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darkworkcourier · 2 years

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A day late, but have a little festive follow-up to this fic. ;D

Words: 4476 Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (reader code named Ladybird)

Contains some naughty business in the bath, oral, good ol' missionary, a little tiny bit of cockwarming, and soap being ladybird's bestie again.

---

It’s half past seven in the evening. You’re up to your neck in honeysuckle-scented bubbles, right ankle propped up on the faucet, stomach comfortably filled with döner and champagne. Eyes closed, shoulders still pleasantly aching from your two o’clock massage, you prop your phone between your jaw and shoulder and say, “No, it’s been awful,” with the perfect amount of high drama. “The room’s tiny, no laundry, nearest restaurant is like a half mile away. I’ve never been so miserable in my life.”

“I call bullshit,” Soap says into your ear.

“Nothing to call bullshit on. If you want to trade places—”

He snorts, and you hear the clatter of pans in the background. “And put up with him when he’s like this? Bet me the fuck not.”

You play coy. “Like what?”

“Wound up like an eight-day clock,” Soap replies. You hear the hiss of a faucet, and then the distant chatter of what you guess is a hoard of family members. “Sexually frustrated.”

Someone in the background asks, “Who’s sexually frustrated?” in a mirror of Soap’s accent.

“You, ya reprobate,” Soap retorts in good humor.

You grin and tilt your right foot a little, idly wondering if you should schedule a pedicure. “Tell your brother I said hi.”

“My friend says ye sound like a bampot,” Soap dutifully reports.

“Soap!”

“It’s a nice thing in Scotland, Ladybird.”

“You know it’s not.”

He laughs, as does his brother. At the same time, you hear the hotel room door open, causing you to smile immediately. It should alarm you how easily you've fallen into this, all smitten and ridiculous. When the bathroom door opens, it takes a hell of a lot of self control not to just hoist yourself out of the tub—soaked, slippery, and naked—and launch yourself right into Simon's arms (or potentially trip and slide into them). Instead, like a normal person, you glance over your shoulder while staying very much in place.

Simon pokes his head in, hair mussed from his beanie, N95 pulled down below his chin. He furrows his brow and mouths, 'Who?' while making a phone gesture with his pinky and thumb.

You point to the bar of (French-milled, lavender-scented, luxury) soap next to your elbow, and he nods in understanding, disappearing back around the door frame. For one foolish second, you think you're safe.

"Alright, so aside from being in a hovel, how is it?" Soap asks.

You turn your attention back to the phone call, stretching your legs out and propping your left ankle on the edge of the tub. It slides a little on the wet marble. "I mean, I get into the bath and come out dirtier, if that gives you any idea."

"Mhmm." He sounds unconvinced. "And the mission?"

Shit. Right. "Y'know," you start, voice pitching higher than you intended. "It's... going."

The bathroom door opens again. You let your guard down, which is one of the classic blunders. Biting down on your bottom lip, you resolutely do not look at Simon slinking into the room like a devious cat.

"Yeah, sounds like you're workin' real hard there," Soap says, completely unaware that Simon's kneeling down beside the bathtub, his jacket discarded in favor of a black t-shirt (his favorite Six Feet Back or Six Feet Down shirt, complete with plague doctor).

Do not look at him. Do not make eye contact. The second you make eye contact, it's over. He's like a sleeper agent.

"I mean, we've gotten more intel in the past few days than we have since this all started," you say, keeping your voice steady even as you see an arm slide into your periphery, following the line of the tub. "Ask Price."

Fingers dangerously close to the water line. You watch them, glaring.

"Don't need to," Soap replies. At the same time, you hear the high-pitched shriek of a kid tackling another. He groans. "Also, I take it back. Trade places wi' me."

He might not want that at the moment, right when Simon's hand slides into the water, disappearing wrist-deep in bubbles, fingers finding your left thigh right away. Finally, you do look at him, since looking away doesn't seem to work. The bastard has the au-fucking-dacity to look bored, like this is just another part of his mission, a box to tick on his to-do list. Scope out Berlin, follow a money trail, chit-chat with some KSK insertion specialist, get dinner, feel up the girlfriend.

In a clumsy motion, you manage to mute yourself long enough to hiss at him, "Don't you dare, Riley."

"Don't I dare what?"

"Ladybird?"

To quote the man feeling you up, fuckin' hell.

"Sorry. Yeah. I'm here," you say, leaving a smeared fingerprint on your phone screen. "I'm, uh, trying to multitask."

"Multitask? On what, exactly?"

"On—" Simon's hand lazily glides over your inner thigh like he has nothing better to do. You swallow hard. "On my report for Laswell," comes your very pathetic answer. (Simon snorts in disbelief.) You have maybe six words total on that report, and none of them are informative. "Trying to do that and figure out my laundry situation at the same time."

"Uh-huuuh," Soap drawls out. Another kid screeches in the background, and you hear his brother (who sounds alarmingly like him) bark something that sounds a lot like 'don't make me go in there'.

"Yeah," you say, as Simon's index finger finds your slit, tracing up and down the length of it while he props his opposite elbow on the edge of the tub, resting his chin on his palm. "It's, uh, tedious."

And you hear the realization. You know Simon and Soap are friends by the shared rate in which the reach epiphanies. "Gotcha," he says. "Should I leave you to it?"

Oooh, he sounds way too smug.

"I mean, talking to you really is the highli-i-ight of my day!" you reply, the long vowel of 'highlight' catching on an upward stroke of Simon's fingers that nearly sends you right out of the tub. And Simon, son of a bitch-in-chief, snickers.

So does Soap. Because these men operate on a wavelength that transcends time and distance. "Right. Is this a bad time to ask if you're still plannin' on comin' up for Hogmanay?"

"What'd he say?" Simon mutters close to your other ear, low enough that Soap can't hear him.

You mouth 'Hogmanay' before biting your lip when the tip of his index finger brushes over your clit, sending a jolt through you that disturbs the bath water. He shakes his head, giving you the worst attempt at a wide-eyed innocent look, seeing as how he can't accomplish it even if he tried.

"Didn't catch that, sweetheart. Wanna put him on speaker?"

"Fucker," you hiss. Against your better judgment, you do as he asks, tapping the speaker icon and setting the phone down on the opposite side of the bathtub. It's out of the danger zone of you dropping it as Simon's fingers do terrible, horrible things to you in your time of vulnerability. "Soap, can you repeat that? You cut out for a sec."

He either laughs or coughs, and it's hard to tell which. "S'askin' if you two were still planning on comin' t' Hogmanay, or if this Berlin thing was gonna take up the rest of yer time."

"Of course we're still going," you reply, right as your legs betray your brain and spread to give Simon more room. "W-wouldn't miss it for anything!"

A long pause. A long, long pause. Then, "Ghost?"

"Yeah, Johnny."

Damnit.

"You coming, too? Or is Ladybird finally gonna come to her senses and ditch you to run away wi' me?"

Simon mutters, "Oh, she'll come alright," into your ear as his middle finger joins his index, drawing heinous circles around your clit while you try not to moan.

"What was that?"

"I said yeah, I'll be there."

"Ah, more's the pity," Soap says mournfully. "A'right. Try not tae keep her up too late, ya mongrel."

"Copy that, Sergeant."

You hear the tinny, percussive sound of something hitting a solid object with alarming volume, and then the squeal of, "Uncle Johnnyyyy! Throw it back!"

Your turn to snicker, even as Simon is being a monster. "G'night, Soap."

Soap gives an exhausted and resigned, "Gooood night and happy holidays, Ladybird. Don't let the bed bugs bite, or give you too many hickeys."

Bastards. All of them. Every single one.

You gratefully end the call, your head falling back to the rim of the tub and that hidden moan finally coming to the surface. "You are the worst," you tell Simon, although each word comes out unfairly sexually-charged.

He looks thoughtful, even as his fingers start teasing your opening. "That's not what you usually say."

"Usually you're not trying to f-finger me in the middle of a-a..." He picks up the pace in the middle of your sentence. You shudder, head rolling toward him, your glare losing its heat. "A fuckin' phone call," is the end result, and the last word is lost in a sigh.

"You don't sound that angry about it," he points out.

No, because you love him and he knows it. He knows that you look at him like the sun rises on one shoulder and sets on the other, and that he looks at you the same way (when he thinks you're not watching). And he knows that maybe, deep down, you kind of get off on the shit he likes to pull.

"I will be angry if you try fingering me underwater," you say. "Water's not lube."

"I wasn't gonna try," he replies. "Figured I'd get you riled up first."

You squint at him, bottom lip pouting out. "The worst," you reiterate.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. "You like it."

"Wash my hair and I'll like you more."

His hand retreats, to both your frustration and relief. He draws it out of the mountain of bubbles, wiping it off on the bathmat. He's out of your peripheral for one second, a low hum reaching your ears and reverberating down your spine. "The sea salt one or the— whatever the pink one is?"

"Argan oil, and yes to that."

"Spoiled," he says, and while your knee-jerk reaction is to refute that claim, you immediately agree with it the second his fingers touch your scalp.

---

You had plans in Berlin. Nightlife plans, even. There were all manner of shows, concerts, clubs, scenic walks, and nighttime river cruises you could have enjoyed. Those plans, like the ones you had for tonight, got ditched mid-flight the moment Simon had any kind of say.

You can't find it in you to complain. Not while he's between your legs, eating you out like dinner earlier didn't sate him. He fucks you on his fingers, his thrusts matching pace with the quick flicks of his tongue, his dark eyes finding yours in the amber-warm light of the bedside lamp.

You're propped up on a small mountain of stupidly soft pillows, back arching, toes curled into the high thread count sheets. One hand's in his hair, pulling him closer, closer— Anything, any possible means of getting off and finally breaking the tension he's carefully and mercilessly built up inside of you. You're practically fucking yourself on his face, and he looks perfectly at peace with this.

When you do finally come, it's beautiful. It's every neon and LED light you're missing in Berlin, every firework launched over a park, every star in the December night sky. You shudder, twitch, spasm against and on him— Hell, around him as he fucks you through it, coaxing out every last vestige of pleasure on the tips of his talented fingers.

You only realize you're practically suffocating the man with your cunt when you finally let his hair go and he jerks back and gasps. In turn, you gasp, fingers flying up to your mouth as he wipes his face on his arm.

"Holy shit, Simon, I am so sorry," you pant, trying to get your own breathing under control.

"No, no. Don't be," he says, swallowing hard, mouth hidden behind his wrist. "That's exactly how I wanna die when the time comes."

He would say that, but you're still mortified that you accidentally tried to kill him in the name of an orgasm.

At least it's an easy synaptic jump to make in order to think of a way to make it up to him. He lays down beside you—a pretty close mimic of that first time in your room back at base, that first round of tentative touches and vague understandings of each others' bodies. One arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you close to him, letting your head rest against his sweat-damp chest. To your credit, you give him more than a half second of warning before your hand is on his dick.

More like two seconds. That's being generous.

Still propped up on him, you start moving your hand in long, languid strokes. He stills, but you can hear his normally steady heartbeat quicken. Simon ditched the half-protests of 'no, you don't have to' and 'I don't expect it every time' a long time ago, but you still feel that hesitance, the slight shift in his body like he wants to tell you that he's fine; you're not contractually required to pleasure him. You know he wants it, though. That's enough of a reason.

What he doesn't anticipate is you sliding down the length of his body, rolling over a little until your arm and torso bracket one (unfairly muscular) thigh, your hand curled around the girth of his cock, lips brushing the underside. This time, you look up at him, finding his half-lidded, lust-glazed eyes under furrowed brows.

(Once, you like to remember, you did something like this after a mission. He didn't bother to take the mask off, and so you looked up at a grinning skull, greasepaint, and bloodshot eyes from thirty-four sleepless hours. It took so long to get enough gear out of the way in order to pull him out of his pants, but it was worth it to watch him go boneless under your touch. Worth it still when he absolutely passed out afterward.)

Simon's body language doesn't always give everything away. You're trained in the art of watching his tells and cues, the subtle dance between muscle spasms and eye movements, reading out a whole play of emotions that he's trained to hide. He doesn't flinch or tremble when you touch him like this, or when your mouth finally engulfs the head of his cock, tasting the salt tang of precum on the tip. But you do see his abdomen tighten, the way he braces for a punch to the torso.

He braces for you, and what a fucking ego trip that is.

Spurred on by this, you swallow him down as far as you can, until your jaw aches and your throat protests. By mutual agreement, you never take him down to the hilt. He doesn't want you mimicking outlandish porn scenarios with the idea that it would make him happy. Instead, you do what you know for a fact he likes.

Your tongue moves slowly, pressing up under his cockhead, swirling around it, tasting the slit at the tip. You bob your head slowly, savoring the taste and texture of him, the warmth radiating off his body as his breath hitches and he grunts. When you watch him, you see tightness at the corners of his eyes, the way he keeps catching his bottom lip under his teeth and letting it go over and over.

He's awful at making noise, even though you've told him how much you love hearing his sounds. He's got a lifetime worth of experience in keeping quiet at all costs—turning it into an instinct—and so you learned that what sounds he gives you, you've earned.

So he does moan. It's soft, subdued, but the vibration goes through you and makes you wet all anew. It's followed by a soft rasp of breath, and the sight of him fisting the sheets by his hips in a white-knuckled grip. When you swallow him down again, right hand twisting the base of his cock, left hand under his thigh, you feel him shudder and tense.

"Wai— Wait," he manages. Holy shit, you knocked the breath out of him.

You pause, cock still halfway in your mouth. Now it's your turn to tease him, looking up at him with wide eyes and the exact ploy of innocence. He can't play innocent worth a damn, but you've got it down to an art.

"Mm?" you hum around him, and earn another shudder for your trouble.

His expression makes it look like he's working through a particularly difficult puzzle—a jigsaw with no corner pieces. "I wanna... Fuckin' hell, I don't wanna finish like this."

Reluctantly, and with deliberate slowness, you draw your head back enough that his cock slides out of your mouth and smears a small streak of precum along your left cheek. "Oh?" you say, feigning like you simply have no idea what he's insinuating. No, sir.

And like he has a tendency to do, you tilt your head so your right cheek rests against his thigh. You can see the moment he catches what you're doing, a pinch forming between his brows as his brain fights to stay online.

"You... Ah, fuck," he tries, raking a hand through his hair and causing some of it to stand on end. He'd hate to hear you say it, but it's adorable. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, get up here."

"Can't talk about him like that so close to his birthday," you joke, but you follow directions to the letter, hoisting yourself up and slowly dragging yourself across his thighs and abdomen. Your breasts brush over his chest, making him hiss between his teeth. Then you straddle his lap, enjoying the sight of the flushed, hard line of his cock against your thigh. You resolutely do not touch him, even though the temptation is there. He's teased you enough over time, and even though the blowjob was to make up for almost murdering him, you still need to get a little revenge for him trying to make you drop your phone in the bath.

You look up and see him staring back at you, pupils dilated, bottom lip dark from biting, chest heaving. He's the image of sexual frustration (and Soap's words come back to you at the worst moment)—a little bit debauched, a little bit divine.

He doesn't say anything, simply reaching up and resting a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on him, and you wonder if he tastes himself on your tongue. He holds you there, kissing you in a way that feels utterly molten, a long-lasting burn that you're sure he's sustained all day. When he finally does release you, you feel like you were the one deprived of air, suffocating in his need.

His hand moves from your neck to your face, thumb brushing along the ridge of your cheekbone. He leans in once more to kiss you firmly, and you lean back into him entirely.

Forget teasing. You love this man way too much to keep up the jest.

"Where do you want me?" you ask against his lips.

His forehead's pressed against yours. You can feel his eyelashes, a slow, ticklish flicker against your skin—his nose nudges against yours. "On your back," he says, more than a little breathless. "Please."

You don't waste time, rolling off him to splay out on the pillows and blankets, sinking into them. Simon briefly goes off the edge of the bed, fishing around his backpack for a condom. Then he's back, wedging himself between your knees, hips slotting close to yours. Heat radiates off him in waves, and you get a contact buzz just from the proximity. His lowers his head once, kissing you, biting your bottom lip, tasting you once more.

"You need extra lube or anything?" he asks.

"Not after what you just did to me," you reply, tilting up enough to kiss his jaw as a reward for consideration. "I'm good."

You hear the condom packet rip, see the brief silver flash of the wrapper as Simon carelessly tosses it... somewhere. As you adjust your hips for comfort, he rolls the condom on. Then you feel his hand against your leg, movements slow and gentle as he aligns himself with you.

"You alright?" he asks, out of habit.

You nod, smiling up at him. "Always."

And he slides in.

It's an easy motion, part practice and part wetness from the combined efforts of his mouth and your arousal. He still takes it slow so as to not fill you up all at once. Yet the slow glide is almost more maddening—toe-curling as you feel him thrust in and hear his low moan. It feels like an epoch before he seats himself all the way inside, hips flush to your pelvis.

You hear your name as a sigh, and it rings in your head like a bell. You'll never get over how he says it, the myriad of ways he turns your name into something special. 'Ladybird' is reserved for work, for situations when you need to keep your cover, or when he's feeling surly. But when he says your real name, it's with a certain degree of reverence regardless of if it's said in happiness or anger. Like it means something to him that it's never meant to you.

Then again, you get it. His name feels like a secret, too.

"Fuck," he whispers, one hand on your hip, the other on the bed beside you. "You feel so damn good."

You can't wrangle the mischief edging its way into your smile. "It'd be better if you moved," you say.

He huffs a laugh, but follows your suggestion. His hips roll slowly, testing the waters, eyes gauging your reaction. Honestly, he doesn't need to watch for anything with you—it always feels good.

Sometimes the two of you work up a little banter, joking with each other between thrusts, teasing relentlessly. This isn't one of those times. You can't pinpoint why that is, why your playful back-and-forth from earlier fades into this, all emotionally-loaded and sweet. But you're far from complaining as he fucks you, fills and empties you on each thrust and draw, an ebb and flow with all the power of the tide.

Your right leg hitches around his waist, drawing him in close. He presses himself against you, your breasts firmly against his chest. At the same time, he kisses your cheek, down to your jaw, lower still to your neck. When he gets to your collarbone, you feel the slight pinch of teeth, then see his dark eyes fixed on you.

For a moment, you're not sure what he's doing, but then—

"Ohhh," you say. He and Soap aren't the only ones hitting epiphanies on the regular. "Right. Bed bugs and hickeys."

His smile is quick, a flicker of muscle movement, before he gives you another quick nip to the clavicle. "Somethin' to show off at Hogmanay," he says.

"Soap's never going to shut up about it."

"Good," Simon replies. And then he's sucking on your skin, biting down enough for you to hiss and wince. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching to see if it's too much. (It never is.) And he keeps thrusting in, enough so the pleasure drowns out any pain. When the ache is noticeable, he finally relents, lips finding yours again.

His thrusts quicken, and he buries his face into your neck as you arch off the bed and moan. Your arms go around his neck, holding him close, your bodies moving as a singular unit. He feels so deep, every driving push powerful, sending sparks through your nerves. You gasp his name, shuddering against him as you feel his heart hammering in his chest, reverberating into yours.

Your name is a scrape of his voice in your ear, and then you hear the distinctive hitch that tells you how close he is. He doesn't have to say it—rarely does—and you know him well enough now to catch all the signs. His pace stutters, muscles twitch, and his breath is hot against your skin. All you can do is hold him close, fingers on his back, stroking up and down his spine as he fucks you harder.

He has a tendency to freeze up when he comes. It's a quirk, and one that makes you smile and tilt your head enough to kiss his bare shoulder. He grunts and gasps, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself so deep that it aches. You stroke his back through it all, feeling the divots of his spine, the hard muscles, networks of scar tissue forming constellations between freckles and moles. You're a little bit wistful at the idea of someday feeling him spill into you, experiencing that extra heat. But for right now, you're content to let him lay there and catch his breath as you lightly run your fingers over his skin. Idly, you raise one hand to card through his sweat-damp hair, fighting back giggles as you make it stand on end.

"What are you doing to me?" he asks, slightly muffled against your neck.

"Nothing."

"Doesn't feel like nothing."

Your thumb brushes down over his forehead, running along the curve of his eyebrow. He sighs against your skin, eyes fluttering closed.

"You gonna pull out any time soon?" you ask, grinning.

"Once I remember how my legs work, yeah."

"Take your time."

"Mm." Slowly, he hoists himself up on his elbows and pulls his cock out of you. You enjoy the pleasurable soreness that follows, rubbing your thighs together like you're pressing the memory between pages of a book. As you do that, he unfolds himself to get off the bed, discarding the condom before standing up to his full height.

When you see him wince, right hand going to rub a spot on his lower back, you can't help but laugh. "Is round two off the table, old man?" you tease.

He gives you a mock glare over his shoulder, but you see the suggestion of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "Once the paracetamol kicks in, it's over for you, Ladybird," he says.

You can't wait.

---

'and how many hickeys?'

You sigh, thumbs moving quickly over the keyboard. 'None, you filthy animal. I'm all business.'

The emojis come quicker than usual. A cute little cow, and then grinning shit.

#cod: mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #i am so sorry for any errors as i have a cold and everything feels bad forever #i'm not like totally happy with this but i wanted to idk say thank you for everyone being so darn nice about my fics

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literaticat · 13 days

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Publishing aunty please help. Need advice, not publishing related.

What do you do when you're just tired, feeling unfulfilled and want to run away from everything? :(

That sounds like a classic case of Burnout to me, though it could be combined with something else -- like Depression, or even a medical problem.

(For example, at one point a couple years ago, I was absolutely exhausted for no discernable reason and burst into tears at the drop of a hat -- I chalked it up to "winter blues" and ignored it -- come to find out, eventually, I had severe anemia and my body was not absorbing iron at all and actually it was an autoimmune disorder and became a Whole Thing! Uh... oops!)

This article from the Cleveland Clinic gives a lot of advice about what to do about Burnout -- but the most salient points, I think:

Be gentle with yourself. Everyone goes through it sometimes. You aren't a failure, you're going to be OK, you just have to take care of yourself before you can properly take care of anyone or anything else. So with that resolved:

TELL YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM HOW YOU ARE FEELING. Keeping this stuff undercover is not going to help. Being honest with your friends/family/partner or whoever your "people" are will lighten your mental load AND they will want to help and support you.

Figure out what your stressors are and tactics to deal with them. Part of this will be linked to the previous part, probably -- For example, if you are burdened by too much work -- DELEGATE or ASK FOR HELP! You've told your support system what's up with you -- now tell them what you need to move forward.

Set Boundaries. If you're the type of person that says yes to everything and then you feel overwhelmed -- remember that it's OK to say NO. It's a good thing, actually. You'll be more "on" for the things that are actually important if you are able to protect your own boundaries and aren't wasting energy on bullshit things. I can't stress enough how important this is (and it's something I am always working on, because it can be tough!) -- but my life CHANGED when I made certain rules for myself and stuck with them. For example, mine: No checking email after 7pm or on weekends. At all. I gotta tell you, my life suddenly got a lot better. (I have forgotten this one recently, and my life has gotten markedly worse -- so I gotta get back to that!)

Go to the doctor. Yes, going to the doctor sucks! But they can make sure your bloodwork is OK, you aren't Vitamin D or Iron deficient, rule out any problems (like, I dunno, severe anemia)... etc etc. Like, step one of Self Care is knowing what your Self is working with. (And if you think you might actually be capital-D Depressed or have anxiety, etc -- ask for a referral to a psychiatrist to see about getting some medicine. IT WORKS!)

Practice Self-Care. Yes, that means the boring stuff like "hydrate" and "make you are getting enough sleep" and "eat your veggies" and "meditate" and whatnot -- but also, you want to "run away from everything"? DO IT. Take a vacation -- or even a staycation -- or even a DAYcation -- where you are literally not doing ANYTHING for anyone else, no email, no nothing. Get a pedicure with extra massage, sit in sunlight with your favorite drink, read a book or just think about NOTHING -- you have no responsibilities except to yourself during this time. It's rejuvenating!

Get toxic feelings out of your system. Find a therapist, if you can afford to do so. (There may be free or inexpensive options if you are a student, or with some insurance, some therapists have a sliding scale for patients, etc) A therapist can give you at least somebody to talk things out with who doesn't know you and isn't judging you. If that's not for you -- journal? Do something artistic? Go to a rage room? Climb a mountain and scream a lot?

Now you are on the road to being healthy, physically and mentally, you hopefully have less stress and are getting your forty winks and all that good stuff -- and hopefully you'll be MUCH better soon.

Good luck!

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theloveinc · 5 months

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Asking you to talk more on sukuna nd feet 😛😛

of COURSE !!!

I'm just still stuck on thinking about Sukuna being HELLA ancient and that really only coming through in his ... sexual preferences, and by extension... his preferences for the body, right? Which ik we're thinking is his liking for the body as it comes naturally, naked and untouched and etc...

SO, it makes perfect sense that he loves a nicely done-up foot because ... even if you're wearing clothes, a healthy looking, decorated foot is one way to show off the quality of your body without sacrificing much of your integrity, or the appearance of that specific body part... for EXAMPLE:

You can be wearing whatever kind of clothing you want, but with a beautiful mani-pedi and nice shoes, people look at you and KNOW you take care of your skin !!!

And for Sukuna, that's literally... nut-worthy automatically. That his woman is so cared for she, not only has hands, but FEET too, that instead of showing the affects of hard work on them... are pampered beyond belief and always look delicious.

Even if you do use your hands for work, or have hands that show that kind of hard work on them, the second Sukuna attaches himself to you, that's one of the first things he demands you fix (by paying for your spa appointments, of course)... and ain't no way in hell he's taking no for an answer.

(I don't even think it's something he cares about until he realizes he can care about it. He's just chilling, living his best, king-of-curses life... and then one day he notices you putting lotion on your heels before bed and the next time your legs are in the air, he's pressing your feet to his face. Or you put on an anklet just for the day and he doesn't let you take it off ever again, ONLY ever change it so he can hear the sound of it jingle when he's fucking you better. Or you come home with white toenails after a pedicure with your friends and suddenly he's kissing your toes before he eats you out every. single. time. No brain ONLY boner from there on out.)

When he finally gets into the groove, tho (or in an automatic, non-curse AU), Sukuna is definitely picky about what kinds of designs and colors you get during mani-pedis. It's so weird of him because he's a full on evil CURSE, but I know he's walking into that salon right along with you and not just watching your toes get scrubbed and painting, but helping you pick out the colors and diamonds too....

He scrutinizes your poor nail tech sooo hard, one of those guys who takes off from the tip immediately if they accidentally nick you with the clippers, or file something a little too roughly. His inspection face is so funny, because even though he's supposed to be there spending time with YOU, his eyes are on your tootsies the whole time (like a freak).

You can convince him to let you get fun colors (and tbh, you ARE the one who put him onto including crystals or doing frenchies in the first place), but I know he's a such a particular man when it comes to making sure your nail colors are ALWAYS elegant. Loves a classic nude or pink, sometimes lets you experiments with white or a couple crystals... but the whole point is that he never has to see your feet covered again, only ever decorated and in strappy-heels for the rest of TIME.

(And don't even get me started on how much he gets off on watching you do your skincare, too. Anything to do with taking care of your body he loves, adores, is obsessed with; you doing your hair. Putting on your lotion or oils. Washing yourself, your leg up on the side of the bathtub.

Plus, he never wants to see you in makeup or shaving or anything of the sort. He only wants you bare and raw the way you were made... and yes that means he will buy you ¥50000 korean skincare essence but refuse to buy you foundation from the convenience store.)

THANK U FOR ASKING, ANON, LOVE U!

#sukuna #he drives me INSANEEEEE #his preferences are balls to the wall insane i love it about him tho #was just gonna say that i got all into thinking abt this bc i was looking at clothes from the heian period (1000 years ago japan...#like when he was born)#and like. feet were some of the only body parts openly displayed and not under layers #so i think thats where the foot thing comes from at the berry least #god if he could have it his way the only thing you'd be wearing is body chains and vaseline LOL bootie out 24/7 #i'd be fully down tho #anon #caitie things #gen

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myfemboyfantasy · 11 months

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Freshly pedicured 🤗🥰 Classic Red ❤️

(Polish: DND Wildfire)

#crossdresser #androgynous #pedicure #red toenails #red pedicure #feet #sissy feet #painted toes #legs #skinny jeans #suckablefeet

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rafent · 4 months

Note

[ Makeup Parlor - Maddening Classic Mode ]

"Who would have thought that I would be so fortunate as to find you here?"

All evil reveals itself to she who seeks it out. She had gone to no small lengths to find Rafal tonight, on the back of the rumors she had heard whispered about the floors of the ballroom. Most notably, that she had heard from one young Ewan, who while young, she trusted told the truth. All the easier to believe in not understanding what he had heard, and all the greater the crime that he had been allowed to hear it.

"I was starting to think I might not encounter you at all—it seems like you've been making yourself quite busy tonight, haven't you?" Swiftly, Poe circles around to the front of the chair he is seated in. Lingers, even, to loom over it. It was his mistake to let his guard down—to think that he was safe from her. A trivial task, to convince the professionals here today that she was a friend here to help him. And nor was it a lie. True to the belief that always lingered in the back of her mind, by the time she was done with him,

he would be on the path to improvement. No matter what it took.

"How flattered I was to hear that you've been talking about me of all people, by the way!" A blithe giggle punctuates seeming bashfulness that in actuality is anything but. Quieter, she continues before it can mistakenly be taken at face value. "It's a shame that what I heard did not reflect very well upon you."

". . .Hm. They are taking quite some time."

Cheek rested in cup of hand, another cup long since drained, the hospitable beverage provided at the start of his visitation sat discarded on the floor, and when combined with other grievances, left little more than piqued mutterings to be had. Forty minutes come and gone since Rafal had first taken his seat of the chair. Forty uneventful minutes dragged on by as other patrons entered and left their own, their every need attended to behind the obscuring curtains, their dreamy sighs and brightly chirped gratitude feeding only the imagination, then a sleepy yawn unhinging this viper's jaws.

In that unguarded moment, the curtain flared open and ushered in another. Rafal roused to a being of demoralizing, raging pink that did not deliver him from his circumstances. Talking about me? He spoke of Poe tonight, yes, but he could not place a specific instance and did not endeavor to distinctly remember any. Confusion levied itself as the initial reaction, annoyance the second.

"What in the worlds are you gibbering about?" Form straightened unconsciously, if at all due to the imminence of confrontation or to the unsightly approach of a woman deemed witchlike in all but flaming hair and bulbous nose, then he did not realize it. The black dress on Poe to that end was certainly an evocative look. "Do not be an eye sore. I have come for a treatment and so have been awaiting an attendant. Not you. But if you should aspire to take that place. . ."

A fan of knees spread wide, posture once again loose and unstrung, sinking into cheap cushions. The king and he knew it - or made so of himself. Poe, always and ever his antipode; the honorable castle wench come to empty his chamber pot.

"Then by all means. A trim of split ends would be of fine use! Or exfoliation! Even a pedicure. . .yes, a pedicure. Seeing you knelt in your rightful place at my feet would be fitting—" Smirk. The languid roost of face in hand turned all at once contemptuous.

"Wouldn't you say, Toe?"

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ╱ askbox.#loveevangelist #cmon poesifer (poe + lucifer) i'm crying. wringing my hands. praying #put this harlot calling man in his place he has suffered no consequences for his actions !!!!!!#i want that twink OBLITERATED #citing reegriss in my citation section for toe quip it was too wasteful not to use here. Too Wasteful.#toaball2024

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herespaaa · 6 months

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Transform Your Look with Nail Art & Pedicures | HereSpa

Discover the latest trends in Nail Art for Hands & Toes, Classic, Restorative, Gel, & Acrylic Pedicures at HereSpa. Book your appointment today!

#Nail Art for Hands #Classic Pedicure #Restorative Pedicure #Gel Pedicure #Acrylic Pedicure #Nail Art for Toes

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tinylittlelee · 6 months

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I am getting a pedicure next week for my sessions and I need some help deciding on what to get!

option 1: classic white!

(my picture)

option 2:

this which I think is so cute

and lastly option 3 : neon 😊

what are your thoughts?? pls pick one 🥺

#tickle community #tickletorture #ticklee #tickle thoughts #tickle tickle #tickle #tickle content #ticklish #tword community #tickle session #pedicure ideas

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petitpiedgalbe · 1 year

Photo

Burgundowy czy Bordowy? ;)

Nails are ready! I was looking for a specific hue of pink but I didn't find it so finally I decided on burgundy/maroon. Maybe I will do my own color mix another time, who knows. But if mani and pedi are ready, now is the time to do some more beaded jewelry... and I will be almost prepared to realize some idea... Have a nice Tuesday everyone!

#burgundy nails #maroon nails #burgundy #maroon #nails #manicure #pedicure #beauty nails #classic nails #hand model #foot model #beauty photographer #nail polish #beautiful toes #nail design #simple nail design

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the-orange-tabby-cat · 14 days

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ALBUM OF THE DAY: Arctic Monkeys - Suck It And See (2011) (7/?)

WHICH PEDRO BOY IS BASED ON? Din Djarin

ALBUM VIBES (listen to it on Spotify)

A classic of the 2010s, this is one of the Arctic Monkeys masterpieces. With acid humor, nonsense lyrics, insightful observations, and rock sound, it perfectly matches the witty humor of the mandalorian himself, Din Djarin. This lyrics collection contemplates both phrases about Din and things I believe he would say. You can’t change my mind about him being a full gossiper and the funny friend when you get to know him better.

DIN DJARIN CODED LYRICS

“She came and substituted the peace and quiet for acrobatic blood” (She’s Thunderstorms)

“Here is your host, sounds as if she's pretty close. When the heat starts growing horns, she's thunderstorms” (She’s Thunderstorms)

“In an unusual place, when you're feeling far away, she does what the night does to the day” (She’s Thunderstorms)

“And I don't mean to rain on anybody's cabriolet” (Black Treackle)

“One of those games you're gonna lose but you wanna play it, just in case” (Black Treackle)

“Somebody told the stars you're not coming out tonight and so they found a place to hide” (Black Treackle)

“Now I'm out of place and I'm not getting any wiser” (Black Treackle)

“And I tried last night to pack away your laugh, like a key under the mat, but it never seems to be there when you want it” (Black Treackle)

“Just when things are getting complicated In the eye of the storm she flicks a red-hot revelation off the tip of her tongue” (The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala)

“Makes me wanna blow the candles out just to see if you glow in the dark” (The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala)

“I took the batteries out my mysticism and put 'em in my thinking cap” (The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala)

“When your judgement's on the run and you're acting like a stranger 'Cause you thought it looked like fun” (The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala)

“Her steady hands may well have done the devil's pedicure” (The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala)

“Break a mirror, roll the dice, run with scissors through a chip pan fire fight, go into business with a grizzly bear but just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair” (Don’t Sit Down ’Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair)

“Bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes” (Don’t Sit Down ’Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair)

“Caricatures of your wrecking ball gown in my mind all the time, I wanna be in that damsel patterned alley where you go for a smoke” (All My Own Stunts)

“Been watching cowboy films on gloomy afternoons, tinting the solitude” (All My Own Stunts)

“All my own stunts, high noon has changed its tune, linking arms, sinking hearts” (All My Own Stunts)

“I've been trying to figure out exactly what it is I need, called up to listen to the voice of reason and got the answering machine” (Reckless Serenade)

“Those twinkling vixens with the shining spiral eyes, their hypnosis goes unnoticed when she's walking by” (Reckless Serenade)

“I left my message, but did he fuck get back to me and now I'm stuck still wondering how it's meant to be” (Reckless Serenade)

“I etched the face of a stopwatch on the back of a raindrop and did a swap for the sand in an hourglass” (Piledriver Waltz)

“I heard an unhappy ending, it sort of sounds like you leaving. I heard the piledriver waltz, it woke me up this morning” (Piledriver Waltz)

“You look like you've been for breakfast at the heartbreak hotel, and sat in the back booth by the pamphlets, and the literature on how to lose, your waitress was miserable and so was your food” (Piledriver Waltz)

“If you're gonna try and walk on water make sure you wear your comfortable shoes” (Piledriver Waltz)

“Mysteries flashing amber go green when you answer but the red on the rest of the questionnaire never changes” (Piledriver Waltz)

“I've tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I've had but you're always busy being make-believe” (Love Is a Laserquest)

“When I'm not being honest I pretend that you were just some lover” (Love Is a Laserquest)

“Now I can't think of there without thinking of you I doubt that comes as a surprise and I can't think of anything to dream about I can't find anywhere to hide” (Love Is a Laserquest)

“When I'm pipe and slippers and rocking chair singing dreadful songs about summer, will I have found a better method of pretending you were just some lover?” (Love Is a Laserquest)

“You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock and those other girls are just post-mix lemonade” (Suck It and See)

“Suck it and see, you never know, sit next to me before I go” (Suck It and See)

“Be cruel to me 'cause I am a fool for you” (Suck It and See)

“That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun and I can only hope you've got it aimed at me” (Suck It and See)

“How I often wonder where you are, you have got that face that just says "Baby, I was made to break your heart"” (Suck It and See)

“There are no handles for you to hold and no understanding where it goes” (That's Where You're Wrong)

“Jealousy in technicolor, fear by name, love by numbers, street lamp amber, wanderlust” (That's Where You're Wrong)

“She looks as if she's blowing a kiss at me and suddenly the sky is a scissor” (That's Where You're Wrong)

“Crushing up a bundle of love, don't take it so personally, you're not the only one that time has got it in for, honey, that's where you're wrong” (That's Where You're Wrong)

TRACKLIST (highlighted are the most Din Djarin coded songs)

1. She's Thunderstorms (03'54")

2. Black Treackle (03'37")

3. Brick By Brick (02'59")

4. The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala (03'00")

5. Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair (03'03")

6. Library Pictures (02'22")

7. All My Own Stunts (03'52")

8. Reckless Serenade (02'42")

9. Piledriver Waltz (03'23")

10. Love Is A Laserquest (03'11")

11. Suck It and See (03'45")

12. That's Where You're Wrong (04'16")

#Din is very Arctic Monkey coded in general #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #arctic monkeys #suck it and see #album review #pedro pascal

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safarigirlsp · 2 years

Note

What would the guys enjoy doing with you for Christmas? As a bonus, what are their favorite Christmas movies? Thank you for all your incredible stories! They’re the best of the best! 💛💛💛

Christmas HC’s for Modern Jacques, Mills, Flip, Kylo, and Clyde.

Thank you for your ask! These HC’s are always fun! And I figured I can sneak in one more blurb both for @writer-wednesday and one more for Clyde because I plan to retire him from my writing this year so I can focus on the big bad guys I like so much! From here on out, it’s going to be Jacques, Flip, Mills, and Kylo for the foreseeable future, and I couldn’t be more excited!

Edits by @kyloremus

AO3

Modern Jacques

Jacques’s gifts to you start by ensuring he is as handsome, well-groomed, and well-dressed as possible. He will have a fresh manicure and pedicure, a facial, immaculately trimmed beard, and perfectly coiffed hair before your date begins. His dress will be impeccable and his cologne expensive. He always looks great and is the most fashionable and debonair of men, but for special occasions, he takes extra care with his dashing presentation.

As a connoisseur of the finer things in life, he is a man who will spare no expense to wine and dine you. Unlike most unfortunate bumbling men, Jacques is a natural romantic. His overtures never miss their mark and he always puts a smile on your lips. Classical romance appeals to Jacques, so he often greets you with fresh flowers or artisan chocolates and a quality bottle of wine. He’s also masterful at seduction, and like all the best lovers, he gets your mind in an erotic mood long before he entices your body.

For a Christmas Eve date, he will begin the day by leaving a package on your bed in the morning that contains a designer dress, French lingerie, and a note telling you where and when to find him once you’re wearing his gifts. He will have planned in advance with reservations at an exclusive restaurant where the wining and dining begins. Afterwards, he will take you home and continue wining and dining you with wine and chocolates. He will put those huge hands of his to use and give you a first-class massage that he will keep relatively tame until you want him to make you feel even better. After pleasuring you the first time of the evening, he will share a sensual bath with you and then have you again. Along with more wine.

His actual gifts to you are things like original oil paintings and first editions of poetry and novels -- things that are as timeless as his love for you. He is also not above giving you a playful striptease or putting a ribbon on his cock like the gift it is.

Regarding movies, Jacques loves the classics but he can’t stand the singing, the dancing, and the camp. Something sober like A Christmas Carol narrated by Vincent Price is a win in his book. Even better, he likes a new fresh take on a classic. So as far as classics go, the revamped and much darker FX’s A Christmas Carol is one of his favorites. He also argues you can’t go wrong with The Lion in Winter, even though it’s not technically a Christmas movie. He has a weakness for lionhearted imperious redheads and Katherine Hepburn still had it even when she was older. Speaking of imperious redheads, one of his favorites is Maureen O’Hara, so even though he thinks the movie is juvenile, he is always willing to watch Miracle on 34th Street.

Mills

Mills is active and adventurous. For gifts, he thinks less along the lines of things and more of experiences. Having adventures with his girl and creating memories are the best gifts he can give and receive. He has taken you on some spectacular Christmas trips, such as to après ski lodges and climbing glacial mountains in Switzerland. A lodge in Zermatt with an unobstructed view of the Matterhorn is a favorite spot of his. That is what he will do for every Christmas if circumstances allow. Mills is a true alpha male, rugged, and steeped in robust masculinity. As such, he will also do whatever it takes to put a smile on his girl’s lips and he will always give one-hundred percent for her.

Picking out a tree together is his idea of a fun and simple Christmas date when the stars don’t align for something more extravagant. He would never settle for buying a tree, or worse yet having a fake one, when he can take you out and chop down your own. He will let you pick your perfect tree, all while making a day of it. Mills will be prepared with thermoses of hot chocolate, which may or may not be spiked with peppermint schnapps, and he’ll bring his own large axe along.

In the search for your tree, he will capitalize on the snowy forest and incite at least one snowball fight with you, which he will win by tackling you to the ground and smothering your protests with his lips. When it comes to the tree-chopping, he knows how much you enjoy watching him get worked up and sweaty, see his muscles strain and his hair ruffled and wild. He also knows how much fun you have watching him wrestle with a tree that is several feet taller than he is when he fights it into place in your living room. He plays it up for you, grumbling and cussing and making an ass of himself for your amusement. At home, in addition to the tree, he has mistletoe strategically placed to his advantage. A steaming hottub outside in the frigid cold is also a must, and he will make you shudder beneath the water while above steam enshrouds you and icicles form in both your hair.

In the event, you want to do something else for Christmas, Mills is always along for the ride and a perennial good sport. If it makes you happy, and results in him getting a reward after, he will happily endure an ugly sweater party and let you dress him up as horrendously as you please.

Although not really a Christmas movie, he loves Everest, a movie about men facing the elements and harrowing odds in the most dreadful conditions on Earth. For a romantic movie, he allowed you to bully him into watching A Winter’s Tale. There’s something timeless about a rough-cut man defying space and time to save the woman he loves. He knows all the best Christmas movie drinking games, too, and he usually wins them.

Flip

Flip always has a hell of a time trying to find the perfect gift for his girl. He’s not romantic by nature and a lot of romantic overtures make him feel like a preening peacock and has him wanting to kick his own ass. He is, however, very innately sexy in an animalistic way and he uses that to his advantage with women, whether he’s just playing the field or once he’s found the one. He has a cocky charm that he exudes effortlessly, and he is sometimes unaware he’s made a woman swoon until he catches her ogling him. He’s also just fine with making an ass of himself to make his girl laugh, which is always endearing.

He gets himself in trouble by being a sarcastic jackass, which is also an innate facet of his personality and transfers to gift-giving. Complaints he hears often from you are his late nights, and never knowing where he is and what he’s doing during those long hours. As a solution, he got you a police scanner one year, calling it an FPS – Flip Positioning System. He was baffled when he was forced to sleep on the couch for Christmas and for a few days after. He’s still salty about it instead of being thankful he didn’t get slapped. The best gift he’s given you was an original Colt .45 that he had custom engraved with your initials and his.

A perfect Christmas date to him is a long weekend away from the bullshit of everyday life. A few days spent in his cabin in the mountains with no distractions between you makes for a perfect Christmas. He will fill your days with slow dancing, warming you up after a day out in the snow, alternating between making you laugh and making you sigh in front of a roaring fire at night. He’s also great at manning a grill and cooks the juiciest steaks. Toasting smores over an open fire for desert makes them taste even better.

And if you happen to get snowed in and have to return a few days later than planned, that’s a bonus gift for you both.

You should have known better than to ask what his favorite Christmas movie was. He cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at you when he told you Die Hard. He can certainly relate to John McClane. He gets stuck working too much on Christmas and on top of it, his vacations have a way of taking a nosedive. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is another favorite. It happens a lot where all hell breaks loose around him and he’s stuck cleaning up the mess and solving the case. He also relates to men whose mouth and sarcasm write checks their fists have to cash. In The Ref, Flip can commiserate with Dennis Leary on being stuck in a situation he’d prefer to punch his way out of.

Kylo

Kylo has a level of intuition that borders on the mystical, which is deeper still with his lover. He always seems to know exactly what to do to make you smile, and this obviously translates to gifts. He has an eye for the opulent and the lavish, and he enjoys nothing more than spoiling his lady and treating her like a queen. Jewelry always hits the mark, and he loves seeing it sparkle on your skin like winter frost on Christmas morning. Kylo also loves that anyone seeing you wear something so exquisite will know it came from him and that you belong to him. Trips abroad to exotic destinations like a Christmas market in Prague, or to a transparent igloo in Lapland under the northern lights, or an extravagant shopping excursion to the likes of the Champs de Elysée are also in his repertoire.

Wherever you may be, he brings your traditions with you to celebrate in any location, no matter how far you find yourselves from home. Spending Christmas Eve in with you and toasting you at midnight is but one of your many traditions together. A favorite tradition between you and Kylo is exchanging the lists you’ve made for each other detailing the particularly nice and especially naughty things you’ve each done throughout the year. It’s romantic to reminisce, and it also adds an extra layer of spice when it comes to dolling out treats and/or making amends as the situation demands. He will happily let you use him in any way you see fit to atone for all his naughtiness throughout the year. You’ll never forget the night he improvised by tying you up with Christmas lights before having his way with you.

Kylo’s favorite festive movies are the best of the baddies. Krampus is the best Christmas movie in his opinion. Unlike most unrealistic simpering plots, the nasty family in Krampus actually gets their comeuppance without salvation. Bad Santa also represents his level of holiday cheer. Violence, sarcasm, and alcohol are the best and only ways to deal with all the intrusively obnoxious vapidity commonly described as ‘cheer.’

Clyde

Clyde is old fashioned, and also knows he can’t go wrong with the tried and true. For him, the holidays are about family. Since you became family for him, he can think of nothing better for Christmas than doing something homey and traditional with you. He loves taking you out for a day in the snow or shopping in the old part of town at the authentic general store - established in 1899 and outfitted today with a myriad of festive decorations.

Clyde always has a Christmas party of sorts at his bar on whatever Saturday falls closest to the 25th. Every year, he takes it as a personal challenge to create a new custom drink for you. Something as spicy and sweet as he says you are. He will wear the obnoxious ugly sweaters you get him and slow dance with you to all the sappy Christmas songs you can play on the jukebox while the bar regulars heckle him. He doesn’t care. He only has eyes for you.

Afterwards, he will take you home for a Christmas movie marathon, wearing pajamas and fuzzy socks. He will make mulled wine on the stove and he always learns how to cook anything you particularly like. He’s not a bad hand at baking either. He will miss most of the actual movies because he will be too busy enjoying you instead of watching the screen.

For Christmas movies, he loves a good heist flick. He’s also a sucker for a good dark comedy. The Ice Harvest is a great witty heist-gone-wrong movie. Fargo is close enough to a Christmas movie. It’s good fun watching stupid criminals and inept cops with bad accents. Brings back fond memories for him.

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#my stuff!#my writing #writer wednesday #winter #best #fic #jacques le gris x you #jacques le gris x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #commander mills x you #commander mills x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you

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