

He’d pushed himself off the bed and flipped you so quickly you hadn’t even seen it happen. Vision adjusting you saw his yellow eyes now red, red and black horns sprouted from his forehead.

“Open up for Daddy, kitten.” He was fully buried in your softened pussy before you could form a thought. Your body hadn’t forgotten his size, but you still felt a burning at your entrance where the skin struggled to stretch for him. Luci’s body fell onto yours, his hands bringing your legs up past his hips and behind his back. You hooked your feet together around his waist and held on with both arms, eyes rolling back with every thrust.

“You feel so good, you’re so tight,” he moaned directly into your ear. Bodies tightly pressed together, an embrace where only his hips would leave your skin and just long enough to piston back into you. Your legs were so far up that your hips weren’t on the bed anymore. The angle made your head fall back, muscles unable to receive signals from your bliss addled brain. His arms were under yours, resting beneath your back and on your shoulders, pulling you tighter into to him. You felt surrounded by him, every part of your body touching his. A tangle of flesh and whimpers. “You’re so beautiful, kitten. You take daddy’s cock so well. I’m melting.” His horns brushed against your head, the sound of them slipping across the comforter with every thrust reminding you of their presence.

Lucifer felt lost in you. He fought to keep his mind clear enough to ensure his embrace stayed gentle. You were a bundle of softness and heat under him. He felt his balls creeping up, tightening as he was ready to chase your own orgasm with his. For a second his eyes searched the immediate area for Alastor. The word “cum” ringing in his ears.

With a sigh, hot and heavy at your neck, he pressed into you as far as his body could enter. As you could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, your cunt began to spasm around him. Body instinctively hungry for him. His hands hooked under your shoulders held you still, your legs still tight around his waist.

You stayed there until you both were breathing normally. Your legs fell down, thighs falling open as you released your grip on him. Luci didn’t move for another minute, opting to rest his head in your chest. Silence, just the gently rolling waves of soft pleasure and contentment still coming.

Satiated, you suddenly felt so drowsy. “Luci.”

His head popped up, horns gone and sclera back to yellow, “Yes, kitten?”

“Blankets.” You let your eyes closed, feeling the comforter being pulled to you.

Alastor walked in to find you both asleep, Lucifer still on top of you, heads at the foot of the bed and feet on the pillows. The comforter half assed folded over your bodies.

He wasn’t surprised. Alastor peeled Luci off of you and tossed him onto the pillows.

“Fuck you, hair cut,” Lucifer whispered, between awake and asleep.

“Yes yes, your majesty. Fuck you too.” Alastor picked you up and set you where you belonged. He pulled the blankets over you both, taking a beat to stare down at the scene.

Beloved, happily asleep. Obnoxious monarch, looking angelic beside you. Lucifer looked so much more tolerable when sleeping.

He considered for a moment returning to his own room, as he had planned all along. Looking from you to Lucifer, he felt something swell in his chest.

Keeping you was a treasure. A treasure he trusted would always be his. But to have you and the king of hell? Not just influence by way of your ties to Lucifer? Well, that could bring power.

His mother always recommended containment for mint, Alastor pulling too many and not allowing for them to enjoy the benefits of their hard work for very long. Containment, he considered, locking the bedroom door and taking his place beside you.

⫘⫘⫘

When there was a knock in the morning all three of you popped up from the pillows.

“Who the hell is that? It’s so early…” your eyes struggled to focus on the clock.

“Fffuck,” Alastor held his face in his hands. “I forgot I-,”

“Hello?” Charlie said into the door.

You and Lucifer slowly turned to stare at Alastor, a thin smile from ear to ear on his face.

“Alastor asked me to wake you up. So you wouldn’t miss the planning meeting.”

“Can’t a demon be a little chaotic now and then?” Alastor mused, your eyes boring holes into his skull.

The doorknob rattled, “Oh… He said it would be open. Well, okay… I guess I’ll let you sleep! Maybe next week!”

As Charlie made her way down the hall she just missed the sound of furniture moving and a thud as Lucifer tackled Alastor out of the bed and onto the floor, hands on his throat.

This was going to be a problem.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

1K notes · View notes

tojisun · 7 months

Text

call of duty masterlist - 01

02 mlist; series mlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

all works belong to tojisun. all forms of reposting are not permitted; please do not translate, copy, revise and/or refine my works.

short legend:

❦︎ - nsfw

last updated: march 22, 2024

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- SIMON (GHOST) RILEY

sweet like cinnamon

right to heaven ❦︎

like a sugar rush ❦

in his favourite sundress

how he loves

little marks - suggestive ❦

forehead kisses

cigarettes n kisses

like a sugar venom

teasin touches

just you and me - suggestive

cinnamon on my teeth

young and in love

liquid velvet on your tongue ❦

break me softly

glinting in the dark ❦

claim me softly and carnally ❦

lazy mornings

missin’ you

gon’ wife ‘er up ❦ - fan fave

she said what?

dirty talking and promises ❦

pull out- ❦

holiday special!!

coming back to you

cherry waves

the hottest

remember his hands - p link!! ❦

still your passenger

how he fucks ❦

anniversary of an uninteresting event

needy needy ❦

dark signs

distraction

strumming for you

marry me?

how it must be to date him (visuals)

giggles and love makin - suggestive ❦

his kinks ❦

cuteness and shyness

so drunk of you ❦

drag me under

his beautiful worship ❦

show him how desperate you can be ❦

open for a threesome ❦

tall people things

your ‘boyfriend’ [simon’s heart eyes]

caging you in ❦

jewelled eyes ❦

teaching you how to shotgun ❦

his jealousy burns

more than friends, less than lovers (but it’s getting there)

- JOHN PRICE

my precious wife ❦

pick up truck? pick up truck!

lap sittin n thigh humpin ❦

pretty puppy

leather and choking - p link!! ❦

tracing his hand

his loving touch

work song (hozier)

you love it like this ❦

- KONIG

my little sparkle - 01, 02 ❦

little prey ❦

sweaters and crushes

how he claims - p link!! ❦

he loves you like this - semi-dark

the silliest

- VALERIA GARZA

nothing to lose

her pretty little gf

trophy wife

doing her makeup

my wife

- JOHNNY (SOAP) MACTAVISH

a little louder ❦

wrapped in me

cherry pics plz ❦

- KEEGAN P RUSS

his princess ❦

all his ❦

- ALEJANDRO VARGAS

he's missed you

- KYLE (GAZ) GARRICK

the kind one ❦

- MULTI (COD)

the honest man - konig vs. simon (ghost) riley ❦︎

your little scarlet - simon (ghost) riley & john price ❦︎

took your life away - alejandro vargas vs. valeria garza

sharing is caring - tf 141 ❦

warming ‘em up - konig/(ghost) riley/(soap) mactavish ❦

sugar and cookies and crushes - price & soap

the cuckolding of simon - ghost/keegan

so wet for us - ghost/price ❦

his command - poly!141; price x reader x simon ❦

and when he leaves, it will feel like death - open character

- MULTI (OTHER)

slice of cherry pie - toji fushiguro/simon (ghost) riley

white lines pretty daddy - toji fushiguro/simon (ghost) riley ❦︎

tight bf shirts <3 - ghost/soap/gojo ❦

bundling him up in your warmth - ghost/toji/aizawa

sharing is caring - toji/ghost - suggestive ❦

he's back home - toji/ghost

how big? - ghost/toji ❦

how they taste - ghost/toji ❦

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 this is a completed masterlist (i reached 100 links LMAO) so pls refer to 02 mlist for the rest of oneshots and the series mlist for ongoing works ^v^ ୨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

#sun rambles #new masterlist #call of duty masterlist #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader

807 notes · View notes

gildedkrone · 8 months

Text

I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singin’ in the garden

Relationships: John Price x Male Reader Synopsis: John finds a million ways to say I love you A/N: Daddy issue readers beware Master List

The day utterly sucks. Wake up, get dressed and get breakfast. Sleep eluded you all night long with eyelids shutting the early morning, only to be wide awake again with the morning alarm and sunlight filtering through the curtains. Grumbling from the other sergeants you shared a room with are part and parcel of mornings and the sounds of shuffling when they got up and ready.

The communal toilets were packed to the brim. You nose upturns at the smell of piss and deodorant from the entrance. The smell is enough to send your stomach roiling in disgust and at barely past eight in the morning; it is too fucking early for this shit. Throwing in the literal towel, you decide to come back later to try your luck at a less congested toilet. The 141 enjoyed their private toilets and rec rooms, and while you worked with Price and his men, you are—technically speaking—not a part of the 141.

Sergeant by rank, combat medic by trade. Assigned under base command and on loan to Price, you did the work of the devil and enjoyed the luxuries of nothing. Your commanding officer, a prick of a Major, fought tooth and nail to keep you under his command when Price requested for your transfer.

Begrudging was Price when he lost the fight.

Sleeping in a noisy and constantly busy bunk was hell and you rub the last wisps of sleep from your dull, pallid eyes. The roar of the cafeteria, normally a dull drone, is a sharp knife serrating on overwhelmed senses. A grimace pulls on your face when you see an unknown soldier take the last available seat at the table with the men you worked with prior. The tray clatters onto another table with a migraine forming in your head.

---

“That’s all, come back in three days if the wound doesn’t start healing.” The injured soldier on the bench grits his teeth just as you tighten the bandage around his arm.

He stares at you expectantly. You probe him to just ask his question. He says something about a medical record. Right. A medical slip excusing him from anything physically laborious. Usual protocol for injured soldiers. Ten minutes later with the printout secured, you dismiss the injured soldier and take a sip of water.

The headache is pulsating, evil festering from the deepest recesses of the mind in a barb to the front. Your hands grip the table for support and rummage through drawers for anything to quell the pain. Someone coughs and you look up to find Price at the door. He is a ray of hope spilling into the space as his smile is fond and endearing. Behind him, Ghost and Soap are there too, peeking into the room from the door.

“Hope you aren’t too busy, sweetheart,” Price drawls in that thick, charming accent of his. You tell him it’s never too much for him and he enters the room.

He smells wonderful and you pick up hints of lilac and jasmine. He smells wonderful and suspiciously similar to the bodywash you gifted him over a month ago. You tease him about finally upgrading his hygiene and earn yourself a few snickers from his men. Price shoots them his signature unimpressed look that morphs into a grin.

“It’s wonderful, sweets. Really appreciate the gift, love.”

Oh.

His smile is resplendent, much like his disposition this morning. It fades slightly when he gestures for Ghost to move forward. You slip into medic mode when he lifts up his shirt to expose the red gash running up his chest.

It’s angry and painful and by the looks of it, quite recent too. A fresh pair of gloves are on and Ghost sits obediently on the gurney. You gently prod at the surrounding flesh while assessing the pain he is in. Ghost gives you single word answers and you grab clean gauzes and bandages. Price is an anxious man, hovering beside you while you gently cleaned the wound. Soap holds the lieutenant’s hand and aside from the occasional jerks and hisses, Ghost remains a good patient and you gently bandage his wound.

“Don’t overdo on the training and make sure to keep the area clean and free of pressure for the next three days, minimum.” Your words emphasise minimum, knowing Ghost’s tendency to disregard his own injuries and medical advice. More than what is good for him.

“He’s going to behave. Ah’m gonnae make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb, promise.” Soap perks up and Ghost shoots him a look of withering ire, prompting a laugh from the sergeant and a huff from the captain.

With nothing else, you discharge Ghost and Soap follows the LT out of the room. Price shows no intention to move as he takes a seat on the couch in the room. You tie the used gloves and throw them into the bin and wash your hands.

“How’s my lad doing today?”

You roll your eyes and tell him that it has been a difficult morning. Between the pounding headache and grievances you had with the way things are run by the surly Major. Price smiles empathetically and he pats his thighs. It’s another hour to lunch and the medical wing is quiet at the time being. No harm in sitting with Price and on his warm lap. He chuffs when you scooch to lean your flank on his abdomen. Large hands encircle your chest and they pull you in for a warm hug; the owner of which is extremely happy to give you kisses on the nose then the lips.

His beard is rough and tingly and you let him know. His amused chuckles are tinged with adoration across the tranquil blanket enveloping the room. No complaints when you’re spilling into my mouth, his scandalous retort earns him a chaste kiss on his cheek and a pout on your lips. The mirth in his eyes are a molten gold and you see yourself in the waterfall of Price’s joy in being this close to his lover. His hand trails your flank and fingertips traces up your face to your temple.

Before you can ask him, rough fingers capable of unadulterated violence on the battlefield display a grace dancing across temples in a soothing manner. You moan on instinct at the slowly receding headache under the gently pull and push of Price’s ministrations.

“John, ah, where did you—”

“Learn to do this? You aren’t the only one with medical experience here, sweetheart.” His voice is helping to ward off the discomfort and he brings your face close for another deep kiss.

You are putty under his ministrations and he takes the opportunity to rest one hand on your hip while the other soothes and calms.

“Our poor medic, worked to the bone by his cruel commanding officer.” You laugh as Price admonishes you to listen. “Won’t happen if you are under my command.”

Your chuckles are interrupted by the occasional gasps when Price’s fingers untangle the knots in your mental faculties.

“Well, Captain, what about me is so important to fight with the Major?” Price grumbles something about an unappreciative asshole and you giggle.

“Hardworking. The most faithful combat medic in the company and,” the glint in his eyes is teasing, “the most handsome.”

Smooth talker, but he doesn’t take any heat.

“Tough and disciplined, I’ve never seen anyone so steadfast in their duty to save lives and protect their teammates.” His whispers are gruff and in puffs of warm air against your ear.

“Not afraid to speak up against idiots, like the bumbling fool assigned as his commanding officer.” Price reminds you of the time you yelled at the Major for even suggesting abandoning the 141 on a mission gone wrong. You tell him it is nothing and his sweet lips are firm and plush against yours.

“An asset, through and through.”

“All mine.”

“Stop embellishing, John. I’m not that impressive. Just your usual, everyday medic.” You jokingly sigh and look into contented eyes shining with the pride of the Captain. The same pride that made Price, well, Price. He heart is telling him to rectify it—the way your perceived yourself.

“I only tell the truth and I will keep speaking it. You can’t stop me, love.” Kisses attack you and your squeak of surprise is drowned out in a tilt of the head. “So beautiful and so fucking hot on the field.”

“I’m sure there are much more capable medics than me serving the country, old man.” A finger is on your lips to shush your words.

“None of that now, love. We are talking about you, not some wanker. If it takes this old man every minute of his life reassuring you, then I will.” Then he starts and it’s an avalanche, clearing the negative thoughts and doubt from the roof of your heart.

“I’m so honoured to know someone like you, love.”

“You are the best thing that I have ever chanced upon.”

“I am so proud to be your Captain and more so, your partner.”

He grasps your head gently and cradles your head against his chest.

“This heart beats for you, love. Can you hear how it yearns for you?” It echoes with the rush of rivers, the gentle crashing of waves on shores of his heart you trod with steps of affection and care.

You nod and Price gives you one of his realest smiles. The kind he reserved for only a selected few, including you. You feel something swell in your at the dopey look on his face.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Proud of your accomplishments, the effort you put into your work and this relationship.”

“I’m so damn proud to be together with someone like you, darling. Never change, love.”

“You make this old fart so very happy and there’s nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing is too much or too far.”

“Love you so much. So, so much. My good boy.”

My love.

Tears are obscuring the vision of him in a glow that gives him an ethereal look. Your angel, descended from the heavens. He wipes away the tears and rests his forehead on yours. It brings him close, so close and he strokes your cheeks gently. You run a finger through his beard and cup his cheek in a sweet embrace. Time is lost upon the two of you and nothing else matters.

Nothing but the beating of two hearts in sync in a rhythm you labelled as John.

“The boys trust you. And I do, too. There isn’t anyone else out in the world I trust as much as you and …”

“I want you to know that I’ll always be thinking of you.”

“John, you can’t—”

“Always in here.” His hand envelopes yours and brings it to his chest.

“You have me, until the end of time and for as long as you want.”

“Eternity isn’t long enough then.”

The kiss is akin to light pouring from urns of gold and showering the two men in a lustre the shine of the sun and the intensity of fire. He whispers something along the lines of never enough. The nasty headache fades into a dull ache then into nothing. Being with Price is worth the awful mornings with idiot sergeants and the annoying Major assigned to be your boss. Anything, everything is worth being able to spend time with this man called yours.

“I love you, dearest.”

“I love you too. My bear.”

His eyes twinkle at the term of endearment. A bear? He clarifies. Exactly, and he has a beard to match. He gives your hand a squeeze and you push up for another kiss.

Not just a bear.

Your bear.

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #call of duty

435 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 4 months

Text

We'll Meet Again

[One-shot]

Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader

Nine hours is all it takes for Eugene Roe to realize that his hesitance to share his feelings for you was completely misguided.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Pining, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: The title of this fic is based off the song We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn (I recommend the version where she is accompanied by Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of His Majesty's Forces). This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7578

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

“Roe it’s not mine, I’m alright. Roe.” Eugene was vaguely aware of your voice as he pulled at your blood drenched field jacket, fingers fumbling slightly as he fought with the buttons before he was able to delve beneath, beginning to tug at your sweater and wool shirt, desperate to find where you were hit. “I’m fine, please…Eugene!” You grabbed his wrists forcefully, your blood-slicked fingers sliding against his skin, but it was enough to finally pull his attention to your face. “It’s not my blood, I’m alright.” You repeated gently as his eyes met yours and he exhaled at last.

He frowned anew as he lifted a hand to wipe at the splatter of arterial spray across your cheek, succeeding only in smudging the scarlet across your beautiful skin, marring it further. You sighed and gestured with your head to the SS officer laying on the table behind him, his now-unseeing eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling, the wound at his neck obviously the source of all the blood you wore.

You tugged at his left wrist, which you still held within your grasp, and he looked back to you quickly, following as you led him over to a bank of sinks at the back of the room. As you released him, he watched you grimace slightly at the sensation of the blood growing slightly tacky between your skin and his. You took both his hands in yours and gently began to wash them.

Eugene’s heart throbbed tenderly as he watched the warm water sluice pink before your fingers thoroughly coated his skin with soap then rinsed it clean. Looking up to you with a soft smile, he was reminded of the state of your face and quickly swiped it clean with his wet thumb, lips stretching hopelessly wider at your warm grin.

“Nine hou’s.” He sighed, jaw clenching as his chest constricted painfully, the terror and anguish he’d been desperately trying to hold at bay all day flooding back to him.

“What?” You asked, confusion painting your face and he swallowed roughly, having to fight to focus while standing in your presence after so many months apart.

“Ya were missin’ – a hostage – fo’ nine hou’s.” He pressed his lips together, struggling to hold back the depth and breadth of his feelings on the matter.

He watched you swallow and put on that brave smile you wore for the sake of soothing your patients. “It was just like any other nine hours, except there were German patients and machine guns.”

“Please don’ give me tha’ smile.” He muttered sadly. “Are ya really alrigh’?” He pressed, eyeing you meaningfully.

Your brow twitched, mouth opening, looking about answer his question when the door to the room opened and you stepped back to grab a towel, handing it to him. “I’m just fine, Roe, thank you for asking. The rest of the SS patients are through that door there.” You gestured, nodding to the latest arrival, Webster, who quickly went through to secure the next room with Liebgott hot on his heels.

Roe watched as you assumed your professional mantle, leading him into the room where seven SS men, prisoners now, were being looked after by the rest of the nurses that had been in your hospital convoy when the 6th SS Mountain Division had decided to take you all hostage to provide them with medical care in this abandoned nursing home near Juchen. The women immediately flocked to you for direction and Eugene realized that you now wore a silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia on your collar, promoted since he’d first met you that night in February of last year in Swindon.

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

“These heels are killing me…” You muttered as you finally escaped the dancefloor to sit at the table next to Eugene’s, wedging yourself into the corner defensively.

He’d been watching you all night. Watching as trooper after trooper of the 506th from Able right through Item asked you to dance, barely giving you a moment to sit despite how tired you looked, behind that beautiful smile of yours, and how time and again you accepted, too polite to refuse.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your combat boots.” One of your tablemates teased.

A mischievous grin crossed your features and Eugene ducked his head as he found his lips twitching automatically in response to it. “Well, I would have except every time I upend the things, I still find sand from North Africa.”

A chorus of laughter flitted around the table and Eugene was convinced that yours was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, finding himself thoroughly annoyed when it was extinguished by a couple of men sidling over to pull a few of your fellow nurses onto the dancefloor again.

“What was it like…over there…” A timid voice piped up as the band began to play that Vera Lynn song the Brits were crazy about and Eugene risked a glance at your face as you addressed a young woman, she could not be much older than twenty, only the two of you remaining at the table.

“Well, Barbara,” You paused thoughtfully, eyes focusing on some distant memory, the hints of fatigue he’d seen lurking beneath your smile coming to the fore for a brief moment before you turned to your colleague with a reassuring warmth. “It’s exactly like they say it’ll be.” You nodded firmly.

The girl’s shoulders relaxed as she smiled in relief, nodding in renewed confidence as you each took a sip of your drink. Eugene swallowed, wishing he could hear your real thoughts on North Africa, not just the canned propaganda reels put together to show before the pictures, but the firsthand account of a medical professional. There was only so much training could prepare them for, and they all knew as soon as the weather was right, they were headed for France.

Despite the longing he felt to do so, Eugene did not ask you to dance that night. He drank a few beers and smoked more than a few cigarettes as you forced yourself onto the dancefloor three additional times before you and the youngest of your companions decided to call it a night. Eugene felt that was a sensible idea – the number of buses back to Aldbourne was growing increasingly limited by the hour.

As dictated by the blackout, clumps of people were walking on either side of the road with their flashlights pointed downward, barely lighting their way as vehicles with their headlights reduced to mere slits wended their way through the crowd of inebriated celebrants. Eugene could not help but feel like it was a recipe for disaster, but your laughter, like the peal of bells, pulled his attention from across the darkened street.

“It’s snowing!” You declared with a wonder-filled gasp, and he blinked up at the sky to feel the kiss of melting snowflakes on his cheeks, his breath curling and hanging in the notably colder air.

The peace of the moment was shattered as an unruly group of men from Fox company bolted across the road, trying to reach the same bus stop he was heading for, a drunken straggler not seeing the delivery van and unfortunately the driver not seeing him either – until it was too late. There was a squealing of tires, a ‘crash’ as the load within the van was displaced, and a sickening ‘crunch’ followed by a wail of pain. Eugene lunged into the street, surprised to find you already kneeling beside the victim as you looked him over.

“What’s your name, trooper?” You were smiling warmly, your colleague hovering behind you nervously as the driver had begun pacing anxiously.

“Robert Boye, Ma’am.” He replied through clenched teeth.

Unlike the calm look on your face, your hands were a flurry of movement, honing in on the compound fracture on the man’s leg, lifting your fingers into the slim beams of light to reveal blood from where the bone had broken through his skin. Eugene was already undoing his belt when you turned to him, and you graced him with a brilliant smile that had his adrenaline-fueled heart skipping a few beats.

“I’m a medic, Ma’am. Tourniquet?”

“On his thigh, please, trooper.” You nodded, shrugging out of your overcoat to drape over Boye. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, alright Robert. Just hold on.” Standing quickly, you walked over to the delivery driver though Eugene wasn’t able to hear your conversation as he finished checking over the man in the road, confirming there were no other apparent injuries.

“You’e from Fox company, righ’?”

“Yeah, that’s right…Easy?” He replied, shaking from the cold or shock – or both, most likely.

Eugene nodded in reply, lifting his eyes as the delivery driver raised his voice at you, the sound of crates and empty milk jugs hitting the sidewalk filling the night air.

“Ya crazy Yankee cunt, what in god’s name d’ya think yer doin’?!”

By then quite a crowd had gathered in the road, and the slur hurled your way had more than just Eugene’s hackles up. Undeterred, you stepped forward, looking the rude and careless man directly in the eye. “You’ve struck an innocent pedestrian and now you’re going to make it right, sir. Your cargo will be right where you left it.”

He returned the look coldly but seemed increasingly aware of the looming threat in the darkness about you, eventually huffing in agreement. You provided directions to a hospital Eugene recognized as the nearest American hospital, surely that was where you were stationed, before sending several men to help him load Boye into the back.

“Medic, please come with me?” You looked to him as you climbed into the van and Eugene nodded quickly, jumping into the back with you as you looked to the wide-eyed young woman standing at the curb, watching you in awe.

“Barbara, go back inside and find Fran. Get her to walk you home.”

“Y..yes Ma’am!” She nodded quickly before hurrying back toward the dance hall as the back doors of the van were closed, leaving the three of you in darkness as the van lurched into motion.

“Medic…” You huffed and introduced yourself properly before asking him his name.

“Eugene Roe, Ma’am.” He replied quickly, turning on his flashlight. He was rewarded once again with one of your heart-stopping smiles.

“Wonderful, you have a flashlight. Thank you. How’re you holding up Robert?” You turned your attention back to the patient, checking his pulse at his wrist, pressing a hand to his forehead – most likely to assess for temperature and perspiration.

“Hurts an awful lot, Ma’am.” He grunted as the van hit a rut and you nodded sympathetically, kneeling on the floor beside him in your dress uniform, balancing easily as the van wove its way through the crowd outside the dancehall with more care this time.

“Thank you very much for being so brave for me. Where are you from?”

“Yakima, Washington.”

“Tell me, Robert. If I were to visit Yakima, Washington what is the food I absolutely must try?” You asked, bracing yourself against the roof as the driver took a wide turn.

“My momma’s cherry pie, without a doubt. My father grows bing cherries. Best in the state. And then my momma makes the best pie you will ever eat in your life.” Robert replied with relaxed smile, conversation taking his mind off the pain in his leg.

“Cherry pie – that sounds positively heavenly. So, you grew up on a cherry farm?” Your practiced smile and encouragement prompted the injured man to ramble on about his childhood playing amongst the cherry blossoms, gorging himself on ripe fruit, and skiing in the mountains whilst you the pair of you subtly kept an eye on his wound and vitals. Ever vigilant for a sudden change in demeanour that might signify a head injury or internal bleeding – your patient management was effortless, and Eugene could only feel his affection for you growing.

He was admittedly a little disappointed when the van came to a stop, the flustered driver opening the doors as a duty nurse came outside and gasped to find the three of you in the back of the unassuming vehicle.

“I’ll be right back with a stretcher!” She called out before dashing inside, returning promptly with two orderlies to help load the injured Boye so he might be carted inside.

The pair of you rushed behind into the temporary hospital in a building that looked like it had begun its life as a warehouse of some kind. The shift Doctor appeared from down the hall, and you quickly provided all pertinent information related to treatment.

“Well, you two had best inform the MPs as well, before that driver disappears on us.”

“Yes, sir.” You replied quickly, shooting Eugene an apologetic look before leading him to the MP office at the front of the hospital to make your report, pulling your garrison cap from your head, reminding him to do the same.

You’d barely started your tale when the MP told you both to ‘take a seat’ and dashed out of the office to try and stop the driver and you looked to him with even more pronounced regret. “I’m so sorry, Roe, I’m sure you were just trying to get back to your billet.”

Your use of his last name undoubtedly came from place of professional courtesy, however a part of him ached with the longing to hear how your mouth might form his first name.

“Not at all, Ma’am.” He gestured for you to take one of the empty chairs, only sitting once you had sunk into it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you very much for your help. I was feeling quite adrift with no supplies but then the universe sent me you.” You smiled warmly and he swallowed thickly.

“Ya did all tha work, Ma’am, I was jus’ there.”

Shaking your head stubbornly, he frowned a little as he watched a small shiver roll through you, belatedly realizing your coat had long since vanished with Boye. He started to pull at the jacket of his dress uniform, and you lay a hand on his arm.

“I’m alright, just tired. Based on your accent, I’d say you need your jacket more than me.” You smiled teasingly and he huffed a laugh, looking down at his shoes briefly as he straightened his uniform before lifting his eyes to meet yours quickly.

“It was impressive, Ma’am, how ya stood up ta tha’ man.”

You looked to him earnestly then, not sugar-coating your expression, or your answer, as you had for Barbara. “If we don’t stand up for our patients, Roe, no one will.” You spoke with breathtaking sincerity and all he could muster in response was a firm nod.

The door banged open as the MP hauled the very man in question into the office, his expression going livid as he once again came face to face with you.

“Goddamn Yankee cunt.” He spat at you, making Eugene surge to his feet to stand in front of you protectively, the scent of liquor potent on the man’s breath as he brushed by his rigid frame.

“I’ll be right back to take your statements, one moment.” The MP muttered, putting the uncooperative driver in a back room.

“Could this night get any longer…” You whispered and pinched the bridge of your nose, making Eugene turn back to you.

“How long ya been in England?” He asked, trying your own trick of distraction on you as he resumed his seat.

“Hmm? Oh, landed two weeks ago, I guess. Thought a break from the heat would be nice, hasn’t been quite as quaint as I was led to believe.” You laughed softly and shook your head. “You?”

“Las’ Septembah.”

“Well, I bet you know all the best spots by now then, hmm?” You smirked and he shook his head with rueful smile but did not have the chance to elaborate on his lack of free time as the MP returned to finally take your full statements.

It was nearly two in the morning once all the paperwork was done, the driver of the van turned over to the local police while the MP summoned a subordinate to return the pair of you to your billets.

“See you in a few hours.” The nurse who’d first greeted the pair of you poked her head out of the doorway to the treatment room.

You laughed without much energy. “For sure, Betty. Thanks for your help.”

“You work weekends?” Roe asked quietly, offering a hand to help you into the back of the jeep and you nodded as he settled next to you.

“My days off are Monday, Tuesday.” He must have frowned visibly as you shrugged with a weary smile. “It’s alright, I was the last to arrive here and someone needs to do it.”

As you hugged your arms around yourself tightly in the open back of the vehicle, overcoat still nowhere to be seen, he shifted to try and block the wind with his body. As you shuffled closer, huddling against him slightly, he swallowed thickly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“You’re going to do great out there, Eugene Roe.” You smiled warmly, the vehicle pulling up outside a nearby shop with an apartment on the second floor.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He murmured quietly, taking a shaky breath as you climbed out of the jeep, pausing to wave at him from the curb.

He ought to ask to see you again, to write to you, something, but a part of him was reluctant to start anything he might not be able to see through with his future so very uncertain. He lifted his hand in return as the MP pulled out to drive him back to Aldbourne, regret immediately settling into his gut, leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

Eugene was surprised when his belt arrived at his billet the following Thursday along with a note from you, once again thanking him for his assistance with Robert Boye’s care. You also assured him the patient was doing well and would be ‘fighting fit’ within a few months. He was impressed to see not a trace of blood on the woven fabric, indicating that you had obviously taken the time to clean it for him. Unable to stop the fond smile from unfurling on his features, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his ODs as he heard Spina’s footsteps on the stairs.

“You coming to London this weekend, Gene?” He asked, sitting heavily on his bed in the corner and Eugene found himself shaking his head in return.

“Too much to do.” He replied vaguely, recalling one of the posters from the hospital hallway calling for blood donations.

“You’re missing out.” Spina teased in a sing-song voice, laying back on his bed once he’d taken off his boots.

The smile you greeted him with Saturday morning when he arrived to donate blood thoroughly convinced him otherwise.

“That’s very generous of you Roe, follow me, I’ll get you set up.” You turned to lead him past a few of the occupied beds and he nodded warmly to Boye as he looked up from a letter he was reading. “If you could take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve please, I’ll be right back with the supplies.” You said as you gestured to a cot, unfolding a privacy screen before turning to fetch the necessities.

Eugene complied, swallowing thickly as he watched the way your hospital dress swished around your hips as you walked away, quite frankly preferring this outfit to your dress uniform. Returning with a collection bottle, needle, and some tubing, you lifted his arm to search for a vein. He swallowed thickly at the goosebumps that rippled across his skin, able to smell the scent of soap lingering on you, the proximity nearly killing him.

“I never did ask, Roe, where are you from?” You glanced at him with your professional smile, fingers settling over their target in the inside of his elbow.

“Loosiana, Ma’am.” He murmured softly, watching you insert the needle so smoothly he barely felt more than a pinch before his blood began to fill the bottle in your hands.

“Louisiana.” You repeated warmly, eyes flicking between the bottle and his face, listening while monitoring the volume you were collecting. “Famous for Mardi Gras, yes?”

He nodded quickly. “Tha’s righ’, yes.”

“A lot warmer than England, hmm?” You chuckled and shook your head.

“Did ya get you’ jacket back?” He tilted his head. “Thank ya fo’ returnin’ ma belt.”

“I did, yes. And again, it was the least I could do.” Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled this time, his heart swelling as he was becoming more skilled at discerning your real versus polite expressions. You pressed a piece of gauze over the needle before pulling it from his arm, the bottle now filled with the crimson fluid from his veins. “Could you apply pressure to that for me please?”

He nodded, fingertips brushing against yours as he took over, a jolt of electricity sizzling through him. Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the task at hand, and he could not help but wonder if you had felt it too. As you lay your fingers over his to lift the gauze and take a peek at the puncture in his skin, Eugene bit the inside of his cheek trying to maintain his composure. Replacing it with an adhesive bandage, you handed him a cookie to eat as you jotted down his information on the label on the bottle.

“Thank you aga–” Your gratitude was cut short by a loud crash over by the nurses’ station that had Eugene quickly on his feet though he noticed you barely reacted. “Sorry about that.” You sighed and urged him to sit back down with the gentle pressure of your palm on his shoulder. “I keep trying to fix that darn shelf, but the screws won’t stay in the wall.”

“Sorry!” Called a timid voice Eugene recognized as Barbara from last Friday’s dance and he looked up to you.

“I’d be happy ta take a look at it fo’ ya.”

You eyed him a moment, clearly weighing your desire to impose on him further. “Eat your cookie and then we’ll talk.” You ultimately said and he nearly inhaled the thing.

“I like fixin’ things.” He murmured once he’d swallowed, rolling down his sleeve and following you over to inspect the carnage Barbara had unleashed.

You helped her stack the last of the clipboards and manuals that were scattered across the floor onto the edge of the desk as Eugene looked over the shelf before eyeing the screws and finally the holes in the wall.

“You’ screws are stripped. Needs some new ones an’ maybe a few anchors.” He added as he eyed the weight of what you intended to store up there.

You worried your lip between your teeth for a moment before grabbing a key from the desk. “Maintenance room is this way, shall we see if they have what we need?”

He followed you down the hall and around the corner to a room that was no more than a glorified cupboard. You pulled the cord on the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and he began rooting around, collecting tools in an empty toolbox before nodding to you to signal that he’d secured everything necessary.

“Don’t carry that with the arm I just took blood from please.” You reminded gently and he nodded again, walking back with you. “How can I help?” You tilted your head, nurse’s cap barely hanging on by the pins in your hair, presenting quite possibly the most adorable sight Eugene had ever seen.

“Could you an’ Miss Barbara hold tha shelf up fo’ me, please? Show me where ya’d like it?” He set the toolbox on the ground, grabbing the pencil he’d prepared as the pair of you positioned the shelf on the wall. He made a series of marks beneath it where he would drill new holes and marked the end placements. “Thank ya both, kindly.” He nodded and you set it down with a smile.

The sound of the door opening signalled the arrival of the doctor to do his midday rounds and you glanced at him, looking ready to apologize but he shook his head. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, you’ workin’. I’ll get this fixed an’ get outta you’ hair.”

“Thank you, Roe.” You nodded warmly before grabbing the clipboards from the desk and hurrying over with Barbara in tow.

Eugene did a thorough job of re-installing that shelf for you – putting new holes in the studs with the hand drill before tapping in a set of anchors to ensure it would never let you down again. It may have taken him a little longer than necessary due to the numerous glances he stole at you over his shoulder, but when his eyes met yours around the fifth glance, he turned back to his work quickly, cheeks burning, and did not risk another.

Once he was satisfied in the shelf’s structural stability, he began to place the manuals back onto it, hazarding a guess that you would want them in alphabetical order, glancing at you as you stashed the clipboards – now neatly back in their rack – beside them, rounds clearly complete.

“This looks amazing, Roe, I am once again in your debt.”

“It should hold alrigh’, even if ya get mo’e manuals.” He nodded humbly. “It was ma pleasu’e.”

“Well, I assure you we are extremely grateful.” You nodded firmly and he was unable to stop the slight smile that snuck onto his lips, watching as your own grew brightly in return. “Now I’m sure there’s somewhere you’d much rather spend your days off than our boring little hospital.”

He swallowed tightly, quite convinced that was utterly untrue but was unable to verbally disagree. “I’ll leave ya to it then, Ma’am.” He nodded, putting the tools away before shrugging into his uniform jacket once more and heading out into the drizzly afternoon.

It became a habit, spending his Saturdays at your hospital, fixing up little things that were broken but not priorities for the regular handyman. Donating blood every few weeks when you’d let him. It was, of course, all a thinly veiled excuse to see you – not that he would ever reveal that to you. As winter melted into spring, training and preparation for what was to come only intensified, and the potential outcomes remained at the forefront of his mind. If he were to speak honestly, Eugene, like many men, did not expect to survive the assault on France. Hitler had been there too long, had had too much time to get dug in snug as a tick. What they were planning to attempt was nearly impossible – just like his chances of survival.

You deserved better than that. Better than to open your heart to a man like him, if you even cared to, only to have him wiped from the earth by some piece of artillery or some such horrific ending. Eugene had a sense you’d seen enough horror first-hand in North Africa and he wanted no part in inflicting more upon you. So, he remained cordial, friendly, holding his breath and biting his tongue when your hands would brush, when you’d gently fix his tie after he’d gotten it crooked under the sink and when you’d swipe the sawdust from his shoulders before he put his uniform jacket back on.

The domesticity of your care and concern for him made his heart ache something fierce but he bore it stoically, silently, repeatedly like some kind of martyr. A smarter man might have stayed away but Eugene needed those few hours with you every week as badly as he needed the comforting nicotine of his Lucky Strikes. The news that they were shipping out to Upottery in late May was thus a rude reminder that his time, his life, was no longer his own.

The entire time he was packing, Eugene debated with himself before ultimately deciding to jot off a quick note of apology explaining his absence for that coming weekend and wishing you well until ‘next time.’ What a terrible expression it was. Forcing himself to take it to the post office, he sent it to the hospital where you worked before boarding the transit truck to move out. The days passed in almost a blur, the frenetic pace of preparation and practice jumps all leading up to the inevitable.

Eugene was dressed in full gear, having just secured his leg bag when he heard Vest call out his name, waving a letter addressed to him. Settling back down on the tarmac to open it, his brows furrowed in confusion at the unfamiliar handwriting.

Eugene was so taken aback he nearly missed Meehan’s announcement that the jump was off due to bad weather that night, spending several hours re-reading your letter, thinking about the things he wished to write to you in reply. Vowing to put them on paper if he ever saw the end of this thing. By the time he made it back to Aldbourne in July, he made a visit to the hospital where you had been stationed only to be informed by Barbara that you’d left for France with the 47th Field Hospital five days earlier.

He swallowed his bitter chuckle while Barbara kindly scrawled your post address now that you were deployed. “If you’d like to write to her.” She murmured timidly and he took it with a soft thanks before heading back to his billet.

It made perfect sense that you had been sent to France; nurses with field experience were hard to come by and you were obviously too talented to loiter in England. Thus, he had taken the time to reply to you, a proper letter this time, though still withholding his true feelings now that his eyes were well and truly opened to the rapidity with which a man’s fortunes could change.

Mail was slow, your replies taking a frustrating amount of time to reach him, and Eugene was certain you felt the same, especially as it became increasingly apparent that your paths through Europe were remarkably similar and yet did not cross again. Not until Easter Sunday of 1945.

2nd Battalion had left Belgium that morning, crossing the border into Germany in the grey light of dawn. It had been deeply unsettling to pass so close by their former positions in Bastogne, Foy, and Rachamps the day before. Memories, thick as winter fog, had put a damper on the mood of excitement amongst the men at being on the move again, a hush that persisted into the morning. It was a quiet that allowed them all to hear the frantic honking of a jeep horn, many of them, including Eugene, sitting higher in their transports to see a vehicle painted with the Geneva cross pull up beside that occupied by Winters, Nixon, Speirs and Welsh, bringing the entire convoy to a halt.

Craning his neck, Eugene strained to hear the conversation, but his attempts were futile as they were simply too far away. His brow furrowed as the rest of the batallion’s Lieutenants were called up by Speirs, a map was then unfurled on the hood of the jeep, intense conversation occurring amongst the huddled officers. Like some kind of silent movie without the title cards.

“What the hell do you think that’s all about?” Heffron griped beside him, and Eugene shook his head, completely at a loss.

It wasn’t until Lipton returned to the back of their transport, hauled up with the assistance of Luz’s friendly hand, that Eugene understood the gravity of the situation.

“Hospital convoy has gone missing, boys. Left Aachen over four hours ago and should have arrived in Juchen by now. There’s no trace of them.” He began putting on his gear, a silent signal for everyone to do the same.

“Nobody just vanishes in Germany, Lieutenant.” Heffron muttered grimly, securing his webbing.

“Major Winters’ thoughts exactly. We have eleven nurses and four ambulances unaccounted for somewhere between here and Juchen. So, we’re going to find ‘em.”

“What hospital, sir?” Eugene piped up as he secured his satchel around his body, the men glancing at him, reminding him that he rarely spoke.

“Uh, the 47th Field Hospital I think, Doc.” Lipton replied before getting the men off the truck to begin combing the roadside for clues.

The 47th Field Hospital. Your 47th. He stood rooted to the spot, blind to all that moved in front of him, sound muffled as he felt like the only thing he could be sure of – your safety – came crashing down around him.

“Hey Doc, you coming or what?” Heffron called up to him and Eugene blinked rapidly before hopping out of the back of the transport to follow quickly.

Eleven nurses missing. Field Hospitals had roughly eighteen nurses, if fully staffed, meaning there was more than a fifty-fifty chance you were among the missing. He shoved his balled fists into his pockets and began searching. Searching for what, he had no idea. The infuriating feeling of helplessness rose within him like the tide, relentless and uncontrollable.

It took a further three hours of driving, stopping, searching, until finally a farmer reported having heard machine gun fire earlier that morning near Titz. A yawning pit of dread opened deep within his stomach as all manner of possible scenarios played out in his mind. The three companies split up then, with Easy heading into the town of Titz while Dog continued on the road to Juchen and Fox turned towards Gevelsdorf.

He was not able to lay eyes upon you for another two hours, and to find you soaked in blood had sent him immediately into a frenzied state of triage, desperate to keep you alive after finding you at last. Calmed only by the proof that you were unhurt, at the reasonable explanation for the state of your clothes lying dead behind him, Eugene had never been more annoyed with Webster and Liebgott than when they had interrupted his chance to speak with you.

The rest of 2nd Battalion arrived, taking over the building for the night and securing the prisoners until MPs could arrive the next day to take them to a nearby prison camp. Winters had ensured a wing was reserved exclusively for the nurses, though you had assured him a guard would not be necessary. Eugene had offered himself and the other Battalion medics to help with the schedule you were drawing up to watch over the patients, but you politely refused, insisting he had done enough. Eugene certainly did not feel that way.

Finding himself unable to sleep that night, he slipped out of the room he shared with Spina, Heffron, and Ramirez, making his way down to the makeshift treatment space you had set up to see if he could be of any use. He stopped at top of the stairs as he nearly ran into you, making your way up to the nurses’ wing with your wet field jacket in your hands.

“Roe!” You breathed, startled, before smiling at him tiredly. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Ya neithah?”

“Wanted to try and get this somewhat clean for tomorrow.” You murmured, gesturing to your jacket before glancing at him. “But no, not really.” You admitted softly.

He motioned with his head for you to follow him to sit on the ledge beneath a large bay window opposite the staircase. You draped your damp jacket over the back of a wooden chair that had seen better days, turning to look out over the landscape as raindrops began to patter against the glass. He slid a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, offering it you and only once you had declined with a shake of your head and kind smile, lit it for himself.

“Nine hours isn’t a long time considering the years I’ve spent away from home.” Your hushed voice, a continuation of your conversation from hours previous, broke through the sound of the rain hitting the windowpane.

Eugene exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his lips. “It only takes seconds ta die…”

You eyed him sharply in the dim light, shaking your head. “You of all people know how little control we have over that.”

Swallowing tightly, as you did have a point, he nodded. “Sorry Ma’am.”

You huffed a little. “Eugene, every time you call me Ma’am I feel like my mother.”

“But ya outrank me, even mo’e so now 1st Lieutenan’.” His nose crinkled in confusion.

You hummed noncommittally, an uneasy silence falling over the pair of you as Eugene finished his cigarette, stubbing it out against the windowsill behind him. Neither of you seemed certain of what to say or do next. Of what you were anymore – no longer just acquaintances, colleagues, or pen pals. Despite his best efforts, Eugene was terrifyingly convinced you were a great deal more.

“What’s something you wish you had done before you came over here?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he inhaled sharply before giving you his answer without hesitation.

“Shoulda asked ya ta dance tha’ nigh’.”

He heard your breath leave your lips with a shudder, watching you stand with the sinking feeling that he’d misjudged the entirety of your relationship. It was only when you turned back to him with your hand outstretched that he remembered how to breathe.

“Dance with me now, Eugene.”

His eyes widened, confusion surely evident on his face even as he set his worn and battered hand in yours. “But there’s no music.”

Your fingers closed around his, tugging him to his feet as you began to hum that Vera Lynn song, bringing a smile to his face as he set his other hand on your waist to begin dancing with you in earnest. Your fingers laced through his, a shiver running through him as you wrapped your arm around his shoulder before laying your head against his collarbone.

“Cold?” You whispered and he shook his head.

“It’s nice.” He replied as you started humming again, the repetitive nature of the song making him grin slightly. “Finally got ta dance in you’ comba’ boots.” He murmured, discreetly inhaling the scent of you.

You giggled softly against him, leaning back to look over his features in the low light. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance, Eugene?”

He swallowed roughly. “Ya looked tired, Ma’am. Didn’t want ta make ya suffah any mo’e.”

“Dancing with you is not a hardship.” You whispered, the pair of you still moving to the ghost of the song in the now silent hallway. “I would have said yes with one of those smiles you like.”

He laugh softly, squeezing your hand slightly. “I was worried, too. Worried I’d do somethin’ stupid like make ya care ‘bout me an’ then get myself killed. But then I thought I’d lost ya today…did lose ya fo’ nine hou’s…” His throat clenched with emotion, sealing off his ability to say anything further.

Your feet came to a stop as you eyed him intensely. “Eugene Roe, you have no control over that either.” You admonished gently. “I do care about you, whether you like it or not.”

The sound of his heart frantically pumping blood through his body filled his ears as he stared at you in wonder, awestruck by your fierce determination to bear affection for him despite the risks.

“M..may I…” He struggled to speak through the overwhelming adoration he felt for you, and you sighed fondly, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His grip tightened on your waist as his eyes fluttered shut, your soft mouth feeling like the finest silk brushing against his. He sighed dreamily as your fingers abandoned his shoulder to wend their way into his hair, drawing him tighter to you. He indulged in the impulse to slide his hand up your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, the feeling of your back arching in response headier than any liquor he’d ever tasted.

Your fingers gently unlaced from his, hand shifting to cup his jaw as you pulled back to press featherlight kisses across his brow and down his nose. “You didn’t lose me, Eugene.” You sighed against his skin, lips traveling across his left cheek. “I’m just fine.”

As you made your way along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss you fiercely, tongue darting past your startled lips to communicate all the things he could not seem to be able to say, holding your body so tightly against his as though he wished he could absorb you into his very being. You clung to him, matching the ferocity of his embrace with a reassuring tenderness of your own that had him melting against you, face burrowing against your neck.

“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He sighed with a bone deep weariness and felt your body shake against his as you laughed softly.

“Call me something better, Eugene.” You chided sweetly, kissing his temple. “Especially if you’re going to kiss me like that.”

He smirked before pressing his lips to the column of your throat, trailing kisses up towards your jaw, reveling in the way your breath hitched in your throat in response. “Alrigh’ cher.” He smiled warmly before kissing you gently.

“Cher.” You repeated softly once he released your lips.

“Cajun for darlin’.”

He watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, a grin stretching over your face as you looked to him through your lashes making the muscles of his abdomen clench.

“That will do quite nicely, Eugene.” You sighed before your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him in to kiss him deeply.

You were both short of breath by the time you pulled back, hand caressing his face as your features contracted apologetically. “I should go before someone finds us.”

Eugene nodded begrudgingly as you were once again speaking the truth. “Goodnigh’, cher.” He said softly, loosening his hold on you.

“We’ll met again, Eugene.” You smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth in the not-so-dark hallway as the light of pre-dawn began to seep through the tracks of rain cascading down the window, and his eyes widened as he realized that was the name of that damn song.

“You’d bettah not be covered in blood nex’ time, cher.” He admonished playfully, freshly addicted to the way your lips ticked up at the corners every time he said it.

“Likewise, Eugene.” You laughed and blew him a kiss before grabbing your surely still-damp field jacket, walking backwards as far as you could until you absolutely had to turn around.

He stood on the porch the next morning, hiding from the rain as he watched you load the nurses in your charge into newly arrived ambulances to complete your journey to the field hospital in Juchen. He barely looked up as he heard the scuff of jump boots on the worn brick beside him, Heffron leaning against the wall to light a cigarette, trying to soak in every last moment of your presence before you were inevitably parted once again. It was a great comfort to know you’d be just twenty-five kilometres behind him, perhaps a sign of kinder times ahead.

“So, you get your hands on some tits in Titz?” Heffron asked with a sly grin, making Eugene turn to him sharply.

“Heffron, watch you’ damn mouth.” He snapped at him brusquely, making the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Sheesh, Doc, she must be somethin’ special. Sorry.” He squawked and pointed at the road. “She’s looking this way.”

Eugene looked back quickly to see you, drenched by rain, waving at him with a bright smile he could still see despite your helmet, and he waved back, cheeks aching a little as his expression automatically mirrored yours.

“You’d bettah keep this to you’self, Heffron.” Eugene rounded on him with a serious look that he hoped was intimidating as soon as you pulled the backdoor of the vehicle shut behind you.

“Your secret is safe with me, lover boy.” Heffron winked, and Eugene did not believe him for a second.

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

Read the Sequel - Born To Be Yours

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos

#eugene roe x reader #eugene roe imagines #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe #doc roe #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

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Spend “A Night with the Ascendant:” the Dark Lord Astarion and his concubine spawn

Ascended Astarion x His Spawn (Lumina) | 🪦Dead Dove | 7k of harem/concubine smut

Summary: The Vampire Ascendant of the Crimson Palace takes an interest in his newest spawn and prize. She is a radiant young woman who defies his expectations of servitude among the throng of beautiful concubines, all the rest who await his attention in their gilded cage.

CW: Dub!Con, Harem dynamics, consorts/concubines, public sex, degradation, humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, Oral sex male recieving, somnophilia if you squint, shared love of books, a hint of a softer side to the exalted master, and an Ascended Vampire Lord who finds himself far too comfortable around his obedient spawn.

A/n: assumes no “in game romance” No Tav… no one.

Ao3 link | Astarion fic Masterlist

🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥⚜️🔥

“The little girl, from the little shop, with the name that means “light…”

Some silken voice woke her. The ghost of his laughter swirled in her ear through her sleep. Her dreams were harsh and restless. Her body was sore, as if knit back together after being torn asunder.

Head spinning, body wracked in the ebb of pain, but she stirred. Alive.

Lumina woke on a little bed, the scent of perfume cloyed in her throat. Her very parched, very thirsty throat. Her belly gnawed, unspeakably hungry. Her eyes flew open to the strong environs— a small freshly made bed beneath her, a chest in the corner, wash basin and a vast array of bottles beside it. Each was brightly colored and brimming with oils and soaps and fragrances.

Her nose could smell them through the glass. Her eyes could read the labels, even at this distance. Her head swam with all the input, all of her senses sharp and overloaded as she struggled from her bed.

Three of her walls were a smooth, white stone, but the fourth…. Bars, inlaid with gold and etched with filigree and filament.

A gilded cage.

Rising quickly, she took the pitcher in her washstand, trying to slake that thirst at last. But after even a single drop of water hit her tongue, she knew for certain it wasn’t water for which we thirsted.

Blood.

She had read enough books, sold enough copies of The Curse of the Vampyr to know full well what she was. She vaguely remembered being hooded and whisked away from her Keeper’s back room. His gruff voice happy to have her gone and his debts paid all at once.

He would burn in the hells for this and everything he had done. His little shop of spells and scrolls and books wouldn’t keep him from the recompense coming to him. She had been one of a long list of indentures who suffered from his greed.

Thirst, hunger, pain… it was no different now. At least her cage was gilded and her bed was stuffed with feathers.

But there was the bloodlust. The agony. The need to feed.

Even as her hand started to claw at her throat, she heard the sounds of movement from the hall.

She heard whimpering, pleading. Some musical feminine voice just near her cell spouted out such pretty words. “Please my lord… I’ll do anything my lord… take me, fuck me, drink me near to dry… I’ll be good this time…”

“Shut up!” A voice sliced through her hissing and whining. And instantly she was silenced.

Lumina heard the swing of metal on hinges, the click of the lock once it closed. “Now,” that same voice purred. And instantly, Lumina’s gut twisted. She had heard it. In her head. In the darkness. In her fitful dreams. “As my first consort has left me so…” he huffed, “…unsatisfied, I guess I’ll just have to select another for tonight.”

Footsteps echoed on the floor. That velvet voice slunk closer with each word. Until he stood before her.

His head cocked as he looked her up and down, bright scarlet eyes that glowed just a touch, a combed and coiffed tousle of silver hair. Manicured to look mussy. He stared at her, unmoving.

And Lumina stared back. He was tall, lithe and strong, his jacket embroidered to perfection, a mix of golds and silvers and beads that wound around his shoulders and chest. His breeches…

Fuck.

They gaped at the waistband, the smooth pink head of a cock peeking from the dark material. She could watch it twitch as her eyes undoubtedly widened to see it staring back.

Unbothered that she should see it, he grinned at her reaction. He wanted her… everyone to see him. Unsatisfied, requiring more.

“You’re awake at last, my newest little spawn,” he smirked as he closed in on her barred cell. “How do you feel?”

She froze. Keeping her mouth silent as she often had before. Handsy shop goers, clients in the back rooms. She would stare them off; it worked before. Most of the time. And then if not she had other recourses and tricks.

But even as her mind began to spin ideas of how to reply, she could feel him in there. A pressure, a poke. A command to reply. So she shut her lips tighter.

His presence swelled, that poke became a chokehold, throttling her mind as her lips opened. “I feel new… pained… different, my Lord Astarion.”

“Good girl,” he replied, a bit of praise that accompanied a bit of a smile.

And it made something in her gut warm all over to receive it.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t take the time to make you… acquainted… with your new lodgings here at the Crimson Palace.” His lips sneered back, voracious and delighted. “And we can tend to educating you in your duties as well. Two birds, one stone sort of thing, darling.”

Lumina still held still, her body growing hot at his plans. “You mean sex, my lord…” It wasn’t a question.

“Well… you’re my lowest, newest concubine, but a concubine nonetheless.” He gave her a dramatic sigh. “Hopefully you fare better than the most experienced one here did tonight.” He turned, looking over his shoulder to shake his head and tut his tongue. “So disappointing.”

Lumina stepped to the side to catch a glance at the consort in question. She was tall, elegant and regal in bearing. Tiefling. Unfamiliar. And her dark eyes that matched her dark skin settled back on her with vitriol and loathing.

Minutes awake, newly vampiric, and she already had an enemy. Lumina’s eyes scanned back to the Master as he returned that assessing gaze on her once more. His pleasure… his approval would be weathervane at best, it seemed. She could already tell from the way his deep set eyes narrowed, how his legs spread with the stance of confidence and power. But it was what she needed— what she would seek to survive.

“What would you have me do, my lord?” she kept her voice soft, submissive, tilting her head down to look at him through her lashes. A trick she had learned in her twenty-some years of indentured servitude.

“A promising beginning.” His lips twisted to one side, that left brow arching rakishly. Suddenly the gate released, and he beckoned her out, crooking a single, long-nailed finger in her direction. “Perhaps you can show your betters what to do for me, hmm?” She obeyed, treading on her bare feet across the bright marble floor until she stood before him. She had always been shorter, but there was something about his bearing, his demeanor and power that made her curl in, feel small.

“Well, I didn’t even have to compel you, curious…” he cast his condescending gaze back at the towering and fuming Tiefling consort behind her bars.

Lumina glanced carefully down the hall—rows of similar cells stretched on… a dozen eyes, all glowing red, locked on her.

His chosen for the night.

She could feel his breath before his touch. His fingers gripped firmly around her jaw, turning her head, angling her up so she had nowhere to look but those piercing, enticing red eyes. “You are one of many, little spawn, but you are untested, and that makes you… interesting. Shall we taste but a sample of what you have to offer?”

His lips consumed her before she could suck down air, that hand at her jaw spun her, shoved her back against the bars. His taste was of fire and wine, burning and sweet. And entirely intoxicating.

A tug at the skirt of her flimsy little shift, and she knew what was coming. Unavoidable. Not unwanted either now that his taste was on her tongue, and not when his tongue was thrust so tantalizing between her lips. Her hands pulled the fabric faster, making his lips smirk as he worked them against her mouth.

Three fingers swept quickly between her legs, his thumb pushing past the soft curls on her mound. And he sneered a bit. “I’ll forgive you this once,” he growled, disapprovingly. “I keep my concubines clean shaven. A pity for you human ones, but you’ll just have to obey me, my pet.”

“Yes, my lord.” The words flew from her mouth before they even passed her brain.

“Given how wet you are already, however, I’m sure you’ll more than make it up to me. So new and willing and obedient…” his voice failed, those fingers drawing deeper inside her, back and forth. His fingers crooked hard and fast, making the wettest, most obscene noises he could from between her legs.

“Doesn’t she just sound eager and ripe?” He lifted his head from hers, cocking his chin at the closest one watching.

The first consort hovered behind her, her breath was cold against Lumina’s neck. It was her cage he had pressed her against, her punishment enacted where Lumina was but a weapon to use.

“Want to see if I’ll fit?” hegrowled, again over her shoulder. “Shall we test it… and see?”

“Whatever pleases you, my lord…” the Tiefling hissed, her deep and sultry voice was so close behind Lumina’s head that it tickled her ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed delightedly and darkly, one hand moving between their bellies. “Seems you’ve remembered your place, at least a little…” Then his head returned to glare down at her. “But this one is adorably short. Assist her, Morana.”

His command tingled in the air pulling at both their bodies, she could tell. The Tiefling panted and hissed as her clawed hands slid under Lumina’s armpits to hoist her higher up the bars. She held on for but a moment, until she dropped quickly.

His cock waiting to catch her, his thigh braced her fall. He roared in her ear, hands gripped into her hips so he could fuck. Split apart, so full, her body cried out in blissful agony. It had been awhile since she had a lover… and none was like this. His shaft pumped hard and fast, his breath tingling and hot in the crook of her neck.

“Why…” he panted, loud enough for the others to hear. “You’re perfect, wet and tight as if never taken, you sweet little spawn.”

That silken voice, those honeyed praises, they settled right in her belly, pooling just where the head of his cock had rammed her already senseless.

“But I would hate to debase you completely before your peers. Hate to spoil in public… what I will have in the comforts of my chambers.”

With a groan, he pulled out. His cock, pale and veined, twitched to be denied. Her feet slammed on the floor, her body thrown forward until she almost crashed into him. But she caught one hand on a golden jail bar behind her. Just in time.

“They’ve seen enough, little Lumina,” he purred again, his fingers smelled of her slick as he clutched at her chin again. “And I, why, I have just begun to have my fill of you.”

Lumina shuddered under the intensity of his gaze, his sharp face twisted in that sensual smirk, his hand still pulling at her jaw. Bringing her in for one more biting kiss. One more that made her head spin and her legs shake.

Voices called from down the hall, a mixed chorus of male and female.

“Be sure to bite him…”

“He loves it when you swallow, dear…”

“Use just a little teeth, he will thank you for it…”

“Hush, the lot of you,” he hissed, a snarl on his lips, those pointed fangs now in her sight as she trembled. “Stop toying with the precious, little thing,” he turned down to kiss her once more. Almost a chaste little peck. “That is my right as your maker, dear.” He let her go, her flesh suddenly ice cold without his burning touch. “Come, Lumina.”

There it was again, that push in her mind, like tendrils of him woven into her nerves, making her feet follow him from the dungeons.

Halls stretched before them, stair after stair, winding up higher into the palace. All was gilded with creams and scarlets and sable. All was decadent. Magnificent and mouthwatering.

Not unlike its Master.

He was quiet, turning an infrequent smile down on her from time to time. Certainly every time her thighs squelched with wetness.

Of course, as they reached the topmost landing he turned, flashing some wicked smile as he caught her hand from her side. His cock still poked from the top of his waistband, barely contained and leaking as he brought her hand to his lips. “Tonight I bring you to my rooms myself, make you acquainted with your new living situation, but from now on, you’ll come when I summon you…” He paused sweeping her hand from his lips face to press it hard against that raging erection.

She gasped and swallowed the sound quickly.

“…if I summon you that is… much depends upon how you please me this evening.” He laughed, backing her into the open door behind him. She couldn’t take in the surroundings, not yet. Not when she lost herself in the scarlet glow of his eyes and perfect flash of his fangs. He was all sensuality and luxury set in ivory skin, his voice dripped in arousal, no matter what degrading things he purred down at her. “It is quite the coveted role, spending the night with the Ascendant. I’m sure you could feel all their jealousy, could cut their envy with a knife…”

He let out a giggle, pulling her hand from his cock to tug her flush against his body again. The room was dark. Soft little candles gave off flickering lights, lights that caught in his silver hair and refracted in his gaze. “But you’ll do your best to please me, I’m sure of it, little spawn,” he rasped right in her ear, allowing his lips to brush over the smooth, rounded edges letting his warm breath flow down her neck. “It is only your first day as my creation…”

He sat himself on the edge of his bed, a grand thing, four postered and canopied in scarlet silks and velvets. Hands pressed into the covers behind him, a little groan in his throat as he leaned back.

Letting his cock ease from his dark breeches a bit more, giving it a few strokes as he did so.

“My little spawn, come here,” he ordered, clear and concise. Direct enough to send a shudder down her spine at its snapping tone. “Kneel.”

Her body paused, eyes wide as she took in the sight of… him… his cock… his rooms. All of it.

And then those tendrils tugged at her thoughts again, ordering her body lower and lower. She had always been slightly smaller, but now, crouching on her knees, brought to kneel at his feet, she never felt so small. So insignificant. So lucky to have been chosen despite it.

“Lumina,” he breathed and slid his legs further from bed, until they crowded her in from either side. “A curious little name. I’m sure you were quite the brilliant light in your past life, like your name suggests.”

No, I wasn’t.

“Yes, my Lord Astarion,” the automatic reply sounded from her lips. And he hadn’t even compelled them. They just seemed safer.

He preened, a slight buck of his hips at the way her voice rolled out his name. She noticed. A gaping, fang-showing smile and he cocked his head. “You know why I chose you? Well… other than to pay off your master’s debts, of course….”

Lord Astarion grinned— something wicked and feral beneath that smile. “How could I pass up damning the little girl, from the little shop, with the name that means light to an eternity of darkness in my bed?” He sighed, deep and long and loud, from where he still perched at the edge. From where he held court before her at his bedside. His legs were so long, almost brushing her, where she knelt at his feet. The bed creaked as he arched back on his hands. Aroused. Pleased. “It’s too delicious an irony to pass up, wouldn’t you agree?”

The pressure in Lumina’s mind reinserted itself. His power, his presence made a smile come to her pressed lips as she heard her own voice give a sweet noise of assent. “Yes, my lord…”

“Such a good little girl,” he purred, leaning forward to pull her by her collar. “Now, open.”

She batted her eyes shut, slowly letting her mouth hang open, her pink tongue to just barely cover her lower lip. The second that salty, bitter tang on his cock brushed the tip, she lapped greedily, letting him slide deeper into her mouth.

And she earned herself a rumbling groan from above. “Gods,” he crooned, “you’ve done this before, haven’t you, little spawn?”

She just smiled, flicking a glance up, a bat of her lashes as she took him deeper, sucking on and off, up and down. He leaned further back into the bed, legs splayed out, long and lazy.

“And here I thought you some virginal thing, needing instruction and guidance. A pleasant surprise….” One had reached to brush back her bright golden locks, planting a firm grip at the back of her neck. Not pushing her rhythm, rather he rode it, savored it, as she worked with tongue and lips and cheeks.

It was warped praise, but it was enough to ignite a little boldness. Her cold fingers slipped past the base of his cock into the warmth of his trousers, reaching to cradle softly around his balls.

So smooth and taught. Almost ready to blow. She gave that smooth, soft pad of skin a gentle rub, a subtle tug. And all the while she kept her mouth busy, wet enough and loud enough to fix his gaze on her.

On where she knelt at his feet. Submitting. Sucking every little bit of that velvet skin, relishing the pulse that thrummed through its length. Swallowing every little eking drop of his seed as it leaked onto her tongue. Every little trick she had learned before, every move that made her handful of encounters and lovers pleasured, she used every one. It was easy with him, the way he began to groan out sweet little nothings. “Faster…. Deeper… yes.” His voice sent shivers right to her cunt, soaking down her thighs more the faster she bobbed back and forth.

Until he gripped into her hair and yanked her off. Holding her steady over his thighs, he rubbed himself in his tight fist all the faster. The wet beat increased in speed until he came, streams of cum dripping down her cheeks, her chin. His voice barely more than a groan as he sighed at the sight. Lumina’s little tongue lapped it from her lips, using one hand to gather it from her face, licking her fingers clean.

“Hells below,” he grinned, ever so rakish, ever so pleased. “You’re quite the slut aren’t you? Like the way I taste on your tongue, the way I dry on your skin, hmm?”

“Yes, my lord,” she simpered, sitting back on her heels.

“Incredible, little spawn. You’ve more than earned a reward, darling,” he stood, once again unbothered to clean his leaking cock or return it decently away. No, instead, he stood, keeping his gaze fixed on hers. Smirking all the wider as her dark eyes followed him across the room, darting between his face and the away his hardened cock bobbed up and down as he swayed.

A little cabinet opened in the wall across the room, and only then did Lumina take in the grandeur of his chambers. The far wall was entirely lined with books, big bright beautiful spines glowed in the light of the massive fireplace adjacent.

It stole her breath away, having spent years working in servitude to sell them… those and whatever other shit her old keeper had to peddle.

Seeing such a massive collection of books, so cared for and well-tended, she could almost catch a glimmer of who her new master was beneath that embroidered veneer of power and sex.

But it faded the second he grabbed a bottle from one shelf, a golden cup in the other, a red beverage pouring loudly. Lumina smelled it before she saw it. Blood. At last.

He seated himself in the large, plush wing-backed chair by the fire, crimson gaze burning her skin as he gave himself a long, slurping sip.

A small, scarlet line slipped from the corner of his lip as he offered the cup to her. “Drink, my pet. You earned it. Sate that bloodlust for the first time, little spawn.”

She fairly scrambled on all fours, stumbling and catching herself as she raced for that little cup. She knocked it back in one swig, her breathing ragged as it filled her stomach just a bit, just enough to take the sharpest pains away. But as she lowered the cup, her stomach sank, Astarion only smiled at her. Bemused. The glass bottle still sat on the shelf. “Something you wish to ask of me?” he crooned.

“Please, my lord,” her hand shook, holding out the golden offering. “I’m so… so thirsty.

“I know my pet,” he cajoled, a little shake of his head, brows furrowed and mouth frowning in pity. “But you’ll have to earn more.”

“Tell me anything,” the words raced off her tongue, her body sinking back to her knees. She begged, tears in her eyes as she caressed up his thighs. Those dark pants were so soft under her touch. But there was too heavy a scent in the air for her to appreciate anything more. She wanted to lick that dribble still on his chin, wanted to drink her fill straight from the neck of the bottle…

Wanted to drink right from the pulsing artery in his own neck.

But the second that thought crossed her mind, those dark tendrils were there to seize it. “Ah, ah,” he chided. “None of that. You don’t get to taste any more of me than what has already covered your tongue, my spawn.”

“Then what will you have me do, my lord?” she forced the words through her thick throat, trying to swallow to chase the parched feeling away.

“Disrobe,” he snipped, reaching for that bottle of blood, taking a swig right from the opening just as she wanted too. “You’re not clothed in much, but I appreciate a demonstration of beauty.” Another swallow, louder this time, loud enough to make her lick her dry and swollen lips. “And aren’t you beautiful, Lumina.”

She could feel her sallow, cold-fleshed cheeks blush at his words. One hand pulled the little shift from over her head, a single fluid motion as she tossed it into his lap.

Oh, the way that smirk widened enough to show his teeth… it made her stomach knot all funny, made her body hotter than she thought possible for the undead.

He reached for the cup from her hand, filling it a bit more. Another little reward for her display. “Good girl, Lumina, my little light I think I’ll keep close to me.”

She swallowed the fresh offering down, setting it down on the floor beside his chair. Those drinks in her belly made her all the bolder, all the more alive.

“What will you do to earn even more, I wonder?” he purred, wagging the bottle slowly, eyes skimming down her pale, little body, tongue tip licking his fang as he smirked.

“Suggestions to entertain you, my lord?” she smiled so sweetly, decided to follow his gaze with a featherlight touch down her own body. She started on her neck, where his cum still dampened her skin, trailing it down her collarbone, grazing between her full and swaying breasts.

That made his tongue dart and lap at his lip, a predator licking his chops. “Very good…” he growled, leaning back and sliding his ass lower in the chair. “Now, take my cum on your fingers and touch yourself, darling…”

Another loud swallow in his throat as she obeyed. Not even a tendril of compelling required. Lumina did as she was told, lowering her eyes to watch her own hands, gathering one more streak of his seed from her shoulder before she slid it inside her folds.

Her eyes fluttered shut to finally feel an iota of release. She burned, wanting more since he fucked her quickly against those bars. Like lighting, pleasure flashed down her nerves, her fingers working so quickly to chase that swell of satisfaction that flared inside her.

“Enough,” he growled.

But she... couldn’t. She needed something. Needed to either satisfy the gnaw of her stomach or the inferno between her thighs.

Not compelling in her brain this time, Astarion gripped her by the waist, dragging her between his legs before he ripped her hand from her fold. “Bad girl,” he tutted, bringing her sopping fingers into his mouth to suck them clean.

And then he bit. Fangs tore into the heel of her palm. She cried in pain, a deep, wicked laugh was her answer from him as he drank from her. It was brief, but painful. And now she was left all the hungrier for it. “Learn your place, little spawn. You do as I say… nothing more, nothing less.” His voice was sharp, wild. With all the arrogance of one who has been obeyed for a century, perhaps longer.

“Sorry, my lord,” Lumina quickly stammered. Give him what he wants, she reminded herself. “I will obey you.” Added for good measure.

That softened the razor lines of his cheeks, his jaw unclenching to hear such sweet submission. “I’ll allow you another chance, little light,” he purred once more, all honey and silk in his tone. “Undress me.”

Amused glint in his crimson eyes, conceited smirk on his lips, he reclined against his chair. A single hand gestured lavishly over the clasps and buttons of his luxurious jacket. Lumina did not hesitate, careful to keep her wounded hand from offending his clothing, already clotting as she healed quickly.

A reminder she was now Vampiric, as if she could forget her new form with that hunger in her belly. She eyed the bottle in his hand still, watching the blood dance and slosh inside its green clear walls.

“Look at me, little spawn,” he hissed, her hands almost done with the heavy meal clasps before beginning the inner buttons. She acquiesced, quickly lost in the way his eyes hungered. They brimmed with power, but that dulled light of boredom was gone— its crimson now bright with curiosity, fascination. And for a moment, she let herself feel a hint of pride that she was giving him that.

Once his perfect, ivory chest was in sight, she let her fingers just brush down that deep groove between his muscles. She pushed the heavy clothing apart, mouth salivating the more she saw. And she doubted it was just the bond of him as her creator that caused such a visceral reaction to the sight of him…

Of his body.

A rolling, rumbling chuckle in his chest shook under fingers. That cool glass bottle was thrust against her belly. She caught it, smiling as he ordered her to drink. But even as she downed swallow after swallow, she watched his every elegant movement. So sleek as he pulled himself free from his clothing, he tossed it in a rumpled mess on the floor. He even slid his breeches from under his ass, hand gripped around that pale, achingly hard cock.

As he stroked himself, he watched her drink, watching the drips slink down her chin as she couldn’t help but drain that bottle dry. “Feel better?” he cooed, still absentmindedly stroking himself as he watched her clean her mouth on the back of her little hand.

Lumina sighed, the bottle dropping to the floor from her hand as it shook. She was finally fuller, finally more sated and happier and warmer. “Yes, my Lord Astarion,” she moaned in response. “Thank you.”

“So very polite you are. Oh, I like you. That genuine little sound in your voice as your small, curved body shakes to be near me. Yes,” he reached a hand towards her. Leaning forward, he clutched her in his own long fingers, “you’ll do very nicely, for quite awhile, I hope.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” she hummed, a little swivel to her hips, a slight stroke of her free hand over the crest of her mound. “Anything else I might do for you, Lord Astarion?”

He cocked his chin, face twisting and tweaking in flirtatious amusement. “I believe I can think of a thing or two… best send you back down to your quarters with enough cum to drip down your legs for days. That way they all know just how very much you’ve pleased me…”

She shivered, his words making her stomach drop to her toes, making her cunt twitch and ache to be filled. Her eyes grew wide watching him buck a little on the seat of his chair. “Finish your task, little spawn. Undress me completely.”

She knelt so quickly, hands pulling off the supple leather of his boots, unsheathing his legs one by one. His skin was so smooth, muscles bunched and taught under the little accidental brushes she made against his calves. Tossing it all to the side with his discarded jacket, she glanced up at him, the paragon of beauty, the image of power and sex she had fallen madly obsessed with.

It only took one night with him, one touch of his fingers, one taste of him on her tongue. She knelt happily and would obey.

His legs spread wide, a single slap of his hand on the top of his thigh. “Sit,” he commanded, and she flew to him, hovering over his cock just long enough for his sly hand to line that head just so. And sit, she did. His forehead pressed against her breasts, his breath hot as he sighed to fill her. Her body took command, hips riding that length that pushed and thrashed against the end of her channel. She looked at him, watching the soft curls of his silver hair tousling as she fucked him.

And then, she felt it. A warm sweep of his tongue on her full and rounded breast. He drew it into the heat of his mouth, sucking hard until he made her cry. Her hands braced carefully on his shoulders, the perfect height for her to grind up and down. Little buck after buck of his hips beneath her met every slap of her cunt on his thighs. But even that natural ride of her body on his grew harder with the way he swirled his tongue on her nipple. Hands wandered up and down her back, one finally stopped to cradle her other swinging breast.

A single brush of his razor-fangs on that perfect pink nipple, and she shattered. Writhing, twitching, there was no sensation in her body that wasn’t the pleasure he drew from her. It was blistering hot and all-consuming, her body going nearly limp to allow him to grab her by the waist and fuck up into her with abandon.

It was his turn. Those long nails scored into her back, drawing blood under his touch. Scraping lower, he clawed their sharp edges into the rippling flesh of her ass, making her moan so, so deliciously loudly. She was clay in his hands, knowing just how to respond to his touch, how to reply to his words.

More intoxicating than immortal life had been for decades.

Clenching, she shattered on his cock once more so soon. Lumina panted, starved of breath, unable to let her muscles relax and slow in post-coital bliss. He just gave her more, gave it to her harder. Until at last, he groaned. Practically lifting her with his strength to slam her back down with every thrust into her, until he finally let it all go. His voice hissed, growling and groaning as he came, filling up into her with spurts that stole even his undead breath.

Finally, she was allowed to soften in his arms. Cautious not to sprawl into him, to cuddle or savor the press of his body that had just given and taken so much. A few breaths, and he pressed his head against her shoulder for a moment.

As if he forgot for that moment he was the most powerful being in Faerûn.

“Get up,” he hissed, voice steeled over and sharp. Remembering himself.

Lumina did as she was told. Shaking and trembling, she reached for the bookcases to steady herself. Fingertips brushed the soft leather bindings, and it made her smile. Sweet little moments of comfort, the only ones she had all her life.

He was beside her in an instant. Gaze following where hers had been, his lips smiled faintly. “See one you like, little spawn?”

Lumina’s brow quirked in confusion. A delightful picture, he decided. A portrait of well-fucked surprise. “So many of them, my lord. I could hardly choose a single interesting star in the sky.”

“Choose one star for this evening, another for the next,” he turned away, a low throated chuckle as he left her. “One each time until I tire of you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, his twisted gift making her smile as she pulled a simple, blue leather-bound book from its shelf.

The bed creaked. And as she turned her stomach fluttered again to see, to feel those eyes piercing into her. Even as her slick and his cum slipped down her thigh, she burned for more. He held out two more cups, a fresh bottle on the nightstand to replenish them both. “Come, Lumina,” he bid her, loudly and formally. But the way his smile widened as she clutched the little blue bloom against her breasts, slinking closer as if she were shy, she knew something may have shifted.

If only slightly.

Cautiously, she slid into the scarlet sheets on the opposite side. That book still pressed into her body. He didn’t look away, proffering her that cup of replenishment as she leaned against the pillows. One arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Closer, my little spawn.” He flashed his fangs, raising his own cup to those conceited, smirking lips. “I would say I don’t bite, but…” his voice trailed off as he drank deeply.

Lumina slid closer, sipping slowly this time, thumbing the vellum pages’ edge, lost in her thoughts.

Something warm and heavy pressing into her lap threw her right back into her surroundings. The rooms of the Ascendant. His face rested on her lap. His head turned toward her, his breath was warm on her belly, where her skin reached up above the covers. “Not going to read while I allow you some respite, Lumina?”

“I…” she trailed off.

“Don’t you worry, little light. I’ll let you know when I am ready and eager for more of your submission, darling.” His voice sounded softer to her ears than the silks and downs of his bed. “And after all, from here…” that voice turned hungry, edged with velvet seduction again, “I’ll be more than ready to eat you right up.”

Shuddering from his words, she obeyed his suggestion. One hand held her cup, the cool, sanguine drink filling her up and chasing away that pain inside her. The other hand carefully opened the book to the side of her lap, turning the delicate pages with reverence. After a while, words began to swim, her immortal human body growing tired after all. But even the comfort of a book in her hands and the fresh stories between its covers didn’t soothe her more than the weight of his head on her lap…

The slowing breath from his nose on her belly…

The growing heaviness of sleep that filled her frame from his.

He nestled there on her thighs, eyes shut in trance, breath steady and peaceful as he rested.

Carefully, she set the empty cup down on the end table. Laying back, she soon drifted as well, and as she dozed off, her fingers unknowingly wrapped in the unruly tendrils of his silver locks.

Her sleep swept her away, body aching, lips swollen… It was finally a rest that was hunger free and soft. Sleeping with the Vampire Ascendant, unheard of in all the realms. She dozed, she knew not how long…

Until the sheets were ripped from her body, heaviness crushing her as he rasped in her ear, “Wake up, little spawn. Surely you don’t think I would let you merely sleep the night away.”

Astarion knelt between her thighs, hands raising them, forcing her knees to bend. Her sleepy eyes forced themselves open, watching that self-conceited smirk leer down at her, his erection bobbing so rigid and pink as he lined himself up.

“Come, Lumina,” he groaned as he sheathed himself in. “Rouse yourself, make yourself useful for once.” She arched her back, and sleep did quickly leave her limb, blinking the haze from her eyes. Those long fingers dug into her knees, his hips slapping hard and rough and wild. She could feel her blood drip from where he clawed into her skin, that essence swallowed by the scarlet sheets.

Every thrust drew sweet little pants, whimpering cries from her tired mouth. She couldn’t help it, not as he had his way with her, still half asleep but also half eager for more. And totally, completely drenched for his cock again. This time, it was all for him, his eyes glued to the way her breasts swayed with every ride of her body, her lips bitten by her own newborn fangs as she took his fucking so well.

Not one complaint, not one iota of resistance. No, she lounged, arms sprawled into the pillow, thighs opened wide for his use. Music drawn from her throat that resounded in his rooms, he loved it.

Loved it so much, he wanted to feel that sweet little cunt milk him, clench around his cock to take his spend so deep inside her, it would take days to drip its way out. A little sweep of his thumb into the peak of her folds, and he circled that hardened clit. So swollen, she instantly writhed and grinded back at the new source of pleasure. Panting, keening, she shuddered into the bed, the sharp edge of his fingernail digging slightly into her flesh, scoring around her clit’s thickened hood. Pain sliced through her pleasure. And as her hands gripped into the downy pillow, she thrashed in her climax. Ribbons of her arousal poured out around him, fire scalding hot down her limbs and pouring through her as she shuddered.

Every clench of her walls sucked him in harder, making it nearly impossible to drag himself in and out. A beautiful little burning light, burning hot just for him.

And they all would see it. Every last one of his spawn he kept for pleasure… they would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she pleased him. The vision of her, walking back down the halls of his harem, smelling like him, trails of her slick and his cum running down her heel to puddle on the floor. That book in her hand, a treasured gift to his new favorite…

“Fuck,” he groaned, her voice matching his in volume as she mewled all the louder. He split her open, slamming against that end of her. Untethered, uncontrolled as he spilled hard and fast inside her. His breath was heavy and damp, almost as much as his body as he laid on top of her, cock still buried deep inside her folds. He crushed her, covered her. Lumina needed to crane her head just to fit in the space of his neck to breathe.

Did she even need to breathe anymore? But even such thoughts melted, as he rested there. Again. So warm and blanketing her in all of him.

The air was thick with their scents, wet with their sweat. But she didn’t care. She would let him sleep until dawn like this if he willed it. Beyond smitten, addicted as she was instantly for more of him. Her Master.

One more deep inhale, and he pulled from her body. A brush of his hand down her cheek, he whispered to her. “Go, Lumina.”

She paused for a moment, aching to have to leave. Her gut twisted at the thought of returning to them all… in that place. But she swallowed that feeling back down. “If it pleases you…”

He gave a breathy laugh, reaching for the small blue book before he tossed it into the bed beside her. “Here, take this too. You can return it when I summon you again tonight.”

She knew she must have looked like a foolish girl, face beaming for a second in hope. Knowing she would be back… knowing he would have her again.

“Thank you, my Lord Astarion,” she tried not to sound too giddy.

He just gave a deep, breathless chuckle, rolling that perfect body, hewn from ivory by the gods themselves, back under his covers. “Clean yourself up this time, my little light. I won’t have anything less than perfection from you.”

“Yes, of course, my Lord Astarion,” she preened. Preened from the edge of his bed as she shuffled her little shift back on. As she grabbed for that small leather book to hug against her beautiful breasts. He rolled his back to her, not caring to watch her journey back.

Resting his head in the pillow, he could smell her still. For the briefest flash of a moment, he wished it had been her yielding thighs again beneath his head… No, that was a transgression he had been sure to rectify. He fucked all sentimentality on his part out of her. That book was a boon, a sign of favor that would claim her as his… his favorite. For now.

But as he laid in those damp, silken sheets, he thought of her hair in his fist, her dark eyes at knee-level. And his hand stroked his length again.

Night couldn’t come soon enough once more.

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welldonekhushi · 2 months

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Call of Duty OC: Samantha "Scarlet" Wright 🦋

Finally, after ages, I came up with Scarlet's biography sheet! So in case you guys are curious about her, you can go through this post, hope it helps! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

If you want to see any artwork or fics on her, go to the #samantha scarlet wright tag for her content!

GENERAL

Name: Samantha

Full name: Samantha Wright

Codename: "Scarlet", Hotel Two-Six

Age: 29 years old

Gender: Female

Nationality: British (UK)

Languages spoken: English (native), Arabic (conventionally), Russian (for intelligence purposes)

Date of Birth: June 9, 1984

Place of Birth: Cambridge, England

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Martial Status: Single (married in 2017 to John "Soap" MacTavish, her childhood friend — diverging canon AU)

Occupation: British SAS (Special Air Services), member of the Task Force 141

Status: Active

Rank: Sergeant

Universe: Original timeline (2011-2017), reboot (alternative AU)

Faceclaim: Jenna Coleman

AFFILIATIONS:

Song: Tangled Up by Caro Emerald (Lokee Remix)

youtube

Biography: Samantha Wright, under the codename "Scarlet" followed her dream in joining the most elite forces of the British Army, after hearing about her father's experiences in the military. As her hard work pays off, she finally gets selected for the SAS, and then for the Task Force 141, for her skills and strength. There, she meets a very old friend, that she missed and deeply cared for..

Task Force 141

Captain John Price

John "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton (@revnah1406)

Sergeant Annabelle "Kit" Pham (@applbottmjeens)

Charlotte "Jade" La Jardin (@sleepyconfusedpotato)

Joyce "Joe" Hardman (@mctvsh)

2nd Commando Regiment (@kaitaiga)

Sergeant Damien Whitlock

Captain Lachlan Jones

Los Vaqueros

Colonel Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Alyssa "Aly" Martinez (@alypink)

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Weapon induced: M4A1 Carbine, M4A1 Grenadier w/ Red Dot Sight, M14 EBR Scoped

Fighting style: Hand-to-hand-combat, martial arts, a bit of jiu-jitsu

Special skills: Has good agility, wits and strength from intensive physical and mental training.

Talents: Is able to strategise a plan for greater impact.

Shortcomings: Is a bit sensitive and confused when it comes to choosing a decision which leads to life or death.

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFP (The Adventurer)

Is a positive presence among everybody: Yes, a soldier sure is a tough-hard individual who is determined to follow their duty, but Scarlet is the opposite. She maintains her duties and also motivates and cheers others up to keep moving and never surrender, as taught by her father. The reason why others notice when Scarlet is present with them, they feel calm and encouraged.

Emotional, but also dangerous: Sure Scarlet looks like she's a sweet presence among everyone, but at the same time, we shall not forget she's SAS-trained. When things get serious, she gets serious. During some missions (1 and 2), she has shown remarkable strength and courage by eliminating enemy soldiers in combat, as if she's a different person. The cheerful presence Scarlet holds among others has another dark side inside that she never reveals, but towards her enemies.

Can indulge with anyone, and is respectful: She'd love to make friends or teammates! It doesn't mean she doesn't give importance to anyone, but she especially bonds a lot with Soap. They two have been childhood friends since the start and everyone notices how close they both are and thinks if they two are a couple. Even if Soap is her best friend and he has a superior rank, she'd still respect him as her Captain. But sure, personally, they two engage like they used to.

Very empathetic: Whether it's a random person or not who is dying in her arms, it breaks her. It happened once when she tried to save a person who was losing their life and in the end they couldn't make it. It makes her want to blame herself a bit, thinking she didn't do her duty right, even if everything wasn't in her power. Also, if she sees anyone in distress, she's able to console and help them in time of need, the reason why Scarlet is able to sympathise and understand others well.

BACKGROUND STORY

Born as Samantha Wright, she lives in a small town in England with her father, Albert Wright, who is a former SAS-soldier under the codename "Bolt", and mother Elizabeth. When Scarlet was a toddler, she used to hear stories from her father about him working in Special Air Services, an elite special forces unit, and retired the day when his one leg was brutally injured that made him unable to walk or run.

Those stories gave Scarlet an idea to also join the SAS like him, but her father chuckled and said that right now she was too young to do so. Sometime later, she met John MacTavish, who recently moved into her neighbourhood from Scotland, but wasn't happy that he shifted away from his homeland. She wanted John to be her friend, and make him familiar with the surroundings so he'll get used to everything and love staying at his new home. And soon, they two grew closer, and became best friends.

They two had a similar goal — to join the defense. And one day, that day had to come between the two, when John had to leave for military school. Bidding her best friend a bittersweet farewell, unsure what future has for them in between, John encouraged her to follow her dreams. Taking that as a motivation, Scarlet kept John close to heart, while continuing her aspiration to join the SAS.

Her father got to know about her plan, saying that it won't be easy, since the SAS had the toughest selection processes. That sure unsettled her for a while, but didn't make her back off from her decision respectively. Instead, she learnt a couple of exercises, tips and tricks on self-defense from him that mentally and physically prepared her fully at the same time.

When she recruited herself in the selection process, it was an absolutely different experience for her. The way her mind drastically changed during the training quite traumatized and scared her, knowing what it feels to be in the SAS. But, keeping her father's words by her side, she didn't let the weakness and fear sink her in and moved on further. At times, she was ridiculed by others that she'd never be able to complete the process, but chuckled it all out instead.

The day came, when her hard work paid off, and she finally became eligible for the special forces. It was a blessed feeling for her, as if luck always stood by her side. And this is where, her journey begins..

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sweetnothingtm · 1 year

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DEVIL'S ADVOCATE// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count +5k

content warnings nsfw, public sex, fingering, oral sex, choking, light knife play, degradation, johnny is a simp for reader

authors note im back! please enjoy the nasty things i do for y'all ♡ could be treated as an epilogue to hush

There are a few things that can piss the lieutenant off, but you always manage to make the top of his list.

Even now, as you’re leaning over the pool table, hips swaying ever so slightly with the music, eyes lit up with excitement. You’re staring right at him, lips pulled in a innocent little smile as Soaps hand sits on your lower back, his lips brushing over your cheek as he whispers advice to you. Ghost holds your stare, indifference painted across his features.

He’s gonna wipe that smile off your pretty little face.

It started out as a harmless bet. The night stretched thin as you continued to dance around your lieutenant. You avoided his gaze, smiling playfully at all the men who continued to line up shots for you. You’d take drinks from them, breathing a soft thanks as your fingers brushed against their shoulders.

He’s been watching you, grinding his teeth and brooding over his third glass of bourbon. The fabric of his mask hid the infuriated look spread across his face, dark eyes following your figure that shamelessly drifted towards him.

Like a moth to a flame. He’s gonna burn you.

You were comfortably buzzed, a warmth spreading throughout your system as you left Gaz waiting, drink half full. You locked eyes with the lieutenant across the room, heart skipping a beat as he leaned back. His eyes raked over your figure, slowly dragging back and looking at you expectantly.

The music has drowned out hummed conversation, only the eager beat of your heart leading you straight to him. His arm was propped up against the bar, head tilting slightly to the side as you near him.

A week has passed since you saw him last. The ghost of his hands still seemed to pull your hair even now, a sickening arousal putting you to bed every night. The feel of his breath still hot against your neck, your cheeks turning scarlet at the memory.

The lieutenant had you weak in the knees, tongue tied and desperate to please. Always glancing at him with wide eyes, a little too eager for his approval. He ignored you, pushed you away like a new pet too desperate for attention.

Week after week, you abandoned your reasoning and pined after your lieutenant. He’d catch you in briefings, lip pulled between your teeth and eyes glossed over with the fantasy of his head between your thighs. He’d ground out your name, voice laced with venom as you blushed and whispered sincere apologies. The boys were oblivious to you’re pathetic yearning for the lieutenant, already occupied at teasing you for your childlike eagerness.

You got his recommendation, his sloppy handwriting still stained on your file. He’s your superior, the one who taught you how to disassemble and clean your gun in under a minute. His fingers would ghost over your hands, gently correcting your mistakes. Take your time, kid. Do it right or don’t do it at all.

You never learned how to be patient.

You leaned yourself against the bar, eyes sparkling with mischief as he raised an eyebrow to you. Maybe it was the liquid courage that sat heavy in your stomach, or the long nights that stretched themselves between you and your lieutenant - but you couldn’t help but shamelessly hang off of his gaze.

He wore a simple hoodie, eyes still smudged with the familiar black paint you’ve become accustomed to. He smelled like tobacco and liquor, something you’ve been searching for since he left you hot faced and embarrassed at training. You exhale softly, catching his attention as you spoke “Lieutenant, let’s make a deal,”

He cocked an eyebrow, setting his glass on the bar and shifting his frame towards you. He tapped his foot, a smirk hidden behind the mask “all ears, kid.”

You blush at the nickname, pushing aside the intoxicating heat that built itself up. The rest of the team is waiting for you, leaning lazily against the table as you continue to tangle yourself with the lieutenant. “Play a round with me,” you say, glancing back to the pool table. Soap casts a wink across the room, nudging his head for you to come to him.

The lieutenant follows your gaze before he rolls his eyes, swiping up his drink. Uninterested, he looks ahead and ignores your protests. You pout at him with full lips. “C’mon. I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” you breath, head resting in your arm that’s resting against the counter.

“Yeah? How’s that, sweetheart?”

His voice is dark and low, pulling at the seams of you until you’re leaning in. You’ve been waiting for his attention, poorly distracting yourself with everything that isn’t him. He’s here now, waiting for you to slip up and fall straight for him all over again. You feign being lost in thought, humming softly to yourself. “If I win, you let me sleep in for the week,” you reason, pushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

He’s got a sinister smile on his face, not that you can tell. “And if I win? What do I get?”

You shrug, plucking the glass from his hands and kicking it back. The familiar burn of liquor coats your throat, washing down the anxious thoughts and wishful thinking you’ve kept from him. You wipe the stray bourbon at the corner of your mouth, beginning to pull yourself from the bar as the words slip and tumble from your lips.

“Anything you want, sir.”

That’s all it takes for Ghost to abandon his self control at the bar, following you silently like a shadow would to haunt its new home. You’re pressing your thighs together in excitement, mind cloudy with all the little sins of him you’ll need to beg for forgiveness over. You finally have him right where you want him, his attention snagged on the way that you’re pulling him in with that intoxicating figure.

Soap and Gaz are grinning like fools, chatting between themselves as the two of you grow closer to the table. The counters are littered with empty glasses, laughs dancing across the room as you glance over your shoulder, giving the lieutenant an innocent smile that has him wanting the smack it off your face.

The game starts out slow. You’re whispering to Johnny, body leaning into his figure as Ghost stands across the table. He lets you think you know what you’re doing, allowing the warm buzz of alcohol to guide you. You’re laughing with the boys and letting the tension roll off of you. Soaps fingers are pointing to the table, giving directions as you nod to him, eating it up like it’s gonna do you any good.

The lieutenant plays it easy at first, letting the false confidence build in your system as you knock out ball after ball, the grin spreading wide across your face. You’ve never played pool, but he has you thinking you’re a mastermind.

Johnny is adjusting your posture every so often, pressing himself closer to move your grip on the cue. Shot after shot, your head is cloudy with beginner's luck as the lieutenant lets you dwindle him down to nothing.

Ghost is trying to be nice, he really is. You’re looking at him like there’s nothing to hide, as if he’s finally been caught. There’s a fire that burns within him, eyes dancing across your face that’s flush with happiness. Drunk and oblivious, you continue to play like there’s nothing but luck on your side. The smirk is plastered across his face, watching your hips sway gently with the music as you take aim for the next shot.

You think that you’ve finally got his attention, finally able to show him that you’re worth while. He knows it, too.

There’s a hum of excitement that’s coiling within you. The lieutenant is watching, leaning against his pool stick lazily as he waits for you to finish. Your eyes dart to Ghost as you sink another ball, lip caught between your teeth. Soap continues to rub soft circles into your lower back, his touch sending little shivers along your spine. It’s a familiar feeling, but one that you've grown accustomed to with somebody else. Ghost raises an eyebrow as you finish, looking at the table and then to you. Someone like him.

“I’m gonna enjoy that beauty sleep, Lieutenant. Feel like giving up yet?” You tease, breath caught in your throat as he laughs darkly to you. The knot of anxiety is tied, sitting in your stomach as he shakes his head at you. You roll your shoulders, laughs bubbling up from your lips. He’s staring at you like you’re his new favorite pet who’s just done something bad.

He takes aim, the stick held between his fingers as he lines up his shot. The cue pulls back and snaps, slamming into the ball as it flies and connects with a stripe. The ball flies forward, knocking into several others until it sinks into the table.

Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes narrowing to him. He shrugs, glancing to Gaz whose patting him on the back. A pout spreads across your lips, shoulders sagging as the inevitable defeat takes ahold of you.

You really shouldn’t place your bets on a losing dog.

It takes the lieutenant three turns to get you down to his level, your brows knitting together in frustration. You’re becoming impatient, irritated at the way your superior is playing with you. His cue smacks into all the stripes he has left, knocking them into the net continuously. At this point, you know you’re gonna lose.

Ghost takes his time though, dragging it out like it’s only the beginning of the night. Little do you know, it most certainly is. He cracks his neck, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table as you make a pathetic attempt to sink the last one. You miss, sighing softly and ignoring the encouragement that Soap whispers to you. You’re uninterested now, playing the waiting game until the lieutenant has decided that he’s finished fucking with you.

Seven minutes later and Gaz is laughing with the lieutenant about his underdog victory at pool. You know better though, Ghost knew exactly how to rile you up to the point you’re practically swimming in irritation and disappointment. Soap tries to say that you played a good game. He asks you to get a drink with him, but you’re staring right at the lieutenant. He holds your gaze, the ominous mask separating you from the smug look on his face. “Call it a lucky strike, sweetheart,” he says casually, eyes ablaze with amusement. Here he was again, never the one to play fair with you.

You shrug off Soaps hands, drifting to the bathroom with a pout spread across your full lips. The laughter of your teammates grows distant, drowned out by the music and the disappointment that settles across your face. The alcohol burns in your system, frustration growing as you slam open the door and let it swing closed behind you.

The single stall bathroom is cool, the gentle breeze from a cracked window caressing your skin. You feel annoyed, almost a little sad at the way you were so publicly embarrassed by your superior. Letting loose a breath, you hop up onto the shallow counter and dig through your pockets for the crushed pack of cigarettes.

The countertop is cold against your thighs, legs swinging absentmindedly as you fish for a lighter. Your head leans against the wall, mind foggy with defeat as you continue to kick yourself for ever doubting the lieutenant.

He’s making his way to you like a phantom, ignoring the shouts of protests from his team as he grows eager with desire. Anything he wants. It rings in his ear like a sweet melody, reminding him of the sickeningly sweet feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. Ghost isn’t thinking straight, head cloudy with bourbon and all the little touches that have been given to you by everyone but him. He’s got it bad.

A knock sounds at the door as the cigarette hangs delicately from your lips. You frown, huffing in frustration, “occupied,” you state, flicking the lighter to life and watching the flame dance. You drag it towards you, the flame barely licking the tobacco before your head whips up and towards the door.

There isn’t a second knock. He enters without hesitation, kicking the door closed behind him - but he doesn’t lock it. Ghost has a dark look in his eyes that reminds you of when his hand was wrapped around your throat like it was his favorite thing to do. It is. Your brows knit together in a mix of confusion and irritation, eyes rolling as you speak, “come to gloat, sir?”

He laughs, pulling the cigarette from your fingers and letting it drop to the tile. You sigh, hands dropping in your lap as he stands in front of you. “Well? Hurry up and spit it out - Soap wants to get-” you start to speak, moving to grab your things until the lieutenant places his hands on both your knees.

“Johnny wants to fuck you - and it’s a bloody shame that I’m here first,” he spits, digging his fingers into your thighs as you blink up at him. “Didn’t even give me the chance to fuck you over the table, sweetheart. Why’d you leave so soon?” He’s towering over you, eyes peering down onto your pretty little face with a playful smile on your lips. The familiar wet pool spreads between your thighs at his touch, breaths becoming shallow as he leans in closer. His breath is fanning across your ear, cheeks turning crimson at the close contact.

His hands travel upwards, your legs shaking with excitement at the touch that you’ve been starved of. One of them drifts up to the back of your neck, holding you in place so you’re forced to look at the haunting stare he’s giving you.

God, you feel like killing yourself just to stay in heaven with him. It’s a shame that he’s the devil.

“I’ve been trying to make my way to you all night,” Ghost states, his hand travelling to grip the base of your neck as you sit there pretty and patient for him. The cool press of his knife is back, thighs squeezing together to stop the wetness from dripping down your legs. The touch sends shivers down your spine, eyes locked onto his as he pushes up the hem of your dress and spreads your legs open for him.

“Sorry - Johnny’s been keeping me busy,” you breathe, biting back moans as his fingers dance along the inside of your upper thigh. He laughs darkly, slamming your head into the mirror behind you and leaning in close. The knife stays put against your throat, and he lets the blade dance along your skin until you’re whimpering pathetically.

His voice is low and tantalizing which has a familiar heat building between your thighs that rub together in excitement. Ghost presses harder into your neck, a sinister smirk spreading across his face.**

“Best keep that wishful thinking to yourself, sweetheart. I’d hate to make you cry,”

“Yes sir,” you breath, the blind obedience taking hold of you as he lets his fingers drift higher and higher up your thigh. He pushes your head into the mirror, fingertips rubbing softly into your panties as a moan softly pulls itself from your lips.

He chuckles darkly to himself, fingers digging into your clit at the sound of your moans that send him straight to hell. “Good girl,” he muses, two digits rubbing your wet panties over your clit in a way that has your knees weak.

Ghost moves his grip to the back of your head, pulling at your hair as you whimper from the pain, “did you miss me, love? I bet you’re still wet from the last time I ruined you,” he teases, dipping a finger past your panties and slicking himself with your wetness.

Your head falls back onto his hand that’s gripping your hair, eyes rolling back and another moan sounding in his ears. “Uh-huh,” you say softly, hands balling into fists and knuckles turning white with pure and unfiltered desire. “Missed you so much - please, please, please-”

“Get on your knees if you’re gonna beg for me.”

So you do - without hesitation and as quickly as you can without seeming too eager. Your knees dig into the tiled floor, chin tilted up and eyes wide like a little fawn. His dick is twitching in his pants, bulge growing prominent as your mouth waters at the way he’s staring down at you with adoration. You wanted this, to see his eyes light up with a knowing heat that he just can’t seem to smother out.

Your hands lift to his belt, holding his gaze as he casually leans against the counter, hands bracing himself on either side. He lets you undo the buckle, slipping the hem of his clothes down until the swollen tip of his dick greets you. Your mouth is watering, almost drooling at the way he’s waiting for your pretty lips to wrap around him. You take a moment to stroke his shaft clumsily, fingers rubbing the precum onto his head as he lets a groan loose.

“C’mon then, suck my cock like the filthy slut you are,” Ghost spits out, his hand digging into your hair and tugging until you’re blinking back tears. You nod against his touch, lips splitting open and tongue falling out for him. He grips the counter harder, muttering filthy curses to himself as you lick his tip.

Wrapping your lips around his shaft, you suck him slowly, head bobbing along his dick as he guides your head with his hands buried in your hair. Your cheeks are hollowed, eyes fluttering closed as you let him fuck you mouth inch by devastating inch.

He’s watching you drag your lips along him, breath coming out heavy at the way your mouth wraps around him like it’s made for it. You were humming softly against his dick, and Ghost felt the control slip and shatter. His head hangs back, groans ripping themselves from his chest as you quicken the pace, bobbing your head and sucking. “Bloody hell,” he rasps, forcing your face into the base of him as you choke on his dick. “Fucking bitch, look at you sucking my cock.”

You hum against him, soft gargling sounding from your throat as he continues to push himself deeper inside your mouth. Ghost is becoming undone before you, his fist banging into the countertop and hips bucking against your tongue. You’re licking his tip, hands clawing at his abdomen and little wide eyes that make him abandon all rationalization and morals behind him.

Pulling yourself from his tip, you take a moment to catch your breath and stare up at him with mischief painting your features. “Could’ve been Johnny’s, if you weren’t so selfish,” you mumble, savoring the way his eyes turn a shade darker. He presses the tip of his boot in between your thighs and rubs harshly. Your hips lift themselves up, grinding down onto his boot and letting a soft moan out.

“You’re a rotten fucking brat, you know that?” He snarls, his free hand coming to force your jaw open, “I’ll make sure everyone knows what a filthy eager whore you are for me,” he says, laughing at the way you grind down on his boot and roll your hips. “My little rotten princess,” he muses.

Heaven would never open its door for you after this. And if it meant you’d spend the rest of your life on your knees for him, you’d do anything to stay there.

The soft sounds of groans and a slick wet sucking sound from the bathroom, though its muffled over the thrum of life in the bar. Inside, you’re eagerly on your knees, slowly lapping at your lieutenants cock like its candy. He’s pulling your hair harshly, pushing your head onto his dick and admiring the way you happily open your mouth for him. Ghost feels a wave of pleasure crash through him, and he’s smiling like an idiot as you gag and choke on him, still grinding down onto his boot that’s now wet from your cunt.

“Fuck - you’re such a filthy whore,” he says, pushing your head to move faster with a death grip on your hair. Tears are forming at the corner of your eyes, breaths stolen from you as he continues to fuck your mouth with a hunger you haven’t seen from him before. He almost seems desperate, his hips bucking to meet your wet lips covered in spit.

You’re drooling now, humming against him and letting tears roll down your cheeks softly. Bouncing on his boot, you grind and roll softly into the touch. He’s shaking his head at you, dark amusement brewing in his eyes as you slide your tongue under his dick.

“Gonna cry me a river, love?” He questions, ripping your lips from him and pulling your hair down until you’re forced to look up at him with tears in your eyes. You’re struggling to breathe, eyes blinking away the black spots as you attempt to catch your breath “'m sorry, Simon. I promise I’ll be good - just for you.”

“I know you will, princess. I taught you better than this,” he states, gripping your jaw and savoring the sickeningly sweet blush that creeps up onto your cheeks. You’re soaked through, lips wobbling and wet with spit as you continue to twitch under his gaze. It’s been a long week without him, and you’re eager to make up for lost time.

Your heart swells in your chest as Ghost pulls you to your feet and slams you down against the counter with your ass in the air. His hands greedily push up the hem of your dress, fingers immediately dipping into your wet heat as a sigh sounds from behind you. Your face is pressed against the mirror, hands trapped under your chest as Ghost curls two fingers inside you and drags them until you’re shaking beneath him.

His touch is rough, impatient and demanding. You take it with ease, eyes fluttering closed as the familiar pleasure clouds your senses. You can hear the crowd of people outside the door, drunken laughter and slurred conversation mixing with the music. But you’re in here, tangling yourself with the devil as he pulls the most sinister moans from you. He continues to finger you, giving a harsh smack to your ass that causes you to jump.

Your cheek is pressed harsh against the mirror, cries falling free from your lips as the lieutenant pulls his fingers from you. He grabs a fistful of your hair, tears streaming down your cheeks as he sends another smack against your skin. He rubs the tip of his dick against your wet folds, and you’re struggling to hold back moans of pleasure that he’s robbing from you.

His tip presses up against your entrance, your hips wiggling and bucking up against the touch as you whimper for him. He’s pushing the tip into you slowly, watching the way that you unravel at the seams and beg for him to move.

A knock sounds at the bathroom door, and it pulls you from the burning desire that’s pooled between your legs as Ghost edges himself into you. He drags your hair back, and you can see him through the mirror as he glances at the door curiously. “Been in there a while, kid. Everything okay?” Soap's familiar voice sounds through the door. His hand jiggles the doorknob, the movement sending pure panic through you.

You freeze, skin turning pale as you wiggle against Ghost to free yourself. His hand clamps down on your waist, keeping you in place as you look to him with fear in your eyes. “He’s gonna come in!” You hiss, pushing against his touch. The lieutenant rolls his eyes, continuing to edge himself in you. Inch by inch, you’re letting him slip in as your teammate stands anxiously outside the door. He nudges a foot against the bottom of the door, keeping it in place.

“Tell him you’re busy, love” Ghost whispers against your cheek, rocking his hips into you. His knife is dragging itself up your spine, settling against your throat once more. Glancing to the door with your lip caught between your teeth, you let out a shaking sigh as the lieutenant lazily fucks you over the bathroom counter. You’d be dead if you were caught. God knows what he would do to you - and god isn’t here to save you as you dance with the devil.

“M’ fine, just got an upset stomach,” you say, eyes squeezing shut as Ghost slowly pulls out of you, only to slam back in, your head knocking against the mirror. “Need any help?” Soap asks through the door, causing Ghost to chuckle to himself quietly. Quite the opposite, actually. “I’m okay, be out in a minute,” you breathe, biting down on your hand to keep the scream from spilling past your lips.

“Good girl, don’t want him to know my cock is buried in you - yeah, sweetheart?” The lieutenant teases, letting you roll your hips back into him as he continues thrusting. Embarrassing slick wet sounds are being pulled from your needy cunt, and you’re tightening around him as he smacks your ass, now red from his handprint. He lets you shiver under the cool touch of his knife, admiring the way you twitch under him before he slips the blade back to his side.

You’re squirming and twitching on your superior's cock, letting tears of happiness spill onto your skin as he picks up the pace to fuck you harder. His hips are smacking into you, pushing you against the wall as he lets a hand snake around your throat and squeezes harshly. “Please, please, please - Simon, don’t stop - 'm so wet,” you mumble against the glass, grinding your hips into his to desperately search for the friction that you crave.

Ghost mutters curses under his breath, digging his fingers into your neck “you’re filthy, my nasty little slut - takin’ my cock so well, love. I wanna feel your little cunt wrap around me when you cum,” he spits, shoving your face into the mirror and letting his free hand rub circles into your clit. You’re seeing stars - pleasure building itself up and tangling in your stomach as the lieutenant forcefully slams into you. “Tell me that you deserve it - show me what a good girl you are,” Simon says sweetly, admiring the way you moan and melt under his touch.

He feels it too - the familiar knot of tension that has you both pining after one another. Ghost is becoming sloppy, his pace uneven and grip around your neck tightening to an uncontrollable pressure that has you reeling. “Mm-hmm, I promise, Simon - anything you want, I’ll be a good little slut,” you whine. He’s smiling under the mask, adoration and lust flooding his senses as your little cunt squeezes around him in a desperate attempt to find release.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty little pussy, sweetheart-” he breathes into your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror as his fingers rub your wet clit. You nod weakly, already accepting whatever he’ll give to you. “Take it, princess. Let daddy see you cum on his cock,”

You’re coming undone, wiggling your hips against his and letting the pleasure rock through you as he smashes your face into the wall, thrusting harder with every second that passes. “Simon - Simon, please. Fuck, it feels so good,” you whine against him, biting your tongue as the orgasms rips itself from you and crashes over like a wave. You’re twitching and shivering, letting your cum slick and coat his dick that continues to pump in you. “What a good girl - fuckin’ hell.”

He’s smiling to himself, riding out your own orgasm as he follows closely behind. The way you throw your head back, nails dragging onto the countertops has him spiraling out of control. Johnny could never, he thinks to himself. You’re hanging onto his dick like it's a lifeline, whimpering and moaning softly under him.

He’s sick with pleasure, shoulders tensing and biting at his lip as you squeeze and tighten around his cock. Ghost pulls at your hair, slamming his hips into you and pulling back out quickly - only to return a second later with a growl being robbed from his chest as he cums inside you.

The lieutenant rocks slowly into you, riding out his orgasm as you struggle to catch your breath. A thick tension hangs between the two of you, Ghost giving your ass another harsh smack. He lets himself go soft in you, a little disappointed to be pulling out of you so soon. His forehead rests against your back, hand still continuing to grip your throat. His breath fans hot against your back, sweat glistening your skin from the contact of him pressed against you.

“Gonna go crawl back to Johnny with my cum still inside you?” He questions, grabbing a handful of your ass as you glance over your shoulder, a smile playing at your lips. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, letting him peel you away from the countertop and hold you in his arms. He rests his chin along the top of your head, staring at you through the mirror as his thumb rubs soft circles into your throat.

“You think he heard?” You whisper against his skin, head falling against his chest as he laughs behind you.

He twists you to face him, the mask still hiding the smirk that is plastered on his face. You look up at him with curious little eyes that are still glossy from the pleasure that he pulled from you. He cups your face, holding your gaze as the gentle beat of your hearts begin to go out of sync.

“I’m counting on it, love.”

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw22 #modern warfare #call of duty #cod fanfic #mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost headcanons #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost mw2

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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helen. simon.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader Warnings: angst. smut. preestablished situationship. blowjobs. war/wounds. Wordcount: 4.3k Rating: 18+, Explicit. AN: Helen isn't the reader's real name. masterlist for ghost.

“Helen, you copy?”

You press the radio, grab a pair of gloves and throw a tub of utensils on your tray.

Because if he was radioing ahead, it was bad.

“Ghost, you know that’s not my alias.”

“It suits you.”

Clutching the radio, you roll your tongue over your teeth. “Am I dealing with your handiwork or someone else’s?”

“You’re a medic, Helen. Not a coroner.”

“Ever the gentleman. How far?”

He didn’t answer, because of course he fucking didn’t.

The doors of your makeshift medic tent were forced open with a crack, watching Ghost carrying in a bleeding Soap. The radio in your hand quickly discarded, the gloves snapping against your wrist and fingers as you move closer, eyeing up the work.

Ghost nods in your direction once he placed Soap down with a groan, you roll your eyes, walking towards them.

You pull your tray on wheels close. “Boo, how did you let this happen to him?”

Your fingers brush over stained scarlet fabric, taking the scissors from the tray to begin cutting Gaz’s clothes free from his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be looking after him—“

“—I’m right here—“ Soap protests.

But you continue, as if he didn’t speak. “—Through and through?”

“Affirmative,” Ghost says, your eyes glancing to his as he holds your stare.

Nodding, you look down, offering a comforting smile. “This isn’t going to be a tickle.”

“I trust you, Doc,” Soap groans.

“Probably the best decision you’ve made,” you comment, grabbing some alcohol to disinfect.

Soap hisses as the alcohol hits, and your gloved fingers spread quickly over the site, your hand swapping the bottle for a needle.

“Slow breaths for me, MacTavish,” you smile, beginning your work.

Stitching is easy. Even if you’re being watched like a hawk.

You’re neat, gentle—that’s what you’re told anyway.

For you, it’s one of the nicer parts of your job for saying what you were ordered to do. Which makes you wonder why you were called ahead.

It’s normally worse, much worse.

The only explanation you can think of, is because of the person bringing Soap in wanted you to know he’d be here. That his presence would be around yours.

“You’re gentler than I imagined,” Soap mumbles.

Your lips curl into a smirk, glancing at him as you place your needle down to wipe the blood from the site. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, dropping the stained cotton wool in a bowl as you briefly catch Ghost’s eyes before meeting Soap’s. “No. But don’t make it a habit of ending up here. It’s my choice to be gentle.”

There’s something about hearing a certain kind of laugh come from you.

When it used to be for him, it was bliss.

It was everything. It was like light, and warmth—both a beautiful mix of the sun and the moon, one warming his bones and one guiding him home.

It’s for that reason when he hears your laugh and he’s not in the room—that bothers him.

He’s aware he has no right.

Nothing should compel him to feel anything. He’s not jealous, because there’s nothing that ties him into being jealous. He’s a lone wolf, he doesn’t grow attachments.

Ghost doesn’t even show his goddamn face.

You are not his—he is not yours.

Something the two of you came to the conclusion of last time. Just two entities that seem to find one another across battlefields and missions.

Even if—truthfully—this time, he’s the one who recommended you. The one who made you be here.

Your list of skills were important, necessary. That’s what he told Price, his exact words if he remembers. A medic, a hacker, and a great shot if needed.

Most of all, he likes you close—likes knowing you are safe.

He shouldn’t.

His past enough evidence to showcase why he shouldn’t let people get close, why he should keep you far away from him. But, he can’t.

You being one of the few who have seen him—all of him. He hadn’t known your name when you’d cleared the tent, waiting to ask him what he needed.

It was the care, that made him move. There had been no other reason. Most, if not all, knew his identity was a secret. You having being briefed, most likely, and yet while that was enough of an explanation as to why you cleared the room, you still ensured it was.

It’s why he let his hands guide your fingers to remove his mask that first time, the blood from his gash coating both of your fingers until the mask was removed. He remembers how warm your eyes were even now and then how quickly they switched to being practical. To the small things like turning him fully from the view of the door to cleaning and stitching him.

Ghost had been sure you could hear his heart with how close you stood. How your thighs were on either side of his knee as you closed the cut on his forehead from his fall. If you did hear, you said nothing.

Turning from him when you were done and saying you can put your spare on now, Simon.

You rarely used his name.

Almost as though maskless him was Simon, and Ghost was someone else.

He wanted to ask how you knew, who had told you of the spares he kept on his persons. But when you turned, staring into his eyes, he knew you just knew.

And so it was you he sought, practically seeking you like a bullet aiming for a target. You allowed him into your quarters, attending to wounds without the risk of others seeing him.

The name Helen came because he’d heard the talk.

The others discussing you, wondering in loud tones what you looked like under your tactical gear or your scrubs. If your grip would be as firm around their cocks as you were with a needle or scalpel.

He didn’t know what sat in his belly, but it was close to the fire when he sought you out. His mask half lifted as he connected his lips to yours, both needing to claim you and taste you simultaneously. His arm pulled you clean from the ground, your spine connecting with the door of your quarters as he ripped and stripped you of the few clothes you were wearing.

If he makes himself remember, he can still feel how gentle the pads of your fingers were when they lifted his mask that first time. How your eyes softened, his mask had fallen to the floor before you kissed him.

That’s when he should have known he was fucked, because he went back time and time again.

The two of you kept your distance. Except for the private moments behind watchful eyes, the moments he’d offer you a drink—hand brushing yours. His knee pressed against yours when you sat next to him at the few mealtimes you were able to sit for.

Then it unravelled.

He said things. You said nothing.

One day there, one day not.

Transferred he heard.

He didn’t want to know enough, worried a part of him would try to find you. Telling himself, it was for the best until Price invited him to join.

And then he got you back.

One quick word, and there you were.

All smirks, quick-tongued and glistening eyes once more. His eyes found you across briefings, the corner of your eye meeting his before your lips quirked.

He was content, happy almost… then there was Soap.

Soap let his eyes linger on your face for longer than he needed to. Soap, who made you laugh with ease, who you spoke to without need or cause.

And he’s not jealous.

There’s nothing to be jealous of. He saw to that.

So there's no reason for the anger bubbling inside of him as he stands outside, listening to Soap make you laugh while you check his stitches.

It’s rare to see Soap without Ghost.

For as lone-wolf as he pretends to be, Soap seems harder for him to shake.

It doesn’t shock you when they both walk into the briefings together, when they’re not far from each other. You heard, as did the rest, how good of a team the two of them were.

Bonded, they said.

Betrayal did that too.

Their trays come down, your eyes flicking up as you pull a piece of bread from your roll. They’re bickering about what you aren’t sure about, your focus on eating and not the fact you’ve felt his knee against yours.

The touch, the sign, almost making you lose your breath.

Ghost doesn’t move it, as if it’s purposefully there, wanting you to remember—as if you could ever fucking forget.

You knew what people said, the chatter. But you knew he knew the truth. That you never sought company amongst others. A rule, one you’d broken for him and him alone.

Not that he thought he was worthy of it.

He didn’t need to say it then, as he doesn’t need to now.

Ghost, once he’s let you in, is easy to read.

To some, he’s cold and distant, but it’s the fleeting in-between people miss. It’s also the way everyone else calls you your alias, except him.

They think it’s teasing, him being… Ghost.

But if they listened to the infliction in his voice, it’s not that at all. It’s as close to the way he says your name when he’s buried inside of you; it’s as close to how it sounds when his lips are by your ear, fingers around your neck as he makes your eyes roll in the back of your head.

It’s his way of—

“Chip?” Soap asks, pushing his tray towards you.

Pulling you from your thoughts, you swallow. Sliding your knee more against Ghost’s as you smile, shaking your head to Soap. “I’m good. How’s the arm?”

“Better. Thanks, Doc.”

You nod, dropping the rest of your roll down onto the tray and brushing the crumbs from your fingers.

“I never asked, why does he call you Helen?” Soap asks, jutting his head to the man beside him.

The one who has barely moved his mask to eat, even if his tray is full. You feel his knee move, and your eyes flick to him, finding his on his own tray.

“Helen of Troy,” you reply, just above a whisper, head tilting as you watch Soap’s expression. “The face that launched a thousand ships? I know you know first-hand his odd humour, but I think he really believes he’s being funny.”

“I don’t think it. I am funny.”

You roll your eyes.

“What’s the story behind Boo then?”

You laugh, pushing your tray away. “He’s a ghost from Super Mario. Not as funny or as complimentary, but relatable. While I don’t think he cackles down corridors, he is an annoying fucker who people should learn not to turn their back on.”

It also sounded gentler.

Like a pet name. Something which you’d done purposefully to annoy him, than be affectionate. But it stuck.

Like all things did between the two of you.

Before, you could imagine a life with Simon. The way his eyes soften for a millisecond when they land on you. It’s in those small moments you could have imagined a small home and a dog, maybe a roast on a Sunday and blankets in the winter.

But it’s Ghost who you have in front of you now, and it’s Ghost who drew a line under it all.

Now all of the memories are tainted with bitterness, all twisted reminders of times that weren’t this. Where he kept his distance, and you hardened yourself, so you didn’t close the space.

“Careful,” Ghost comments, his gruff voice silencing the two of you.

Your eyes fall to the table as you stand, smiling.

It wasn’t just that he thought you were beautiful, as to why he called you Helen.

It started as that.

But soon enough, he realised he’d launch a thousand ships for you himself—or, more relatably, in his line of work, make a thousand bullet rain down.

He’d caged it, though. Stuffed it in some dark corner where the rest of his issues were. It was fine there, it was welcomed and perfect.

Then, just as Ghost had managed to stuff it away, it came out when he spotted the enemy on the rooftop. Sneaking around, heading in your direction.

He’d advised against splitting up, even if he’d been overruled. Half of him wanted to yell at anyone and everyone that you shouldn’t even be on out here, not when medics—good medics—were hard to fucking come by.

It's why he doesn’t think when he leaves his place. His body moved without question. His brain knows your radio isn’t working, it’s been crackling, breaking up. At first, he thought you were being you—annoying. Until you called him Ghost in a tone, he didn’t care for.

It fuels him, that tone. His boots hammer into the cobbles as he hears the bullets.

Hand on his radio. “Get to the fountain, Soap. Ambush in progress. Now.”

Barely hearing him reply as his hand grasps his knife, throwing it at the one sneaking up before his arm finds you.

Ghost pulls you close, practically grabbing you; your gasp fills his ears before he throws the two of you through a wooden door.

It splinters around the two of you as you fall to the tiled floor with a thud. Hands on you, pushing you behind the counters as he shields you, pulling your body close.

His chin digs into your neck, heartbeat thundering in his ears, mixing with the bullets puncturing the air, wall, windows and anything else they can touch until silence.

Until nothing.

Both of you waiting, suddenly realising that your hands are around him, gripping his waist with the same intensity until his radio sounds.

“Ghost.”

“Soap,” he replies, feeling you shift, moving from him.

He knows it then.

Knows how fucked he is, especially when you don’t meet his eyes. An achievement which isn’t celebrated by the two of you.

Even if you got it, the hard drive. The thing they’d been seeking.

He avoids you.

Or does his best too. He does so until it’s hard to breathe, the tension thickening in the base each time he passes you, each time he hears someone says your name—your real name.

Not your alias.

Not Helen.

But your actual, fucking name.

The same one he’s moaned himself, the same one he’s whispered when the lights were out, and your body were against his.

You’re like a wound that never heals, and he can’t risk it anymore. Can’t chance bleeding out in front of everyone, not letting this fall apart—not driving you away again.

I don’t think we can be friends.

It’s all he says as he stands near your desk, knowing he’s leaving the base for a mission. Six fucking words that made your head whip up so quick he’s surprised your head remained on your neck.

All he thought was don’t give me the eyes. Don’t give me that fucking look that you do.

And you did.

That look made it hard for him not to take them back, to not close the gap between you and pull you so close and never let you go.

Why?

That’s all you asked.

Throwing your pen down, a little anger to it as your shoulders raised and your jaw tightened.

Why Ghost?

He doesn’t answer.

He just turned on his heels and boarded the plane.

The whole time he felt the answer rolling around his head, sitting on the tip of his tongue like an ulcer that hurt and annoyed him.

On the plane back, it worsened. It made him feel heavy. Worsened by images of that look you gave him, the one so reminiscent of the look you gave him all those years ago.

“You’re hard to be around.”

He watches you lift your head from your book. He didn’t even mean to come to your quarters. But here his boots were, the lamp giving your face a soft glow as he stepped through the open door of your space.

You close the book slowly, running a hand over your face before sighing. “Don’t come to my space then, Ghost.”

He closes your door, taking a long time to turn back to face you, but when he does, he sees it on your face. That same look.

“It’s why I can’t be friends with you. You’re too hard to be around.”

It’s a look which has haunted his dreams and hung in the depths of his nightmares.

“It’s not easy to be around you either,” you reply.

He watches, barely moving as you untangle your legs, slowly standing. For a second, you seem in two minds about whether to close the gap. Fingers twitching at your sides.

“You left.” You left me.

“I transferred.” You gave me no choice.

“Same thing.”

He watches as your chest rises and falls. His fingers move to undo his vest, his belt, throwing it down to take some of the weight off. Your eyes not leaving him.

“You hurt?”

He snorts.

Because no, not where you can fix him.

And he won’t ever admit the rest.

“You don’t have to be an arsehole,” you comment. “It’s a choice. A no is sufficient.”

You move closer before pausing again.

“You still hate me?”

It’s all he can ask.

Your face twisting ever so slightly.

Many wouldn’t notice, but he does. He knows each one of your faces, each twist of a feature and what it means. All the times he’s found himself watching, all of it benefiting him in the end.

But, even if your face is doing one thing, your eyes are doing something entirely different. Mixing between nothingness and pain, shimmering in the low light, transfixing him to the point it takes him a moment to realise you’re in front of him. Your hand on his masked-covered cheek before your thumbs hooks under it.

He lets you run your nails over his stubble, he lets you slide against his jaw as he remains perfectly still. More so when you lift it just above his nostrils, letting the back sit on the tip of his nose before you lift up on your tiptoes and you kiss him.

It’s instinctive, the way his arm comes around your waist and lifts you off the ground. It’s routine how your arms come around his neck and legs around his waist.

His hand in your hair makes you moan, that sweet, delicious sound he wishes would coat him forever. He wraps what he can in his grip before tugging, biting your bottom lip and saying, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You pull back from his lips, a look on his face he actually can’t read. This is why you must let your legs go, sliding down him, holding his puzzled gaze as you pull your cami top over your head. His gaze falling temporarily from your face to your bare chest, tracing the front of his teeth with his tongue before watching you snake your fingers into the band of your shorts and underwear.

It feels slow, even if it’s in his head, how you wiggle them down your thighs until they pool at your feet. Standing, bare, exposed just for him.

“I can’t hate you.”

“Come here,” he groans, hunger dripping in his demanding tone.

And you do.

You don’t drag your feet, you willingly move until your body is against him, lips groaning against his as you capture his tongue. Your hands make work of his trousers, his feet stepping out of them as he yanks his t-shirt over his head.

Then you grip his waist and his thighs, sliding down to your knees as you peel his underwear from his skin.

He hisses when you lick a strip up the base of his cock, sliding his hands free from his gloves so he can properly grip his hands in your hair.

Ghost needs to hold onto something as you take him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing, eyes staring up at him, looking every bit his Helen. Your tongue twists around the head, the air painted with gruff moans and hisses all coming from him as you slide your teeth down as much as you can.

He could fuck your throat.

Fuck, he wants to.

Instead, he pulls you to your feet, seeing the disappointment fading as he places you back up and standing.

He expects you to move his mask, to let your fingers trace the parts of his face you rarely see.

But you don’t. You just pull him with you, walking the two of you to your bed before lying down and pulling him with you.

It’s the way he holds you flush to him as if he needs to be inside of you—pulling you close until there’s no space. Your hand sliding between you both, his groan filling the space as you palm his want, his need through thin boxers as he runs his stubble against your neck.

Ghost slides his forehead over yours, the mask likely rough against your skin, eyes burning into him. “You’re never this silent.”

His fingers move from your hips to move his mask, but your hand grasps his wrist. Swallowing.

“I don’t want Simon.”

His head tilts ever so slightly. Suddenly not able to say a thing.

“Not tonight.”

It’s his turn to swallow. “Alright.”

And he lowers his palm to the space beside your head, caging you in.

“Eyes on me,” he says gruffly.

You are a coward.

A very sore coward.

You left Ghost in your room when he fell asleep beside you. You reasoned there was always something to do, and even if you were sure you had bruised bites forming on the inside of your thighs—you needed to keep busy.

Any other day, inventory bored the shit out of you.

Tonight, with the knowledge that a certain Lieutenant had almost made you forget your own name, it was wanted, needed.

A distraction like no other, which is rudely interrupted after only being here an hour.

His mask is back on. His clothes are as neat as they can be for saying they were thrown and discarded in a corner.

“Don’t do that again.”

You almost comment what, but the look, the fact he’s barely put on any black around his eyes, says he’s not in the mood.

"Leave. Don't leave like that again."

You shake your head. “That an order, Lt?”

“Damn right it is,” he says, his tone matching the expression he’s giving perfectly.

You swallow, staring at him. “Don’t do this, Ghost.”

“We’re way past, Ghost, don’t you think.”

Clicking your pen, you place it down with your clipboard, turning your body, so you face him. Properly.

“You’re being cruel,” you say, pulling your chair over as you seat yourself down. "And I know you know that..."

You roll your lips. “You have to be. Because you know how I feel… and yet you’re doing this all over again. I asked you when I first got here, if could we just be friends. And you agreed. And now...”

“I know.”

“So… what is with the knee, and the looks, and… I can’t do this again, Simon, I can’t try and get over you. I’m not that good, I’m not… I’m not that strong. Not for you, not when it comes to you, Simon.”

His eyes flicker.

It taking a moment to register that you said his name.

His real name.

The one you rarely, if ever, used, even behind private walls. Not because you didn’t want to but because it unlocked too much. It opened all of your locked places and unleashed the flurry of dreams and hopes that came with it.

And it’s all made worse by the way he says your name.

It’s soft and horribly gentle. He says your name just then like he’s trying to soothe you, but it just hurts.

It hurts because you love him.

You keep loving him. You try to build walls between the man you love and the person he has to be. It’s why you made him keep the mask on, it’s why you only whispered his real name when he brought you to climax.

It looks, from his expression staring at you, like he’s put the pieces of that puzzle together too, now.

You don’t expect it. Even after all the many versions of Ghost you’ve seen.

But, Ghost slowly lowering onto his knees, and not to spread your thighs, is unique. Especially when he just stares, saying so much without uttering a word.

And then, watching as one hand slides the glove off the other, your eyes following it as he takes your hand in his, clutching it, holding it. Something the two of you have never done outside either of your rooms—in the past or the present.

Slowly, as tears begin to prick, feeling overwhelmed by the silence and the loudness of the moment. Especially as his other hand takes your chin, pulling your face to meet his as he presses his forehead to yours.

It’s simple. Nothing too many.

But to you, it’s everything.

It’s more than a declaration, especially from him. And you get it, your hurt feelings vanishing, disappearing as he wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His eyes hold yours. “Okay.”

“It’ll be hard.”

“And worth it.”

You nod, letting a soft smile tug at your lips as he wipes another stray tear. "You may get sick of me, I'm very annoying."

"I already know that." You smirk, and he grips your hand tighter. “Still... you're mine. My Helen.”

You snort, “My Simon.”

masterlist for ghost.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader smut #ghost x reader smut #simon riley #cod ghost x reader smut #cod ghost angst #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader

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mistydeyes · 11 months

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opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

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price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

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