#though I do feel it would have to be with someone where trust has been built
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Health and Hybrids (XXII)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... SOMEONE (Danny) had a PANIC ATTACK (it was warranted) and now he's laying low and trying not to move.
Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
There’s a green guy in his room.
Danny keeps eating his mush. There’s mush apple in it today, for variety. It’s probably triple-pasteurized applesauce, but it’s something, and Danny’ll appreciate it while it lasts.
The green guy and the lady are talking. Danny is happy to ignore them—they’re quiet, and careful, even if they’re trying not to act too suspicious or too quiet. Danny has the sneaking suspicion that he’s supposed to be getting used to his presence. Like a cat meeting another cat, or something.
The thing is, Danny kind of remembers him—but his brain’s been so loopy and weird, it’s kind of…hard to be certain? There are some memories of pain, and some memories of stress, and…maybe he was there for one of his star-walks? Danny thinks?
His memories are all mush. Since waking up here, Danny’s been more confused the more he’s become aware.
He sticks his spoon in his mouth.
Hello, the green guy tries, flexing some oddly solid aura, but Danny’s very busily ignoring him; the television has another news segment on weather in places Danny’s never seen, and he’s trying really hard to remember what the extra letters actually sound like.
There’s, like, an ampersand in the middle of words here. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I would like to talk, the not-ghost says without speaking, which is how Danny knows he’s not human. He doesn’t feel like a ghost, per se, and Danny’s breath is normal and as warm as his body can arrange it. It’s still weird though, since he clearly wants to communicate in some way, and Danny just.
He digs his teeth into the plastic spoon. It’ll leave little tooth-shaped dents. He focuses very firmly on the television spot. There are so many towns. Some of them have very silly names. One of them is having an asteroid shower, if Danny trusts his understanding of the icons they’re using.
Asteroids are cool. There’s a couple shots of the sky and a projected time at 8pm in some time zone. Maybe he can get the fast kid to tell his medical team he wants to see them. Maybe they’ll actually let him out of his room at night to watch…?
A hand gently fans at his sleeve so that the breeze jostles the fabric just a little bit. It’s a signal Danny’s gotten used to—a non-verbal, attention-grabbing signal that doesn’t require physical touch.
Danny looks. The lady waves.
He huffs.
“Licie,” the lady asks gently, but firmly. It’s a pretty insistent Please.
Please be polite with the guests, Danny. Your father loves Vlad, so please be nice, Danny.
…Danny doesn’t quite roll his eyes but he does. Look away. He doesn’t want to talk to them. Boundaries aren’t so… Empathic beings are…
“Do I have to?” he asks, and then remembers. Right. Different language. “Ic sceal?”
“Licie. Pleese.”
Danny’s face scrunches up. All the scarring his face probably has pulls taut. “…’Kay.”
“Min þanc.” Thanks.
Danny…reluctantly…faces the green guy.
He looks. Nice. Enough. He’d look better if he wasn’t staring—if Danny couldn’t physically feel how heavy the green guy’s attention was weighing down on him, pressing into his head and shoulders and neck, and—
Danny looks away. Again. The lady sighs.
The green guy sends waves of peace, calm, which is definitely a threat! Danny’s been smacked by Nocturn more than once! He knows what safety feels like when wielded as a weapon!
Apology wafts around the room, but Danny doesn’t want to hear it. Feel it. Smell it? Whatever. It has nothing to do with him. Danny wants to fiddle with the bits of his space station and maybe practice writing his name again, which has so far been less than a success. But he should probably introduce himself soon enough.
It’s only been. You know. …Literal months.
Questions and answers/queries and information? the green guy offers to trade, which is theoretically nice. But Danny’s been hunted for answers before—and sometimes just straight up hunted for fun.
There’s no information he wants to give.
Ask me? comes instead.
…Danny’s fingers still. Wait. He’s allowed to ask?
A bubble of amusement/worry bursts. Yes. If Danny has questions, he can apparently…ask.
Okay. Danny sets the space shuttle aside. He tilts his aura around, and bends it—if the green guy were a ghost, they’d be able to share more emotions with Danny’s guard slipped downwards. He’s going to bet it works…kind of the same way for whatever he is.
Who’s the lady? Does she have a name?
There’s a bubble burst of a memory—some dude in all black with little cat ears announcing This is Wonder Woman, hand out to present her to the listener. Without her scrubs on in the memory, she looks…like a warrior.
Armored. Strong. Black hair, gold gauntlets and red boots. Firm back. Like on the television
…In her scrubs, she just looks like the same lady as always. In his head, she looks as powerful and mighty as Pandora.
Danny’s heart picks up. Breathing becomes—harder. Does she fight? Does she fight all the time?
Memories of shared battles play out from the green being’s point of view: punching and throwing and whipping her lasso in the air and confidence and freeing prisoners and the power of the gods behind her, a royal in her own right—
…Will Danny have to fight?
The green guy murmurs something sad, grief flashing up against Danny’s low emotional shields. His hands reach out—but Danny leans back. He doesn’t want to be touched. He doesn’t want to feel the dude feeling bad for him. He just wants to know; will Danny be forced to fight?
There’s a deep, painful sympathy brushing up against him. Danny recoils. The thoughts of healing, doctors, naps, coming off his meds, recovery. Of concern, worry, Wonder Woman settling the patient’s blankets, his green-marred face raw and luminescent.
Healing. Resting.
Which. Danny glares. He gets that. But what happens after? Medical care is expensive, and Danny doesn’t even have hint of an idea of how long he’s been lying here. He knows that nothing comes free.
The green guy’s expression squeezes with concern. His head might be kind of funky-shaped, but the face is pretty human equivalent. Danny would have struggled to read Frostbite’s more than his. Danny doesn’t like that.
Danny misses beings he recognizes. He wants his friends. He wants Jazz. He wants Frostbite or Wulf or…or…
…Or Mom…or Dad…
Something touches Danny’s hand. Danny looks down. The green hand that reaches for him doesn’t grab, exactly, but it lets him know that the dude is there, at his side. I’m sorry, the guy says, more sentiment than thought. And then there’s a struggle to convey the next few thoughts.
…Because the guy doesn’t have as much experience of being outside as the school bell rings, children going in. Lunches in the headquarters cafeteria. The phone in Flash’s hand turned sideways, so that Martian Manhunter can see the dead-fish kiss between Rosalinda and Romero from last night's episode—
Wait, is the guy actually an alien? It’s kind of rude, but Danny. Gawks.
The concern hanging around in the air of the room turns into green-tinged amusement. The green dude and Danny have already had this conversation.
…Danny peeks at his water bottle on the side table and sheepishly rubs his nose. Ah. Whoops. They have?
Yes, the alien continues, and pulls his hand back. But they were having a conversation. About school. And healing. And recovering, and a comfortable space to rest, and an apartment on Earth and peace and family, and—
Danny shoves his emotional shields all the way back up before he. Before he forgets. His heart is pounding. He can’t look.
He can’t.
He.
…He can’t have that again.
The green guy—the martian wants to tell Danny something else, but he can’t—he can’t open himself up to that anymore.
Danny doesn’t have a mom anymore. Danny doesn’t have a dad anymore. His sister is—gone. He’s not going to hurt himself for wanting them back. There's no family and no house and no safety.
There are more quiet, empathetic presses against Danny’s emotions, but Danny pulls the covers up as high as they’ll go, and breathes through the thin cotton sheet pressed against his face.
It catches his tears, when he has them.
Someone mutters, and someone else mutters back. When Danny feels something touch his wrist through the cotton blanket, he can’t help flinching, but the speaker’s voice is familiar enough that he settles quickly enough. Danny listens to the lady—Wonder Woman, he remembers—hum softly.
…It’s a nice hum.
She hums, and she strokes his wrist, and she doesn’t go anywhere. She’s a stalwart, soft presence at his side.
It’s nice.
It's... Relatively, it's safe.
Danny eventually stops acting like a baby, and. Takes the sheet off. He isn’t crying, so there aren’t and tears to wipe away (there’s no need to check the footage, just believe him!), but it takes him a second to get himself reoriented to the room without a giant psychic presence in it.
But the whole time, the lady just…rubs his wrist, and then his mildly obliterated (but mostly healed!) hand. And hums. And lets Danny reorient himself, at his own pace, and in a safe space.
Danny sniffles. He hopes it’s all mucus in his sinus cavity, and not, like, more ecto. But who knows?
The lady tilts her head forward, until Danny can see the blue eyes peeking over her lavender surgical mask. Her hand comes to her chest to tap against the paper-thin PPE covering her top half.
“Wonder Woman,” the lady says, firmly and clearly. “Diana.”
…That’s a name. Danny’s nose scrunches. That's a human name. That's a very recognizable, extremely culturally familiar human name.
They never introduced themselves, right?
Maybe…well… He is in space. Maybe he’s far enough away that no one will know him if he says his name.
(Or maybe Mom won’t want him back anyway, even if she found him.)
And there’s probably a million black-haired kids named Daniel, anyway. It’s a biblical name. These people don’t even speak English or Esperanto, or anything else Danny knows; so maybe it’s. Safe?
And…maybe Danny just wants to hear his name said again.
“D…”
The lady frowns, and then eases closer. Danny—gently—tugs on a lock of her hair until she lowers, and his mouth can reach her ear.
“D’nny,” Daniel James Fenton whispers into Wonder Woman’s ear.
Diana raises herself back upright. Her eyes are wet.
“Danny,” she repeats back to him. Her callused hands gently take both of Danny’s scarred and lumpy ones. “Wel mete.”
*
“He believes that we are going to require his presence in combat as payment for his recovery,” J’onn reports diligently, and stuffs his trepidation deep into his countenance.
The league around him groans.
*
#Danny: who're you#J'onn: *deep sigh*#health and hybrids#dp x dc#danny phantom#dcu crossover#dpxdc#dcxdp#tw medical#tw gore#tw body horror
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༊*·˚ You drew Stars around my Scars !
alternatively , how they react to your scars ༊*·˚
Contains ʚɞ insecurities , comfort , fluff , reader getting emotional, established relationship
(A/n)༊*·˚ In case you ever feel insecure about your scars , don't be <3 Scars , no matter from what they were caused , show how strong you were in the situation. As someone who also has scars , it's normal to feel insecure about them sometimes but learn to accept them , they're part of who you are and who you have become — a strong person <3
༊*·˚ Shotaro
♡ When he first saw your scars , he didn't point it out because he knows that he shouldn't plus he didn't want to — if you wanted to tell him about your scars he'd gladly listen , but he didn't want to force you to talk about it just because he asked.
♡ but he did let you know that he saw them by small actions such as gently caressing your scars , leaving little kisses on them or just gentle rubbing his thumb across them while lovingly smiling at you.
༊*·˚ Eunseok
♡ When he first saw your scars , he just stared , a little perplexed as a thousands thoughts run through his mind. He snaps out of it though when he saw you shifting, feeling a little uncomfortable with his stare.
♡ He'd quickly apologies and pull you into his arms , as much as he wanted to know , he didn't ask from where you got those scars from. He'd reassure you and mumble soft apologies , kissing your forehand and telling you how proud he was of you and that you were his strong , pretty girl
༊*·˚ Sungchan
♡ Another one who was a little perplexed and didn't know what to do . Was it okay to ask? Would it be too much if he'd ask? But thankfully , you noticed his expression and chuckled a little — explaining that the scars were old and what had caused them.
♡ his heart would swell when you told him about it , he was happy that you trusted him enough to tell him about it as it could've been a touchy subject for you. Also someone who'd subconsciously caress your scars when the two of you were cuddling.
༊*·˚ Wonbin
♡ the first time he saw them was when the two of you were getting intimate for the first time. He noticed that you weren't undressing until the lights got turned off , which he had no issue with. But what really made him realize why was when his fingers grazed the bumpy skin, his fingers twitching a little at the feeling.
♡ He panicked a little when you started to feel insecure and mumbled little apologies , telling him that he didn't need to touch your skin if he felt disgusted by them which he quickly shook off. He asked you if this was the reason why you wanted the lights off to which you replied with a small "Yes" before he asked if he can turn them back on again. When you asked why , he replied by saying "So I can kiss each and every single one of them"
༊*·˚ Seunghan
♡ He found out about them while you were sleeping on top of him. Since you only wore his shirt which was huge on your frame , it had moved and revealed your skin while you were moving in your sleep.
♡ He just smiled solemnly and gently caressed them , kissing your forehead while you were sleeping but he didn't mention that he saw them when you woke up.
༊*·˚ Sohee
♡ He gasped when he first saw them. Not because he was disgusted or shocked , no no , in his opinion — your scars were cool! They showed how strong you were no matter what had caused them and he'd tell you that as soon as he saw them with that bright smile of his.
♡ He didn't want you to feel insecure about them so whenever you did , he would draw little stars or flowers on/around them. He even bought band aids with a cute print on them so you could cover them in case you felt really insecure about them.
༊*·˚ Anton
♡ He first saw them when the two of you were supposed to go swimming in his private swimming pool. You were gone for way too long for just getting changed in your swimsuit so he went to check up on you — just to see you standing in your swimsuit , crying.
♡ His heart stopped the moment he saw you crying so he immediately asked what was wrong to which you simply turned around. His eyes would roam around a little to see each scar but his eyes held nothing but love. He pulled you into his arms and reassured you , telling you that you could've just told him that you didn't want to swim and didn't had to force yourself like this. He'd kiss your forehead before kneeling down , kissing your scars softly and telling you that you were even more beautiful to him now — your flaws made you more beautiful in his eyes because it reminded him that you were also just a human , a strong one.
Tagging༊*·˚ @minhosimthings
#riize headcanons#riize imagines#riize scenarios#riize anton x reader#anton x reader#riize sohee x reader#sohee x reader#seunghan x reader#riize seunghan x reader#wonbin x reader#riize wonbin x reader#riize sungchan x reader#sungchan x reader#riize eunseok x reader#eunseok x reader#riize shotaro x reader#shotaro x reader#riize fluff#riize x reader
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Okay Clove. I've seen a lot of little snippets from Blind Trust and I rock with your writing style a ton. But what's the book actually about?? Something with magic in a contemporary setting ? Hot dogs are somehow involved ??
Geets, it's me, the person who never learned how to properly pitch their own writing! I'll give it a shot anyway. I have a pinned post on my blog that has the fancy synopsis I'll probably put on the back of the book, but I'm fresh from a nap and on my phone and Feeling Frisky so I'll try and take it a different way.
What is Blind Trust about?
Blind Trust is book one of the Songbird Elegies, and it takes place in a contemporary world where magic exists but isn't great. It's not bad in a cool, The Witcher sort of way. Most people only know about magic through The Academy, where anyone can enlist and learn how to tap into the source of magic itself. Which sounds cool until you consider the physical strain of even a minor spell, the fact that major spells can take massive amounts for studying and practice and still aren't that powerful, and how carrying a wand on your person at all times is not easy to do without looking and feeling like a dipshit. Essentially, the average Academic Witch is like an arrogant MFA student or so someone really into craft beer.
But then there is a certain, little-studied medical anomaly that creates birthrights, which are individuals born already tapped into the source of magic by design. They each have a single ability that they can do without a wand (or wand-shaped proxy), but it's nothing innately combative and is mainly used to help interact with society at large. This is because the Birthright Gene is seen exclusively in individuals who are either born with a severe hereditary, genetic, or developmental disability, or will develop one over the course of their life but I'm not supposed to talk about that yet.
Birthrights are often found in a few scattered witch towns, where they use their abilities to focus on social work and community outreach. People also call them genetic witches, but you'd be hard-pressed to get a birthright to call themselves a witch at all. They don't value magic at all in the same way Academics do, and primarily see their "gift" as a chronic illness to manage and accommodate for.
Birthrights and Academics have varying relationships depending on where you are and who you ask but I can't really get into that because in Blind Trust no one knows anything so you don't get to either.
Well, that's not true. There's a mutual understanding of the concept of soul bonds, which are lifelong connections formed between individuals born in the source of magic - though how much people actually retained about this varies. A soul bond is not unlike a karass in Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle, in that the people involved are cosmically entangled with each other in a very profound way.
They might be born to be companions, family, enemies, or lovers. The last possibility, called a Lover's Knot, is the rarest and is reserved as a way to contain birthrights who would otherwise be capable of reality-shattering degrees of power. Which nobody wants. Especially not a birthright.
Meet Edgar Gallows and Scott Skylark Kaufner. Scott is a birthright from a witch town and Edgar was born into an Academy in Louisiana, despite also being birthright.
At the start of Blind Trust Edgar has escaped his Academy for the time being and has established a ramshackle and pretty lonely life for himself in New Orleans. He never wants to touch a wand for the rest of his life, and his only hope is to be boring and safe and left alone forever.
Meanwhile, Scott has been having a real rough time. He's been wandering the country nonstop for years with an unfathomable cosmic horror feeding on his sanity and gradually eroding reality around him. Birthrights don't use their abilities often, but for some reason Scott can't turn his off, and they've been warped to the degree where he's been forced to manipulate everyone around him. He can't stop, though. The only thing that can make this stop is if he finds the other half of his Lover's Knot, who he now only remembers as a ghostly vision named Eddie.
Scott and Edgar meet in a dirty walk-in of a mid-tier, overpriced bar and restaurant. Stuff changes and continues to change. Magic is involved but it's not really about the magic.
It's asexual and romantic and soft and confused and frightening and frightened and tender and in book two Edgar eats a hot dog for four pages. It's a great book about love and devotion that's sensual but not at all sexual, because the Clove Gardener Pledge is that there is no sex depicted at any point in the series. It's a great series if you're coping with parental neglect and trauma and want to read a depiction of self-love through an unconventional romantic pairing.
Blind Trust. Buy it in June in paperback or ebook, or just ask me for it and I'll probably give it to you.
#writeblr#writing community#writers on tumblr#on writing#authors of tumblr#writing#queer writers#actually writing#blind trust#songbird elegies#aspec#asexual#asexuality#asexual positivity#asexual relationship#self published#indie author#magic system#urban fantasy
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ミi hear you like magic? i've got a wand and a rabbit!
part one | part two
🍓 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem reader
🍓 tags: nsfw, size kink, virgin!reader, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, some mild second-hand embarrassment perhaps, sex toys, edging, failed masturbation attempts, ghost takes your virginity and also maybe ruins you for literally anybody else ever again
masterlist
reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
The ceiling over your head is drab grey and water-stained, the old paint peeling away in strips. It’s an ugly sight, but you barely see it; you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.
The sheets beneath you are uncomfortably damp with your sweat, but you don’t have the energy to roll over just yet. You feel hot and itchy with frustration, and you scowl up at the ceiling above you as your fingers curl into fists. But even though you feel like laying in your now grubby-bedding for the rest of the evening, you can’t let yourself wallow. There’s going to be a knock on your door any minute, and this is not a position you want to be found in.
With an irritable groan, you haul yourself off the bed and to your feet. Your muscles ache and you feel too warm, but you reach for your clothes anyway. The worn cotton of your shirt feels scratchy against your skin, but maybe that’s just because you’re still over-sensitive and irritable.
You can never quite bear to look at the aftermath of what you’d been doing, so you avert your eyes as you gather up the bright silicone and plastic devices littering your mattress. It’s embarrassing now that the adrenaline has worn off and disappointment is beginning to set in, so you end up gathering them all up more roughly than necessary.
The term ‘toy’ seems incongruous to you. It sounds too childish, too immature. It makes you sound like a stupid kid, as though you aren’t a young adult past twenty fumbling your way through sexual self-exploration. It’s embarrassing, and much more frustrating than you ever would have predicted – despite all of your clumsy, desperate attempts at pleasuring yourself, you’ve never quite managed to reach that peak of pleasure you’ve heard other people talking about.
You grumble quietly to yourself as you try to wipe away the sticky lube that’s still coating your thighs. Your muscles are a little achy from all the tensing you’d been doing trying to come with that stupid vibrator, not even accompanied by the satisfaction you had been hoping for.
It’s not as though you’ve never gotten the opportunity to experiment with others; you’re not unforgivably ugly, you don’t think you have a bad personality, and for the past few years you’ve been surrounded by military men that certainly aren’t known for being picky. And it certainly isn’t like you haven’t received your fair share of offers.
It just never seemed right. You’re not overly concerned about ‘saving’ your virginity or anything like that; it’s just that putting yourself into such a vulnerable position is scary. You’re aware of the irony, of course, that you’d trust many of these people with saving your ass from catching a bullet in the field, but allowing someone to see you so intimately feels like a step too far.
You’re still sweaty and flustered and naked when a knock sounds from your door, and you freeze. The doorknob turns, but doesn’t open; in that moment, you’re deliriously grateful that you had turned the lock – it’s something that you’ve forgotten to do on far too many occasions.
“Lass, you in there?” Oh god, it’s Soap.
Cursing quietly to yourself, you jolt into action. Your pants are crumpled at the bottom of your bed where you had shed them, and you hurriedly gather them up and struggle your way back into them.
“Gimme a minute!” You yell, praying he doesn’t notice the somewhat frantic edge to your voice.
You stagger slightly as you worm your way into your pants, and then lunge to grab the stupid dildo you’d just been trying to use. You feel your skin prickle with humiliation as you try to force the stupidly large silicone cock into your already full underwear drawer, jamming it shut roughly to hide it from sight. You don’t want to even imagine what Soap might have to say if he were to see what you had been doing; you think you might have to go full deserter mode and abscond into the wilderness.
“Did ye forget about drinks?” Soap’s drawl carries through the thickness of the door. He doesn’t sound even slightly put out – if anything, he sounds a little amused.
You pause, close your eyes, sigh. Fuck. You had not, in fact, forgotten about drinks, you just thought you had more time.
“No, I– just a minute!” You yell back, shoving your shoes on and trying to fix your hair.
You had completely lost track of time, and now you don’t even have time to rinse your sweat-damp skin off – you’re going to have to sit through drinks with the squad all grimy, like a physical reminder of what you had been up to for the last two hours.
When you finally unlock the door and wrench it open, Soap is standing on the other side tapping a staccato rhythm on his thighs with his open palms. He’s dressed casually in just blue jeans and a black muscle shirt, and he gives you a look of semi-disbelief.
“What the hell were you—”
“Gym.” You interrupt, landing on the only explanation you can think of for your sweaty skin and messy hair.
Soap blinks, but apparently decides it’s not worth the effort to continue that line of conversation. He just shrugs, then turns and starts making his way down the hall, slowing his pace for you to catch up.
You exhale; Soap can be like a bloodhound when he suspects there’s gossip to be had, and you’re relieved to have dodged a round of his relentless questioning. You suppose he can be surprisingly tactful sometimes, and he knows you well enough not to press you. Or, perhaps it’s because you come across as such a non-sexual being that it doesn’t even occur to him that there may be another explanation.
There’s an unofficial tradition that when the squad is on base, everyone gathers in the sparsely decorated recreation room for drinks and card games on Thursday evenings. It usually makes for an enjoyable night; Gaz and Soap can always be trusted to supply whatever bottles of alcohol they’ve managed to get their grubby little hands on, and it’s always amusing to watch Captain Price get increasingly more irate as Soap pretends not to understand the rules of whatever card game they’re playing. The whole illicitness of having contraband on base only makes the whole thing more exciting; the CO’s on base often turn a blind eye to the activity, so long as it’s kept under control.
But tonight, you’re distracted.
The others had offered a bit of good-natured ribbing when you and Soap had turned up late, but before long you’re all settled in a loose circle on the poorly-stuffed couches in the corner of the room. Gaz has already unstoppered a bottle of bourbon, and is attempting to convince a visibly unimpressed Price to play a game of Kings with them. You curl up on one of the worn-out couches opposite them, watching with a small if slightly stiff smile.
The atmosphere is relaxed and pleasant, almost enough to make you forget about the irritating buzz of unfulfilled arousal under your skin. You shift, trying to keep your movements small, subtle, to avoid the notice of your team. Your denim jeans are nowhere near as comfortable as usual, and you wonder briefly if you should have simply worn your cargo pants just to avoid the harsh friction of the denim.
You sit there feeling… unmoored. You fidget, drink your smooth bourbon in sips in an attempt to avoid wincing, and try not to look as obviously out of place as you feel. It’s been like this, recently. Joining the task force has been an accomplishment for you, a source of immense pride – you’re the youngest member (just narrowly beating Gaz for the title) and a woman to boot, and though the squad has never treated you any differently it’s hard to kick the belief that you have something to prove.
You engage in conversations the best you can, but you’re distracted and you know it must be obvious. Your preoccupation gets you a couple of furrowed brows and glances, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to give you some space.
You don’t even realise the extent of your distraction until a big body settles down on the loveseat next to you, and you jolt. True to his name, Ghost had appeared near silently, escaping your notice until he lowers himself down to sit next to you.
And damn, you forget how big he is sometimes. It’s an average sized loveseat, but the lieutenant takes up over half of it. He’s obviously being mindful not to consciously crush you, but he’s not being overly cautious when it comes to avoiding touching you. He’s dressed unusually casually, and his thick, muscled thigh is wrapped in blue denim as it presses carelessly against yours.
“You alright?” He asks, his voice low and smooth as he nudges your knee with one of his big knuckles.
You haven’t been a member of the task force for long, but you would know Simon Riley by his hands alone, by the earthy salt-spice in your nose as he leans a little closer to peer at your face. You tilt your head up, unable to stop the small reflexive smile that breaks over your face at the sight of him.
“Yeah.” You breathe, hurriedly straightening up where you’re sitting. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
His sudden proximity isn’t doing your current state any favours, and you take a quick sip of your drink in an effort to collect yourself. It’s taking a herculean effort not to stare at the way his biceps are bulging against the straining material of his black cotton t-shirt.
“What’re you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he stretches out his legs with a tired groan. The sound is gruff and gravelly, and you feel blood rush uncomfortably to your cheeks.
“Nothing.” You say quickly.
He doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious, but Ghost never pushes and he rarely speaks more than he has to. He just gives you a glance, brief and knowing and far more penetrating than it should be, before turning his head back so he can watch the boys playing their card game. He’s holding a crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid, but he hasn’t yet pulled his mask up to drink from it.
Your eyes drop to the thick, pale scars that mar the backs of his hands. You trace the path of the scar tissue, eyes lingering around the thick knuckles and broad palms, the way that he holds the glass so casually confidently. He’s got nice hands, probably made all the more attractive by the fact that you hardly ever get to see them. Seeing Ghost without his usual long sleeves and gloves makes you feel like a Victorian pervert snatching stolen glances at a passing lady’s ankles.
A quiet snicker causes your eyes to dart back to his face, and you’re mortified to find that he’s caught you staring.
“What’s got you in such a mood?” He asks. Even through the mask you can tell that he’s smirking, though it doesn’t feel as though he’s making fun of you.
“Just one of those days, I guess.” You say without meeting his eyes.
It’s an evasion at best, but Ghost nods ponderously as though he’s giving this great thought. His stare is penetrating, those big brown eyes watching you as though he can see right through you. Maybe he can. You try not to get too caught up staring at his pale eyelashes, darkened by smears of eyeblack.
“Did something happen?” He asks. The question is casual enough, asked as he lazily swirls his whiskey around in his glass, but his gaze is sharp and assessing.
“No.” You sigh, finally looking properly at him.
It’s a little frustrating, but the squad has been like this with you from the start – protective. Your whole military career has consisted of you veritably clawing your way up through the ranks, and you’ve been surrounded by coarse, gruff men that have underestimated you all your life. 141 is different – they don’t baby you, but the way they treat you is unmistakably softer than how they typically treat each other. The concern can be touching, if a little tiring sometimes.
And maybe it’s because he’s your lieutenant, but Ghost’s attention has always been just this side of overwhelming. It feels like you’re pinned beneath his dark eyes, his gaze somehow sharpened as he watches you from beneath his more casual balaclava, the skull pattern printed on his jaw adding another layer of intimidation. But his shoulders are relaxed as he sits next to you on the small couch, settling the weight of his attention over you like a blanket.
You’ve always respected him, admired him. How could you not? He’s practically a living legend, his reputation larger than life, and he’s scary as fuck. But he’s also softer than you had expected, gentle when he needs to be. He still rides you hard in training, pushing you to your limits and taking no quarter, but you can’t begrudge that. Not when you know he’s working to keep you alive. Perhaps that’s how the attraction had first bloomed; once it started, it was hard to stifle.
Ghost hooks one finger into his balaclava and pulls it up just high enough to expose his mouth, and he presses his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink. You struggle not to stare like a moron, but he makes it so difficult. His lips are full and pink, and there’s a rugged scar bisecting his top lip. His stubble is dark blond and short, and it doesn’t hide the various scars and marks that decorate his strong jawline.
You almost jolt when he pulls the mask back down, hurriedly averting your eyes and forcing yourself to look out across the room. It’s not just the 141 that’s decided to take up in the rec room this evening; there are soldiers from other units littered all around the room, laughing and joking, playing lazy games of pool on the table in the corner and smoking. The smoke alarm has been jimmied off the ceiling and the window is open, and even Price is turning a temporary blind eye to the blatant disregard for regulations in favour of puffing on one of his cigars.
Ghost shifts on the worn-out fabric of the couch, and lays an arm over the back of the headrest behind you. It’s a casual, thoughtless movement, but it ends up pushing his body slightly closer to you in a way that makes you feel as though you’re about to catch fire.
You cross your legs, but the seam of your jeans presses into your pussy in a way that sends a frisson of heat up your spine. You hurriedly uncross your legs, and attempt to school your expression into casual neutrality as you force yourself to tune back into the conversation.
“–ach, c’mon, Captain,” Soap is saying in a wheedling tone that he probably thinks is endearing. “One round of strip poker won’t kill ya–”
“No.” Price says in a voice like thunder, brooking no argument as thick cigar smoke pours from his nose. It gives the impression of an enraged bull.
Soap either is ignorant to the warning, or is choosing to wilfully ignore it. Judging by the sly gleam in his eyes, you can guess which. He turns to you then, and waggles his eyebrows.
“C’mon, lassie, you’ll play, won’t ya?” He asks with a grin that promises trouble. “I guarantee you’ll be a sight better than any o’ these louts.”
“Speak for yourself,” Gaz pipes up, already grinning. “I was looking forward to seeing the Captain in his jocks–”
Price promptly knocks his drink back, before pushing himself up to his feet with a grim groan. “Right. That’s enough of you lot for one night.”
Gaz and Soap break into peals of laughter, settling back into their seats as they watch their captain march away.
“Offer’s still open, love,” Soap says, still snickering when he looks over to you. “Wanna play?”
Ghost shifts, his wide thigh knocking into yours as his arm stretches behind your shoulders. He lets out a short exhale through his nose, but when you glance up at him you find him as stoic and hard to read as always.
You just roll your eyes. It’s not the first time that they’ve tried to rope you into strip poker, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You can always trust Soap to start stripping his clothes off when he’s three drinks in, whether he’s playing a game or not, so it’s not surprising that he tries to involve other people in his bad decision making.
And it’s not a big deal, really. There’s been countless missions and operations that have ended up with all of you staying in uncomfortably close quarters with each other. You’ve seen them naked countless times, and the same with them for you. It’s never meant anything, and you know that Soap’s teasing is exactly that – you don’t think they’ve ever once looked at you through any sexual lens at all.
But even still, the joke flusters you more than it should.
“Think I’ll be joining Cap in going to bed, actually.” You say, clearing your throat and setting your glass down on the low table in front of the couch.
The playful booing from Soap doesn’t do much to change your mind, and you stick out your tongue at him and Gaz as you push yourself up from the couch. You try to ignore the loss of heat at your side when you move away from Ghost, though you can’t help but glance back at the lieutenant. He’s not looking at you, his gaze directed into his glass. You try not to feel disappointed about that.
You say your goodnights, and retreat from the rec room.
By the time you make it back to your dorm however, you’re already playing the conversation back over in your head and wondering if you had made the wrong decision.
Perhaps you should have just played the damn game. Despite your inexperience with all things sexual, you’re not actually all that shy about your body. On missions, you and the squad are often forced into tight quarters, and they've all seen you in various stages of undress before. It's hard to be self-conscious around a group of people that have seen you at your worst, whether that’s soaked in blood, unshowered, sleep-deprived, or injured.
But you were so keyed up from your earlier failed attempts at masturbation that the thought of being so physically exposed in front of your squad is mortifying. It feels as though your unresolved arousal is still simmering through your veins, turning your thoughts slow and soupy and stupid.
It’s not so surprising. Your preferred method of dealing with stress is coming back to your private bunk and messing around with your vibrator until you’ve forgotten all of your problems. The problem is, you’ve never quite been able to reach that climax you’ve heard so many talk about.
It’s not for lack of trying, and it’s not as though you haven’t come close to that toe-curling finish you crave so much. But it’s like there’s some sort of block, something that always holds you back before you can go plummeting over that edge. Something that makes the buzzing pleasure dissipate before your eyes like smoke, leaving you worked up and so frustrated. It’s probably inevitable that all those ruined finishes have built up like sludge in your veins, leaving you slow and distracted and irritable.
You eye your underwear drawer thoughtfully as you perch on your bed, before reaching inside and drawing out the same dildo you had been using earlier. You wonder if it would be too much to try again tonight – the muscles in your calves still feel a little bit over-worked from training all day, and you have a feeling that straining in an attempt to reach an orgasm you’ll likely never attain will only make it worse.
But the thought of Ghost in that stupid tight cotton shirt stays firmly stuck in your mind, and that really makes the decision for you. Before you can think too much about it, you’re sliding your jeans off and climbing atop your mattress. The sheets are dirty anyway, after all. May as well have some fun before you change them.
You slide your panties off next, then kick them to the side. It’s difficult not to feel a little pathetic, but you push those feelings aside. So what if you have an embarrassing little crush on a superior officer? It’s not like that’s unusual within the military, and you’re quite certain that dealing with all that unresolved attraction like this is the most sensible thing you can do.
You fish out the bottle of lube you had been using earlier, and drizzle it liberally along the dildo’s length before setting it aside on the blanket. While you’ve used your dildo plenty of times, you still struggle to grow accustomed to the stretch of it. It’s a good dildo – a vibrating one in the rabbit style, designed to stimulate your g-spot and clit at the same time. It was damn expensive too, but it’s one luxury you’re willing to indulge in.
You close your eyes, slide it between your legs, and hit the power button. A low bzzz emanates from between your thighs; you jerk at the immediate barrage of pleasure, your abs tightening and your legs twitching apart, creating more room between them.
Your body is quick to react, sweat prickling under your armpits and your heart thudding quickly in your chest. You can feel electric pleasure coursing through you as you press it against your clit, your toes curling into your sheets.
You bring the vibrator lower, your clit throbbing a little at its sudden absence before you press it inside, sighing. It slips inside much too easily – you’re almost embarrassed by the easy slide. You’re so wet, both from your failed attempt at masturbation earlier and from sitting beside Simon fucking Riley all evening. It’s a deeper, subtler pleasure now, and you clench around it with a quiet moan.
You cycle through the vibrator’s different settings, making it buzz at odd intervals or lower intensities in your usual attempt to build up an orgasm. You wish, with sudden and mortifying clarity, that it could be replaced with a person. More specifically, a person with big hands and firm muscles that still have some soft give to them, and a toe-curlingly gravelly voice.
You squirm, shifting your hips to change the angle of the vibrator inside you. Without meaning to, you imagine Ghost. It’s hard not to, considering your close proximity to him all evening. Your cheeks heat as you imagine Ghost actually being here, watching you all still and silent with that penetrating dark-eyed stare of his.
You huff out a breath, arching off your bed. This is always the best part. You have to ensure that you relish the build up, before it all fizzles out from between your fingers. You whimper, soft and quiet, clenching around the stiff silicone as it buzzes away inside of you.
Right as you press the soft little vibrating bunny ears to your clit, there’s a knock on the door. Then, horrifically, like a scene from your fucking nightmares, your door opens.
“Kid, you–”
Ghost is already half-way through the door when he lays eyes on you, and then he goes completely still in your doorway.
“Fuck.” You hiss, scrambling to knock the stupid thing off.
You fumble for it, panicking. The end is slippery and you can barely manage to grip it. When you finally do, it’s difficult to pull out, your body still attempting to hold it inside. It’s another agonising few seconds to turn it off, the vibrator unfortunately featuring one of those awfully thought-out designs that makes you have to cycle through every single one of the settings rather than hit an off-switch.
And then, finally, silence.
Ghost is living up to his name right now; he’s as stock still and silent as a dead man, stiff as a board as he stares unblinkingly at you. You’re not even sure that he’s breathing, but you can see the whites of his eyes as he gapes at you, frozen.
You stare back at him blankly, hoping that your bed comes to life and swallows you whole just to put an end to your mortification.
At last, Ghost blinks, then finishes his sentence. “You left your phone.”
He lifts his arm. In his large, thick fist, is your stupid goddamn phone. You must have left it on the couch when you had gotten up to leave. You might have wondered at the lieutenant voluntarily bringing it to your dorm for you, but you’re hit with a wave of humiliation so strong that it wipes your brain completely blank.
“Ah.” You say, and your voice cracks. “Thanks.”
There’s a moment of mortifying silence, and then Ghost steps into your room. Your heart jolts right up into the base of your throat as he closes your door behind him. The click of the door is as loud as a gunshot in the silence that’s settled over the room.
Ghost still hasn’t blinked. He’s watching you with eyes that look almost black in the dim light of your room, intense as a predator.
“I–” You attempt to speak, and your throat clicks dryly. “I didn’t–”
Far too late, you realise that your legs are still splayed open. You snap them shut, inhaling a choked breath through your nose.
“I thought I locked the door.” You finish lamely.
Ghost apparently decides to simply disregard that, which you’re honestly a little grateful for. Instead he steps towards you – the enormous bulk of him feels as though he’s completely filling every bit of space in the room, sucking out all the damn oxygen.
“...‘S this why you were so distracted this evening, hm?” He says as he approaches the bed. “You were in a mood ‘cause you wanted to get back to playing with yourself?”
It’s not a question, exactly. At least, it’s not phrased like one. Ghost’s tone is knowing, with an undertone of gruff amusement. You’re certain that you’re not imagining the rough, breathless quality to his voice either, though the thought sends nerves fizzing through your bloodstream.
“No.” You deny uselessy; it’s plainly obvious what you were doing, after all. “No, I just–”
He doesn’t wait for you to finish. His eyes are still glued to you, even though your thighs are now pressed together. Before you can stop him, he reaches down and takes a hold of your hot pink vibrator where you had been trying to hide it beneath your thigh.
“Cute little thing.” He comments, tilting his head to look at the dildo hanging between his thick fingers.
Mortification burns through you. A panicked sort of screech escapes you and you yank it back out of Ghost’s stupid big hand, shoving it under the blankets.
Perhaps if it had been anyone else, your humiliation wouldn’t be burning quite so intensely. But this is Ghost – your lieutenant, the gruff man that you’ve looked up to ever since you joined the task force. He’s not a man famed for his patience, nor for his eloquence, which is making this situation all the more unbearable.
“Lt,” You wheeze, scrambling to sit up and cover your pussy with your hands as you squeeze your legs closed. “I swear I didn’t– I’m sorry–”
But Ghost doesn’t seem interested in your apologies. He’s still watching you as though he can see right through the damn blanket, as though he’s measuring you up and trying to come to a decision about something. In that moment, you hate your reaction to him – no matter how humiliating this situation is, you want him to approve of you, even now.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He grunts, and then he sits down on your bed.
You gape at him. It feels as though your brain has stalled; you’re pretty sure you’re not reacting correctly right now. You probably should have screamed when the lieutenant walked right into your room without knocking. That surely would have sent him straight back out again. And even now, you should probably be ordering him out, telling him to leave.
But you don’t.
“I was.. um.. finished anyway.” You manage to croak out. You sound so pathetic that you nearly make yourself cringe.
Ghost doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches you, his eyes as dark as ever beneath the mask. For a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all.
But then he says, “Didn’t look like you finished to me.”
Blood rushes to your face so quickly that it makes you light-headed as you catch his meaning. Oh, what the fuck. This is just adding salt to the wound now.
“I wasn’t trying to–” You start, then cut yourself off. “That’s not why I was– I was just trying to relax.”
In the ensuing silence, you realise how silly you sound. At the very least, Ghost doesn’t laugh; he just tilts his head to the side, consideringly.
“Let me see.”
You gape at him. “I– sir–”
“Let me see, sergeant.”
It’s not an order. Not quite. Ghost’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You have room to refuse. You could tell him to get out of your dorm right now, and he’d do it. Knowing the lieutenant, he’d never bring it up again, either.
You drop your knees apart, spreading your thighs in an unpracticed, self-conscious sort of motion.
Under the lieutenant’s sharp gaze, your skin prickles and your nerves strain. Even sitting down on your bed, he’s a veritable behemoth of broad shoulders and thick corded muscle. His hulking form towers over you even now, and you feel so damn small as you lay there propped up against your pillows in nothing but a t-shirt.
Ghost has seen you naked before, obviously. You can’t afford to be prudish in the military, where you never know when you’ll next have true privacy, and you’ve changed out and showered with the squad countless times. It’s never meant anything, and the men in 141 have never made you feel anything less than comfortable with them.
This, however, is different. This isn’t just a case of catching a quick glimpse of your nude form as you shower in the group shower rooms when you’re out on missions – your whole damn pussy is out on display for him, still glistening wet and sticky from your ministrations and the lube you’d used.
Ghost’s inhale is as loud as a thunderclap. You’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in another person’s presence. You feel a little ridiculous laying like this as he watches you, but another part of you feels so humiliatingly desperate for some kind of approval from your lieutenant.
At first, that approval is nowhere to be found. Ghost is notoriously difficult to read, and you’re beginning to sweat as you lay there waiting for a response – any response.
At last, he makes a noise. It’s part grunt, part hum, and part groan.
“You’re still wet, sergeant.”
Are you imagining it, or is his voice an octave deeper than usual?
Your eyes trace his face, trying to imagine what he looks like beneath the mask. You can see the suggestion of his nose, the square curve of his jaw. His darkened eyes are watching you so carefully that you feel as though you’re physically being pinned in place.
You swallow. “It’s just– I–”
“You didn’t get to finish.” Ghost interrupts, with the air of completing your sentence for you.
You try to speak, but nothing more than a strangled sort of murmur escapes. You swallow hastily, then try again.
“I wasn’t going to. Sir.” You tack on the title at the end as an afterthought, but this whole situation is so far beyond professional that you probably needn’t have bothered. “Finish, I mean. I… I never do.”
You’ve admitted it before you can really think about it, and then you regret it wildly. You can’t help but wonder if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but then again the boundaries are currently so blurred that they’re virtually impossible to discern.
“You never finish.” Ghost repeats it. Slowly, staring right at your face, as though he’s confirming what you’ve just said.
It sounds so much worse in his deep, gravelly voice.
Embarrassment blooms, thick and sickly in your stomach. Your legs start to twitch closed, too embarrassed to be having this conversation with your cunt bared like this, but then Ghost’s big paw of a hand reaches out to settle over your knee, keeping you open and exposed. It’s so rare to see his hands ungloved, and the bare skin of his callous-roughened hand feels almost scorching hot against your inner knee.
“I don’t– I’ve tried,” You say, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re just digging yourself further into a hole, here. “But I don’t– I’m not able to. I mean, I’ve come close, I’m just not able to… you know.”
You trail off lamely, feeling like the biggest fucking loser ever. Why are you telling him this? Why the fuck haven’t you reacted properly, and kicked him the hell out of your room?
Deep down, a shameful little part of you already knows the answer to that. You’re feeling awfully, sickeningly hopeful. Having Lieutenant Riley in your dorm, sitting on your bed and staring so hungrily at the wet, swollen parts between your legs feels like something out of your wildest wet dreams.
His eyes flick towards your pink silicone rabbit dildo, half-hidden under your blanket, and he grunts consideringly before reaching out and taking it into his hands again. It’s standard-size, but it looks small in his big hands.
“You ain’t doin’ it right, then.” He says, so bluntly that you just blink at him. “Show me how you use it.”
For a brief, wild moment, you wonder if you’re experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations right now. Surely you can’t really be experiencing this right now – and yet the lieutenant is still watching you, and you’ve never disobeyed a direct order before.
He hands you the vibrator, then waits expectantly.
And… well. All you ever try to do is impress him.
You shuffle your legs open a little wider, ignoring the flustered heat that scalds your cheeks. You’ve never been all exposed like this in front of another person, and the weight of Ghost’s eyes on you is reminiscent of being under a spotlight.
You swear his eyes darken even further when you press the stiff silicone rabbit dildo to your cunt, if it’s even possible for that gaze to get darker beneath the thick balaclava and eyeblack smeared over the narrow strip of skin that’s visible.
The dildo sinks in so easily that it’s almost embarrassing, and your breath catches both from the stretch and the way Ghost leans in a little closer to see. Far from turning you off, you feel your body throb in response to his proximity, and your cunt flutters pathetically around the plastic toy. You shift, attempting to get a little more comfortable, but you can’t dispel the nerves fizzing in your blood as you attempt to push the dildo a little deeper under Ghost’s sharp gaze.
His big, hulking body is so perfectly still as he watches you that it’s making you a little nervous. The only reaction that you get from him is a small, considering hum, but even then you can’t figure out what it means. Your movements are a little clumsy, so hyper-conscious that he’s watching every single thing you do that you end up fumbling a little. He’s looking at you in the same way he assesses threats, his intense dark eyes examining every movement and reaction you make. It makes you feel small and jittery, especially when you realise that he’s judging you by what you’re doing.
“You gonna turn it on?” He asks, and oh god his voice has definitely dropped lower and huskier. You know you’re not imagining it.
You can’t even bring yourself to respond with words. You just make a strangled sort of sound of agreement, then clumsily hit the on button. The toy buzzes to life once more, and your toes curl absent-mindedly into the sheets as the soft silicone bunny ears pulse against your clit.
It feels nice, but you can’t manage to concentrate on the feeling. Hyper-aware of Ghost’s attention, you let out a quiet moan as you shift the vibrator inside you. It’s a little exaggerated, but you can’t help it – you feel like you should be putting on some kind of a show.
You glance back at Ghost’s face, trying to guess what he’s thinking; even through the mask, you can tell that he’s frowning. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. Have you done something wrong?
“This how you usually do it?” He asks.
You swallow thickly, feeling a bit stupid. “Um.. yeah.”
Ghost grunts. He doesn’t sound impressed.
“No wonder you can’t come.” He says wryly.
You go still, eyes widening. In the silence, the bzzzzt! of your stupid vibrator is louder than ever. A sudden wave of shame washes over you, and you start to close your legs again in an effort to block the sight of the toy stuffed into your pussy.
“Oh,” You snap sourly, your embarrassment making you irritable. “So you’re the pussy expert now?”
That startles a loud bark of a laugh out of the lieutenant, a sound so rare that you find yourself desperately trying to commit it to memory.
“Think I might know a bit more than you, sweetheart.” He says. He’s relaxed now, his wide shoulders rolling back. He’s always so effortlessly confident, always so assured in himself and his abilities in a way that makes you feel like a silly little girl.
Judging by the way the corners of his eyes are just slightly wrinkled beneath the mask, Ghost is smirking at you. He finds this funny.
“What about when you’re with other people, hm?” He asks, and his eyes drop back down to try and get a look at you again. When he realises that your legs are clamped tight together, he reaches out to guide your thighs apart again. “No one’s ever impressed you?”
His hands are big and rough and hot, and your willpower crumbles like wet paper as you allow him to open your legs all over again. The vibrator is still buzzing sadly inside you, mostly forgotten about; the stimulation is nice, but it’s never been enough for you.
You huff a weak laugh. You should have known that this would come up, and now you find yourself floundering a little.
“No one’s ever tried.” The confession comes out like a whisper, like a secret.
You can see the moment Ghost understands; realisation settles heavy over him like a physical weight, and the whites of his eyes flash as they widen just slightly. For a moment, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t move – it doesn’t even look like he breathes.
“No?” He says, except it doesn’t really sound like a question. It sounds rough, and you can feel the almost convulsive motion of his fingers tightening around your knee.
You shake your head wordlessly, beyond embarrassed now.
Ghost’s wispy blond eyelashes flutter softly as his eyes dart down to your pussy, still humiliatingly stuffed with your stupid little vibrator. He takes a moment to stare, then looks back up to your face. He’s so frustratingly confident about everything he does, not an ounce of shame in his posture even as you wilt beneath him.
“Never messed around with anybody?”
“No.” You say, and it comes out on a wheeze. He holds your gaze without faltering, and you realise that he’s expecting you to elaborate. “No, I– it just never happened. I was never… um, I was just always too busy, I guess.”
“Too fussy, more like.” He mutters, quiet enough that it seems like it’s a comment meant just for himself. You don’t know how to take that, so you chew your lip and stay quiet.
His eyes drop down to the vibrating dildo again, and you recognise something that looks like a flash of hunger. It feels like there’s pressure building up beneath your skin, tight and hot, and your thighs fall open a little further. You feel raw and so, so exposed, but you don’t even care when Ghost is looking at you like that.
“Let me try.” He says, the words falling out sharp and harsh as though he they’ve burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. It’s not like Ghost to speak without thinking it through, perfectly calculated, and your breath catches a little at the offer.
How could you ever say no to that? You don’t really think that he’s going to succeed in making you come – at this point you’re pretty sure your body is a little bit broken and you’re just not capable of orgasming at all, and that’s whatever – but the chance to get fucked by Ghost? To lose the lingering vestiges of your viriginity to your ridiculously hot, mysterious, massive lieutenant? It’s like something out of a dream.
“Okay.” You choke out, nodding stupidly. “Yeah.”
You want to be touched. You don’t think you’ve ever actually felt the yearning for physical contact this strongly in your life; you’re practically holding your breath as you wait for Ghost to make a move.
Finally, he reaches out. His first move is to pull the stupid little dildo out of you, still vibrating, and you feel yourself clench convulsively around nothing as he leaves you empty and wanting. He spares it a brief, evaluating glance, and you feel yourself burn as you realise he’s examining how you’ve soaked the toy.
He tosses it to the side, barely even taking the time to switch it off first, then turns his attention back to you. He’s got that same kind of laser-focus he usually only gets out on the field, and you take a moment to feel incredibly grateful that you’re never going to be on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny on the battlefield.
It feels like your skin is too tight for your body, every nerve and synapse strained and primed as you wait for him to touch you. But he’s slow about it, as though he just wants to torture you a little bit.
When he finally reaches out to lay his hands on you, he doesn’t touch where you want him to.
His callous-roughened hands land on your hips, and pull you down the bed towards him. In the same move, he half-climbs up on the mattress, his huge form practically dwarfing you. Your head and shoulders are still cushioned by your pillows, but your legs are splayed open around Ghost where he kneels on your bed.
You glance down, unable to help yourself, unable to resist trying to catch a look at the outline of his erection pressing against his trousers, and oh. Fuck. He’s big. You knew he’d be big, of course, he’s big all over, but Jesus Christ, maybe you’re a little out of your own depth here–
His thick fingers tangle in the hem of your t-shirt, stretching the fabric out. “Take this off.”
You scramble to do as he says, grabbing at your top and pulling it up clumsily. You realise a moment too late that you’re not wearing a bra, but you suppose at this point it hardly matters. You drop your shirt to the side, and try not to feel too horrifically self-conscious beneath the burning hot gaze of the lieutenant.
Though you can’t see Ghost’s face, you can hear the soft exhale he blows out through his nose, just faintly muffled by the fabric of his mask. His eyes are trained on your chest, darting between each of your tits as though he can’t decide which one to settle on. After a long moment, he reaches forward and cups your left tit with one of his enormous hands, thumbing absently at one of your nipples.
It’s silly; Ghost has touched you before. Lots of times. A nudge of the elbow accompanied by a conspiratorial eye roll, a clap to the shoulder, rough hands pulling you to your feet after training or applying white-hot painful pressure to injuries. But this – you’ve never been touched like this before, not by Ghost, not by anyone.
The shaky breath you let out as his big, rough thumb rolls over your firm nipple comes out as a strangled sort of moan that honestly startles you a little. The noise catches his attention, and he snorts.
“Can’t be that sensitive.” He mutters, but then he reaches to thumb at your other nipple as though trying to be sure.
It’s because you’ve never been touched like this by another person before, you tell yourself. Truthfully, you’ve never even touched yourself like this before. You’ve never bothered to play with your own tits; you’ve always just gone straight to breaking out your vibrators. Now, with every brush of Ghost’s scarred fingers over the tight bud of your nipples, you think you must have been crazy to skip over this part of yourself. But then again, there’s no way that your own hands on yourself would elicit the same sharp jolt that shoots from your breasts down your spine.
“Sir–” You breathe, struggling not to squirm where you’re laying. You wonder, somewhat deliriously, if it might be rude to demand your lieutenant stuff his thick fingers into your pussy. You can already tell that they’re going to feel so much better than your own.
Ghost glances up at you, his eyes unreadable as he watches you bite at your lip. God, his little wispy eyelashes are so blond—
“What?” He says, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Say it.”
“Want to try your fingers.” You breathe before you can second-guess yourself.
The laugh that rumbles out of Ghost’s chest is low and smoky. It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, so big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. You’ve witnessed those hands crack bones and snap necks and break down doors, and yet you can’t help but wonder desperately what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.
He adjusts himself on the bed; he’s a big man, hulking and huge as he kneels on your mattress, his weight causing it to dip. His palms wrap around your ankles with ease, and he hauls you into place with a grim efficiency that goes straight to your pussy.
“Big brute.” You say, a little breathlessly.
He ignores you, using his arms to hold your legs open and wide for him. And all you can do is just lie there as he stares, because goddamn it’s like he’s been carved from steel and you can’t break out of his grip. Not that you want to break out of his grip anyway, but you’d really appreciate it if he actually got moving instead of just staring.
“Fuck,” He grunts after a moment, with the air of talking to himself. “Been hiding this all this time, huh?”
“Jesus.” You breathe in response, subconsciously letting your legs drop open even more.
He makes a low noise of appreciation, and finally reaches out to touch you properly. One thick thumb swipes through the seam of your cunt, and you feel the way he’s smearing the clear sticky wetness that’s been leaking steadily out of you. With his now slick thumb, he drags up towards your clit and circles it with agonisingly light pressure.
You let out an embarrassing choked whine, your toes curling at the sensation. Somewhat ironically, Ghost is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your attempts, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow.
“D’you always get this wet?”
You can’t even tell if he’s asking you mockingly or if he’s being genuinely curious; it feels like every inch of your focus has narrowed down to the feel of his big thumb rolling those tight little circles around your clit, his touch scorching against you.
It’s not exactly surprising that Ghost is good with his hands. You’ve seen the way he handles weaponry, locking and loading and aiming to fire with the kind of swiftness that comes from muscle memory, working with unwavering speed and precision. He’s the same in hand-to-hand combat, moving with aggressive fluidity that overwhelms his opponents. You’ve caught hits from him before in training, and you know from experience that a punch from those big hands feels like getting hit by a cinder block.
But even knowing how deft and skilled his hands are, it knocks the breath out of you when he slides his middle and ring fingers inside of you, still rubbing steadily at the swollen bump of your clit.
When you exhale, it accidentally comes out as a moan. Your cheeks burn, but there’s really no space in your brain right now for embarrassment to sink in. Two of Ghost’s fingers are the equivalent of at least three and a half of yours, and you feel yourself break out into an overwhelmed sweat when they twist and rub against the sensitive squishy spot in the front wall of your cunt.
You’re so damn worked up, your arousal coiled like a knot in your lower belly from your failed attempts to get yourself off all day. Your back curves, humping yourself near mindlessly back up into his hand as he plays you like a goddamn instrument.
You barely even have time to consider how unfair it is that Ghost is so good at playing with you like this when he doesn’t even have a pussy himself, because then he pulls his fingers out of you.
“Oh, no, don’t stop–” You start to protest breathlessly, your chest still heaving, but the quick glance the lieutenant sends you has you falling silent.
Ghost glances down at his fingers. They’re all glossy from fingering you, and he takes a moment to eye up the way they glisten in the dim light of your bunk. You might have felt self-conscious about it, if you couldn’t see the unmistakable gleam of hungry interest in Ghost’s dark brown eyes.
He wipes his hand on the crease of your hip, but you don’t even get the chance to protest before he reaches up to hook his fingers into his mask. You go still, holding your breath in surprise as he pulls the material up until it bunches up around the bridge of his nose.
And that’s– well. You’ve seen his jaw before, and his mouth (Jesus, you had seen it earlier that evening, when he had been sipping on his smooth whiskey of choice), but the sight of his strong jawline and blond stubble and corded scars on his pale skin always manages to knock the breath out of you. And this time, he’s rolled his mask up even further than before, revealing a nose that’s clearly been broken at least once before.
You probably shouldn’t stare so blatantly, especially knowing that Ghost always takes such pains to keep his face covered. You’re not even sure if the other guys on the team have seen his uncovered face, except for Price, and you know that they’ve developed a habit of averting their eyes when he pulls his mask up for whatever reason. It’s a habit that you never quite managed to develop yourself; you’re never able to stop yourself from gaping at him like a moron, drinking in all of the minutest details. He’s never said a thing about your penchant for staring, so you can only hope that he’s chosen to ignore it.
You’re so busy staring that it takes you by surprise when he grips your jaw with one massive hand and pulls you into a rough kiss.
The sound you make is small and startled, but it’s swallowed by Ghost’s demanding mouth. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but they feel scorching hot against yours. You reach up to grab at his arms – mostly just to ground yourself – but you find yourself almost immediately distracted by the firm bulge of his biceps beneath your hands.
Listen, you’ve kissed people before, plenty times. You’re in your early twenties, and just because you’re inexperienced sexually it doesn’t mean that you’re inexperienced full stop. But this, right now, kissing with Ghost, makes you feel as though you’ve been doing nothing but fumbling your way through all of those encounters, like you’ve been kissing wrong all this time.
It’s slow and deep, at first. All-consuming. It lights a fire in your gut, which expands and spreads throughout your body until you find your fingers grasping desperately at the short cotton sleeves of Ghost’s t-shirt where it’s stretched over his thickly muscled arm.
Ghost doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, either. It’s like a full-body experience with him; he puts his hands, his whole damn body into the kiss. He clutches you to him, holding you close even as the force of his kiss bends you backwards into the pillows beneath you. At the same time, it’s all you can do to concentrate and respond to the kiss itself, your attention stretched and strained by the feeling of Ghost’s hands running over you, stroking you sides and squeezing at your breasts and groping at the soft flesh of your hips and ass.
“Hah,” You gasp out when Ghost’s lips slide sideways to find the corner of your jaw. His mouth is hot against your skin, bruising, and you feel yourself grow embarrassingly wetter, just from a little kissing.
“You good?” Ghost grunts into your throat as he nips at the base of your jaw.
“Uh huh.” You manage to get out, still clutching at his meaty arms like they’re a lifeline. “So good.”
His breath is hot on your throat when he rumbles out a deep chuckle, and then his tongue flicks out against your earlobe. It makes you forget how to breathe for a second, and you’re distracted when Ghost’s hand changes course, easing beneath your legs so he can press his fingers against your clit again.
Then he pauses, and his fingers slide lower, lazily hooking back and inside you. You tremble, horny and humiliated as you realise that your arousal is glistening all over your damn thighs, impossible to miss.
“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. “All this for me, sweetheart?”
“Hnng,” You whimper like an idiot as his fingers return to your clit, now slick and slippery. “I’m just–”
He doesn’t wait for you to explain. Instead, he pulls his fingers out of you again and kisses you hard. The soft breathy noises you make are muffled into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist automatically. He’s built like a damn mountain, your thighs stretched wide to accommodate the bulk of him as he settles against the core of you.
He likes that – he presses in close, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing up against you through the roughness of his jeans. You’re so sensitive that the coarseness of the fabric is almost unbearable, but you’re able to ignore it because you’re so distracted by the sensation of his erection because holy fucking shit that can’t really be how big he is.
You gasp, the sound high and breathy, and you try to grind against Ghost, but it’s impossible because he’s so fucking heavy and he’s pinning you down on the mattress beneath him. Instead, all you can do is squeeze your legs and pull Ghost in even tighter, increasing the pressure between the two of you.
“I’m gonna ruin you,” Ghost whispers, and it sounds like a promise. He drags his lips up your throat, then talks against the corner of your mouth. “You won’t be able to touch yourself again without wishing it was me.”
The wave of desire that rocks through you almost pulls you under, and you swear you might have actually gotten so horny that you blacked out for a second, because from one second to the next Ghost has somehow managed to muscle his way back down between your thighs so that he’s eye-level with your cunt.
“What are you–” You start to say, but then he loops his forearms under your knees to tug your legs wider, and you realise just how close his face is to your pussy. You swear you’re actually pulsing with arousal, and you wonder a little wildly if he can see that.
“Oh, fuck, yes — please,” You blurt out, before Ghost has even gotten his mouth on you. He chuckles, low and amused. His grin looks predatory, but in this moment you really don’t mind being the prey — not if it means you’ll be devoured by that mouth.
Then Ghost’s mouth is against you, wet and burning hot. You cry out, barely noticing as Ghost throws one of your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open.
It’s just the right side of overwhelming. Ghost’s mouth feels like it’s going to swallow you whole – his tongue is huge and flat and firm as he licks over your clit, making your thighs quake on either side of his head. It’s entirely unlike any of the fumbling masturbatory attempts you’ve ever made – you always enjoy messing around with your various little sex toys, but you’re swiftly beginning to realise that it could never compare to real human contact. Or at least, contact with Ghost.
His hands move from your waist to your asscheeks, his big palms squeezing the plump flesh there before using his grip to pull your body closer so that he can bury his whole face between your legs. The rougher material of his mask presses harshly into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but you hardly even notice it.
Your pussy has never been this wet before; it feels like you’ve sprung a goddamn leak. You might have felt embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the way Ghost groans against you, his wide tongue laving flat and rough against the seam of your cunt as he practically gulps down all the sticky arousal you have to give him.
“Oh god– fuck! Sir…” You sigh, spreading your knees farther apart so that Ghost can wedge his head further between your thighs.
Your ears burn as your room is filled with sounds of him tonguing at your cunt, the lewd wet squish of him working you over until you’re keening, your hips twitching clumsily until his hands tighten where he’s gripping the plump flesh of your ass to keep you still. Then all you can do is twitch as he licks over your clit in repetitive lapping motions, working in circles and then dipping down to shove his searingly hot tongue inside you. You can feel his teeth press against your labia even as he sucks at your clit, and the sensation sends hot bolts of pleasure rocketing down your spine.
Though you don’t mean to, you’re pretty sure that you make his job harder. You can’t stop wriggling, tossing your head back against your pillows and squirming on Ghost’s tongue in a wild overstimulated dance, like a fish caught in a net.
Finally, Ghost seems to have enough of your unco-ordinated flailing attempts to grind against his face. He reaches around your thigh with one arm to reach your clit so he can keep it stimulated as he gulps at the sticky sweetness of your cunt like a man possessed – the action also works to keep your hips pinned down and still. You stop your frantic moving, but your spasms and sounds increase tenfold.
You can hardly believe it, but you feel something coming. A sweet, torturous build up starts in your belly, and you sweat and gasp as he licks and suckles at you relentlessly. You’ve never found yourself in this state so quickly before, with your legs trembling and your breathing heavy and shaky.
“Oh.. oh…” You breathe, beginning to arch your back.
You know this feeling – this is where that sweet climax builds and builds, only to dissipate at the last agonisingly close moment. But this time, with Ghost’s big head between your thighs as his mouth moves against you, sucking, tasting, eating up everything you have to offer, the breath-taking pleasure doesn’t show any sign of slipping out of reach. It feels like for once you might actually reach that peak.
But then, right as you’re certain that you’re about to tip over that long-awaited coveted release, the bastard pulls away.
“No!” You practically shriek, attempting to sit up. “No, I was so close–!”
“Lie back.” Ghost orders, his voice like the crack of a whip.
You drop back obediently before you can even register that you’re moving, so conditioned to react instantly to that tone of voice coming from Ghost’s deep rumbling baritone. Your eyes are wide and betrayed as you stare at him, admittedly a little baleful.
God, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s staring up at you from between your legs like that. His eyes are dark and hungry beneath the mask, and since it’s all pushed up and rumpled around his nose you get a toe-curlingly good look at his lower face. His chin is wet and smeared with your slick, and his lips are plump and pink and swollen from all the kissing and suckling he’s done to you. In a moment of near-delirium, you think that you understand now why he covers his face – his mouth is pretty in a way that shocks you, in a way that needs to be hidden for decency’s sake.
“You’re gettin’ greedy,” He grunts, turning his head and sinking his teeth into the crease of your thigh just to make you yelp. “Wait for it, love. It’ll be worth the wait.”
You don’t think you have much of a choice, so all you can do is lay back and hold on for the ride. He presses his mouth to you again, and you whimper softly as he tongues at your clit.
“No one’s ever eaten you out like this?” He asks, the words muffled into the damp curve of your thigh. It’s stupid, because you know he knows the answer to that is a resounding no, but it seems like he just wants to hear you say it out loud.
“No.” You say, your breaths sawing their way out of your chest.
“Hnn.” He makes some kind of grunting sound against you, his tongue flicking out to taste you again. “That’s why you’ve been so tense, huh? So fuckin’ desperate for someone to touch you?”
“That’s not– ‘m not tense,” You manage to get out, your breasts heaving as your thighs tense up where they’re thrown over his shoulders. “Maybe.. Maybe you’re too relaxed.”
Ghost huffs a hot little laugh at your hip because you both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. You doubt anyone has ever accused Ghost of being too relaxed before, but you don’t have time to feel stupid for it – not when Ghost is devoting the full force of his attention on you, deep breaths huffing against the wet skin of your pussy and making you shudder.
“That’s it,” He croons, his voice uncharacteristically soft and lilting. The rumble of it ripples through your limbs like lapping waves, his battle-roughened palm stroking and smoothing down your ass and thigh as he hauls you closer. “Relax, sweetheart. Fuck, such a pretty pussy. Fuckin’ criminal of you to keep this hidden away all to yourself.” And then, quieter, “Fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet.”
You’re not even sure that he’s talking to you. It seems more as though he’s talking to himself, and it just happens to be you he’s talking about. Your cheeks burn as the feeling of vulnerability sets in, but you keep your legs spread wide as he kisses your clit with his swollen pink lips. You want so badly to be good, for him to be pleased with you, that you push past your embarrassment as best you can.
There’s a budding anxiety in your belly that Ghost is wasting his time here. As much as you crave his touch and the build up, you worry that he’s going to get frustrated with you and your inability to actually orgasm.
But Ghost doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He seems perfectly fucking happy between your legs, and even with his mask all clumsily rucked up around his nose he presses his face into your pussy with his eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. Even when you shift a little in an effort to get him to go a little harder or faster, he just pins you still and continues at his own leisurely pace.
When he reintroduces his fingers, pressing inside and stretching you out with a light sting, you hiss and try to lift your hips again. His rough calloused knuckles brush against the inside of your soft inner thighs, making them quiver as he goes three fingers deep.
“Shhh, atta girl.” He mumbles into you, his words coming out wetly muffled since he doesn’t even both pulling his face back. “Fuckin’– shit, so good.”
The praise shoots liquid and molten through you, and you have to bite back a pathetic keen as you pulse around his fingers. You’re sure he must feel it, because he lets out an answering rumble and laps against your clit, then closes his lips and sucks.
“Oh god–”
“Shhh.” Ghost scoots forward so your knee can hoist over his shoulder. Then he angles his chin to kiss the skin on the inside curve of your knee as he pumps into you with slow, slippery fingers and ungodly squelching noises that only sparks you hotter. You can’t even tell if it’s sweat or tears dotting your face anymore.
Though Ghost’s eyes are heavy-lidded and a little fogged over, he hasn’t looked away from you once. The focused intensity of his gaze spears you through, because you’ve never been looked at like that. No one has ever seen you like this, no one has ever put effort into you like this, no one has ever been so determined to please you before. You don’t know how you’re ever going to recover from this; you have a terrifyingly distinct impression that he’s going to live up to his promise to ruin you for anyone else.
It feels as though your blood is boiling beneath your skin, and you nearly sob when Ghost pulls back. You’ve never been so close, and you want to scream when he takes his gorgeous fucking mouth away from your clit.
“Fuck.” You wet your lips, realising you were panting like a dog and your mouth is bone dry. “Fuck, Ghost, just—”
“Quiet, lovie.” His reply is hoarse and firm, his throat working hard to swallow as he peered down between you, his clever thumb delving slick circles over the taut bump of your clit, his other three fingers fucking with easy rhythm and purpose. It’s maddening, it’s infuriating, it makes you feel as though you’re about to break apart.
His fingers are pulled out, and then you feel firm pressure pressing into you yet again. Your head lolls as you attempt to sit up, your eyelids fluttering as you realise that he’s pressing your stupid dildo into you again.
“Oh, you bastard–” You start to complain, but Ghost doesn’t give you the opportunity to speak properly.
The dildo slides into you so easily, your sticky slick mixing with his spit making the slide almost effortless. You sigh, a build-up of pressure making your whole body feel as though you’ve been stretched out and pulled tight.
Now that you’ve been pushed to the edge, you linger by it. Ghost keeps you on that edge for what feels like hours, until your breaths are burning in your chest and the ligaments in your calves are screaming from all the straining you’ve been doing. Every roll of Ghost’s thumb over your clit sends sparks racing through your nerves, and your breathing is harsh and uneven as Ghost starts fucking you with the stupid vibrating dildo. The rhythm he sets is firm and unrelenting, pushing the silicone toy in and out and visibly relishing the wet squish of your cunt as it takes it deep.
Ghost huffs against the wet skin of your inner thigh, making you shudder. It seems like he’s enjoying this as much as you are, judging by the subtle roll of his hips against your mattress as he absorbs himself in fucking you with the dildo.
He experiments with the angle, adjusting the dildo until you cry out, jerking against the bedding, and whining “There!”. You needn’t bother telling him, though; Ghost has a sharp eye, and he’s so goddamn attentive. He’s already repeating the stroke, pushing the dildo in and bumping it against the same sensitive spot he had hit before.
It feels good, but it’s not enough. Now that you’ve felt the firm hot pressure of his fingers spreading you wide and the wet hunger of his mouth devouring you, you don’t think anything else will do.
He shifts, you catch the rolls of his hips against your mattress again, and you feel as though you’ve caught fire. You think of the glimpse you had caught of his hard cock, pressing against his jeans and making the fabric stretch taut, and you find yourself speaking without thinking.
Ghost pushes the dildo in once more, and you reach down to grab at his wrist as you ask breathlessly, “Can I try yours?”
He pauses; goes so still that it’s honestly uncanny, his eyes practically boring holes into you as he stares at your face. You grow flustered, your own eyes widening in response to your own words. Just because he’s deigning to touch you with his fingers and his mouth, doesn’t mean he’s actually planning to fuck you. Jesus, he’s your fucking superior officer. What were you thinking?
“I’m sorry,” You squeak. “That wasn’t appropriate. Fuck, forget I said that–”
Even beneath the mask, you can see the bob of Ghost’s Adam's apple as he swallows thickly.
“You sure?” He interrupts your rambling before you can get started. “I don’t... ‘m not good with virgins.”
There’s… there’s so much you could say in response to that. Namely, he certainly doesn’t seem like he’s bad with virgins, as evidenced by the throb of arousal still pulsing through your soaked cunt. He’s just had you sobbing at the mercy of his fingers and mouth, and all he has to say when you ask for more is that he’s not good with virgins?
Instead, what you say is a rather lame, “I’m not technically a virgin.”
Which is true. Sort of. Based on a technicality – you had bullied your damn vibrator through your stupid hymen years ago, and you’ve always thought the idea of virginity was a stupid one, anyway.
“Plastic cocks don’t count, darlin’.”
Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel light-headed as humiliation burns through you. Jesus, okay. That’s just mortifying.
“Oh, you think your cock is special, then?” You scoff, attempting nonchalance.
Ghost shifts, letting your legs drop from his shoulders, and kneels up on the mattress so that he’s looming over you. Fuck, every time you get a visceral reminder of how big he is, you feel a little faint. It’s like having a veritable wall of muscle caging you into your bed. Your thighs are spread wide to accommodate the size of him, and you find yourself absolutely captivated by the sight of him with his muscles straining against that stupid tight t-shirt, still panting lightly from his greedy gorging on your cunt.
He reaches out and drags a hand slowly from your cunt up over your belly, between your breasts, up over your sternum, to rest over your collarbones. It’s gentle – he doesn’t put an iota of pressure against your throat – but all you can fucking see is the swell of his bicep and the dark ink of his tattoo and the prominent veins running down the chiselled muscle of his forearm.
Good fucking lord.
“You’ll find out.” He says.
And oh. Okay then. Yeah, you sure fucking will.
He reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, and you can’t help but strain to try and watch. He pushes them down carelessly around his thighs, but doesn’t make any move to strip them off any further. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re laying on the bed completely nude and exposed, while Ghost has only pushed his jeans down far enough to pull his cock out, but you don’t have any time to feel self-conscious about it.
His cock curves up against his belly, red and twitching. He’s fucking rock hard, and bigger than you had been expecting, bigger than any of your stupid little toys. Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen comically. Fuck. No wonder he’s confident. He’s not lacking in any way.
“D’you’ve a johnny?” He asks, one big paw of a hand taking his cock and stroking lazily at it until a bead of pearly precum oozes from the angry red head.
You’re distracted for a moment, staring at the way he fists his cock, before you blink back to yourself. “What?”
“A condom.” He enunciates slowly, as though speaking to someone he thinks is a bit thick.
“I know what you meant,” You snap, embarrassed. “But– no. Why would I? I’ve never…”
You can see the way his eyes crease and realise that he’s frowning beneath the mask, and you’re hit with a sudden bolt of panic – is he going to change his mind now? You can see the hesitation in the lines of his shoulders, but you think if he changes his mind about fucking you, you might just die.
“It doesn’t matter,” You blurt, “You don’t need one. I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”
Ghost cocks his head, but remains still. It’s almost unnerving, and you feel your toes curl into the bedsheets as you wait for an answer. He looks fucking predatory, hulking over you like a fucking behemoth as he watches you assessingly. You try your best to look confident, but you have a feeling that you just look desperately hungry.
He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of his mask and pulls it back down to cover his still slick-shiny mouth and jaw, and you’re gripped with sudden overwhelming panic and dismay that he’s changed his mind, that he’s about to leave you here wet and empty and wanting. In that moment, you throw your dignity into the wind.
“Please,” You beg pathetically, wriggling a little bit against your sweat-damp bedding in an effort to grind yourself against him. “Please, please, it’s fine, I swear, you don’t need one–”
“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grinds out, his voice rough and a little hoarse. “How can a virgin be such a fuckin’ slut?”
Some part of you wonders if you should be offended by that, but instead a frisson of heat runs down your spine. You know you’re not a slut – you’ve never searched for any sexual attention, and you’ve never even experienced someone else’s touch – but goddamn you want to be a slut for your lieutenant right now.
Despite his harsh words, when Ghost hooks your legs over his hips and aligns himself with you, he’s gentle. He’s acting like you’re something fragile; he’s so big that your legs are spread wide around his waist, his shoulders so broad that he’s blocking out the dim light from your lamp, and yet his touch is light against you as though he’s afraid to break you.
He’s still gripping his cock hard, and he slides the tip of it against your slick heat. You have a brief moment of alarm; even through the haze of arousal, you can recognise that this is going to be a tight fit. You breathe deeply, then begin to wiggle your hips in an effort to take him inside you.
He hisses, then one of his big hands grabs at your hip. “Fuck, stay still.”
“Put it in.” You beg, your voice coming out thick and stupid-sounding. “Fuck, please, c’mon, c’mon–”
“Kid,” Ghost bites out through clenched teeth, his voice low and gritty. “Need you to shut the fuck up for me.”
You manage to bite down on your lip, but you can’t stop yourself from pouting mopily at him with wide, wet eyes. You don’t understand why he’s making you wait – can’t he see how mean he’s being? You’re so fucking wet, so empty as you clench down on nothing, and your clit is so desperate for any kind of stimulation that it’s throbbing needily. The head of his cock catches at your opening, dipping in for a second before resuming its maddening slide up and down.
Ghost is still watching you closely, his brown eyes flickering from where the head of his cock drags through your sodden folds up to your pleading pouting expression. You can only imagine what kind of a sight you make, because his chest growls with a choked sort of groan.
“I know,” He murmurs, almost mockingly soft with you. “I know, you want it. Gotta give it to you slowly.”
You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give it to you slowly, that he can go as fast and hard as he wants to, but some sense of self-preservation shuts you up. Instead, you nod clumsily as he rubs his cock over the slick folds of your cunt, lubing himself up with your own arousal. The feeling of his cock dragging over you, iron hard and velvety soft, so close to where you want it, is enough to have your head spinning dizzily.
You want to beg again, but you’re still trying to follow his order to be silent. You shift restlessly, biting back a whimper when he taps his cock thoughtfully against your clit.
Finally, he decides to put you out of your misery.
The thick crown of his cock pushes against the tight ring of muscle at the entrance of your cunt, and the gasp you let out is positively punched out of you. He goes slow, just like he promised, but you can still hardly believe it. He goes in and in and in, and yet he’s somehow not even halfway inside.
“Fuck,” You wheeze, punctuated by a strange little yowl. “Oh god, wait–”
You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the quiet little grunts he’s making. The stretch and the sting and the pressure inside you is glorious, so tight that you can barely even flex around him and you can’t even decide if it’s good or if it’s too much. Your eyes are hot and wet as overwhelmed tears begin to overflow, and you find yourself arching in a weak attempt to flex away from him and the devastating stretch.
God, he’s massive. You knew he would be, of course, but his size seems so much more significant when you’re being impaled on the end of his cock. Fuck, you can feel your vision go blurry as your eyes fill with overwhelmed tears. You’re mortified when a sob is ripped from your chest, harsh and thick.
“Shh, shh.” Ghost coos, his deep voice syrupy thick as he leans over you, the enormous bulk of him caging you into the mattress until your whole world consists only of him. “Just a little bit more.”
“Fuck,” You choke out, trying to arch away again but failing because he’s so big that there’s nowhere to go. “It’s not gonna fit!”
“Shh, lovie,” He rumbles, ducking his face down so that the rough cotton of his mask is pressed against the sweaty skin of your neck. “Relax’n let me in.”
“I– ‘m trying–” You whine, clutching at his biceps. “Jesus–”
You blink your eyes open, vision blurry from the tears clumping your lashes together, only to be met with the sight of Ghost’s deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath the black mask. He’s looming above you, his gaze made all the more intense by the fact that it’s the only part of his face you can really see.
“All that messin’ around with those plastic cocks, but you’re still this tight for me,” He says, his voice so deep that you feel it reverberate into your bones. “Deep breath.”
The breath you inhale at his instruction is rough and ragged, and he snorts a low breathless laugh in response.
When he finally drives his cock all the way in with one smooth stroke, all the breath is driven from your lungs. It feels as though his cock has been pressed all the way up into your chest, and the noise you make when you squirm on it is utterly pathetic.
Ghost’s hands are like steel clamps when they close around the plump flesh of your thighs, holding them up and pressing them back until they’re pressed against your belly. He looms over you, still almost entirely clothed as sweat beads over his thickly muscled neck. It’s like getting pinned down by a mountain, and you whimper as you’re speared open and prone by the weight of Ghost pressing down upon you.
He hasn’t even started to move yet, but you still feel overfull and raw.
“Too big,” You mumble, struggling to catch your breath. You choke on a sob and feel your eyes burn with unshed tears as your back arches. “Ghost–!”
“Shh.” He grunts. “Call me Simon when I fuck you.”
That… that does something to you. Molten heat rockets up your spine and pools in your belly, and you swear your pussy floods. It’s stupid, how being granted permission to call your lieutenant by his first name is somehow so much hotter than anything else he’s done so far.
“Simon,” You try it out. It comes out a little shaky, your voice little more than a weak whisper, but you swear you can see his eyes sharpen.
Apparently having come to the decision that you’ve adjusted enough, Ghost pulls his hips back only to drive back in.
“Oh!” You yelp, hips jumping, but there’s nowhere to go.
All you can do is lie there as he slides out, out, out, slow and careful and long, and then his hips snap forward and he impales you, pressing all the way into him. He does it again, and again, and you try to bite down on your tongue, try to not sound so pathetically wrecked, but you can’t. It’s like Ghost is puncturing your lungs and every time he fucks into you, you let out the most pathetic little mewling ah ah ah sounds.
You’re not quite prepared for how different this feels; it’s nothing like your stupid plastic dildo. Ghost’s cock is bigger, but it’s also hotter and with more give than you expected, and you’ve never been able to fuck yourself like this. Your plastic toys could never compare to the sensation of being pinned by your giant of a lieutenant as he ruts into you.
Ghost reaches up and roughly pushes his mask up so his mouth is exposed again before he leans in deeper, almost folding you cleanly in half, stretching in to claim your mouth in a kiss that’s not quite a kiss, but rather a fierce mash of lips and tongue as his rhythm picks up, riding you down into the mattress until you realised the screaming noise isn’t coming from either one of you, but the cheap standard issue bed frame.
All you can do is gasp with each deep, raw fuck. There are tears tracking lazily down your cheeks, having overflowed from your burning eyes, and you honestly think your lungs might collapse. You’re bent like a fucking pretzel, in a way that’s making the muscles in your thighs scream, as Ghost pounds into you.
He’s fucking relentless, but also shockingly aware of you beneath him. He doesn’t put too much pressure on you when he holds you, he never goes hard enough to hurt, and he knows just the right amount of weight to pin you down without being too much.
Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishing noises getting louder and louder as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls. Your whole world of awareness has been narrowed down to Ghost and Ghost only; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours.
He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just enough to make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.
“Yeah, you needed this,” Ghost grunts, his uncovered mouth nipping at the hinge of your jaw. “This’s why you were so fuckin’ distracted earlier, hm? You thinkin’ about how much you needed to cream around a real cock?”
“Uh huh, yeah,” You slur out, not even sure what you’re agreeing with. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, every nerve in your body raw and sparking. You must sound so pathetic, but Ghost seems to like it.
“Ain’t gonna be distracted anymore, are ya?” He rumbles, laving his tongue over your jaw in a way that feels filthy. “Just needed your little pussy filled, that’s all.”
You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges into you. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving slick trails along his shaft. But gradually he gets bolder, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.
You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You swear you even feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.
Then he leans back, lifting his weight off of you so you can breathe properly. He leaves his hand on your collarbones like a placeholder, his palm spread over the base of your throat like a reminder, a way to keep your attention on him.
“Fuck,” He grits out, “That’s it, doll.”
You’re vaguely aware of the fact that Ghost’s gaze has shifted, no longer focused on your face but now instead fixed firmly between your legs as he watches the thick shaft of his cock sink into you. He obviously likes how you feel inside; you can hear him cursing and grunting quietly as his free hand grips your hip for leverage.
With his mask rumpled up around his nose, you’re gifted with an incredible view of the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip. Each time he sinks his cock into you again, he makes a raspy little groan, eyes fluttering briefly shut. It’s so painfully endearing that your heart quivers in your chest.
Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist — any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless, your legs slipping everytime his ass flexes with his thrusts. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time he ruts into you. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. Part of you marvels how you’re even able to fit him inside you.
“Never seen you look like this,” he grunts. “All fucked-out and perfect.”
Ghost leans in again, grips your legs so he can rearrange them over his shoulders, and you think you might die. The angle is different and somehow, impossibly, Ghost is fucking into you even deeper. You think you might actually be crying. There’s no question as to whether you’re drooling.
Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life. He doesn’t even seem to notice the sting of your nails scratching him; or perhaps it only urges him on, because his movements take on an edge of desperation.
“Gorgeous girl,” He grits out, jaw clenched. “Squeezin’ so tight. Fuck. Gonna make you cream.”
You had forgotten about his promise to make you come, too lost in the hazy pleasure of his cock. But now it seems as though he’s been seized by the compulsion to fuck you to the edge; he reaches a hand down so that his thumb can join the fray, and it startles you into moaning breathlessly aloud.
His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you, and he takes full advantage. His fingers are thick and blistering hot as he rubs at you, and you choke as your toes curl.
“Simon–” You manage to eke out before you lose the weak thread of your thoughts, scattering into nothing as he stimulates the stiff bead of your clit.
He grunts to show that he’s heard you, but he doesn’t seem any more capable of words than you are as he rocks into the cradle of your hips. You’re practically blinded by your wet eyes, blinking frantically to try and clear your vision as you reach out clumsily to throw your arms around Ghost’s blisteringly hot neck.
It feels as though your skin is stretched too tight over your body, hot and prickly and too much. You’re trembling, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as agonising pressure builds in your lower belly.
“Fuck, love.” Ghost says, his voice little more than a snarl. “You gonna come?”
No, You think hazily. No, you never come. But even as you think it, part of you recognises that it’s never felt like this before. Your stomach tightens, toes curling, your lungs burning, your eyes rolling. You hardly even know what’s happening.
You recognise that something is building, but it almost seems secondary to the way that Ghost is rutting into you like a man possessed, hitting that spongey spot in the back of your pussy that you’ve never managed to reach yourself and making your legs spasm every time even as his thick thumb rubs frantic circles around the bump of your clit.
“Fuck, fuck–” You wheeze, bucking your hips against him.
It doesn’t grow and dissipate in the way you’re used to. Rather, it creeps up on you almost without you noticing, until you’re whimpering and clinging to Ghost like he’s a lifeline. Your bottom lip trembles as you sob weakly, practically on the brink of diving into an oncoming tidal wave of desire. Then that coil in your stomach snaps like a rubber band, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.
Your back arches, your vision whites out, and you cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Your cunts sucks tight around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. It feels so sweet, that white-hot buzzing pleasure rushing over you and wiping your brain completely clean.
You’re a little delirious from being stuffed with such a fat cock; every thrust just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your very first orgasm out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, your nails burrowing into the skin of his biceps as you desperately clutch at him for some kind of leverage. Ghost doesn’t falter, his hips continuing to work into you, wringing your orgasm out until you feel as though your brain is melting.
You sob – an actual, genuine, wet-sounding sob as your chest heaves for air and your eyes burn with overwhelmed, rapturous tears. Your head is spinning even as your climax subsides, leaving you limp-limbed and weak as Ghost continues rocking into you.
“Look so lovely when you come, sweetheart,” Ghost grunts into your ear, his bulky chest weighing you down as you clutch feebly at his shoulders. “God, that’s a sight. All for me, yeah?”
His praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes sting until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids. He sounds so smug, but you can’t deny that he has reason to be. He’s the first man to ever touch you, first man to ever fuck you, the first person to ever tip you over the edge and wring an orgasm out of you. Fuck, you think your brain might have been reduced to mush permanently; you wonder wildly if you’ll ever be the same after this.
Despite the sting of Ghost’s punishing thrusts into your already oversensitive cunt, your body sings for him. The rhythm of his hips is getting gradually sloppier, as though he doesn’t care as much for precision now that he’s succeeded in making you come. Soft, guttural little grunts fall from his mouth, and his arms wrap around your waist to reposition you so that he can fuck quick and shallow. It’s almost tender, as though he’s aware of your growing sensitivity as you mewl under him.
There’s a profound, instinctual pleasure in seeing Ghost lose himself in your embrace. His dark eyes are heavy-lidded and his mask is still all rucked up, revealing the way his mouth is lolled softly open as he pants. You find yourself wishing feverishly that he had taken off his clothes too, because you think you would give anything to watch the roiling muscles of his chest and shoulders as he ruts into you.
Then just when you think you’re beginning to recover from the shattering, mind-numbing oversensitivity, Ghost comes inside of you.
He stops rutting to ride out his orgasm, his cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. And he comes a lot.
You’re stuffed so tightly with his cock that his cum has nowhere to go, and ends up leaking thickly from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he groans, blissed out as he finds release in your cunt.
The minutes afterwards are a blur.
You close your eyes for what feels like only a second, but the next time you blink your eyes open you find yourself feeling miserably, uncomfortably empty and sticky as all that oozy cum leaks out of you. You somehow missed Ghost pulling out of you, and your thoughts are muzzy and embarrassingly slow.
For a moment, you think you’re alone. You’re becoming more aware of yourself, and you realise that you’re shivering weakly alone in your sweat-damp sheets. Where did Ghost go? Part of you, still a little hazy, wonders if he had left you alone as soon as he had come, and you feel your lower lip tremble at the thought.
God, you feel pathetic. You shift feebly on the sheets, and suck in a sharp breath when you feel the ache inside you, proof that you’re going to feel the shadow of Ghost’s cock for days. You feel drunk off the afterglow, yet you’re swiftly becoming more and more aware of yourself and all the aches and pains that are coming to the fore now.
It feels like you’re too big for your body, and you’re clumsy when you try to sit up. Pushing yourself up makes a whole new set of aches light up, and you let out a quiet keening grumble.
You’re so caught up with trying to ground yourself that you jolt in surprise when big, paw-like hands land on you, pushing you back down onto the bed.
“Shh, hey, lay down.” Ghost says, the rough edges of his accent softened. To your bewilderment, he has a damp cloth in his hand; he went to the bathroom, you realise hazily.
Maybe it’s just because you feel raw after your experience with him, pulsing like an open nerve, but you sniffle and blink and then suddenly there are tears dripping down your face.
“Thought you left.” You mumble, trying not to sound like a needy little idiot.
Ghost glances up at you, unblinkingly. His mask is fixed firmly back in place, and he looks annoyingly put-together; it’s an embarrassingly stark contrast to the way you’re still nude and shivery and teary-eyed.
“No.” He says simply.
The damp cloth is warm when it makes contact with your skin, and you relax as he drags it along your sweaty back and over your legs. He’s a little rough about it, but you don’t think it’s on purpose. Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to Simon Riley, and yet you can feel that he’s trying and that makes a warm glow settle in your stomach, replacing the cold anxiety that had settled in when you thought that he had left you alone.
When the cloth reaches the tender skin of your pussy, you hiss and try to pull away. It all feels too sensitive, and you feel your face crumple up as he wipes away the mess of slick and cum between your thighs. He gentles his touch as much as he can, but you still mewl at the electric zaps of oversensitivity that jolt up your spine.
When Ghost pauses and pulls the cloth away from you, you blink your eyes awake. Your vision is still all wet and blurry from tears, but you can still see the shape of Ghost as he stares down at you. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, even after having been cleaned up, and Ghost’s stare is burning.
You wonder if he’s about to leave now – you can recognise this whole thing had gotten out of hand, and you just about manage to stifle the panic at the creeping realisation that you’ve just fucked your superior officer. Ghost must have realised at this point that the two of you had just ripped through all those fraternisation rules, though it’s always been difficult to tell what he’s thinking. But you trust him – you have to, in your line of work. You have to trust that he’ll handle things.
Ghost tosses aside the cloth, and his big overbearing body climbs back into bed beside you. It’s a standard-issue bunk, and yet it feels comically tiny when Ghost has been added to the mix. He’s surprisingly agile, even despite his big size, and you barely have time to realise that he’s joining you in bed before he’s wrapped a thick arm around your middle, hauling you closer.
You’d love to act chill and cool about the fact that he’s now essentially cuddling you, but you miss the mark by a long mile. You take a breath, and allow yourself to relax into his big burly chest. He’s still fully clothed, and the rough texture of his jeans against your tender bare skin makes you shiver lightly from oversensitivity.
Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, your joints weak and watery, and you’re perfectly content to close your eyes and forcibly ignore all your concerns about fraternisation or how you’re going to face Ghost in training. It’s a problem for another time.
“You still alive?” Ghost grunts, and his palm coasts down over your back to settle at your ass, his fingers squeezing absent-mindedly into the soft flesh there.
He sounds amused, which makes you grumble in irritation. He takes up so much space, his big body filling up all the free space on the bed and making you feel so fucking small as he holds you so that your back is pressed against his stomach.
“I dunno,” You mumble, words a little garbled. “Think… think you might have fucked me stupid, Lt.”
Lying like this, with his front pressed against your back, you can feel his laugh rumble into you. He’s touchy too in a way that surprises you; his hands are constantly moving, swiping over your sides and groping at any part of you that’s squishy-soft.
“Think I might have,” He agrees, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “But I think you needed it, sweetheart. You were practically cryin’ out for it all day.”
You feel your face heat at the insinuation that he had noticed the arousal you thought you had hidden so well. But you still feel so fuzzy inside, and you can’t manage to drum up any genuine reaction.
Ghost’s roaming hand slips down between your legs, and you hold your breath as he reaches your swollen, tender pussy. His fingers are so big, but he’s aware of his strength and keeps his touch light, cupping rather than groping, his calloused palm catching on your puffy clit.
“Told you a real cock would be better,” He rumbles, and you feel the soft material of his mask rubbing against the back of your sweaty neck. “You’ve got a fussy little cunt – ‘s only gonna be satisfied by the real thing.”
You’d love to jab back at him, but the feeling of him rough palm against your oversensitive clit has your thoughts fizzing out into nothingness. All you can do is let out a quiet little whimper, and rock your hips into his touch. To your utter bewilderment, you feel your arousal, which you had previously considered entirely sated, pulse back to life.
As if Ghost can feel your cunt throb beneath his hand, he snickers. “Yeah. Fussy and greedy.”
He leans down, and you feel his lips brush against the back of your neck through the cotton of his balaclava. You quiver, and part your legs without conscious thought to give his thick fingers more room to work. Despite your exhaustion, and your soreness, and your sensitivity, you find yourself wanting. You wonder, with an edge of hysteria, if your body has somehow managed to rewire itself to only accept pleasure from your commanding officer’s hand.
“Ghost– Simon–” You breathe, your hips jumping as you grind into his palm.
“Yeah,” He says again, as though he knows exactly what you need and want. “One little orgasm wasn’t enough, was it?”
“No.” You choke out, throwing your head back so that it’s resting against Ghost’s broad chest. “No, ‘t wasn’t.”
You can hardly believe that your body is winding up for more, but Ghost’s touch is searing hot against your tender skin, and you can already taste the pleasure he’s going to bring you. This time, without the edge of urgency, you think you might even enjoy it more.
“Gimme five minutes,” He drawls, his voice low and muffled in your ear. “And I’ll give you your second.”
#ahem... hello 🥺👉👈#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod smut#cod mw2 smut#simon ghost riley x reader#cod fic#simon riley smut
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BLACK CAT GIRLFRIEND | Spencer Reid x reader
request: Hey Congratulations on the 2K! Do you think you could write something with Spencer Reid and a Reader who has lots of tattoos and/or piercings? Like she's the whole "bad girl" stereotype but Spencer and her complement each other so well and have a very sweet and mature relationship. I would love something like that.
description: the team meet Spencer's new girlfriend and she doesn't look quite like they'd imagined
word count: 1.1k
main masterlist
authors note: I officially hit 2k followers this morning!! see my post here for requesting but lets start this milestone off with a bang!! thankyou so much :))))))
Morgan had to admit, you weren’t exactly what he’d envisioned when Pretty Boy had been talking his ear off for months about the girl in his apartment building that had slipped him your number. He wasn’t judgemental, not by a longshot, but Spencer had always seemed like the type to date the preppy, library geek, or even the cutesy geneticist if Maeve had been anything to go off of.
It’s not like you weren’t hot, he could see that you were a mile away, but you looked like you’d sooner break someone’s wrist for so much as talking to you than fall for their resident genius.
You smiled tightly, shaking Derek’s hand with a crushing grip, as Spencer introduced you to his team, the obnoxiously loud bass almost drowning out his words as the six of you stood in the bar.
“Nice to meet you, Spencer talks about you all the time,” You said politely, and no sooner had you let go of the man’s warm hand, two arms were thrown over your shoulders and you were tugged into a hug.
“I’m Penelope- oh you’re so pretty, Morgan isn’t she so pretty? You should marry Spencer then you can be boyfriend girlfriend for, like, life-” The perky voice was all a jumble as the blonde pulled away, cupping your face, rubbing down your arms kindly, sweetly, like you were swallowing a warm spoon of honey.
“Penelope, newbie rules, remember,” Emily chimed in, seeing your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion of personal space. She could see this ending with the pretty pink bows Garcia had plaited her hair in torn to shreds on the sticky floor, right next to her long barbie locks if your intimidating figure was anything to go off, “Not everyone likes hugs,”
“No, no,” You replied, smiling gently at the woman who was softer than cotton candy, “Hugs are nice,”
“We’re going to be very best friends, I can feel it, which is funny because my tarot actually said I’d meet a strong Taurus woman- or are you a Scorpio-” Penny’s smile was dazzling, but she was soon ushered to let go of the bear like grip she had on your shoulders by a chuckling Morgan.
“Let the other kids play with her, babygirl,” He said, and you were pulled in another direction towards Emily who gave a polite handshake.
“Nice ink,” She said with raised brows as she saw the intricate sketches that covered the back of your hands, trailing up your arm and under the band tee you wore. She knew who they were, though they only dragged up memories of her own days of thick eyeliner and rebelling against her mother. “They must have hurt like a bitch, I got one on my hip and could barely sit for one hour,”
You snickered, nodding, seeing her eyes trailing over the ones on your ankles and knees where your ripped jeans flashed them all.
“Bones hurt the most, though the one on my ass is up there for the worst ones,” You replied, and Penny’s brows shot into her hairline, though she giggled like a schoolgirl being told a secret.
“I think we’re gonna need to see the proof on that one,” Morgan teased flirtily, the way he always did, the way he did even with JJ who had a whole child and partner, because it was his natural state of being.
Spencer smiled as his team warmed to you, though he was quick to pull you to him with a gentle arm around the waist. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Derek, that man was practically his brother, he’d taken bullets for the guy, but he liked having you close, even if to just remind himself that you were all his, including said tattoo on your buttcheek that he’d seen plenty of times.
The team didn’t need to know that, but you could tell your words had reminded him of it as he pressed a shy kiss behind your ear.
He was careful to avoid the studs and links that glittered from your ear lobe, wrapping over the cartilage on your helix, though he loved to stare at them on nights where you tied your hair up and he could count every one of them. To him you were a work of art, complex and detailed with every glance he stole. You were an illustration in one of his many books, everything he imagined for himself times a million.
“I’m going to go get a drink, do you want one?” You said, looking up at him with puppy eyes, like a lovestruck teenager, fat adoration in your gaze. It oozed out of every inch of you, and JJ thought for a moment that you looked nothing like the scary doberman woman that Spence had originally brought over to meet them. You looked in love, the saccharine, soft and dazed kind of in love.
“Let me get it for you,” Spencer rooted around his pocket for his wallet, turning to see Morgan’s beer bottle running low, “You having another one?”
“I’m good, my man, you just sort yourself and your lady out,” Derek flashed him a thousand watt smile and clapped him on the shoulder as you entwined your fingers with his, pulling him through the cluster of people and towards the bar, “What a stud,”
Penelope giggled again, leaning towards her adonis best friend with honeyglow cheeks, watching their genius get led like a dog on a leash.
“Oh lover boy had got it bad,” She drawled, watching Reid, their Reid, develop an uncharacteristically protective stance as a few men at the bar shot looks up and down your body. She couldn’t blame them either, you were a sight for sore eyes. “Okay, so do I have to be the first one to point out how hot she is or have I maybe had one too many margaritas?”
“She seems nice,” JJ chose her words carefully, still not entirely sure she would have ever put the two of you together but she saw the way Spence’s eyes got round and longing when he looked over you. He’d clearly said something to make you laugh, and an inked hand raised up to brush his chocolate curls out of his face lovingly, “She seems good for him,”
A murmur of agreement ran through the four of them, Emily taking one more sip of her martini as her eyes roved over your figure returning with something fruity and colourful, “Anyone else dying to know what’s on her ass?”
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#Spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic
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Trust Issues
An anxious Astarion falls back into old patterns of behavior.
Warnings: vague mentions of Astarion's past but seriously the rest of it is just fluff, this boy deserves someone who treats him well
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He loves you. Of that much he’s certain now, despite the mental battle he waged to get to this point. And you love him. He believes it even though the voice in the back of his mind tells him that he could never be worthy of a creature like you, all goodness and light in direct contrast to his tortured darkness.
But old habits die hard. A minor disagreement earlier in the day (truly it was nothing, a mere gentle dissuasion away from his more violent tendencies) has him wound tight, worry clawing at his throat as you both retire to your tent for the evening. Surely now you’ll realize, now you’ll see the truth of him and you’ll run, leaving him behind like the monster he is.
He can feel his mindset shift, falling into old routines as he turns up the charm to seduce his way back into your good graces. He knows how to wield his body as a weapon, has used it countless times for his, and his master’s, benefit. If he makes you need him then you can’t leave him, and he intends to make you very needy tonight.
“You were magnificent today” he whispers into your ear, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.
You chuckle lightly and lean into him, closing your eyes as he begins gently kissing the sensitive hollow beneath your ear that has you arching further into his embrace.
“You flatter me,” you hum. “I’m still not sure why everyone has decided to act like I know what I’m doing. I never planned on being a leader.”
“And yet you do it so flawlessly,” Astarion purrs, gently kissing his way to your shoulder.
You twist in his hold, your breath catching as you see the look in his eyes that he’s praying you interpret as hunger and not helpless desperation.
He takes advantage of your distraction to pull you against him, lips claiming yours in a feverish dance that takes your breath away as you wind your hands into his hair, clinging to him as if he’s something worth having.
His hands shift suddenly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you as he lowers you both to your knees. His hands drift up, pulling your shirt from where it’s tucked into your pants and caressing his way across your stomach to your ribs, teasing the edge of your bra.
“I…” you take a sharp inhale, pulling yourself away from his searching mouth. “Astarion, stop.”
He freezes immediately, eyes instantly searching for an injury, for anything he may have done wrong
“Are you okay, my love? Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not, I just…” your fingers flit across his cheek, searching for answers to questions you’re afraid to ask. “You don’t seem like yourself. Are you alright?” He hesitates for a split second and your brow furrows, latching on to his lie before he can even tell it. “Tell me. Please?”
Your request is so earnest, so loving, that he has to pause for a moment to regain a hold of his emotions. If Cazador could see him now… the thought snaps him back to the present. He’s been a fool. You would never treat him like that, use him like that.
“… I’m sorry” he breathes. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I… I lost control today, and I was afraid that you… that you might not...”
“I told you it was nothing to worry about, love. You were just—”
“Just being myself,” he interjects, dropping his head. “Just being quick to judge, to assume the worst, to—”
“Stop that,” you frown, nudging his chin up to draw his eyes back to yours. “You know I couldn’t do this without you, any of it. What you thought of me when we met, that I was naive and overly trusting and gullible…” At that Astarion chuckles, you’ve really only proven his first impression right, though at least now he finds it endearing rather than frustrating. “You weren’t wrong. You don’t realize how much I rely on your judgment, how much I need your help to keep us all safe.”
His eyes close as he presses his forehead to yours.
“You’re too kind to me,” he whispers. “No one has ever… I don’t understand how you can just…” he sighs, shoulders sagging as the facade crumbles and his hands come to rest in yours, holding them as if he’s afraid he’ll get lost if he lets them go. “It was wrong of me to try to manipulate you like that,” he murmurs, releasing a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek and duck your head, gently nuzzling your face into his neck. He feels you frown against him, a touch of cold alerting him to a teardrop falling onto his skin. “No, pet, please don’t cry, I—”
You lift your head suddenly, gaze piercing into him with an intensity he hadn’t expected.
“I need you to trust me, Astarion.”
His brow furrows in confusion.
“I do, my sweet,” he replies, letting out a wry chuckle before adding “despite the recent evidence to the contrary.”
Your gaze softens as you grin at him, brushing a stray curl off his forehead before bringing your hand to rest on his cheek.
“Then trust me to love you.Trust that you don’t need to earn that or convince me of anything more. I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.”
Astarion’s eyes drift closed as a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying slips off his shoulders. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, tender and unhurried as you relax against him.
“Have I told you recently how much I adore you, darling?” he asks, tilting his head to slowly kiss his way to your jaw.
“Hmm…” Your eyes twinkle as you pull an exaggerated thinking face. “I’m sure you have but it’s been such a long day, I just can’t seem to remember…”
“Cheeky little pup,” he chuckles, gently nipping at your neck. You giggle as you pull him back to your mouth, smiling against his lips.
“Maybe you should jog my memory?”
“Oh, believe me,” he smirks, “I plan to.”
#astarion#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#bg3#bg3 astarion
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That Wasn't Quiet: 12 Days of Smut #5
Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot
Fully inspired by this tiktok from @the.stark.internship: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8u74sXe/
Summary: You've been on the run for two months and now that the team has found you, they don't trust you to be alone. Of course, Bucky is one of the ones assigned to keep an eye on you through the night, even though you two have a bit of a history.
Warnings: profanity, teasing, oral sex (female receiving), slight exhibitionism (someone overhears), fingering, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: This one isn't Christmas-themed because truthfully, I forgot about that. It takes place sometime after Captain America: Civil War but before TFATWS, not that that matters much for a one-shot. Also can everyone go look at @littlemiss-yeehaw's fckin INSANE SKETCH OF A HAIR-PULLING BUCKY BARNES BECAUSE I'M STILL NOT OVER IT THANKS.
“How’re we doing, boys?” Nat asks the question immediately upon entering the surveillance room of the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre in Berlin. She’s the last to arrive. She glances around the room, letting her eyes scan over the expressions of Steve, Sam, and Bucky. They all look quite done with the situation at hand.
“She’s not talking.” Steve answers. He’s standing with his back against the far wall, with his arms crossed over his chest and a slightly defeated look on his face. Bucky, however, looks more determined than defeated.
“She’s about to.” Bucky’s tone is so calm and certain that it draws all eyes to him as he pushes himself off of the table he was sitting on. Nat looks at him, her interest clearly piqued, before glancing back over at Steve, wondering if she should be concerned. Steve gives Bucky a hard stare, while Sam turns his head to watch as the man with the metal arm and perpetual bad attitude heads straight for the door. No one makes a move to stop him. Instead, as the door shuts behind Bucky, everyone turns their attention to the surveillance screen that shows you. You’re locked in a secure glass chamber, with your arms and legs immobilized by metal restraints, and even your shoulders are held in place by something similar. The only movements that you’re free to make are within the normal range of motion of your head. Everyone watches as Bucky steps into the secure holding area and stops a few feet away from the glass that separates you and him.
“Bucky Barnes.” You say his name with amusement. You find it amusing that he’s the team’s last resort. First, Steve tried to get through to you. Steve is just too nice, he was never going to get anything out of you. Then, Sam tried to rationalize his way into your mind. Of course, that was about as effective as Steve’s good cop approach. Next, they sent in Agent Everett Ross. You have to admit, Ross was good. If you were going to tell any of them anything, it probably would’ve been him. He has that whole I’m-on-your-side-and-I-can-help-you thing down pat. But you were waiting to see if Bucky would take a shot at you. You wanted to see him. Now he stands before you, wearing one of his signature Henley tees and hiding that irresistible silver arm from you. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” You tease.
“I could, but where’s the fun in that?” He plays along, but he’s actively denying himself the pleasure of looking at you. He’s keeping his eyes down on his hands, where he’s using a small cloth to clean the crevices of his metal knuckles. You imagine he probably scuffed it up a bit during the scuffle earlier today. It took the entire GSG 9 team along with Steve, Bucky, and Sam to capture you and bring you here. You never were one to go down without a fight.
“Why don’t you go ahead and ask your questions? Get them out of the way so we can get to the good part of all of this.” Your eyes are tracking every move he makes with his hands. You’re mesmerized but trying your best to focus on your goal.
“And what’s the good part of all of this, sweetheart?” Fuck. He hasn’t called you a name like that since… Images of the last time you were together start flooding through your mind. Your memory is a blur of his hands on your hips, his lips against your ear as you sink down on his cock, and that stupid name rolling off of his tongue: sweetheart. As you’re lost in thought, Bucky’s taking the chance to look at you. You look just like you did the last time he saw you, barely two months ago. The only thing that’s different about your appearance now is the bruise over your left eye and the cut over your cheekbone. He finds himself wanting to severely injure whichever GSG 9 agent it was that laid hands on you hard enough to cause even those minor wounds, but he can’t think about that right now. He needs answers.
“The good part will be the moment you realize you still need me, in about three minutes, give or take a few.” You say smugly, tilting your head to one side since it’s really the only move you can currently make. Bucky tsks, tucking the small cloth in the back pocket of his dark jeans before looking you dead in the eyes.
“Why are you in Berlin?” He asks plainly. Wow, right to business then. You expected him to at least question what you meant when you said that he still needed you.
“I needed to speak with an inmate at the Berlin Correctional Facility.” You answer honestly. He’s already gotten more info out of you than anyone else has today, but that’s all part of your plan.
“Zemo.” Bucky says coolly. You nod slowly, awaiting Bucky’s next question. “What information does Zemo have that you’re interested in?”
“He knows someone that has the ability to reverse the effects of the super soldier serum.”
Your words send a blanket of silence throughout the surveillance room, as well as sending a new wave of realization rushing through Bucky’s mind. This is why you disappeared two months ago. All of those times you talked about wishing you’d never been injected with the serum, all of those hours that Bucky knew you spent researching and experimenting on your own blood samples looking for a way to reverse the effects, Bucky should’ve known. He should’ve known the day you disappeared from New York that you were simply continuing your efforts to get yourself back to normal. But, he never put two and two together. Instead, he believed it when he was told that you’d been compromised, that you’d gone dark and that the serum had likely brought the worst parts of you into the limelight. All of this time, everyone assumed you’d been working against SHIELD and the Avengers as a rogue agent. They were all dead wrong.
“This is the part where you realize you need me.” You say with a smirk. “You need me because I’m the only one that’s ever wanted to reverse the effects of this serum, I’m the only one with the research and the leads that I have now. There are other super soldiers out there besides the three of us in here, and a lot of them do way more harm than good. If I can get to this guy that Zemo knows, we’ll have a chance at righting a few wrongs.”
“Why should we trust you now? You’ve been gone for two months and you’ve left a trail of dead bodies and destruction everywhere that you’ve been.” Bucky’s eyes are narrowed at you now, analyzing every face you make and every word that leaves your lips.
“I said you needed me. I didn’t say you had to trust me.”
---
It’s a long three hours later when you’re finally set free from the uncomfortable glass chamber. Agent Ross insisted they keep you in magnetic handcuffs, though you think it’s more for his peace of mind than anything, because with a little effort and determination you think you could pretty easily get out of them. You sit in the backseat of a car with Steve on your left and Bucky on your right, his cold metal arm pressing against your side due to the lack of space the two giant men leave you. Agent Ross is driving while Nat sits in the passenger seat. Sam chose to fly ahead and scope out the safehouse you’re being taken to for the night. Since you’re still not trusted, they’ll be leaving you, Steve, and Bucky there overnight. They figured you wouldn’t be able to fight two super soldiers on your own, and even if you did manage to take them both down, there wouldn’t be anyone else around for you to possibly severely injure or leave dead on your way out.
You fight the urge to be an annoying little shit for the duration of the car ride, and instead remain silent. You can be an annoying little shit once you’re locked in the safehouse for the night. The plan is to head over to the Berlin Correctional Facility first thing in the morning to meet with Zemo and find out what he knows. Until then, you’re going to be kept under the watchful eyes of Steve and Bucky. Steve isn’t feeling great about the plan at all. He’s the only one that knows you and Bucky have a bit of a past. He doesn’t even know what exactly that past is, but he’s always been able to sense the tension between you two. He sees the way Bucky looks at you like he’s both angry that you’d leave and angry that you didn’t invite him to run away with you. It almost makes him wonder if having Bucky here with you tonight is going to be more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe they should’ve had Nat stay instead.
---
The safehouse is small as shit. There are exactly two bedrooms, not a single window in the whole place, and even the couch in the living room is only a two-seater. You’ve decided Berlin sucks. You had to fight Steve and Bucky just to be allowed to have a shower, with the two men only giving in if you agreed to leave the door open while they sat out of sight in the living room.
As you’re in the shower, rinsing the soapy suds off of your skin, Bucky’s sitting next to Steve on the couch, actively trying not to think about how naked you are just down the hallway. He can’t seem to shake a specific memory that’s playing behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He had your front pressed up against one of the gym shower walls, fucking into you so slowly and silently that no one ever would’ve realized you were about to cum on his cock for the second time that day. God, you were always so pliant for him, so ready for his touch at any given time. He has to wonder if you’d still be that way after two months without him. Have you thought about him while you’ve been away?
“Maybe you should go check on her.” Steve says to Bucky, tilting his head in the direction of the open bathroom door. You’ve been in there for almost twenty minutes now, when they originally gave you a ten-minute limit. There isn’t any way you could possibly escape through the bathroom walls, but they still don’t trust you to be alone and out of their sight for that long.
“Why me?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve.
“You know why.” Steve chuckles, hinting to Bucky that he knows there’s been something between you and him. Bucky shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands up and treks down the short hallway. You can hear his footsteps before he ever has a chance to say anything, and you quickly cut the running water off.
“You’re really taking your time in here.” Bucky points out, stopping right outside of the bathroom door. He can see the reflection of the shower curtain in the bathroom mirror from where he’s standing. He only has a second to notice the way your towel is folded up on the bathroom sink, a good two steps away from the shower, before you pull the curtain open confidently. His eyes freeze on your naked reflection in the fogged up mirror and all of the blood in his veins reroutes straight to his cock. “What the hell are you doing?” He asks harshly, quickly stepping into the bathroom and throwing the door shut behind him. He sure as hell isn’t going to let Steve see you like this.
“You said I had to leave the door open, I was just following orders. I can’t reach my towel from here.” You say innocently, pushing out your bottom lip in a fake pout. Bucky isn’t even facing you, he’s standing facing the bathroom sink and mirror, with his eyes shut tightly.
“You’re so damn manipulative.” Bucky spits the words out through clenched teeth before grasping the towel in his right hand and tossing it over his shoulder to you. You towel yourself dry quickly before wrapping it around your figure and stepping out of the shower. The bathroom is so small that you have no choice other than to brush against Bucky���s back as you pull the curtain closed. He tenses up as soon as he feels how close you are to him.
“Tell me something, Bucky.” You whisper. You let your fingers trail down his back lightly, surprised that he hasn’t turned around and shoved you away yet. “You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”
“Get dressed.” He says flatly, opening his eyes for a moment to verify that your clothes are still sitting on the other side of the bathroom sink.
“No.” Your answer is defiant. You let your hand fall away from his back but you keep your eyes focused on his frame, on the way his shoulders are moving up and down with each heavy breath he takes. He’s trying to keep himself calm and composed. Knowing how easy it was to get him riled up back when the two of you messed around only makes this whole situation laughable. He already wants to fuck, and you’ve barely done anything.
“Why are you making this so hard?” He questions, boldly turning around to face you in your towel-clad state.
“What’s so hard?” The teasing lilt in your tone is driving him insane. He watches as you stand three inches in front of him, letting your eyes travel down his body to land right over his hard-on. His jeans can only do so much to hide it. “Oh, I see.” You laugh lightly, noting his boner. Bucky feels enraged. Enraged that you left two months ago, enraged that you never once tried to reach out to him or ask him for help with your little side mission, and especially enraged that you’re standing here right now teasing him, like you haven’t also been reliving your past sexual trysts with him. You want him as much as he wants you right now, and he can prove it. He will prove it.
In one swift move, Bucky grabs your waist and spins you to the side, pinning your back against the bathroom door before sliding down to his knees in front of you. In another second, he’s tugging on the bottom of your towel, forcing it to unwrap from your figure and fall to the floor around your feet. When he has you fully naked for him, he looks up at you with his lust-blown eyes.
“You’re going to be quiet for me.” There’s no hint of a question in his voice, and you can only nod in response. “Good girl.”
Bucky nudges your knees apart with his hand before hitching your left leg up and over his shoulder. Shit. Is he really going to eat you out right here, with his best friend only a few feet away from the thin wooden door that your back is pressed against right now? You look down as Bucky leans forward and captures your clit in his mouth, licking and sucking on it with enough passion to make your head spin. Your back arches off of the door as your fingers card through his hair, pulling his face impossibly closer to your cunt. Any other time, Bucky probably would’ve pulled back and told you to be patient. But this time, he’s feeling every bit as impatient as you. So, he continues to work on your clit, circling the tip of his tongue around it just like he used to do when he wanted to drive you crazy in bed. His metal hand is gripping your ass while his flesh hand moves to join his mouth between your legs. He teases your entrance with a fingertip for a moment, and just as you’re about to beg for more, he plunges it into you up to the first joint. The moan that sneaks past your lips is a good bit louder than you expected it to be and Bucky pulls back abruptly, giving you a stern look and squeezing your ass with his metal hand.
“What did I say?”
“I’ll be quiet.” You promise, in a hushed tone. Bucky eyes you coldly for a second before nodding and putting his mouth right back where it belongs. He steals a look up at you to find you covering your mouth with one hand while the other hand is firmly rooted in his hair. You’re doing so fucking good for him. As a reward, he adds a second finger inside of you, alternating between thrusting them in as deep as they can go and then curling them against your walls.
What you don’t expect is a third finger. When he adds a third finger inside of you, the stretch is a little too much to bear and you moan out louder than before. You expect him to stop, you expect him to pull back and tell you to shut the fuck up, but no. Even though Steve is now fully aware of what’s going on behind the closed bathroom door, Bucky doesn’t stop. Your moan and the fact that Steve knows you’re getting off right now spurs Bucky on so much so that he starts sucking on your clit like it’ll take him right back to two months ago when everything was perfect. He increases the pace of his fingers fucking in and out of your tight, wet cunt, absolutely loving the sounds your body is making. He’s committing those sounds to memory right there on the bathroom floor. A few seconds later, he feels the way your hips are bucking against his face and the way the walls of your pussy are repeatedly clenching around his fingers and he knows.
“Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” You moan out. You’ve stopped caring that Steve can probably hear every bit of what’s happening right now. All you care about is your looming orgasm that’s being held hostage by the man between your legs. Bucky continues doing exactly what he’s doing, working your cunt just right until you finally tip over the edge, falling into perfect bliss over his mouth and fingers. He continues curling his fingers softly inside you and pressing his tongue against your clit as you lightly grind against it. When you finally still above him, he pulls back and sucks the taste of you off of his fingers.
“That wasn’t quiet.” Bucky laughs, looking up at you with a mischievous smile painted across his features.
“No, it wasn’t.” Steve’s slightly unsettled voice echoes from the living room down the hall.
Oops.
TAG LIST:
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#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes smut#the winter soldier#bucky barnes x you#mcu#marvel#winter soldier#12 days of smut
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Tag list: @sh-tposter2021 @casmosmoon @hoesindifferentshows @daffodildelight @stuckinaoaktree @this-is-music @good-so @farleyis @starksdaughter20
Part 1
It has been a couple of days since your confession and Hobie was conflicted on whether he should rip the preverbal bandaid off and tell you of his secret identity, and possibly putting you at risk for potentially dangerous circumstances in the future, or keep you in the dark for a little while longer until he felt brave enough with himself and his situation to come forward; After all personal relationships -whether platonic or romantic- and Spider-Man never went well together. It was a sacrifice placed upon the shoulders of all variations who were chosen to dawn the mask of Spider-Man.
For if the legacy of being Spider-Man was a death sentence to those who are close, Hobie doesn’t want you death to be treated as his ‘canon event’ or whatever hand fisted bullshit excuse Miguel was trying to ram down everyone’s throats in order to justify in allowing a loved one of theirs to die. Hobie refuses that being the case and due to his righteous mistrust of Miguel, he kept your name out of his mouth unless it was within the presence of the few he could trust; Miles, Pavitr and Gwen.
‘So they have a crush on you.’ Pavitr began.
‘Yeah.’
‘And you have a crush on them.’ Miles jumped in.
‘Ain’t no point in hiding it.’ Hobie cooly replied because why should he bother hiding the obvious.
‘So…what’re you going to do about it?’ Gwen finishes and Hobie only shrugs in response, ‘dunno.’
Pavitr made an face of exaggerated shock and looks over at Miles and Gwen, who were already expecting this reaction from him as they exchanged looks with him, before looking back at Hobie. ‘Dunno, the person you like has expressed that they like you too-‘ ‘-it wasn’t me they were talking to Pav, it was Spider-Man, clear difference. No need to rom-com it.’ Pavitr waved his comment away and continues on his tangent, ‘they like you, you like them and your response to all that is; Dunno?!’ Hobie -again- shrugs. He really didn’t know what to do, yes the feelings between you two were mutual but that didn’t mean he was going to risk your safety over them; no matter how deeply he feels them to the point where the mere idea of you being put at risk because of him acting out of his selfishness in having you, made him physically hurt.
Hobie would rather enact upon his selfishness in a way that meant letting you go and moving on to someone who wasn’t going to be putting your life in constant danger, whilst also getting to shamelessly cling onto some part of you in the process; even if that meant just being your friend, even though he already knew that wasn’t what you wanted. ‘What do you want me to do Pavitr?’ Hobie began, ‘Go up to them and be like ‘remember the talk you had with Spider-Man up on the roof? Yeah that was me and no I’m not having a laugh because I like you too.’ He made a face at this, ‘nah I’d rather them call me a nonce for the rest of my life, well that is if they still want me in their life afterwards for lying to them this entire time.’ He murmurs the last part to himself mostly and it was silent for a while as he, Pavitr, Gwen and Miles sat on what has been said.
The later three shared a look between them as Hobie looked at a picture of the two of you that he kept within the pockets of his vest, smiling softly to himself as the echos of your laughter ran in his head like a melody he could set his soul adrift to on his most sleepless of nights. It was obvious to Gwen, Pavitr and Miles that Hobie held you close to his chest, right where his heart is; Gwen in particular was aware of how much of an impact you had on Hobie from the times she spent at his place and it was obvious as to where it was that you touched as Hobie made it apparent to keep it that way. You’ve made a home for yourself within Hobie’s heart and she knew that he’d fight to keep you in his life.
‘Hobie,’ he lifted his eyes to meet theirs, ‘would you rather be afraid to tell them who you are for the rest of your life, or tell them while you still have the chance because from what you’ve already told us about y/n, they wouldn’t hate you or call you a nonce, whatever that is.’ Miles mumbled under his breath as Hobie raised his brows, ‘has it crossed your mind at all that you might just overthinking all this? Not to say the fear ain’t real, what I’m trying to get at is this; you should pursue what makes you happiest, regardless of the fears you may have because in the end isn’t it better to have love and lost then to have never have loved at all?’
Hobie mulled on Miles’ advice once he got back to his reality before finding himself standing on that very same rooftop where his conflict began, looking down as he clutched his mask between both hands in contempt, so much so that he didn’t even hear your voice call out to him until you were right next to him. ‘Hobie? Everything alright?’ He had told you prior to meet up on the rooftop of some abandoned apartment complex that you were more then camisole with at this point, but the way he said it made you feel as though there was something eating away at your best friend and you weren’t about to let him go through anything alone without you.
Upon realising how close you were to him, Hobie was slick enough to hide his mask behind his back when he addressed you, stuffing it into his back pocket so that you wouldn’t get overly curious as to his hand placement but then again you were always as observant as him when he noticed the way your eyes lingered, like you already knew what this was about; to which Hobie wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case for it would make this situation a lot easier for you to process what you already knew. ‘Yeah, everything’s cool, why is it that you think somethings up?’ The raise of your brows only told Hobie that you weren’t buying it, ‘oh I think there is but it looks to me that you need a little prompting.’ and without missing a beat your hand was halfway to reaching for his back pocket when he caught your wrist, holding it there as he looked at you incredulously. ‘The hell was that for knobhead.’
You shrugged, ‘like I said, you needed prompting otherwise you wouldn’t be defending whatever’s in your back pocket so adamantly as you are now.’ You were smart, Hobie had to give you that as he lets go of your wrist and decides to quit the unnecessary prolonging and pulled out the mask from his back pocket, chucking it into your awaiting hands as he then sat himself near to the edge with his back facing you so he couldn’t see the look upon your face when you say, ‘so this is what you were hiding from me…I knew Spider-Man felt too familiar and now I know why.’ He heard your footsteps get closer before stopping all together as you sat yourself next to him.
You were both silent but it was a silence loud enough to dampen out anything else in that moment and Hobie didn’t know where this silence would lead to, and neither did you as you were now realising that you had confessed your feelings to your best friend without knowing it; which was already enough to take in but for that friend to also be spider-man was a whole other thing to unpack. Where you mad that he didn’t tell you? No, not even in the slightest but you were more worried then you could ever be mad, after all you just found out your crush and best friend was spider-man for fuck sakes so of course you’d be more worried for his well being. ‘Here,’ you tell him, holding out his mask for him to take, ‘you can have it back.’ Hobie did as you asked and took his mask back, but before it was fully in his grasp you yanked it away from his reach, causing him to look at you.
‘Give it.’ He tells you straightforwardly but you stood your ground as you pressed a finger to your cheek, ‘not until you tell me something first; did you know I had a crush on you prior.’ Hobie shrugs. ‘No, honestly it wasn’t until but you admitted that you liked me that somethings started to make sense.’ You hummed, content with his answer but you weren’t through quite yet. ‘Do you…feel the same.’ You once again asked but this time your voice wasn’t as steady and strong, it was fearful and hesitant; something Hobie never wants you to be when near him.
‘Of course I do, I thought I made it obvious when I personally dealt with those who chatted shit about you behind you back, I thought it was obvious that when I let you into my heart, that there would be no way that I was letting you go but with this,’ he gestured to the mask in your outstretched hand, ‘made it all the more harder for me to do that without putting you in danger; I was hiding this other life from you to protect you but you were always too observant for your own good but it’s one of the many things I love about you.’ Hobie admits, happy he finally got it off of his chest. After hearing all that, you gave him back his mask and rested your head against his shoulder, murmuring, ‘your such a hassle.’
Hobie smiled for what felt like the first time in a long while throughout this whole situation and slugged his arm over your shoulder before resting his head on top of yours, ‘yeah but I’m your hassle.’ He says before pressing a kiss to your head, feeling you as you snuggle into his side, smiling to yourself, ‘how unfortunate.’ You say half heartedly as Hobie joins in, ‘yeah, poor you.’
#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderman atsv imagines#spiderman atsv x you#spiderman atsv#spiderman atsv imagine#spiderman atsv x reader#spiderman atsv fic#atsv x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown imagine#hobie brown imagines#hobie x reader#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown fluff#spiderpunk x reader
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YOUR? OUR MARGARET
PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x Single mom!reader
SUMMARY: Life slowed down when Leon first saw those tiny rays of sunlight. But he didn't think he would fall in love with the whole sun. Or: Leon falls in love with a single mother.
WARNINGS: Brief mentions of alcohol, government, leon's traumas, love confessions, Leon is a bit insecure and awkward but he's also a sweetheart and has a soft spot for kids, cheesy and corny type of love, this is just fluff believe me!
WORD COUNT: 4.5k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I had a nickel for every time I've written about Leon's transition from vendetta to death island I would have two which it isn't a lot but it's funny it happened twice. If you wish to know what song Leon played this is the one I had in mind. As always, I hope you like it. This is my Valentine's Day fic for today!
MY MASTERLIST
Gruesome scenarios and depressive states of mind have tainted Leon's path in life. However, the grizzled and gloomy agent has had a rather rough patch this last year in which he was left alone to die in his own sorrow—Raccoon City, Spain, China and his already-known addiction took a toll on him.
He doesn't have anyone to blame, nor does he want to. Yeah, he could blame the government for stripping him of his innocence and his genuine wish to help people but he felt like he had failed his nation, not the DSO, not the FBI, just him.
Behind closed doors, in the white house and for everyone else he's Agent Leon Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, and if someone were to ask the president he'd say he's the most trusted weapon the country has.
He has grown accustomed. His shield has hardened to the point he's numb to most things he should find disturbing or annoying yet he couldn’t help but wish someone would see him the way he really is.
A bittersweet feeling grew in Leon’s system. Alcohol no longer brought the same dull sensation that’d put him to sleep even in the loudest and sleazy bar. So, slowly he grew out of his addiction. Not alone, though. Alongside him were a couple of therapists which he reluctantly confided in. Not because he didn’t believe in mental health, but because he thought it wasn’t for him.
Also, his friends made his life a bit better. Spare the man the embarrassment, but friendship does indeed make you see the world more colorfully. It was nice hearing his name slip out of his friends' lips. Leon, Leon! Aww, Leon.
However, life didn’t prepare him for the moment his name was replaced by a:
Dada.
Therapists had told him he should look for a hobby, something that’d fill those moments where boredom or monotony would push him to fall back into his deadly addictions. And he completely understood, he ought to follow the experts’ advice in order to actually improve.
It was rather easier, he was not a complicated man.
Even before the Raccoon City incident, he loved exercising. Whether it was lifting weights, cycling, or plain running he’d always be found doing something. The mere thought of just lying in bed was something he’d never engage in, especially not now that he’s getting better.
So, he combined two things. One he was familiar with and a second one he hasn’t been able to really connect with: nature.
Near his current apartment, there was a small park in which he goes jogging. Usually, his schedule would only allow him to go there in the early hours of the morning where the only people he’d find were retired grandparents who danced to some Spanish music he couldn’t understand.
Peaceful, he liked it.
But when he was getting used to his daily morning jogging, a call from work told him they needed him ASAP. So, his little detoxicating activity would be postponed to the afternoon.
After dealing with the usual stress from work, calls from Hunnigan, and a rather bothersome headache, he got to his apartment and decided to get ready and not skip his so-needed jogging.
The afternoon sky was painted with a hue of blue mixing with the slightest orange color, the gentle breeze hitting Leon’s face as he jogged around the park. His tempo never missed a beat not even after an hour or so between his physical training and some pauses. Sweat fell from his forehead and onto the ground with each step he took, meaning that he was reaching exhaustion.
At last, he found solace under a tree that cast a shadow, perfect for Leon to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he let his lungs inhale as much air as they could.
His peaceful moment was broken when a tiny voice called out for him. Or rather, mistaken him for someone else.
“Dada!” A little girl came walking to where he was seated, wobbly steps trying to reach him.
“Margaret!” You appeared out of nowhere before the toddler could reach and hug the stranger. The giggling and excited kid seemed to have heard “run faster” by the way she didn’t stop at your call.
A hint of confusion washed over Leon as he watched the scene develop with rather curious eyes. A mop of curly hair running away from your grasp. The white dress turned into a slightly brown color, Leon guessed the child must have been playing in the dirt.
And then a glimpse of a faint smile replaced his previous bewilderment as his eyes fell on you. As you tried catching your daughter, he observed her antics and your patience.
Finally, your hands lifted the little one as her tiny legs kicked in the air, ready to run in the air.
You fixed Margaret’s dress and messy hair while her bright eyes continued being focused on the man sitting on the grass. Her hands doing the typical “grabby” motion to Leon. Sighing in defeat, you spoke to the man.
“Sorry, don’t know what happened.” You sheepishly said as you offered the man an apology for your daughter’s previous mischievous actions. “She usually doesn’t call random people dada I assure you.”
“She gave me quite the scare.” Leon chuckled as he got up from the grass. “My past actions flashed before my eyes.”
“As I said, I’m sorry.” You repeated your words while your daughter tried wriggling her way out of your arms. When she saw that her mother’s grip wasn’t budging, she took matters into her own hands.
She started crying.
You weren’t letting your daughter play with a stranger, that much you knew.
“My name’s Leon, by the way.” Leon said, extending his arm, but he pulled back as soon as he saw that you were too busy handling the tantrum your daughter was having.
You told Leon your name which easily fell from his lips to confirm he heard you well. “Do you normally come here?” You asked.
“Yes, but just in the mornings.” He responded, watching the little one pouting. “Something came out today so duty called. Cops don’t rest.”
“Wait, Are you a cop?” You seemed to relax at the revelation and he couldn’t help but get a Deja Vu from this little interaction. A friend of his asked him the same question, but at least now he wasn’t surrounded by zombies.
“A cop…” A whisper came out from Leon’s lips, a playful yet gentle smile formed on his face. “Kinda.”
“I’ll assume you’re way more important than that.” You adjusted Margaret in your arms when she finally calmed. Although she kept on staring at Leon, her bright eyes focused on him. “Because if you were indeed a cop or a chief you’d be puffing your chest out.”
“Are they always like that?” He acted surprised.
“Here, in New York? I don’t know… you tell me.”
It’s been a while since he last spoke with someone this freely. Surely he has talked with his friends a lot. But they were people he had previously known and shared the same past as him, a connection to the outside world seemed impossible and even greedy in a way.
Soon, both of you found yourselves unable to stop talking, even Margaret chirped from time to time, making her opinion loud and clear. He got to know a bit about you, and you got to know little fragments of his life. The ones who wouldn’t lead him to share more than necessary, obviously.
Despite the rough exterior, his constant frowning stopped as a soft expression replaced it. Margaret's chubby hands absentmindedly held one of Leon’s fingers as he spoke with you, blabbering and being overjoyed by his presence.
However, her cheerful mood slowly turned sour as soon as she got hungry. Glassy eyes and sobs warned you that the conversation would come to an end.
“Yup, I gotta go.” You murmured trying not to bring more stress to your already distressed baby. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Likewise.” Leon kept his hands in his pockets, unable to come up with anything else. He wanted to say that perhaps they could repeat this. But then again, he’s been so deprived of normal social interactions that he no longer knows if that would sound creepy.
“Have a good night.” He decided it would be the wisest thing to do. He watched your soft expression as you took your little girl’s hand and waved goodbye.
Ever since that little interaction, his schedule changed. His morning routine was long forgotten. An excuse was made, something between the lines that his shift changed so he has to work in the mornings.
And he was delighted to spend time with both of you. The highlights of his whole day would be getting to hear about you and Margaret.
Each day that passed meant new memories being made. From the way he got to know Margaret’s favorite ice cream flavor to your childhood dreams. Every detail mattered for him because he could now see how simple life could be.
He took—both of you mostly— on little dates. Let it be to try a new cafeteria near the park, drinking an americano while Margaret drank from her sippy cut which was filled with chocolate milk.
However, there were times in which Margaret would stay with a friend of yours. Allowing you to be alone with Leon. And while he appreciates the joy and happiness your daughter brought, he also loved the moments in which he could focus just on you.
Sadly, years of training didn’t prepare him to man up and make the first move. When he thought he would brush away every insecurity and second guesses, something would come up.
He wanted to grab your hand, the waiter would come at the worst time. He wants to compliment you, he'd almost choke with his own saliva. He wanted to give you a goodbye kiss after driving you home, someone would call him.
It was as if the universe was against him.
Thankfully, you had picked up those hints. And if Leon wasn't the luckiest man out there, you can help him in his predicament.
On a usual afternoon, as Margaret played with the leaves that had fallen from the trees, you shot him a question.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Huh? Yes, it sounds nice.” Leon absentmindedly replied, thinking it would be like the rest of your dates.
“I mean… In my house. I don't think I've invited you yet.”
In the meantime, Margaret had grabbed some leaves which she placed on Leon's hair. The man didn't even react to it, already used to her antics.
“I wouldn't like to intrude.”
“You wouldn't. See it as a friendly meeting.”
Friendly meeting, of course. He couldn’t be so selfish.
“If you insist.” He says as the little one giggles, her smile just showing two teeth. “When would it be?”
“Are you free this 14th?”
He nods, he doesn't even remember if he's in fact free. But he'd make time.
Besides, who works on Valentine’s Day?
⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹
He wishes he would've realized about the implications of the day sooner.
The other dates have been nothing but platonic. Of course he had been nervous, biting his nails to the point where had to put on clear nail polish.
But this one is for Valentine's Day. Day where people confess their love in dramatic ways. Some lucky people even propose on this date.
Leon has been out of the dating game for years. He believes he'll mess it up somehow, especially as he sees the reflection of himself in the mirror.
Of course, he knows he's getting better. But his appearance tells everyone otherwise. His hair continues being dark, a big contrast from his past self whose blond hair would be the talk of some people.
The palm of his hand brushes over his stubble cheek. The sensation of those tiny hairs is similar to blades. He looks at his watch, there is no time to shave. The last thing he wanted was to be late on his first date.
He sighs and walks toward the table, on top of it are two bouquets. One has multiple red and pink roses, that one is for you. The other one consists of a single white rose, for Margaret. Even if he has forgotten the basics of dating, he wouldn’t go empty-handed to your home.
The drive to your house isn’t an easy one. Not because he lacked driving skills, he is pretty much proud of how well he could drive when he is not facing life-or-death situations.
He takes his car, just for today. He knows he has to be himself and show you his love for bikes. But he would be lying if he wasn’t a tad scared about coming to your house driving his usual motorbike. What would you think? Surely you’d dump him for risking his life or something like that.
But he is so damned anxious. He turns on the radio, trying to muffle his thoughts but the first thing that comes up is a Valentine's Day advertisement. ‘Don’t mess up your date today! Try our newest product and—’ He’s trying, he doesn’t know what the ad is talking about but he needs no product for this date to be a success.
He turns off the stupid machine. After all, today’s music sucks. Nothing personal, he just doesn’t like it. He’d prefer if the radio played real music. Some Deftones and Korn would do.
But right now he’d dance to anything. Valentine’s Day, after all, should be a romantic getaway from the normalcy of life. Even though years had made him a corny individual, if it’s with you, romanticism should never die.
He’s rambling, his head is a mess. He sees himself slow dancing with you, Somethin’ Stupid playing in the background. He foresees a future in which he could paint next to your daughter, suns and trees never looked so pretty as he imagines that scenario.
Dating you would come with the whole pack, he knows well. But even at his age, he still feels like a broken child whenever he sees himself in the mirror. Memories of his innocence being stripped away of him and his present still clinging on to the faint threads of hope.
So that’s why he made the promise of taking this relationship seriously. No matter if you end up being nothing more than friends. People often say that you just know when you meet the one. And he saw the beacons of lights announcing the whole sun when he met you and your little one.
Eventually, he reaches your home. Double-checking the address you had previously sent him over text, he confirms this is the place you live in. A modest house, enough for you and Margaret.
He switches off the engine and takes out the key from the ignition. Placing his hands one last time on the steering wheel, he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. And with a newfound conviction, he grabs the two bouquets and gets out of the car.
When he walks towards the door, he immediately knocks. If he dared to wait just a second just to calm his anxiety, he’d spend at least 5 minutes staring at the wooden material. So, he sacrifices that priceless time in order to face reality.
A ‘coming’ is heard by Leon a few seconds after he knocks. Eventually, the front door opens and you welcome him with Margaret in your arms. “Hey.” You greet him, Margaret doing the same as she waves her hand.
“Hey, you two.” Leon says with a warm smile, trying to hold back the fact that there hasn’t been a better image than this. “I couldn’t come empty-handed to your house so I took the liberty to bring you these.”
Leon then hands you the bouquets he had brought—the bigger one for you, and the smaller one with a single rose for Margaret.
“Are these for me?” A dumb question, of course. But there’s no harm to ask and surely it would get a nice reply from Leon who has been dancing around the idea of flirting with you. Too scared to come off as awkward and silly.
“I don’t see another pretty woman around here.” It slips so smoothly out of his lips. Leon Kennedy, you still got it, he mentally praises himself.
“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, satisfied with the answer you received. “Please, come in.”
Leon nods and enters your house. The living room was nicely organized, and the way some toys blended in with the decoration brought a smile to his face. The perfect balance between the sober expected room with the colorful and childish playthings.
You set Margaret on the floor not before giving her the rose Leon gifted her. She absentmindedly walks toward the couch and sits down to inspect what an amazing thing the funny man brought.
“Well, looks like she likes them.” Leon hums as he watches how Margaret starts happily tearing the flower into tiny pieces. Her antics filling Leon’s heart, he could get used to this feeling.
He wants to.
“Yup, definitely.” And your eyes meet Leon’s, his piercing blue eyes are not cold as he often thinks. They remind you of the beach sea, of the gentle waves and the gentleness they carry.
And he sees himself in yours. In your eyes, he isn’t a cold and depressed agent who is fighting off the odds. He admires the man he’s becoming. The man who despite everything he has experienced, wants to do better.
“I haven’t told you yet but…” Leon trails off as he gathers the courage to do this simple yet nerve-wracking action. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses your knuckles. A gentleman through and through. If he could win your heart, he’d do anything to protect both of you.
Although he was lying, even if he weren’t to win you over, you have already gained a friend who would literally save the world for you to live in with your most beautiful miracle.
“You’re sappy.” You shake your head laughing, but you don’t push Leon away. In a way, your teasing comes off as a thank you.
“And you break my heart.” He chuckles, letting go of your hand which falls to your side.
As it does, your eyes fall on Margaret. While she continues playing with torn pieces of the flower, you see her head swaying slowly from side to side, as if fighting off sleep.
“It’s nap time for little Margaret.” You break the silence as you walk toward Margaret whose tiny fingers still try to tear up the already destroyed rose.
You pick up Margaret and with the way she isn't getting fuzzy, your assumption was correct. She is fighting against Morpheus, sadly losing.
You glance at Leon who is standing in the same place you left him. Admiring the scene of you carrying your daughter.
“Would you like to help me?” You murmur.
Of course he does, he wants nothing more but to embark on this new life. He has seen so much horror and for once, he wants to indulge in this domestic dream of his.
“If you let me.”
Humble, timid, and definitely not showing how enthusiastic he was about helping you.
You nod and guide him upstairs. Margaret’s room was just next to yours, even though you prefer to sleep with her, still too nervous about her getting tangled in her own blankets.
As both of you reach the room, shades of pink and white greet Leon. Some toys are scattered around the floor too. Proof of Margaret’s wholesome behavior.
Margaret shifts in your arms, her previous peaceful demeanor changing given the frustration of not falling asleep yet. She is pretty much easy to handle when nap time comes, but today is one of those days.
“You told me I could help.” Leon's hushed voice reaches you. His eyes express the need to assist you in a task like this.
“Sure…” Your heart flutters as Leon steps up to help you. You indeed asked him if he wanted to come with you. But the fact he had so eagerly accepted the role made you appreciate him even more.
If that was even possible.
As Margaret starts letting out soft cries, you hand her to Leon who is quick to catch her. At first, Margaret is held rather awkwardly which brings a smile to your face before her cries get really serious.
You help Leon by moving his hand. That gains a quiet ‘ok ok’ meaning that he got the hang of it.
He positions Margaret on his chest, her face seeking the crook of his neck as she continues letting out tiny sobs. With his hand supporting his back, he rocks her.
If anyone were to see him, they'd think he's a father holding his daughter. But in his mind, he's holding your world, his world.
Oblivious to it, Leon started humming a song. He doesn’t know where he had heard it before. Maybe it came from his mother, a memory he thought was deeply buried in his mind.
Eventually, your baby falls asleep which definitely boosts Leon’s mood as she grins. He's built for this! He thinks.
He lays Margaret in her crib. The little one breathes slowly as she drifts off to dreamland.
Both of you slowly and quietly walk out of the room making sure not to make any loud noise and wake the sleeping princess.
As you slowly descend from the stairs and are once again in the living room, Leon’s mind is filled with expectations.
What's next?
What is he supposed to do now?
As if on cue, your words break the silence.
“I forgot to order the food.” You sheepishly admit as you nervously laugh. Between cleaning the house before Leon came and taking care of a toddler the fact that a dinner without food wouldn't be a dinner slipped out of your mind.
“I'll do it right now just give me a second to search for this one restau—”
“Hey, it's okay.” Leon reaches for your arm before you can walk toward where the phone is. He takes this opportunity to do all the things he has wanted to do with you. To accomplish each one of those silly yet endearing wishes of his.
“Besides… this is a great excuse for us to bond more.”
He lets go of your arm but instead, his hand takes out his cellphone. Your eyes curiously watch as he types something.
For a moment, Leon doesn't utter a word and you can see how his fingers are slightly shaking.
Leon looks up from the phone and gives you a gentle smile before he sets the phone aside. After a couple of seconds, the slow and wistful chords of a piano announce the beginning of a song.
“May I have this dance?” Leon extends his hand toward you.
You opt to accept his hand. In the back of your mind, you wanted to tease him one more time. Just like you did when he told you happy Valentine’s. But you feel this is way more important than those simple words.
As your hand locks with his, he pulls you closer to his body. His free arm finds its home in your lower back, not too low to keep it PG and not to discomfort you in this intimate dance.
Letting him guide you, you sway from side to side. His past self wouldn't have imagined that he could reach this level of serenity and tranquility. The simple thought of having a family was like a faraway dream.
Your head rests comfortably on Leon's shoulder, the scent of his cologne being your new favorite aroma. The one that brings you memories from the time you met him to all the dates you had that led to this very moment.
The song continues its course, and the outside world is forgotten for a moment. No words are exchanged as both of you drown in the homely feeling of dancing in each other's arms.
After a while, without lifting his head and allowing his lips to ever so slightly graze against your ears, Leon's voice cut through the peaceful melody.
“Let me in.” He whispers, his hands ever so slightly tightening around your middle section. His words brush against your ear like the soft melody that plays in the background.
“What do you mean?”
“Let me in, in your life. I don’t want to ask you to just be your partner.” The weight and truth of his statement turn your head in a messy place. “I want to be part of your life and Margaret’s.”
He wants to stick around, he wants to be greeted by you and Margaret each time he comes back from a mission. He wants to give Margaret the childhood he never had. And, he wants to fulfill every little dream you and he may have.
“I want to wake up next to you each morning. To Margaret telling us she's hungry in her own way.” He's always been a man of few words, but in this moment he could recite the whole bible if he wanted.
“I want to put Margaret to sleep every day just like I did today. And I want to sleep next to you every night, knowing that you're safe.”
“I don't want you to be a memory.” His lips move to the side of your face, daring to kiss your cheeks in a sweet manner. “I want you to be my whole life.”
Smoothly and with ease, his words fall from his lips while his tempo never falters. His thumb now softly rubs your skin, where his hand is located to support your back in the dance.
He'd want to take pride and tell you he's that good with words. However, many times he has rehearsed this speech that if he had stumbled on his words he'd have let the earth swallow him.
And as the song came to an end, so did Leon’s confession.
A few seconds of silence create the worst nightmare in Leon's imagination. He could already hear your words telling him you don't feel the same that you're already in love with someone else or—
Your knuckles caress Leon’s face, feeling the growing stubble on his cheek and jaw. The sensation of being touched like this has been a long-distance memory that he's completely forgotten what being loved felt like.
He now feels both of your hands cupping his face, prompting him to look you in the eyes. His blue eyes lock with yours and admire the softest of expressions drawn on your face.
As he gazes into you, he can only think how in love he is. And what a good life awaits for him.
And what feels like both an eternity and a split second, your lips connect with his in a tender yet meaningful kiss. One that he's been expecting after all this time.
The one is indeed not a myth.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I had so much fun writing this. There's something about found family that makes me all soft and sappy lmao. And sorry if my despiction about cops is wrong... I've never set foot in the US so spare your writer the embarrassment. Anyway, I hope you all have a beautiful day! No matter if you spend it with your lover, friends or alone. (Dividers are from: @/cafekitsune)
💬 SHADESOFLSK: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy fluff#resident evil#resident evil x reader
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First of all, love the way you write the characters and stories!! They’re so fun to read and always is a huge moodbooster!
May I request Law or the monster trio finding reader after finishing up a huge battle? (Like where the reader is too exhausted to move)
Please remember to take care of yourself so to not end up like overworked reader!! You’re always allowed and deserving of rest 🫶
Characters: gn reader x Law, Luffy, Sanji, Zoro
Cw: post-battle exhaustion
Total word count: 800
Post Battle
Law
Law would be pissed that you spent all of your energy to fight a battle. Especially a battle that he started.
He would be more scared than anything, and he would also blame himself for putting you in this situation. He just wants you safe, and it’s not fair that you ended up like this because of him.
He would probably scold you and warn you not to take things too far again (“your body can’t take much more of this y/n-ya. You know better”)
But he doesn’t want to lose you. That thought is the scariest thing in the world for him. He can’t live without you.
And the fear of losing you comes out in the form of anger. But his fear will quickly extinguish, and he will quickly become the soft, loving man you know in secret.
He’ll pick you up and shambles you both away to safety, where you are priority number one. He cares to your wounds and caters to anything you possibly need (even if he does fake-grumble about it, he really does love it)
In the future, he promises himself that he will do better and he will never put you in a position like that again.
Sanji
Sanji didn’t even want you to fight. He’s angry that you put yourself in harm's way. Someone should’ve been there to protect you. He should’ve been there.
Not that you can’t handle yourself. He trusts you to get the job done. He’s just mad at himself for leaving you in the first place and putting you in a situation where you had to fight.
When he whispers your name and coos in your ear, promising you that you’ll be okay.
He calls for Chopper and he wipes your hair out of your face. He doesn’t want to move you in case he ends up hurting you further. He’s trying his best to stay calm.
He wants to panic, and every bone in his body is screaming in agony seeing you like this, but he doesn’t want you to panic, so he tries his best to act normal (he's not super great at it tbh he is so obviously scared for you)
He keeps saying stupid things like “no no don’t talk, save your strength” or “you look so beautiful everything is going to be okay” and you have to remind him that everything WILL be okay. You’re not dying, you're just tired.
While you're recovering he makes so. much. food. You have to pawn some off to Luffy when Sanji isn’t looking because there’s no way you can eat so much.
Luffy
Luffy would be proud. SO so proud.
Covering you in kisses and cheering and showing you off to the world proud.
He trusts you to handle whatever battle you’re in. And he knows you’ll hold up your part of the deal. You’ve never let him down before.
He keeps you close though. He takes a post-battle nap with you, intertwined with your body.
He feels safe with you next to him like that. He swears your body has magical healing properties, because he always wakes up 200% better after sleeping next to you (you feel better too, though you can’t explain why).
He keeps you next to him through the feast and the party, and he examines your new cuts, bruises, and scars. He only admires them, which helps you feel a little less insecure about them.
Sometimes you all have matching cuts or bruises, to which Luffy celebrates with another round of booze and another plate of meat.
Zoro
Zoro is also insanely proud of you.
He never doubted you, but he knew it would be a hard battle. It was for everyone. But of course you got it finished. You were a person of your word and you would do what you said.
He tries to be casual about it. He won’t admit that he was a little worried about how you would end up, but he’s so relieved to find you mostly okay.
He doesn’t admit how his pace quickened when he saw you crumpled on the ground. How just for a moment, he found himself considering a quick prayer to some random god to make sure you were okay.
But you were just tired. And he knows how to fix that. He gently picks you up and carries you back to safety.
He lets you sleep while he runs his fingers through your hair and across your skin, so so thankful that all you need is a little nap to be okay.
And to be honest, he could use a nap too. He’ll blame you for needing a nap, but he always sleeps easier with you around, especially after a battle.
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#sanji#black leg sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#sanji x y/n#luffy#monkey d luffy#monkey d. luffy#luffy x reader#luffy x y/n#zoro#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#zoro x y/n#cozage#✧˚law✧˚#✧˚sanji✧˚#✧˚ luffy✧˚#✧˚zoro✧˚
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Pairing: Astarion x reader
Prompt: In which you couldn't convince Astarion not to become the Vampire ascendant, but still do not allow him to do the ritual.
Description: You really did fall so hard, and so, so fast. No wonder when the ground came to meet you did it hurt just as much. But perhaps its not too late to stand back up again, if someone was willing to lend a hand.
Rating: sfw
Content Warning: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 3018
Notes: I had to save scum this so much on my file that was romancing him. And well I be thinking about him a lot lately... I litterally have no idea where these words came from btw so I hope u enjoy them!
“It’s over,” Said with such disdain, such pain and hurt, directed your way. “I’m done with this, and I’m done with you.” Venom, dripping and cold. What happened to the warmth in those eyes? To the love that once shown in them, when he looked your way? “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” He looked so broken, so hurt.
You hardly remembered what came next, beyond your own tears. Astarion simply… left. Walk away as you crumpled to the ground, in disbelief. As you begged him to say. When you told him, over and over again, that you loved him.
Karlach and Shadowheart must have dragged you out of those dungeons, otherwise you might still be there, wallowing in your pity. You don’t remember how long it had been since then. Since you had stopped Cazador from ascending, freed Astarion from his grasp… and tried to convince him not to ascend himself. Your words may have failed, but your actions didn’t; you didn’t let him use your eyes to copy his scars. You couldn’t.
All for him to walk away.
You hadn’t really been the same, since then. Where once you were the leader of your little ragtag group of adventurers, now you couldn’t find it in you to leave your tent. Well… Astarion’s tent, actually. You never had one of your own. And when the two of you got together, it just seemed natural to share.
Gale had taken over in leading everyone for day to day adventuring on your behalf. Even though you wished it, the world would not slow down because you were hurt. No kindness spared on your broken, broken heart. Yet you couldn’t stop wondering where you went wrong. Were the two of you not as close as you thought? Could you have been more convincing, hell, more intimidating, anything to have kept him by your side?
You think, right now, it’s night. Your candle’s are all stuffed out, the bustle of the streets beyond are quiet, and you can’t hear the patter and stomps of Scratch and the owlbear cub playing around camp. Your tears have all but dried, even if your sorrow remains as fresh as a new wound. No, all is silent in this moment.
You take a deep breath. Yes, it would be best to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, you would wake up and feel like a person again. One who could attend to all her duties. And maybe even get back on the path to save Baldur’s gate.
But sleep never comes for those whose hearts are so heavy. This isn’t the first night you’ve lied awake, thoughts wondering. All for the better, perhaps-- because in the heavy quiet of the cities dark night, you hear the flap of your tent open with the utmost quietness. And you, just as quiet, sit up from your laying position. Who ever has invaded your space must have dark vision, for they pause upon seeing your form and do not move an inch.
“I can see you there.” Your voice comes out, gravelly and rough. You don’t sense your in danger, though, even as your heart beats and pounds in your chest. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a camp full of adventurers, with an owlbear lurking around no less. Still, with some trepidation, you cast the cantrip for light, and watch as your messy tent (and new guest) are bathed in cool, blue light.
“Oh,” Is all you think to say. You can’t really trust your eyes, so you rub the days of built up sleep and sorrow from them. No, you can’t even speak his name as you stare upon him. But you dare not look away. Even if it was a dream, it was him. It was him.
“...You’re a mess.” His words are soft, quiet. He seems to relax a little when he sees you make no movement.
“...I suppose I am.” You clear your throat a little after speaking, if only because a new lump seems to be forming now that you look to him. “How… how can I help you, Astarion?”
“Gods…” He heaves a heavy sigh, looking over your pitiful form. “I’ve hurt you this much, and you still think to help me? Are you stupid?” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“Perhaps.” You nod softly. “Stupid enough to fall in love with you, after all.” You can only smile weakly at him.
“I came here too…” He frowns, looking away from you for a moment. “Well it doesn’t matter why I came back. You clearly need some sense knocked back into you.” With that, he moves in closer to you. Surprised, you move in a little in order to accommodate him. You try to ignore the beating of your heart, ignore the hope that rises within you like a phoenix from its ashes.
“What… are you going to do?” You turn to him, nestled into your side like he might have been not too long ago.
“Talk, as terrible as that sounds.” He keeps his gaze down, looking at the messed up bedding.
“Talk?” You repeat. “I thought you… didn’t want to see me again.”
“Well, that was then. This is now.” Astarion looks to you. To the bags built up under your eyes. Your cheeks, still rosy and sensitive with just how many tears you’ve shed (for him, no less). Your hair is unkempt and as gross as you are, all he can see is someone that loves him… “I… said and did some terrible things during that ritual. Things that… looking back, I may not have done were I in the right head space.” He swallows hard. “I was… scared. And the promise of power, the smell of blood… it was all so intoxicating, I forgot myself there for a moment.”
The two of you sit in the silence a moment, festering in it. Words dance on the tip of your tongue but Astarion isn’t done speaking. He, too, needs a moment to compose himself. “But… you never forgot who I was.” He looks to you, something soft, something sad, something gentle written into the contours of his face. Even as he turns to you, he struggles to meet your eyes-- shining, glimmering, with something sweet and promising and loving in them. Something that he doesn’t deserve; not after the actions he took that day.
“You did everything in your power to convince me what I was doing was wrong, but all I could see then was the security that power could bring me.” He closes his eyes, taking a sharp intake of air though his nose. “I was so blinded, I could not see that with you by my side, I was the happiest I’ve ever been these past 200 years…” As he opens his eyes, he looks down to his folded hands, then over to yours. You realize that even if he is so close… Astarion hesitates to touch you. Maybe he felt as if he wasn’t allowed to do so any more, or perhaps felt he was no longer worthy… Whatever the reason, it breaks your heart just a little bit more.
“I… see.” It’s a lot to soak up. That in the moment, you couldn’t reach him but in the days sense Astarion has realized… maybe this was for the better.
“You saved me from becoming the very man I lived in fear of, and all I gave you in return was heartbreak.” He seeks your eyes, his own wide and wet and you realize he’s crying now. Tears flood your eyes as well, because he was right; you cared for him so much, though, it almost didn’t seem to matter. Almost. “How can I ever expect you to forgive me?” With that, he breaks, closing his eyes roughly and crying out, sobbing into his own hands.
All you can do in that moment is cry with him. Two, love sick idiots broken and hurt but not beyond mending-- not yet.
“It’s okay,” You find yourself struggling to say the words, even as you usher him into your arms and hold him. He does not hesitate to hold you in turn, to cry unto you as you into him. “We’ll be okay, I promise, I promise.” Your words come out as prayer as you hold him close. “Just don’t leave again, please!”
“I won’t, I won’t.” Astarion seems to compose himself more quickly than you do, but he does not let go, even as you know your tears stain his shirt. “I’ve got you and I won’t leave you ever again.” He rubs his hand along your back slowly, doing his best to try and comfort you in the same way you have for him in the past. It’s a long moment before you feel yourself begin to breathe normally again, before your tears once again dry and you find yourself staring into his red eyes once more.
“I love you,” Your words are softer than a whisper, said with a trembling smile.
“I love you too.” Astarion responds in kind, resting his forehead against yours. You two stay content a moment before he speaks again. “But you’re disgusting-- let me take care of you.” He pulls away from you and your left no room to argue. You merely blink, owlishly, as he pulls back. He moves to stand but you grab his hand.
“Where are you going?” You hold on to him with both hands now, and he has to pause to take the sudden fear on your face. Astarion had planned to leave to return with a little wash bin and rag but seeing you so distraught makes him pause. Of course, the last time he walked away from you he didn’t return…
“We’re going to get you cleaned up.” With a bit of a struggle, Astarion gets you to rise to your feet next to him. “Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.” He adds. You nod slowly, still a little on edge from the panic that just flooded your system but nonetheless, trusting Astarion.
So, with the difficulty that comes with only having one hand, Astarion pins open the flaps of the tent (your light cantrip soon goes out as well, but the inside is illuminated but the torchlight of your camp). Some of the stale air you had been living in gets to escape, and you’re able to take a fresh breath of air you hadn’t realized you needed.
Astarion gathers his wash bin, and the rag, and with you in tow, rummages through that the travelers chest you seem to toss anything and everything into. But, avoiding unmatched boots and careful not to prick himself on all the arrows that are in there (and trying not to think about how they were likely dumped in there after he left), he finds what he was looking for-- some soap. And though the water is cold, and the night is cool, at least with a little bit of soap and his careful hand, it’s not all bad.
“You need to wash these clothes too,” Astarion huffs. “I know you have other things, so let’s get you into something cleaner.” You’re guided back into your shared tent (which is already starting to smell better, but the scented water is helping as well) while Astarion rifles though your clothing. Here together again, you finally let go of his hand but stay close to him.
“Thank you…” You pause, watching him pick out something comfortable and warm. “I can take care of myself, though.” You add, taking the clothing from him.
“I’m sure you can-- but I want to take care of you.” He doesn’t let go of your clothing as you try and take it. “So, let me.” His gaze flicks up to your eyes and you’re surprised to see him look so stubborn.
“Oh,” You let go of the clothing, surprised. “I… That would be nice.” You say it quietly, still too caught up in him being here, being real and touching you, loving you.
“Now, out of the nasty clothing, if you would.” He persists, grabbing the hem of your current shirt. He pauses before lifting it though, looking to your face. “That is, if you’re okay with me…” he trails, unsure.
“It’s you, so it’s okay.” You assure him. You raise your hands so he can take off the offending, stinky shirt, and toss it aside. Next, he removes your pants, tossing them the same direction.
“This might be a little cold,” Astarion tells you, but it doesn’t stop the flinch (nor the shiver) as the cool rag touches your skin. Still, his touch is delicate and careful.
He first wipes your face (part of it, still covered in blood and dirt from that same battle). He dips and wrings out the rag, before continuing his work. Your chest, your arms, legs-- all of you, gently washed and cared for. You realize this is the first time he’s been so intimate with you in a non sexual way. It’s… nice. To see his brow furrowed in concentration, have his hands upon you just hold you. It’s not like the two of you went entirely without touching one another in that time, but to have him initiating it, warms you.
“Now, back in your clothing before you catch a cold.” You nod at him and smile, sliding on the familiar pants and shirt with comfort and ease.
“I already feel a lot better, thank you.” He smiles softly, but sits you back down.
“Just let me attend to this rats nest, and we can be done.” Astarion reaches for his comb, and sits beside you. “Lean back so I can wet your hair,” He guides you down, with your head over the basin, and cups his hand to gather water before wetting your hair.
You let his work quietly, until your hair is wet and he can begin working out the knots starting at the ends. When the comb runs freely to your hair, he grabs the soap and carefully massages it into your scalp, scratching here in there. You let out a sigh in content, and Astarion can’t help but smile softly.
He was still shocked that you even talked to him-- let alone let him touch you. But the two of you needed this. To hold and be held, to love and let go. He truly was a fool to ever think he could be without you. But he was lucky, then, that you were fool enough to let him back in.
With your hair washed, combed, and dried and the water dumped and wash bin put aside, Astarion let you sit back up and look at him. “So… what happens next?” You ask softly.
“Well… I’m not sure.” He admits. “I didn’t think you would forgive me so… I hadn’t really thought much beyond that.”
“I suppose we get our rest, then.” You heave a heavy sigh. “I know I’ve taken enough time off from adventuring… And you have some friends who deserve an explanation as well.”
“More talking?” Astarion groans softly, but makes no move to leave your side as you lie down and tug him with you. “But… you are right.”
“You’ll be okay.” You give him a good, full body squeeze. “Everyone here cares for you. They’ll be willing to hear you out.”
“Perhaps only with you by my side.” He lets out a little chuckle. “But… that’s not such a bad thing.” He readjusts in your grasp, snuggling close and turning towards you. “Rest well, darling.” He kisses the top of your head, and smiles down at your sleepy expression.
“I will, now that you’re here…” It didn’t take long for sleep to find you, wound up in Astarion’s arms. You hadn’t slept so well in days, and who was he to wake you when you looked so peaceful…? It seemed like time passed so quickly with you in his arms, and before long he could hear the sounds of everyone else waking in camp.
Astarion couldn’t help but grow anxious as footsteps grew closer to the tent. “Solider, you in there?” Karlach’s voice called out. “I know you haven’t been very hungry lately, but I brought you some breakfast…” Unable to do anything to stop her, Astarion watched as Karlach pokes her head into the tent. With the morning light, they could only stare at one another a moment.
“Shh, just let them sleep a while longer…” Astarion turned from Karlach, and brushed some stray hairs from your face. “When they’re ready to wake up, I’ll… I’ll be ready to.” He turns from you, back to Karlach, a look of surprise and glee on her face.
“Right! Right… I’ll be quiet!” She gives him a little thumbs up and quickly retreats from the tent. But… Astarion can hear Karlach, even if she is all the way across camp. First, she tells Jaheira, then Minsc, and Minthara and Lae’zel overhear… Then Wyll, Shaodowheart and Halsin of course overhear and then Gale finds out, and now the whole camp is aware that he’s back here even if they are being remarkable polite about it….
Still, it brings a smile on his face. To know they were so excited to see him again (maybe even if it was only to see you happy again) was a comforting thought. To be among friends… That was something truly special indeed.
“Astarion…?” You wake slowly, eyes barely open as you look to him, hold him a little tighter.
“I’m here,” Astarion assures you, giving you a squeeze in return.
“Good…” You close your eyes and cuddle back into him, letting out a small yawn. “Let’s stay alone for just a little longer yet.”
“That can be arranged.” He can’t help but smile, and relax into you. Everyone else could wait a little longer yet-- you deserved what ever you wanted in this moment. And if that happened to be him, well, Astarion was in no place to say no.
#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#baldur's gate 3 fanfic#bg3 x reader#just... thinking about how alone and afriad he would feel after that#made me kind of insane
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...right? — one-shot
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern!au)
summary: you're not sure of where you stand with eddie munson, but you're forced to confront your feelings after almost losing him.
word count: 3k
warnings: fluff and angst with a happy ending. jealous!reader. feelings of self-doubt. eddie munson is a sweetheart.
author's note: this one has been a long time in the making, and it may be a little melodramatic, but i'm doing a lot of self-projecting here, so be nice. thank you to @intrepidacious for reading it for me and giving me your approval <3 i'm sorry to all the girls named emma reading this, but i had to give that character a name.
We're performing tonight, if you want to stop by.
You'd been staring at this message for a couple of minutes now, unsure of what to do. You seemed to be in this dilemma a lot, as of late — to answer or not to answer, to show or not to show.
Too scared to show how you felt, but too scared to lose him at the same time.
Zoned out, you caught Robin’s hand flying in your direction from your peripheral. “Stop looking at your phone!”
She snatched it from your hand, still open in your conversation with Eddie. Robin whistled when she took a look at your screen, “Oh, I see. How are things with Mr. Headbanger?”
“You're talking to Eddie?” Chrissy chimed in from her side of the bed, lifting herself on one elbow to see you better with Robin between you.
The three of you had been like this all night, spread out on Chrissy’s queen bed, a sequence of old romantic comedies playing on her TV. There was an empty pizza box on her fuzzy carpet, and a half finished bottle of wine next to it, the second of the night.
You groan, trying to get your phone back to no avail. “Things have been… well, I think. Too well. I guess I've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Then, it was their time to groan.
Your friends like calling you jaded, but you consider yourself a realist.
It's been a topic of conversation between you for years. Ever since your last relationship ended, after you'd been left for another woman, when you swore off love for good — at first, they thought you were just grieving, it would take time to heal, of course, but you never really did.
You don't think you've ever been anything other than an open wound, in that sense, even before your ex. The high walls that were meant to protect you eventually became a prison you couldn't get out of. A princess and a dragon, all in one.
That is until Eddie Munson came into your life.
No one's ever made you want to drop those walls as much as he does. You'd met him through Chrissy, who’d been his friend since high school, and at first you thought he wasn't really flirting with you. He seemed to always be flirting with everyone, always getting a little too close. Until he asked you out, and you were still not convinced.
It could be a friend date. He could be after one of other friends. Maybe he was just passing time until he found someone better.
That was a few months ago, and Eddie hasn't gone anywhere.
He had a few shirts on your place, merch from various bands which you were growing fond of listening to them in his car. Shirts you would wear to bed when he wasn't spending the night, curling into bed with his smell on you. He'd made friends with your cat, and fixed your coffee in the morning the way you liked it, and left strands of hair loose in your shower.
A brave knight, that Eddie is.
Despite your closeness, and the honesty you see in his eyes whenever you're near him, neither one of you has put a name on what you have. It keeps you up at night, thoughts about calling him your boyfriend and have him laughing at your face. How could you be so stupid?
The thought of it brings tears to your eyes.
“What if that's it, though?” Chrissy interjects, with a gentle voice. Her small hand reached for yours, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “What if there's no other intentions, no other shoe to drop? You have no reason not to trust him.”
“You say that because he's your friend.”
“Chris is right, babe.” Robin says, sitting straighter on the bed. “He’s never given you any reason to think like that. You need to let yourself go, just this once.”
You sigh, and mumble something along the lines of “Easier said than done,” as you sit up and pull your knees to rest your chin on them.
“You should go, by the way.”
Robin reaches to you with your phone in hand, handling it back to you. Her blue eyes are kind, understanding. Chrissy smiles from her place between you.
“Our local rockstar is waiting for you.”
You respond Eddie with a short omw <3 before your friends are pushing you out of your stupor, and into the street.
They’ve already finished their set by the time you arrive at The Hideout.
You're dressed entirely inappropriate for a dive bar full of metalheads and middle-aged bikers, but you don't let yourself think too much about it because no one really notices you coming in, except for the bouncer who compliments you on your old college sweatshirt.
The night is well beyond starting. The bar is full, and it takes you a while to find Eddie, but when you do, he finds you immediately.
He's at the foot of the stage, talking to his friends. The rest of the band is around too, and you wave at them as Eddie makes his way towards you. The smile that pulls on your lips is uncontrollable when he, with an excited smile of his own, takes you in his arms, wrapping himself around you. “Hi! You just missed the show!”
“I'm sorry! I was at Chrissy’s.”
You take a second to look at him closely. His wild hair is a little damp, and his Accept shirt has the sleeves cut off, which shows more of his tattoos. There's a studded belt on his hips, and you don't think too much before pulling him closer by it.
Eddie kisses you on the forehead, and his lips linger a little bit before pulling away. “Did you tell her I said hi?”
“Forgot to. But next time I'll make sure to send your regards.”
When he's close like this, you almost forget your doubts. When his arm is around your shoulders and he's pulling you close, the smell of his cologne and the last cigarette he smoked before going on stage cling to you, and you cling to it in turn.
“Good, and make sure to arrive on time next time too because we played your favorite and you weren't here.” He pouts dramatically, putting one hand to his chest.
The gasp you let out matches it. “Metal Health? Eddie, no!”
“Eddie, yes!” He shakes you a little, turning you in the direction of the tables. “We played Quiet Riot, and you weren't here to see it. Have to say I'm a little disappointed, sweetheart.”
Walking along with him, you stop when you reach a vacant booth on the corner. Turning to face him fully, you leave a soft kiss on his stubbled chin. “I guess you'll just have to keep playing it, then.”
“Does that mean you'll come to every show?”
There's no space between the two of you, standing chest to chest with each other. The rest of the bar disappears. “I might, if you'll have me.”
“Baby, I'll…”
The bubble you find yourselves in shatters and breaks when Eddie stutters, and turns, because there is someone poking him on the back, disturbing your moment. It's a woman, asking to speak to him.
You don't really register what she's saying. All you know is that you've seen her around before, and you know she's friends with the guys. Eddie apologizes to you as he's being dragged away for a private conversation. “I'll be right back! Don't go far.”
Nodding, you remain frozen in place.
They don't go far, but you can't really tell what they're talking about, but her hand on his forearm, slowly rising to his bicep, tells you everything you need to know.
You don't realize it but you're shaking a little bit, cold sweat prickling through your suddenly frigid skin. There's a ringing in your ears, and a lump growing in your throat, but you can't stop yourself from looking.
He looks beautiful like this. The light from the now empty stage hits his figure from the back, making him look every bit like the rock god he's always aspired to be. The frizz on his hair creates a halo around his head, and you think you might faint.
To his credit, he doesn't get any closer to the girl. Doesn't flirt back. His smile is polite, and he maintains a sensible distance, but that's not enough to ease your mind.
He's only keeping a distance because you're here. Your mind says, always the traitor. You're holding him back. He could be making out with a different girl every night. Maybe he is. Maybe he is and you're none the wiser. Better walk away now. Go, before your heart breaks.
It's already breaking, and you're the culprit.
You almost don't notice Eddie return to you, as your vision’s gone blurry.
“Sorry, Emma wanted to invite me to an after party. Told her I was busy.” There it was, his easy smile again. From a first look, you wouldn't think Eddie Munson smiles so easily, but it's always there, pulling on his full lips and showing off his dimples.
You would smile back, as usual, but it's like your face can't move.
“Just you?” You ask, “Not the rest of the boys?”
He laughs, but there's not much humor behind it. “Just me.”
“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” He is still grinning, raising one eyebrow at you, as if taunting you to speak up. Something rotten spreads through your insides, stirring them, rising like bile right through your opened mouth.
“Say what? It's not like we're dating, Eddie."
If regret could kill, you would be dead the moment you saw his face fall. Eddie's expressiveness is a double-edged sword — his happiness was contagious, but when he’s upset, there is nothing that could distract you from the way his bambi eyes plead to you.
You double down anyway, already feeling like a fool, but too stubborn to take back what you said.
"...right?"
“Is that what you think?” He asks, a pout on his pretty lips. “Is that what you want?”
“I… I don't know.” Your mouth is moving, but it's like you don't have control over what you're saying anymore. Like you can't even hear yourself, too taken by the dread that has taken over your body. “I think… What do you think?”
You throw the question back at him because you can't be the first one to say it. Because if he backs out, if you say what you really want — and it's him, he's all you've ever wanted, and the realization hits you like a punch to the gut — and he says it's never been quite like that, that he doesn't want you the same way, that he's just been passing the time, you would break.
Eddie looks away from you, then. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “You're not sure what you want, is that what you're telling me?”
“No! No, it's not like that.” You almost choke on your own spit, “I'm just…”
Scared. Of opening your heart, of rejection, of him leaving when he learns how much you want him, need him.
“If you're not sure of what you want, I think you should take some time to think about it.”
“But, Eddie, I…”
“Think about it, and call me when you know.”
One of his hands goes to your shoulder, squeezing it, and briefly running thumb over the fabric of your sweatshirt. He's turning around before you can stay anything, the lump in your throat too big to allow you to speak.
The room feels like it's turning upside down as you turn the other way, towards the door. It turns and turns on its axis, and you almost lose your balance as you're making your way out. You wave halfheartedly at the bouncer, who waves back at you in the middle of his conversation with a green haired girl.
Walking home, you have time to think of what you'd just done.
As the tears roll freely through your face, and you wipe them with the end of your sleeves, you think of Eddie’s sullen face, once full of life, now transpiring his disappointment in you. You'd let him down, and it was all your fault.
In an attempt to protect yourself, you pushed him away.
You imagine him back at the bar, with the boys. With Emma, ready to console him after what you just did to him. The thought of it just makes you cry harder, trying to control your breathing as you get closer to your apartment.
You did what you always do. Leave first, turn your back, clam up back into your shell. You just never thought you'd do that to him.
It doesn't take long until you spiral.
You did all you could after you got home. Tried to breathe, but it only made you cry harder. Curled up on the couch with your cat, a brown tabby that curled herself right back into you, and cried until there were no tears left. Ignored your friends’ messages on your phone, pretending everything was all right.
Tried to drink, but felt too sad to even open your fridge. Ran into one of Eddie’s hoodies hanging from the back of a chair in your room, and felt more tears coming, but no strength to cry.
Everything in your room reminded you of him — your unmade bed where he'd be lying on if you didn't screw up, the fantasy book he'd let you borrow on your bedside table, a polaroid of the two of you with your arms around each other serving as a bookmark.
You pick your phone, and it rings and rings. He doesn't answer. In a moment of panic, you leave a message instead, pacing through your room on your bare feet, still wearing the clothes you went out in. The cat on your bed follows your movements with her eyes.
“Hi, Eddie. I… You might not even want to hear from me right now, and I get that. Really, I do, but… You just need to know I know I fucked up. I didn't mean to do you like that, I didn't mean to say those things to you.”
Your voice trembles, just like the hand that's holding your phone to your mouth, but you keep going, “Of course we're dating, we've been dating for a while now. I was too scared to say anything because we never put a label on it and I thought you didn't want anything with me, I guess I just didn't want to be the first one to say it in case you decided this wasn't… that I wasn't… what you wanted.”
There's a few seconds pause as you take a deep breath, and release it in an anguished sigh. “What I'm trying to say is… that I like you. A lot. Have since the beginning. And I understand if you didn't want anything to do with me anymore because of what I just did, but… if you still want to talk, I'm… I'm still here, okay? I'm still here.”
When you're finished, you throw your phone back on your bed, and wait.
You're still pacing around the house, a mug full of tea in hand, when you hear your phone vibrating on your bed. You almost don't pick it up, but you do anyway.
Two notifications from Eddie.
Can I come over?
Are you still up?
Hands shaking, you answer with a simple Yeah. Key’s on the carpet.
The clock on your screen says it's 2:22 AM.
You hear your door opening not too long after that, the spare key turning on the lock, as you're sitting on the couch, writing like a kid that's to be scolded when their parents come home. The mug of tea is half empty at your feet, and now cold, just as your nervous hands as Eddie comes through the door.
Wearing a Metallica sweatshirt, an older one that you've borrowed before, one you know how soft it feels on the skin, he comes in and silently closes the door behind him, leaving the key on a small ceramic plate by it.
You cave in before he can say anything. “I'm sorry.”
Your chin is wobbling again, but you swallow it down, not wanting to make a scene. Eddie comes closer, and sits next to you, careful not to kick the mug that you left carelessly on the floor.
“No, I'm sorry. I should have said something, I should have told you what you meant to me sooner. You know… I've been calling you my girlfriend to everyone but to the person who matters the most.”
“Everyone?” You repeat, “Everyone who?”
“The guys. At work. Wayne…”
“You told your uncle I'm your girlfriend?” The word feels foreign in your tongue, but not unpleasant. Eddie looks sheepish, but the corner of his mouth twitches and lifts just a bit, one of those dimples you love making an appearance in your dimly lit living room.
“Yeah. Like I said, everyone but the one who matters the most.”
There it is. That earnestness, pouring through him, warming you up from the inside out.
“And I guess… Am I the person you mean?”
“Who else would it be?” He's tilting his head now, kind eyes aimed at you. You huff a weak laugh, them, relief hitting you in waves. Not thinking too much, you throw yourself at him, hugging him by the shoulders, and folding your legs under your thighs to be closer to him.
“I'm still sorry, though. Sorry that I made you think I had doubts, or that I…”
Eddie doesn't let you finish, shushing you with a hand on the back of your head, and another wrapping around your waist, keeping you in place. “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry too.”
“Since we're both sorry, does anyone have to be sorry at all?” You mumble into his shoulder, taking in his smell through his clothes. It soothes you more than anything can, along with his voice vibrating through his chest, and the warmth of his body clinging to yours.
“I think we can discuss the details in the morning.”
He seals it with a kiss to your temple. You and your boyfriend sleep on that same couch, and in the morning, there is nothing left to say.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fanfic
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i might just be projecting but i feel like coryo would be so into like the concept of “taking” someone’s virginity. he’s all about things being his … i 😵💫
coriolanus likes to own things.
he likes that his closet is full of an extensive assortment of coats. he likes that the new apartment that his family lives in is under his name. and he likes that his significant other is his.
there's a little while where he's satisfied with just the label. he's satisfied with hickies and slight public affection so everyone knows. but then he wants something deeper. something that runs to the core and will stay with them forever.
luckily, he comes to know that you're a virgin, and a situation has never been more perfect in coriolanus' eyes.
he's teasing, a simple, "you're a virgin?" spoken under his breath as if it's something to be ashamed of. and if you do start to behave as if you're ashamed, ducking your head and hesitantly confirming what he already knows to be true, he's quick to haphazardly clean up the mess he's made. though, it's less of a clean and more of a polish.
he slides a hand under your chin, lifting your head gently. "it's nothing to be ashamed about," although he'd made you feel just that.
it's all because he wants what he's destined to have. but he won't take it unless you want him to. he needs you to trust him, to willingly give it up for him. because it makes it all the more thrilling.
knowing that someone has put enough faith in him to willingly let him own something so sacred. he's not a romantic, far from it in fact. but the sheer thought of the ownership of it gets him.
being able to walk around as if he literally has your virginity in his back pocket. having you forever tied to him in a way that would leave you thinking of him, even if you dared to physically separate yourself from him.
it's a rush that coriolanus (still young and getting used to having power) can't get from anywhere else.
#you're a genius btw#coryosworld!#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#celeste writes thg
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white flag ✹ proglogue
note: can't believe i'm actually writing for ghost, yes he was the reason i got into cod, but i havent thought about him since like january lol. has this trope already been done? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes.
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
wc: 2.2k
no use of y/n
readers callsign is 'stingray'
summary: if there's one constant in your life, it's that ghost doesn't like you, so when your house burns down and you have no choice but to move in with him, it feels like your life is on a steady downhill spiral.
warnings: slowburn, some angst, your house burns down, ghost is mean, sort of enemies to friends to lovers
ao3
【next】
it's been almost a year since you'd joined the taskforce. nearly twelve months of gruelling hard work, and not for a single second had lieutenant ghost treated you with a shred of familiarity. at first, you thought he'd get over it, that he'd get past his obvious trust issues and warm up to you eventually, but you quickly gave up on that idea.
clearly, you'd been too optimistic.
which was unfortunate, considering how much you'd come to care for the prickly bastard, no matter how dismissive he was of you. it started slow; when you were first recruited, you held a great deal of respect for him because of his reputation, and you'd naively even looked forward to working with him. when you discovered his less than friendly demeanour, to say you were disheartened would be an understatement. he was withdrawn and stoic, never sparing you so much as a passing glance and a barked order, whether you were in the field or not.
the other sergeants had assured you that he wasn't as cold as he comes across; soap and gaz both told you how he'd acted the same towards them when they first met – he was a lone wolf, not used to having to look out for teammates.
the more time you spent on missions with him, the more you saw of the person beneath the hard exterior. you saw how he seemed to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses, things you never would've picked up on. he always made sure the team had eaten, disguised as a gruff order to stay on your game. when he got angry, it would be because someone put themselves in danger, not because they screwed up the mission. you saw someone who'd been through hell and come out the other side swinging.
before, you'd respected ghost as a soldier and your superior, but now, after spending so much time with him, your perspective of him has changed. he intrigued you; he's quiet, introverted but not shy, more observant than you could imagine, and so closely guarded you wondered if he'd ever be able to open up. you'd only heard whispers of the things he'd been through in the past, so despite his obvious animosity towards you, you treated him with the respect you thought he deserved – like a person, and you'd hoped that with time, he could see you as more than just a soldier too. though he still didn't like you, you liked to think that the two of you have come to some sort of understanding.
and that leads you to your problem; you wanted to know him. every tiny crack in his facade made you more and more curious about the man behind the mask – about simon, rather than ghost, but from what you could tell, he didn't hold the same sentiment about you. where he would banter back and forth with the others over comms, he'd fall silent whenever you join in. every minute little mistake was amplified to him, you've lost count of the amount of times he's berated you for things he's excused for others. it made your heart ache that you just couldn't win with him, and you feared you'd never understand why.
but now, as you sit shivering with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching the smouldering remains of what was your home in the middle of the night, freezing and exhausted, you'd never felt more hated.
you could hear them, ghost and the captain, talking in hushed voices a little ways down the road from where you sit. they probably think they're being subtle, discussing what to do with you like you're not even there, like every single one of your worldly possessions hadn't just gone up in smoke, but you hear them as if they're standing right in front of you.
"i wouldn't do this if there were any other options, simon."
"there are plenty of other options, just stick 'em in a hotel for god's sake."
"there's no hotels close enough to base – it'll only be temporary, 'till we can find 'em somewhere else."
"fuckin' hell, why cant they go with one of the others?"
"soap and gaz are already flatmates, you live alone and you're the closest to base. this is the only option that makes sense."
"i'm not fuckin' happy about this, price."
their profiles are momentarily illuminated by the blue lights from the fire engine parked nearby, allowing you for a second to see the withering glare ghost is sending your way, and all of a sudden the last couple hours of emotional distress is crashing down on you; his obvious distaste for you combined with the toll of watching your house literally burning down was too much for you all at once. you could feel the tears start to spill over again, but you can’t find the strength to stop them and just bring the shock blanket closer to your face. you’d lost everything, and even now he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of compassion for you? why can’t he care for you like he does the others? like you do for him?
as your watery gaze drops to the soot and ash covering your pyjamas, a voice sounds from beside you, the opposite direction from price and ghost. you don’t even realise you’re hyperventilating until they lay a hand on your shoulder and rub soothing circles into your back.
“hey– hey, it’s okay,” it’s gaz, you notice in the back of your mind, sitting on the curb next to you. you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world around you, and gaz brings you closer into his embrace. “you’ll be alright, we’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”
"i– i don't– i can't–" you try to speak, but you can't seem to form a coherent sentence through your sobbing.
"it's alright, just breathe for me." gaz hugs you tighter again, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he consoles you. for a few minutes you stay like that, your breathing eventuslly returning to normal and the tears slowing to a stop.
price and ghost are still arguing, but you can't hear what they're saying anymore; probably for the best, if you had to listen to ghost complain about you for one more second you might really have a breakdown.
soap's voice cuts through the fog in your mind, "managed to find this, thought ya' might want it." you look up to find him crouching in front of you and holding out a slightly singed photo, a weak smile on his face. "frame's broken, but the picture's still mostly fine."
you take it from him, fingers grasping the card gently as you turn it around to look at the picture. it's from a few years ago, you and your friends from your previous unit, smiling into the camera as if you had no worries at all. staring at the ghosts of your friends starts you crying again, clutching the photo to your chest and leaning back into gaz's shoulder. if anything could've survived the blaze, you're grateful it was this. gaz rubs your arm sofly, whispering comforting words to you again.
you hear another set of footsteps approach and look up again to see price now standing in front of you as well. it's not exactly surprising, but ghost is nowhere to be seen.
"ambulance is here," price says, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet when you take it. "i'll follow behind to the hospital, one of you two take their car to simon's."
you nod and retrieve your car keys from your jacket pocket, thankful you'd had the mind to grab it on your way out in your frantic state.
"I've got a bag in the boot, it's got some clothes in it." you mutter, handing the keys to soap, who smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder.
"no bother, i'll grab it for ya." he says, and jogs off to where your car was parked, thankfully untouched out of reach of the fire. he returns not a minute layer carrying your duffle of emergency supplies, something you never thought would actually come in handy.
before you know it you're waving gaz and soap goodbye, the paramedics are guiding you to the back of the ambulance, and you're leaving what remains of your old home in the rear-view mirror.
✹✹✹
you hated hospitals. it was a fact, and it had been that way since you were a child, everything about them just made your skin crawl. perhaps you inherited the feeling from your mother; she always managed to bring up her distaste for the place whenever the topic arose. or, maybe you only hated them because they scared you.
either way, the relief you felt as you stepped out of the front door into the car park with price trailing behind you was palpable. he falls into step next to you as the two of you make your way over to where he parked, his keys jingling as he fishes them from his pocket.
"we're puttin' you up with simon for the time being, 'till we can get you somewhere else." his words make you wince; you already knew he was going to say that, but it didn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your chest.
"i heard." a beat of silence passes before you continue. "how long will that take?" you ask, climbing into the passenger seat and dropping your bag at your feet as price settles into the driver's side.
"i wouldn't get your hopes up. might be quicker to wait for 'em to rebuild your old place." he flashes you a smile, but you can't find it in yourself to return the gesture.
"right."
neither of you say another word as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park. you turn to look out the window, watching the world go by, the quiet rambling of the radio serving as white noise in the background. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be up in a few hours and you'd have to go back to work already – price did say you could have the day off, but honestly the last thing you wanted was to sit around all day with nothing to do but overthink.
after nearly ten minutes of trying to ignore it, the worry playing at your mind becomes too much to keep to yourself.
"you know he hates me, right?" you utter, half expecting price to ignore your question all together.
he clicks his tongue. "he doesn't hate you," price replies, and his voice sounds reassuring but it doesn't bring you much comfort.
"okay, well, he doesn't like me either." you turn your head to look at him, raising your brows. rolling to a stop at a red light, he meets your eyes and huffs.
"alright, he can be difficult–"
"really?"
"–but i promise you, he doesn't hate you." he says. you give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, looking back to the road as the light turns green. "give him a chance, alright?"
"is he gonna give me a chance?"
"he will." price says firmly, sparing you a look as he drives down the quiet road. "and if he doesn't, you'll knock some sense into him, eh?"
"sure…" you mutter, looking back out the window and falling back into silence. its only a few minutes until he's pulling over to the side of the road, outside the house number you know to be ghost's.
"sting," price calls out, stopping you as you reach for the door handle, "he'll come around, alright?"
"it's been a year, cap. i don't think he will." you reply, and before he can say anything else you open the door and step out into the night air, grabbing your bag from your feet before closing the door again. you give price a half-hearted wave as he pulls away again, before turning around and gazing up at your – temporary – new home.
it was nice, all things considered; a standard terrace on the end of the row, but the size has you wondering if there was even room for you to stay here. though it's not as if you have a choice. all the lights were off, which had you hopeful that you wouldn't run into ghost just yet.
you drag yourself to the front door, your eyes stinging from the effort of keeping them open, and twist the handle as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and cringing at the clunk it makes. thankfully ghost didn't hate you enough to lock you out for the night, something you actually wouldn't put past him considering how he feels about you.
there's a small side table in the entryway that catches your attention. on top of it sits your car keys – you make a mental note to thank soap in the morning – a new key, and a note. you pick up the paper, using the torch from your phone to examine the scratchy handwriting.
living room's yours. lock the door.
– s
it's more than you expected from him. you sigh to yourself and pick up the other key, locking the door and shuffling into the small living room. the pull-out bed is made up for you, albeit quite messily, and you waste no time in dropping your stuff and laying your head down on the lumpy pillow.
with any luck, this arrangement wouldn't last long, but in the meantime you got the feeling you were in for a bumpy ride.
#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#mw2 x reader#cod x reader#141 x reader#call of duty x reader#mw2#cod mw2#call of duty#simon ghost riley#mw2 ghost#roosterr writes#praying that hes not ooc
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hi i saw that you mentioned you’d do Obey Me Characters react to you being jealous and was wondering if you did it, cause i couldn’t find it 😅. and if not.. well i guess this is a request haha thank you 🫶
The brothers reacting to a jealous MC
Notes: Omg it's been yeaaaaars since I talked about that jsnsjqh I totally forgot
Gender: neutral
Warnings: none
Masterlist
Lucifer
Saying that he doesn't enjoy the scene that unfolds before him would be a lie. You're standing there with your arms crossed and a frown on your face, too proud to admit your jealousy
He might even tease you little bit and have that awful cocky grin form on his pretty lips. That frustrates you more than anything
"Don't be a fool, my love. As much as I take joy in seeing you like this I don't want you to feel insecure."
"I'm not insecure though. I trust you."
"I know, but nevertheless I want you to remember that you have no competition. You could never have competition."
Maybe it's his reassuring voice or the adoration that is oh so obvious in his eyes that makes the silly voice in the back of your head shut up. You believe him when he says that no one compares
Mammon
So many mixed feelings. On one hand he likes the thought of having his favorite person fight for him, but on the others he really doesn't want you to beat yourself up over this
Mammon is a party animal and incredibly outgoing so those traits naturally come with some side effects which is in this case an overly confident admirer. The same admirer who is currently experiencing the terror of a lifetime thanks to the deadly looks you're giving them
As much as a jerk your beloved boyfriend can be this time he's keeping his teasing comments to himself. On the contrary even. He's sending clear signals towards the other demon by displaying so much affection towards you to the point where you have to practically shove him off you. It still leaves you giggling and grinning
"What in Diavolo's name are you doing?!"
"What does it look like? I'm givin' ya the Mammon deluxe package!"
Leviathan
Of course he knows the feeling too well. After all he's struggling with keeping it at bay at the slightest interaction you have with other people. It's not his intention to hurt you or cage you in simply because he can't control himself
So out of all the brothers Levi is the one to react the fastest. He's already pulling you aside for a more private setting and tightly wraps his arms around you
"Please don't think anything of it! You're my number one and you always will be!"
The hug might or might not have been a way to hide his intense blush as he's saying those words. We all know that it takes a lot out of him
He will avoid the other person like a plague from that point on even if you stop being jealous of them. Someone only has to mention their name and he's jumping to his feet as if he got stung by something
Satan
He doesn't care about how others feel about him so when you first mention that he has an admirer he doesn't pay it any attention. You don't know if it relieves or bothers you to be honest
While Satan couldn't care less about such things he still does care how you feel in this situation. If you're uncomfortable with the way the other person is treating him then he will address it to them immediately
But beware! He thinks the problem is solved with that and most likely doesn't quite notice that it still bugs you. You literally have to bring it up to him, but don't worry. Everything after that is easy
"Please don't get this the wrong way. I trust you with all my heart, but I don't know...I guess I need some extra reassurance to be able to get passed it."
"No, don't apologize, my dear. I'll give you anything you need to have the issue solved."
Asmodeus
Us Asmo stans know that he comes with a price. The price being a comically large amount of fans who would kiss the ground he walks on
Usually you're not the type to be bothered by that, because you knew exactly what you agreed to when dating him and Asmo has done everything in his power to never let you feel insecure in this relationship
Unfortunately there is still this one specific person who you can't seem to stand at all. The thought of them alone turns your stomach upside down and has your blood boiling
Please feel more than free to bring it up to Asmo though! He doesn't want you to feel that way.
Since the beginning he's been doing nothing, but fight the allegations that he's not a loyal partner and only cares for one thing and you've been making sure that he knows how much you trust him
"I can tell them to step on the breaks and if they don't listen then I'll just be a bit more assertive."
"What exactly do you mean with assertive?"
"Don't you worry your pretty head, honey."
The next day this person magically vanished from all social media and for some reason Asmo doesn't want to give you any details, but you do know that his fanclub has something to do with it
Beelzebub
Like Satan he couldn't care less what other people feel towards him. He has his family and his own close circle that's all he really needs, but he's an extremely attentive boyfriend. Your sudden mood changes whenever this particular demon is mentioned or around don't go unnoticed
"Did they do something to hurt you?"
Beel-fight-mode is activated and he's looking around for that person, ready to knock the breath out of their lungs
"No, no! It's a bit...silly."
You're feelings aren't silly! They're valid! Just tell him what's going on and he will get to it immediately
If you need some extra reassurance after that then he's more than happy to cover you in love and affection
Belphegor
Is it bothering you enough to put up with his teasing? Don't give me that look. We both know that he's going to provoke the shit out of you
"Wow, is someone jealous?"
"I will punch you."
Yes, he will make you suffer for several days, but when he notices that you're genuinely hurting from it he will stop
He doesn't mind being rude to others to get his point across or to get you what you want. So, no. He's not breaking their heart. He's shattering it into million tiny pieces and stomps on the remains
Later that day when you two are cuddling in bed he's telling you that you're the only one for him as he drifts off to sleep kissing you
#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me x reader#obey me brothers#obey me lucifer#obey me luci x reader#obey me luci#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me mammon#obey me mammon x reader#obey me leviathan#obey me levi x reader#obey me levi#obey me leviathan x reader#obey me satan#obey me satan x reader#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmo x reader#obey me asmo#obey me asmodeus x reader#obey me beelzebub#obey me beel x reader#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub x reader#obey me belphegor#obey me belphie#obey me belphegor x reader#obey me belphie x reader
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I know we have emt mauraders (and I absolutely love them with all of my heart), but I can't get the image of fireman James out of my head. He's just so beefed up and just has that build about him. You know? 🫠
So true babe <3
cw: reader is trapped in elevator for a bit
firefighter!James x fem!reader ♡ 753 words
It took you some time to work up the courage to press the HELP button. Your building’s elevator has always been a bit scary, shuddering and screeching ever since you’d moved in, so you’d hoped for a while that it would just fix itself, remember that it was supposed to be moving and deliver you safely to your floor. No such luck.
You’re endlessly glad that you’re going home and not running late to work when it takes the fire crew another twenty minutes to show up. You’re guessing elevator rescues aren’t at the top of their priority list. When someone finally bangs on a door somewhere below you, you scramble up from where you’ve been sitting on the floor.
“Fire department,” a man’s voice says.
“Hi,” you call back, feeling immediately stupid for it. Were you supposed to say your job description back or something?
“Is everyone okay? How many of you are there?”
“It’s—it’s just me.”
“Alright,” the voice says, “we’re gonna get you out of there, just give us a second.”
You hum back though he probably can’t hear. There’s a lot of creaking metal and muffled voices, and then the door to your prison squeaks slowly open. Most of what you can see is clearly elevator shaft, but there’s a small opening at your feet. Once it’s a couple of feet wide, a curly head pops through.
“Hi,” the voice from earlier says. It comes from a lovely face, all tan skin and warm eyes and a radiant smile, like this man finds everything about his day genuinely cheering. “You alright in here? Injured at all?”
It takes you a second to find your voice, and even once you do it sounds pitchier than normal. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Perfect.” Somehow, his grin seems to widen, which is a bit much for you right now. Suddenly you’re kind of dizzy. “Okay, I’m just going to have you scooch on your bum over here and stick your legs out, yeah? I’ll pop out so I can lower you down.”
He’s going…he’s going to grab your legs. Okay. Awesome. This is totally your everyday.
Some of your hesitance must show on your face, because the man’s expression softens. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself,” he says. “I’m James. What’s your name?”
You tell him, so quietly you’re not sure he can hear, but James nods anyway. “Y/n, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve already been stuck for god knows how long, and I’m sure you’d like to get to where you’re going. This is the easy part, okay?”
“Okay,” you echo.
James gives you an encouraging smile, retreating from the opening. “Alright, just set your legs out here,” he calls up.
You sit down on the elevator floor, slipping your feet through so your legs are dangling in open air. A second later, strong hands grip the undersides of your thighs.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” James says. “I’m gonna ease you out, and I just need you to lean back so you don’t bump your head on anything, yeah?”
You hum in response. He starts pulling you out of the elevator, his grip moving up your thighs to your bottom once it emerges. Your heart thunders, both from the intimate contact and from trusting your weight wholly to someone else. Soon you’ve cleared the opening. Another set of hands cups the back of your head to ensure you don’t hit it on the elevator floor, and then you’re sitting up, your hands landing on James’ shoulders for balance. They’re really quite substantial, you can’t help but notice, wide and full of thick, corded muscle. He tilts his head back, grinning up at you.
“See?” he says. “Easy.”
A dizzy little laugh escapes you, and James’ grin takes on a whole new quality. Something curious about it. He hoists you up in his arms, grip transferring to your waist so he can lower you to the floor.
“Thanks,” you manage, looking up at him. You look at the other handful of firefighters around too, the embarrassment of your situation finally sinking in. Your face heats. “I really appreciate the help.”
“Anytime, sweetheart,” James says. As the others start packing up equipment, his attention stays on you. “You sure you’re alright? Where are you going from here?”
You do your best to give him a smile of your own. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just going home. I live on the sixth floor.”
He hums. “Best take the stairs this time.”
#firefighter!james potter#james potter au#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter x self insert#james potter fanfiction#james potter fanfic#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter imagine#james potter scenario#james potter drabble#james potter blurb#james potter oneshot#james potter one shot#marauders#the marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders#marauders x reader#marauders au
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