#The mask stays on

[captainfern]

I'm sorry-

But I'd like to request a part 2 to the Heart shaped box

Featuring Ghost as well 👀

Serve The Servants

Captain John Price x fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

["Serve The Servants" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - a disciplinary meeting turns into something you weren’t expecting at all lol. • rating - 18+ [mdni] • wordcount - 5.3k • warnings - fem!reader, threesome [you’re going to paris], unprotected piv, heavy praise, light degradation, oral [m+f!receiving], creampie 😋👍, breeding kink [is that even a surprise with my fics anymore LMAO], lil bit of choking, lil bit of spanking, dacryphilia? idk sounds about right, this is literally porn with no plot, possessive!price and possessive!ghost, strong language

✿ this is a follow-up to "Heart-Shaped Box", but it can be read as a stand-alone ! and don't say sorry, anon— i enjoyed writing this 😈 ✿

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“I don’t understand why you guys get to go on watch together, and I have to stay here by myself.” You groaned, Soap and Gaz standing in the doorway of the barracks.

“You’re not going to be alone,” Gaz said, a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’ll have Price and Ghost to keep you company.”

You made a face. “They do nothing but babysit me.”

Soap scoffed from the doorway, arms folded across his chest. “You’re the one who’s constantly in trouble.”

“Am not!” You swiped at him, and he laughed, battering your arm away.

“When was the last time either of them scolded you for doing something stupid?” Soap asked.

You went quiet, counting in your head. “Like… yesterday.” You sighed.

Soap pointed at you. “There you go. Go play like, I dunno, checkers with them or something.”

“Checkers?” You blinked.

“I dunno what you get up to in your free time, lass. Sue me.” Soap said with a parting glance, exiting the barracks and into the cool night.

Gaz gave you one last pat on the shoulder, holding his assault rifle to his chest with his other hand.

“We’ll be back in a few hours.” He smiled, before leaving you alone in the main room of the barracks.

You sighed, closing the door and locking it. You decided to just retire to your room for the night, so you pattered down the hall and into your respective room. You slumped down onto your cot, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the outside world.

Then, a loud knock on your door.

It nearly made you jump out of your skin. With the sudden rush of fright calming in your stomach, you opened the door, finding Ghost standing there. Mask on, gloves on, gear on. He looked down at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked, still waiting for him to say something. Anything, really.

“Price wants to see you,” he said finally. “In his office.”

You swallowed. “Am I in trouble?”

Ghost shrugged, walking down the hall in the direction of Price’s office. You rolled your eyes inwardly. Real helpful, thanks Ghost, you thought.

You made your way down the hall as well, walking through the open door of Price’s office. He sat at his desk, relaxing in his leather chair. Behind you, the door closed gently, and you turned to see Ghost standing there. He leaned against it, large arms folded across his chest.

You looked back to Price. “Okay, be honest. Am I in trouble again?”

Price chuckled. “What would you be in trouble for this time?”

“Who knows, but I could probably make an educated guess if you really wanted me too.” You replied, clasping your hands together in front of you.

Price chuckled quietly, getting to his feet. “You’re in a little bit of trouble.”

You cursed. “I knew it. What did I do this time? Playing my music loud? Leaving my dishes in the sink?”

Price shook his head, walking around his desk. He leaned up against the front of it, fingers bracing the edge.

“Well, I heard you fucked your captain.” Price said, still smiling, and an immediate rush of red filled your face.

Your eyes shot back to Ghost, who didn’t seem shocked at all by the information— not that you could overly tell with the mask on, but you just got the vibe.

Your eyes snapped back to Price’s. “Sir—?”

“Denying it, sergeant?” Price smirked.

You stuttered. “What? N-no, sir. I mean—”

“Also heard you wanted to fuck your lieutenant,” Price continued, cutting you off. “Is that true?”

You were burning up, eyes on the floor. Had he seriously told Ghost everything about your little fantasy? How fucking embarrassing—

“Answer your captain.”

The voice reverberated behind you, deep and dark, morphed from the shadows themselves. You felt the hot flash of embarrassment and nerves tingle down your spine.

You swallowed thickly. “Well—”

“Tell the truth, sergeant.” Price said.

“Yes.” You whispered, barely audible over the blood roaring in your ears and the bruising knocks of your heart against your ribs.

Price tutted, shaking his head slowly. “Naughty girl you are, sergeant. Wanting both your superiors?”

You thought he was going to get closer, but he didn’t. Instead, he beckoned you to him, crooking his finger at you. You shuffled forward, until you were so close that one of his slightly bent knees brushed yours.

You had your eyes firmly on the ground, fingers interlocked in front of you. Your entire body was burning up, and you felt like you were being examined under a microscope.

“You think you should be in trouble? Think you should be punished for wanting your captain and your lieutenant?” Price whispered softly, a stark contrast to his words. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“No, sir—” you went to mumble, but he wasn’t listening to you.

He peered over your shoulder, hand moving from your cheek to your neck, resting there delicately, feeling the fluttering of your pulse.

“Think she should be disciplined for this behaviour, lieutenant?” Price asked Ghost, and you screwed your eyes shut.

You heard the door lock.

Footsteps, only a couple. Then a presence behind you: a lurking figure pressing against your back, warm and muscular.

“Definitely,” Ghost said and you felt your heart explode with nerves. “Can’t let our sergeant get away with this.”

You felt numb. What the hell were they—?

“Hear that?” Price cooed in your ear, hand beginning to tighten just slightly around your throat. “Even Ghost knows how naughty you are.”

A sigh left your mouth in a stutter. “Sir, I—”

“You want both of us?” Price asked. “Want us both to fuck you? Since you’re so needy for your superiors, eh, sergeant?”

Your eyes widened, a low whine leaving your throat as Price pressed his fingers tighter, and Ghost pressed his chest closer against your back.

You then felt Ghost shift behind you, his head resting on your shoulder. His arms slowly, slowly wrapped around your waist, tattoos on display. Gloved hands rubbed down your sides as he let his mouth, behind his mask, brush against your ear.

“Captain’s told me all about what you want,” Ghost whispered, voice deep. “Told me how you want both of us. How you want me to fuck your pretty cunt while he fills that pretty mouth of yours. That true?”

You were melting, brain liquifying. “Yeah…” you mumbled out, Price’s hand on your neck and Ghost’s body pressed to yours making you dizzy.

Ghost pushed you back into him, arse against his pelvis. You could feel him hardening. You whimpered.

“So depraved, sergeant…” Ghost held you to him. “So needy,” he pressed his masked mouth to the skin below your ear, and your body jolted, yet he kept you firmly in place. “You want us? Say the word, baby.”

You whimpered again, his mouth hot on your skin even through the mask. Price was watching the two of you, patiently, hand on your neck.

“Yes, fuck, please…” you drawled, and that sealed your fate.

•°•

“Yes, fuck, please—!” You moaned out, reaching down to grip Ghost’s head.

Ten minutes after meeting in Price’s office, you were in his bedroom. The captain had stripped you naked, both him and Ghost had sucked marks down the entirety of your neck and chest. They then man-handled you onto Price’s bed, and that is how you ended up like this.

Ghost lay on his back, his arms wrapped around the thick of your thighs. He was holding— no, pushing— you onto him. You tried to remain upright, but his tongue was slipping in and out of your cunt in such a way that you were struggling to maintain balance.

You had a hand to his head, fingers pinching against the material of his mask. The lieutenant had rolled it up, just above his nose, so he could attach his mouth to your dripping core. His nose nudged your clit with each stroke of his tongue, making you hum out from the base of your throat in pleasure.

Ghost dragged his tongue up and down your folds, swirling around your clit for a moment, before plunging it back into your hole with a lewd squelch. You moaned out at his actions, thighs tightening around his head. He groaned into your cunt, the vibrations setting your clit alight.

“Ghost…” You keened, hand holding his mask-covered head as you tossed your head back.

He hummed against your cunt in reply, tongue still deep in your hole. He was looking up at you, eyes hooded, veined hands gripping and kneading the soft flesh of your thighs.

In front of you, Price leaned against the headboard, a freshly lit cigar between his lips. Like Ghost, he was in his boxers and nothing else, and he palmed himself as he listened to the breathy noises you were making.

You blinked over in his direction, the smell of his cigar smoke intoxicating, mixing with the smell of both their colognes, your perfume and sex. You whined at him, reaching your free hand out and resting it against his bare knee (that’s all you could reach from your position).

He ran his fingers up and down your arm. “That feel good, love?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Price took a drag of his cigar. “Tell him, then. Tell him how good he’s making you feel.” He exhaled the smoke in your direction, and it seemed to glow around your head in a shimmery grey cloud.

You whined, Ghost moving his lips to draw your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly. You looked down at him, eyes nearly watering, and found him still looking up at you. His pupils were blown, stretched across his irises, and you could see the small mound in his mask where the bump of his nose was covered.

That’s all you could see. The rest of his face, unmasked, was deep and happy in your wet heat.

“Feels so good, Ghost,” you breathed, petting his head gently. “Making… making me feel so… good.”

The way he was lapping at you was making it hard to concentrate. Next to you, Price shifted so that he was sitting alongside Ghost’s laying form. He grabbed hold of your throat again, fingers pressing gently to your neck. He then brought your face to look at him. With his other hand, he plucked the cigar from his lips, a cloud of smoke swirling out of it. He then pressed the cigar to your lips, coaxing you to inhale. You did, forcing back the urge to cough, instead just exhaling it mid-sigh as Ghost’s pace increased.

Price looked at you approvingly, taking one last drag of his cigar before he placed it on an ashtray on the bedside table. He didn’t exhale, holding the smoke in his mouth and pulling you to him. He pressed his mouth to yours in a searing open-mouthed kiss. The smoke was pushed into your mouth, the burn soothed by the delicate caress of his wet tongue. You whined into the kiss, weaving your free hand into Price’s hair, holding his face to yours as you kissed him.

The smoke he blew into you mouth escaped in tiny tendrils out the corners of your mouth. He pulled away, gripping your throat and angling your head to the side so he could suck another hickey onto you— to join the multiple blooming across your neck, chest and breasts. He sucked it at the underside of your jaw, nipping along your collarbone before he pulled away.

As he did so, you felt your stomach begin to tighten, your body flushed hot with arousal as your climax simmered within. Your legs tightened even more around Ghost’s head, earning another low groan from the depths of the lieutenants chest.

“Gonna cum?” Price asked you, rubbing his fingers possessively down your neck.

You nodded frantically, your high closing in on you fast. You were whining, desperate, pushing against Ghost’s head.

“Ghost, I’m go—”

Ghost shifted his arms from your legs to your hips, pushing you off of his face and onto his lap as he sat up. You gasped loudly, body thrumming with a suppressed orgasm, stringing your nerves tight. You ignored the throbbing in your clit as you stared him down.

“What—?”

“You’ve been so greedy, sergeant,” Ghost said, voice condescending. “We told you this was a punishment. You won’t get to cum unless we say so.”

“Please—” you pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

Instead, you’re roughly manoeuvred off of Ghost’s lap, pinned onto your back by two pairs of strong hands. Your head came to rest on Ghost’s leg, the expanse of his thigh cushioning you. You look up at him, and he rests a hand on your cheek.

You have a moment of serenity before your legs are thrown upwards again. You restrict a gasp as you feel the bed shift, Price tossing your legs over his shoulders and settling in between your thighs. His eyes are locked on you, making eye contact as he drags himself closer to your leaking core.

You huff down at him, reaching for him, snagging your fingers in his hair and pulling gently. He smiles at you, smoky breath fanning across your cunt, warm and right there. You urge him forward, but he doesn’t move: remains still, hands slowly wrapping around your legs, the scratch of his beard on your inner thighs.

You were getting desperate, heat building in the base of your spine, legs trembling. You were holding Price’s hair, whining at him.

“Price, please.” You begged, tears welling behind your eyes as the heat of his mouth grew tantalisingly close to you. Your cunt was still aching from your stripped orgasm just moments prior, and you could feel your excess arousal pooling along the curve of your arse.

Price chuckled lowly. “Begging, are we?”

He didn’t say anything else when you groaned at him. Instead, he sealed his mouth over your clit, then licked up and down your folds. You jolted against Ghost’s lap, sobbing out in pleasure that— fucking finally— Price had his mouth on you. You pushed your captain’s face further into your cunt as his tongue worked you, and he hummed against you.

There were tears in your waterline, a product of your desperation, that Ghost noticed. He peered down at you, still stroking your cheek, your head dangerously close to his cock, tenting his boxers. He could get you to suck him off, but, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to watch your pretty face as your captain ate you out.

He lifted you up slightly, so that you were leaning against his hip, head raised and still able to see both his and Price’s lusted stares.

“You like that, baby?” Ghost whispered, dragging his hand to your jaw and lifting your head to look at him. “You like when your pretty cunt gets eaten?”

You hummed out a moan, a yes, as your captain fucked his tongue into you repeatedly. His nose pressed against your sensitive clit, making your legs clamp around his head. He groaned into you, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, before he opened them and resumed watching your blissed out state.

The tears behind your eyes slipped along your waterline, sparkling in your eyelashes as your body drew tighter and tighter, a thin sheen of sweat adorning your skin.

Ghost was rubbing at your jaw, your cheek, petting your hair as you got nearer to coming. He watched a single tear roll down your cheek, and he caught it with his forefinger, smearing it across your skin.

“You’re crying, pretty girl?” He mused. “Feels so good that you’re crying?”

You sobbed out at him, the pressure and heat on your overstimulated cunt intensifying. You now had one hand in Price’s hair, the other gripping Ghost’s wrist as he drew his finger along your cheek, pressing it against your lips.

Ghost’s finger breached your mouth, another followed, and you moaned around them. He shushed you gently, letting you weakly twist your tongue around the digits. His eyes darkened behind his mask, before he pressed his fingers against your tongue, pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. You choked, feeling saliva begin to pool. Before you could stop it, more tears were streaming down your face, drops of saliva squeezing out the corners of your mouth.

Ghost groaned above you, thrusting his fingers further into your mouth, making you gag. “Gonna stuff your mouth with my cock, eh, baby? Wanna see those tears when I’m fucking this pretty mouth…” He ended with another groan as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You were so close, the pleasure almost painful as Price sucked at your clit, running his hot tongue along your sopping cunt.

You pulled his hair, mumbling around Ghost’s fingers. “Price, please.”

He pulled away. You wanted to scream. Ghost pulled his fingers out of your mouth, holding your throat with wet digits.

“Price—!” You moaned out, body hot and aching and flushed with sweat. “Please, sir, please let me…”

Price tutted you, spreading your legs further, moving your thighs away from his head. His entire lower face was drenched with you, facial hair glistening, nose and lips wet. He licked his lips, eyes flicking from your tear-streamed face, to your drooling cunt, back to your face.

“Think you deserve it?” Price asked, fingers dragging along the inside of your thigh, making you squirm. Ghost’s hold kept you still. “Think you deserve to cum after being such a naughty girl, eh, love?”

“Yes, fuck,” your body was on fire, trembling from yet another orgasm that was taken from you. “Please, Price, need it so bad.”

Price looked up at Ghost, who was too busy staring at the tears dripping down your face, mixing with the rivulets of saliva. He was dragging his fingers across them, collecting the liquid on the pads of his fingers.

“What do you think, Ghost?” Price asked. “Think she deserves it?”

Ghost snapped his eyes away from your face, over to Price’s. He let his eyes rake over your body, overheated and squirming, and then nodded at Price.

“Yeah, I just think she should apologise first,” Ghost held your throat, making a small moan catch in your throat. He whispered at you, “apologise, baby.”

You groaned, blinking tearily at him.

He cooed, almost condescendingly. “Apologise for being such a needy slut, sergeant.”

Price suddenly pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Fuck— I’m sorry—! I’m sorry—!”

“For?” Ghost urged.

“For— oh my god— for being such a n-needy slut.” You sobbed, arching your back off the bed as Price fucked his fingers into you.

Through the mask, Ghost pressed a kiss to your forehead, stroking his fingers along your neck and face with either hand.

“Good girl, baby,” Ghost muttered. “Good girl.”

Price reattached his mouth to your clit as his two fingers dragged along your walls, making you writhe. Your orgasm was quick to build again, and you held onto Ghost for stability.

You were scared to warn them about your fast approaching climax, worried Price would stop. But the words slipped past your lips, dazed: “Gonna cum…”

“Go on then, baby,” Ghost wiped the tears and saliva from your face. “Cum for us. Cum in your captain’s mouth. Show us you’re a good girl, come on.”

You came with a moan of their ranks— gushing into Price’s mouth, splattering across his face and forearm. Ghost praised you gently, stroking your face as you came down, trembling. Price soon detached from your cunt, moving up your body to slam his mouth to yours. You moaned, tasting yourself.

“Fucking heavenly,” Price uttered, pulling away. “Feel better, love?”

You whimpered at him, leaning against Ghost for support. They both chuckled at you, before Ghost’s hands around your neck were gone, and you were being moved. You were spun over, your hands and knees pressed against the mattress. Your arms buckled, pleasure-weak, and you settled your chest against the soft duvet.

That position didn’t last long, as Price moved past you, settling up against the headboard. He urged you forward, taking your hand and pulling you to him. He rested your front on his lap, his boxers now gone, his cock hard as he gripped it. Your eyes widened, moaning at the sight, and you were quick to replace his hand with your own, holding him.

Behind you, you felt the bed dip and two large hands grab your hips. Fingers traced along your stretch marks, rubbing circles as a warm presence loomed over you. You lazily stroked your captain’s cock, and he huffed above you, a gentle hand coming to rest on the top of your head.

“Isn’t she fucking gorgeous, lieutenant?” Price said, petting your head.

Ghost grunted a reply, too busy massaging the flesh of your hips. He leaned forward, his hard body bending over your back. You could feel the firm ridges of his abs along your backside, and the weight of his cock rubbing onto the mound of your arse.

“So pretty…” Ghost said after a moment, moving one hand to hold his cock, tracing it down the wet seam of your cunt.

You moaned into Price’s lap, hand faltering on his cock at the feeling of Ghost behind you. You hadn’t even seen his cock, but it’s imprint against your sensitive flesh gave you a clear enough mental picture. Above you, Price continued to pet your hair.

“Gonna be a good girl for us, sergeant?” He asked. “Gonna let us fill you up?”

You didn’t answer, hyper-focused on the way Ghost teased the fat head of his cock up and down your folds. Both men waited for a second, your airy sounds filling the room and making them both harder.

Price used his hand to wrap around yours, guiding it in stroking his cock, encouraging you to resume your earlier actions. You did, face still buried in his thigh as Ghost continued to smear your arousal down the fat of your thighs with his cock.

“Come on, love,” Price urged. “Gotta give me an answer. Want us both, yeah? Want Ghost to fill your needy cunt? Want me to fill this pretty mouth?”

You mumbled something against his bare thigh, coarse hair tickling your face. Price sighed above you, and you suddenly felt the weight of Ghost’s hand leave your hip.

You quickly found out where it went.

Ghost landed a solid smack to your arse, the clap echoing around the room. You jolted forward, head lifted from Price’s lap, mouth agape with a silent gasp.

The lieutenant rubbed at the reddened flesh with his large hand, soothing it. “Answer your captain, baby. Go on.”

You whined, blinking out of your haze, looking up at your captain with wet eyelashes. He looked down at you, cupping your face.

“Come on, darling. Want both of us?”

You nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Fuck, yes,” Ghost growled, before he was thrusting all the way into your tight heat. You opened your mouth in a silent moan, heart spasming in your chest as he filled you. “Fuck, such a tight cunt, baby. So fucking wet.”

He pulled out and pushed into you again, dragging the air from your lungs in a stretched moan. He built a pace as you dropped your hand to the base of Price’s cock, bringing it to your lips.

“That’s it, baby,” Ghost grunted behind you, pelvis smacking your arse. “Suck your captain’s cock, just like that, good girl…”

You took Price’s cock into your mouth after placing a delicate kiss to the tip. When your mouth enveloped him, Price released a low groan. He watched you, eyelids heavy, as you took more of him.

What you couldn’t fit in your mouth— which was, unsurprisingly, quite a lot— you wrapped your hand around. Your saliva was quick to drip down his cock, and you used it to slick your hand movements, pumping him as you dragged your mouth up and down.

“C-Christ,” Price hissed. “So good, love. So good.”

Your body hummed at the praise.

Ghost continued to fuck into you like a man starved, rutting his cock into you, grunting beneath his breath with each thrust. Your cunt was dripping around him, down your thighs.

He clucked his tongue. “Such a messy girl, sergeant. Making such a mess on my cock.”

You moaned around Price’s cock, the sound of Ghost moving in and out of your wet heat deafening in the quiet room. The masked man leaned over, placing his mouth to your spine. Even through the material, you could feel the heat and shape of his lips, a tender action as his cock hit deep within you, abusing your cervix.

“Such a good fucking girl, baby,” he uttered, slamming you against him. “My good fucking girl.”

Above you, Price huffed. His grip on your hair tightened, and he bucked his hips slightly, tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

“Yours?” He breathed. “I had her first— stuffed that cunt first, lieutenant. She’s all mine.”

He inclined his hips again. You gagged again, tears blurring your vision.

Ghost let out a short, low laugh. An amused scoff. Both hands holding your hips, he moved one around your body, placing a thick finger to your swollen clit. He continued to fuck you mercilessly, hitting the soft plug of your womb, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

Your cunt gripped him tighter, eyes rolling momentarily in your head, a loud moan trapped in your mouth as you choked on your captain’s cock.

“She was thinking about me when you fucked her last time, right? Wanted this cock stuffing her tight cunt,” he growled, thrusts increasing, a bruising pace. “Wanted her lieutenant to fuck her. Wanted my cock in— fuck— in this pretty, wet cunt.”

Your orgasm was building. You could feel it, coiling in the pit of your stomach, tingling along the base of your spine. Your cunt was pulsing around Ghost, his cock slamming repeatedly into that spot within you that made your legs twitch and eyes roll.

“But she wanted me first,” Price hissed. It was unfathomable that both men were talking about you as if you weren’t even there. “She wanted my cock— ah, shit— first… wanted me to fuck a baby into her. Isn’t that right, darling?”

You hummed something indistinct around him, feeling him twitch on your tongue. You were barely maintaining precise movements, pleasure flooding your veins at the dual stimulation provided by your lieutenant.

“Sorry captain, I’ve fucked her dumb. Poor baby can’t even speak.” Ghost said, voice hoarse.

Price wasn’t listening. He was looking down at you, his cheeks flushed beneath his beard, grip tightening as he bucked his hips into your mouth. He was going to—

“Take it all, fuck, good girl, darling.” Price muttered, voice swimming in your head as he came down your throat, a breathy groan passing his lips.

He held you to him for a moment longer, letting you catch your breath, cock still heavy on your tongue. When he slowly pulled out, you swallowed properly, and he leaned down to place his mouth to yours.

“Did so well, darling.” He said against your lips.

You tried to kiss back, but your orgasm was breaking like a wave over you. You warbled something at Ghost as Price kissed you— he was swallowing your moans, obscuring as much as he could from Ghost, which you didn’t pick up on.

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock. Atta girl, just like that,” Ghost breathed against your spine, pressing himself to you as you finally came around him. “Good fucking girl, baby.”

You gushed around him, wetness splashing across his pelvis and down both his and your thighs. You moaned again, louder this time, as Price moved away to watch you come undone, his hands cradling your face, neck, holding your tits.

Your post-orgasmic haze ebbed and waned as Ghost rutted into you in such desperation that it made you dizzy. He was grunting behind you, animalistic, as he abandoned your clit and gripped both of your hips. He pulled you against him, meeting your thrusts, your arse smacking against him.

He watched where his cock entered you, how your drooling cunt sucked him in with each thrust. He was groaning under his breath now, panting as he scrambled to maintain a rhythm. He was struggling though, his orgasm mounting.

“Fuck, fuck, baby, so good,” he groped your sides, mumbling. “So good for me, such a good little slut, taking all my cock, baby.”

You writhed beneath him, drunk off his words. Price had reached for his cigar, smoking now as he caressed your upper body, large hands warm on your bare skin.

Then, you were snatched away from Price’s lap. You yelped as Ghost sat you upright, holding you to his chest as he fucked up into you, cock piercing your womb at a new angle. His thighs caged you, large arms holding you still as he used you. He rested his chin on your shoulder, masked face buried in your neck, huffing and panting.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned into your neck. “Gonna cum inside, baby, okay? Wanna fill you w’me.”

Price growled, leaning against the headboard with his cigar hanging from his lips. He was slowly stroking his hardening cock, but stopped at Ghost’s words.

“Don’t you fucking dear, Simon.” Price said, using Ghost’s real name.

It didn’t seem to faze Ghost. He looked at Price over your shoulder, a challenging stare. Then, he groaned, quickly reaching up to shove his mask just above his mouth. He began to suck a hickey onto your shoulder.

“Gonna stuff you full of me, have you leaking, baby,” he said against your skin. “M’gonna put a baby in you… m’gonna breed this tight cunt—”

He moaned against you, coming hard. He filled you to the brim, overflowing onto Price’s bedsheets as he fucked it further into you. He thrusted lazily, holding you too him. You were whining softly under your breath as he grunted a couple more times.

“Good girl.” He whispered, kissing your shoulder.

•°•

Later, both men had cleaned you up, showering you and drying you, before tucking you beneath the— now clean— sheets on Price’s bed.

You rested your head on Price’s chest, his arm around your shoulders, holding your hand on your stomach. He placed a kiss to the top of your head every so often.

Ghost laid beside you, head on your lap. He had taken off his mask, and you raked your fingers through his blond hair. His large hands massaged your thighs over the blanket.

“Feeling okay?” Price asked. “Didn’t hurt you, did we?”

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “Felt good.”

Ghost hummed from his place on your lap. “‘Course it did.”

“Don’t be mean,” You pouted. “You felt just as good, considering you kept thanking me when we were in the shower.”

He just responded with a grunt, but nestled himself deeper into your lap. Price stroked your hair, kissing your head once more.

“Consider this all… disciplinary action.” Price joked, and you smiled, warm and comfortable.

•°•

“So, were you bored out of your mind?” Soap asked the next morning as you, him and Gaz drank tea outside, admiring the early morning quiet.

You took a sip of your tea. “No, they kept me occupied.”

“Both of ‘em?” Gaz laughed. “Ghost let you annoy him all night?”

You hummed, nodding. Gaz just laughed.

Soap ignored the hickeys poking out from the neck of your hoodie. “Glad you had fun, lass.”

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[moongumi]

⁀➷ ∵  ❝ nice warm bed you've got there, ghost¹ ❞

⟶ simon 'ghost' riley x reader

⟶ cw. sleepy!ghost, fem!reader, flirting, established flirtationship, kissing, lots of kissing, grinding, ghost calls you kid + more (nothing too sexy yet only a tiny bit of smut but more like descriptions nothing that isn't listed)

⟶ note. not edited, written out of pure thirst

drained and sore from the mission you had jumped in the shower quickly before anyone could take the chance. the other guys rested in the rv waiting for their turn. they pretty much start to stink up the entire place with the smell of masculine musk and spoiled mud.

right when you're done, vargas decides it was his turn before anyone else could utter a word. he nudges your shoulder in the small space as you tried to dry your wet hair with towel, its freakin' dark so you assume he was just being clumsy. he mutters a quick, "sorry", before slipping away in the tiny cubicle.

your arms raised in your tank top and shorts you rub the towel into your head as you walk towards the front of the rv.

soap clears his throat, sitting on the dining table set. across him is ghost, they take up the entire space with their large width so you'd have to get past them towers the bench-like couch to have a place to sit.

soap notices you right away and kicks his feet ahead. ghost snaps his head but notices soap's head nudging behind him. "do yourself a favour, try not to look."

ghost's eyes dart to the right behind his textured mask, seeing your shadow before yourself. "yea, i'm tryin', mate."

you make your way past a very stiff-necked ghost and soap who gives you a sheepish grin. you notice their files of documents and photographs littered all over the worktop. even after hours they can't seem to stop working. soap gives ghost a smack on the shoulder and leaves.

ghost relaxes slightly when his head down form notices you've left as there were no lingering shadows covering up the reflection of the moonlight from that side.

that is until he feels hands on his shoulder and a heavy weight pushes them downwards. "you still trying?" your soft voice pierces his ears and he jumps.

he rolls his eyes, throwing his head into his palm. "shut up kid."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"alright, pick bunks." soap sees you already on a top bunk over the top of a queen bed that sits at the end of the rv. "i see you've already chosen."

"yep." you pop your lips and continue to click on your nintendo switch, cooling off. completely ignoring the rest as they pick bunks.

soap and ghost end up under you whilst the others have opted to either stay awake, drive or sleep on those bench-couches that turned into beds.

you decide to sleep for a while. comfortably until.

ghost feels a weight on his bed, it definitely wasn't soap. his eyes open to see you climbing down off your bunk and dropping into his, your tank rolling up as you did. your entire weight drops on his bed and crinkle the duvet, his eyes half open looking at you. "what you doin'?"

"what do you think?"

ghost groans groggily, waving you off, "you can't do that. not right now."

"soaps not here." ghost looks to his side, you're right. "the others are out, we stopped at a station. they're getting food and water." your straddle the lower part of his leg slightly, dropping your weight slowly on him–he feels the heat off your bare legs on his sweats.

ghosts eyes barely open and he sits up to look at the window seeing the shop and station as you say. somehow he didn't even wake up whilst the others made their move. he rubs his eyes through his balaclava. you wondered if he even showered as the black paint kind of still lingered around his eyelids, the only part you really get to see of his face.

"you still wear your mask when you sleep, hm?"

ghost groans, pointing at you with a jut of his chin. "you do too."

you click your tongue pointing at yours, "mines different." you did wear a mask on duty like him just not as artistic. but you wear a medical mask otherwise, it was easier to breathe and covered you up, hiding your identity well enough.

ghost leans his weight on his hands. he sat up slightly. you make your way onto his lap, he didn't even resist only cocking his head at your every move. he sees the way you're looking at him. eyes half open, lashes heavy, maybe because you also just woke up but hell, you were giving him some sort of intentional look.

"let me kiss you," you whispered, words slathered with lust. it was one of the last things he expected, but who was he kidding the others are out and the tension between you two was strong enough at other times–alone, was different.

he shakes his head, trying to be the better person. "no, come on. they'll be back before you know it."

"they just left." you're fingers are tickling at the base of his neck, peeling his mask slightly. he only eyes you back, half-lidded too–his pretty eyes make the core of your ache warm up. "ghost, please."

your fingers are slip under his mask, feeling his warm skin, lifting it up more. it reaches his chin, and you feel the roughness of his recently shaven beard. he swallows hard, breathing heavily at your touch.

his head straightens and his fingers reach yours to stop you. "hey."

"what?" you groan, "don't pretend you don't want it."

he doesn't pretend. he can't. you're sat on his lap with your tiny shorts rolled up your ass, your shirt exposing your waist and everything. it's rare to see you so exposed, just your fucking arms and legs made him horny, fucks sake. he'd been so deprived.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and where your lips would be behind that mask. his fingers left yours alone and he reaches for the loops around your ears, his rough fingers yet soft touch pulls them off. even in the dark, it's hard to see your face, maybe that was a good thing, neither of you really knew what each other looked like. it seemed a lot more exciting this way.

you take that as a green light. dragging his mask over his nose and pressing your lips against his quickly, so he couldn't stop you anymore–he can't just draw it out longer, the chase. you angled your head, molding into his bottom lip. his lips part and he deepens the kiss, a low grovel ringing from his throat. his tongue slips past your swollen lips with ease, with no resistance. he explores it, pressing his tongue and curling it to the roof of your mouth, tasting all of you.

you moan, whimpering into his mouth. rolling your hips naturally into his lap that allows you to feel his growing bulge. he thrusts his hips as well. who knows the last time the man got action and fuck, he wanted it now.

his eyes are shut under his halfed-mask, you keep switching angles as if it could get you any closer to the extremely attractive older man. you felt like you saw something in the corner of your eyes for a split second, and when you open your eyes fully you can see the other men through the sheer curtained window returning with bags of snacks, drinks, and food and you pull away with a gasp. "fuck."

ghost returns to his senses and looks in that direction. "fuck." he watches as you jumbled as you jumped off him. only watching in amusement. "good night." pressing your bare feet against the covers by him and getting back into your bunk above him.

ghost's deep chuckle makes the pits of your belly warm, "good night, kid."

end note: i miss ghost daddy ok? im thirsting and FROTHING FOR THIS MAN. i really wanna write a full fic like oc and all but i literally dunno shit about military n america LOL. but i will be writing more, but THE MASK STAYS ON. hopefully no fanboys run into this n get all pissy <3 idk how people feel about being called kid by a guy you're tryna fuck but : ) soz

[granddaughterogg]

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned. 

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard. 

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers. 

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm. 

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling. 

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight. 

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked." 

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute." 

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards. 

"Did you just say that I look like shit?" 

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time. 

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath. 

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant. 

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size. 

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush. 

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins: 

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices." 

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle. 

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled. 

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

[joron1a-stardustlor]

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Very light nsfw joke ig???

Im srry but this just randomly popped up in my hear and i had to draw it

[training4theapocalypse]

On Her Majesty’s Supersonic Service (Adrian Chase x Reader) Ch. 5

Chapter 5 From Gotham with Love

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: SMUT, TW: Rape roleplay, Bondage, Romance, Descriptions of murder, Descriptions of violence, P in V, Verbal humiliation, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After the events of Project Butterfly, you and Adrian Chase become A.R.G.U.S. contractors-  your first mission is a heist in Gotham. But you've always wondered what it would be like if Vigilante was after you and if you could persuade him to let you go.

Masterlist

Chapter text:

Two weeks later

'The mission is simple'. Harcourt’s instructions had read: steal a flash drive without anybody noticing. 

This was your and Adrian’s first job as government-contracted mercenaries. The idea, of course, had been yours. Days after the events of Project Butterfly, Adrian received a payment from A.R.G.U.S. for services rendered to the U.S. Government. 

“Woah, we can actually get paid for this stuff?”

A few administrative procedures later, you’d set up your own firm, and you were now official suppliers of security services on A.R.G.U.S’s approved contractors list— self-employed, tax-paying, government-sanctioned killers. To Adrian’s slight dismay, you were quite the opposite of vigilantes. 

“Can you hear me, Birdie?” comes Adrian’s voice in your earpiece.

You sit at the bar of the Hotel Aventine casino, waiting for your mark to show up. You’d asked Harcourt for an easy job to ease Adrian into espionage, and as Interim Director of A.R.G.U.S. while Waller was suspended, she was able to arrange just that.

“Copy,” you whisper discreetly into your whisky glass.

Watching the high-rollers, you’re waiting for Tomasso Falcone to give the drive to his cronies to stash in his room safe. Then, once you gave him the all-clear, Adrian would climb into Falcone’s room via the balcony and switch the flash drive with a decoy while you kept a lookout in the casino. 

Simple. Easy.

Adrian drums his fingers restlessly on the balcony railing overlooking Gotham City’s nightscape below. Thunder begins to roll in as the clouds get darker and ominously closer to the towering hotel. 

“Adrian,” you mumble, hiding your mouth behind your glass. “Stop drumming Taylor Swift- my earpiece is picking it up.”

“Sorry.”

“He’s here.”

Falcone enters the room and walks over to the blackjack table. You watch as he confers with a couple of men. Then he looks over at the bar, surveying a few women sitting there until his eyes fall directly on you.

Shit.

You look away nonchalantly but feel his gaze raking over you. Through the busy casino chatter, the sound of footsteps on the slightly sticky carpet reaches your ears as he approaches the bar. You continue to look ahead but feel Falcone’s presence as he sits on the barstool right next to yours.

“Let me get a Jim Beam,” he instructs the barman. “And one for the lady.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” you say, gesturing at your half-empty glass.

“What? Boyfriend won’t let a guy buy you a drink or something?” he asks, and you hear Adrian drumming in your ear again, clearly agitated.

“Another Laphroaig then, please,” you say to the barman.

“What’s that? French?”

Ugh.

He swivels on his seat so he’s looking directly at you.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself in a joint like this?”

“I hate this,” says Adrian in your earpiece. 

You ignore Adrian. But shit, you need to get rid of Falcone.

“I’m here on business.”

“Business...” Falcone repeats as the barman sets your drinks down. “Working girl?” he adds quietly when the barman turns to serve another patron.

You look behind him at the women sitting at the bar and finish your first drink in one gulp. You were so focused on keeping a lookout for Falcone that you hadn’t noticed the dirty looks from them, who you now realise are some of the high-end call girls of Gotham. 

“I don’t want to waste either of our time, so let’s just say I don’t think you could afford me.” You tilt your head sympathetically, eyes lingering on his cheap drink of choice, and he gives you an offended look.

“I’m a guy who knows what he likes- that don’t mean I can’t afford you.”

Channelling your inner Harcourt, you raise your eyebrows and sip your drink but don’t reply.

“How’d you like to make more tonight than you make in a month?” he says with bravado, discreetly adjusting the sleeve of his suit so you can see his expensive watch.

“Now, that’s very forward of you- I don’t even know your name.”

“Falcone. Tomasso Falcone. And you?”

“They call me Emilia.” Adrian snorts when he hears you utter Harcourt’s name- the first that popped into your head. You hadn’t expected to interact with Falcone, so you don’t have a cover prepared. “And I’m intrigued to find out what you think I make in a month.”

He takes out a hotel key card and a black USB stick and slides them towards you, his hand covering them. You place your hand on top of his.

“Take this up to my room and put it in the safe. There’s ten grand in the safe- it’s yours.”

You tut, leaning into your role. “Mr Falcone, I’m appalled that’s what you think I make in a month.”

“A week?” 

“Try a night.”

He blinks incredulously. “I’m in the wrong line of work.” 

“So, I go upstairs, put this in the safe and wait for you to join me?”

“You just need to put it in the safe and leave- don’t come back down here. One delivery. And you don’t need to worry about spreading your legs for anyone tonight.”

“Let me kill him, Birdie…” Adrian grumbles as you meet Falcone’s eyes. 

“I don’t know about this- ” You go to withdraw your hand, but he places his other on top of it firmly.

“Look, I got eyes on me everywhere. They see me tell my guys to go to my room, and they’ll know somethin’s going down. They see me pass a room key to a hooker? Nobody looks twice.”

This guy is an idiot. 

You’re the one who’s watching him, and he hasn’t even realised it.

“Birdie, what are you doing? Take it!”

You don’t want to see too eager, so you pretend to hesitate and look around the room. Falcone’s men are watching your interaction closely. 

“Suit yourself. Plenty of other girls in this joint-” Your other hand grabs his before he can move it back.

“Fine.” 

He releases his grip, and you slip the items into your clutch. You slink off the barstool and press your lips to his cheek conspicuously. Falcone whispers his room number and safe combination in your ear, and then he watches as you leave the casino towards the hotel lobby.

He gestures his men over to the bar. 

“Give it ten minutes. When the whore’s done, make sure she disappears.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, that was easy,” says Adrian’s voice.

The elevator doors shut.

“Get to Falcone’s balcony- now.”

“Why? You’ve got his key. I’ll meet you outside his room.”

“Adrian, I can say with certainty that they’ll wait for me to leave the room and attempt to murder me. Get to the balcony.”

“Shit. Copy that.”

There’s a reason Tomasso Falcone is only a minor member of his organised crime family. He’s a halfwit and, from what you can surmise, a scumbag too. Outsourcing his dirty work to prostitutes and probably killing them afterwards- it makes you sick.

The elevator opens on the top floor- the 44th story. You walk down the hall briskly, and let yourself into his room.

Lightning flashes across the night sky, and you have to suppress a gasp of fright when you see Vigilante’s menacing backlit figure through the glass doors on the balcony outside, rain pelting down on the marble tile behind him. 

God, he looks so scary in his full suit in the dead of night. Gotham suits him. 

You let him in, and he blows right past you.

“I fucking hate that guy.” His voice is muffled as it penetrates the fabric of his mask. You stop his pacing and wipe the rain off of his red visor.

“So do I. But, Adrian, we need to get out of here quickly.”

He follows you to the safe as you get on your knees to open it. It’s empty except for a small stack of bills with a mustard band that reads $10,000. 

“Give me the decoy drive.” He hands you an identical black USB stick which you place in the safe. You take the band of bills, but Adrian holds the door before you can shut it.

“Wait- we don’t want his money!” 

“He’ll be suspicious about the drive if I don’t take the money. What kind of prostitute doesn’t accept payment?”

“What if there’s a GPS tracker between the bills?” 

You chew your lip, weighing up the options. There’s no time - you need to make a snap decision. You take the money and shut the safe with finality. Adrian’s towering figure extends a hand to help you to your feet, and he walks over to the hotel room door.

“No, Adrian- this way.” You jerk your thumb back towards the glass sliding doors of the balcony. “We might bump into Falcone’s men out there.”

“Good. We can take them!”

“We’ve only got two objectives,” you remind him. “Switch the flash drives and don’t draw attention to ourselves. Leaving a pile of bodies in the hallway would definitely be classed as drawing attention to ourselves.”

The room lights up as another flash of lightning streaks the sky. 

“Birdie- the storm outside. We’ve got one set of ropes, and you’re wearing… that. Super hot, by the way, but one slip and we’re both gonna end up painting the sidewalk.”

You have to admit that a satin dress, heels and a clutch aren’t conducive to abseiling down a building, but the other option would jeopardise the mission. 

Reaching up to clasp his shoulder, you meet his eyes behind his visor. “We can do it. But we need to move. Now.”

The wind howls, blowing icy rain into your face as soon as you slide the door open. You look over the edge of the balcony, and your stomach drops. Even though you’re well-practised in this, you’ve never had to do it in a cocktail dress and heels before. You grip your clutch bag tightly.

We just need to drop two floors and climb two rooms to the right, you reassure yourself.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Adrian calls. You look over your shoulder and nod. He closes the glass door behind him and starts securing the rope, looping it over the metal railing on the righthand side of the balcony.

“I’ll go first.” He pries your clutch bag from your hands. “We’ll need both hands.” You watch as he secures the bag with duct tape around his body. 

He carefully climbs over the railing and, using the rope, lowers himself onto another balcony two floors below. Once he lands, he silently tugs on the rope, signalling that it’s safe for you to come down.

You hoist your dress up, and one leg at a time, you too climb over the railing- carefully positioning your feet so your strappy heels don’t catch on the outer edge. You skillfully wrap the rope between your legs and back up behind your shoulders, holding the rope so you can rappel down the side of the building without a harness.

As you step off, the rain soaks through your dress, and you notice how the rope is becoming increasingly slippy to hold. As you lower yourself past the next floor, what seemed to take Adrian seconds feels like an eternity. Your fingers turn white as you grip the rope for dear life, ignoring the blisters forming on your palms.

The wind makes you sway on your descent, and you try hard to think of the task immediately in front of you and not to visualise yourself dangling on a tiny rope, now 43 stories above Gotham. Soon enough, you feel Adrian’s strong hands on your waist as he helps you down beside him. Momentary relief floods your body when your feet meet the solid tile- now all you have to do is climb between rooms.

Over the sound of the storm, you hear a noise from upstairs. Adrian grabs you and flattens you against the wall, one gloved hand over your mouth and the other on the rope to stop it from swaying in the wind, attracting attention.

“She ain’t out here!” You hear a male voice yell.

“Of course, she ain’t- it’s a goddamn thunderstorm.”

The heat of Adrian’s body pressed up against yours, and the fleeting protection from the rain is welcome- you’re soaked through to the skin. You hear a phone ringing above.

“Mr Falcone? There’s no sign of her… I don’t know! She musta slipped past us- don’t worry, flash drive’s there… Yep, she took the money … Sure, let me check the tracker on it.” 

Adrian tilts his head down to look at you through his visor, his eyes say, ‘I told you so’.

“It says she’s just outside the north side of the building- do you want me to go and get her?... Jeez! Okay, okay, I’m on it.” You hear the man shut the balcony door.

Adrian releases you and finds the opening of your clutch bag attached to his body to retrieve the stack of bills. Then, with tremendous power, he throws the band of money from the balcony, and you watch silently as the wind carries it, and it begins to plummet into the darkness of the city below.

You untangle the rope from the floors above and tie it neatly so Adrian can hook it back onto his belt. 

“Let’s move,” he says, hopping over the railing. He jumps to the next balcony and over the railing with ease, waiting with one arm outstretched to help you across. 

The gap is much bigger than it felt when you were abseiling down the middle of it. Your feet feel slippy in your open-toed, strappy heels as you lift yourself over the other side of the railing and adjust your stance, getting ready to jump. 

“C’mon, Birdie. Three… two… one.”

You launch yourself to the next balcony and feel your ribs slam into the cold, wet barrier. Adrian grips your drenched upper arm and helps hoist you over. He places a hand on each of your arms and looks into your face as your teeth chatter in the cold.

“One more jump,” he says determinedly. “We can do it.” There’s no longer any trace of uncertainty in his voice. With precision, he turns and leaps onto the next balcony. On the other side, he once again extends his arm, ready to grab you.

You stand on the edge as another jagged spear of lighting cascades across the sky.

“Three… two… one,” says Adrian.

As you jump, your high heel catches on the bottom of the balustrade. 

Fuck.

Time seems to slow down, and your stomach lurches nauseatingly as you fall. 

You watch as your fingers slide down the glass side of the guardrail opposite. Catching yourself by your very fingertips, you manage to hang onto the balcony floor just in time. Before you can blink, Adrian reaches over with lightning reflexes and seizes your arm. He helps drag you up and over the barrier, where you land on the wet marble.

Adrian opens the sliding door of your room, and you both practically fall inside. You slam it shut behind you and lean against it, breathless. The silence of your quiet hotel room makes it feel like your ears are ringing. Until now, you hadn’t realised how deafening the rain had been. 

“Whoo!” exclaims Adrian, and you watch him punch the air and circle his hips in a goofy little dance. “Yeah! We-did-it-baby!” He punctuates each syllable with a jab of his fist.

Despite the fact that you’re shivering in your saturated dress, now plastered to your body, you laugh at his ridiculous jubilation. Adrenaline pumps through you too- it was a close shave but you can’t let yourself think about how close you came to decorating the pavement below.

Adrian turns around.

“Shit, you’re freezing, B.” 

“I’m fine.” You stand up and walk over to the bathroom. “Can you email Hartcourt and let her know we got the drive?”

“What’s on this thing anyway?”

“Blueprints for Arkham,” you call over your shoulder as your enter. You do a double take at the shaking, drowned figure looking back at you in the bathroom mirror as you hear Adrian unwrapping the duct tape securing the clutch to his body. 

You slip off heels and your soaked dress and throw a hotel robe on. Grabbing a towel, you dry your hair as best you can and get it out of your face so you can wipe the running mascara from your wet cheeks.

“Birdie?”

You jump in fright for the second time this evening when you see a masked figure in the mirror behind you. It sends a jolt of panic through you until your brain processes that it’s just your boyfriend.

“Fuck, Adrian! You scared me.”

You’ve seen him as Vigilante plenty of times before, but tonight you can fully appreciate why he strikes fear into the hearts of criminals. He looks so intimidating, standing tall in his black suit, a stark contrast to your own white fluffy robe.

“Sorry.” He steps tentatively towards you. “I encrypted the files and sent them to Harcourt. Mission accomplished.”

He brings his arms around you to hug you from behind, and you lean back into his embrace, comforted by his touch even though your heart is still racing.

“That was fucking scary,” he murmurs into your neck through his mask after a few moments of silence.

“Just part of the job.”

“Birdie…”

“What?”

“Don’t bullshit me.” His visor meets your eyes in the mirror. “I know you’re tough, but that was a close fucking call out there.”

“I’m fine, Adrian-”

“You don’t have to pretend, B,” he cuts you off. “We’ll tell Harcourt and the guys that it was easy, but you don’t have to pretend like you’re not shaken up to me.”

You close your eyes and let the thoughts that have been bothering you just spill out.

“It just… it feels like you always have to save me somehow. On every single mission since I met you. And then on this one… I mean, I’m supposed you be showing you the ropes.”

“Birdie, I’m not saving you- we’re working as a team. And you are showing me how this stuff works. I would have killed every single one of those guys and tanked the whole operation if you hadn’t stopped me.”

He squeezes you gently -  a simple gesture of reassurance, but you feel distinctly aware of his body pressed up against yours. You open your eyes, and seeing his broad figure enveloping yours from behind makes something low in your abdomen clench.

“They wouldn’t have stood a chance. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you in the bathroom mirror.” You guide his gloved hands to the belt of your robe. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, Adrian, I’d have thought that Vigilante was here to punish me for my crimes.”

He undoes your belt, and it drops to the floor.

“Uh, what crimes?” he swallows.

You shrug, and the robe falls off your left shoulder, exposing half of your body. “We just stole a flash drive - I think that counts as theft,” you suggest. 

You’re not sure he even heard you as he stares at you in the mirror. He’s never seen you in lingerie before. Your usual sports bra and underwear are nowhere near this beautifully made, nor do they show off every curve of you perfectly the way this set does.

The imprint of his erection presses up against you, and he slides the robe off of your other shoulder so he can appreciate the full effect of you standing there. 

Between hours of combat training and Adrian working his final few shifts at Fennel Fields, you’ve both been too busy to have sex since that night in the Corvette. Instead, falling into bed together, exhausted at the end of every day- battered and bruised from the rigorous practise Adrian has been putting you through to make sure your hand-to-hand and firearm skills are back up to scratch now that you’ve lost your powers.

“I always wondered if Vigilante was after me… if I could have persuaded him to spare me,” you say, pressing your ass against him.

He lifts his mask up over his mouth and kisses your neck, and you watch his sharp jaw move as he sucks on your skin. Adrian moves to take his mask off.

“Wait-” You grab his wrist. “- I want to feel like how all those other girls felt when they were fucked by Vigilante.”

“Woah, Birdie. I’ve never - ever- had sex with someone in exchange for letting them go.” He sounds offended. “That would be-”

“No, I know that. I just meant I know you’ve had sex wearing your mask,” you cut across him. “You’re a good man, and I know you’d never do that. But maybe you’d make an exception. Maybe Vigilante would stop being a good man for one night… for me.” 

“I dunno B…”

“I can be persuasive,” you say, pressing back into him.

“Yeah, I bet. I just don’t know if you could handle it.”

Now it’s your turn to be offended. He sees your expression in the mirror and explains.

“When I’m Vigilante, there’s no kissing- nothing. It’s just fucking. Hard.”

“I-” This stuns you. “…How much harder can it get?”

“The safe word’s ‘Eagly’,” Adrian says, pulling the mask back down. A shudder goes through your spine at the tone of his voice. Something instantly feels different about him, like a silent shift occurred when he covered his face again.

Vigilante unclips the roll of duct tape from his belt and forces your arms behind your back. The tape rips and he binds your wrists together.

Oh.

He runs his gloved hands up your body, squeezing your tits through the lacy fabric. Heat seems to flood your underwear as you watch his hands, the feeling of his gloves so alien on your skin, examining your choice of underwear.

“What’s a petty little thief like you doing all dressed up like this?” he asks, reminding you absurdly of Falcone’s questioning earlier. “Did you know I was going to catch you?”

“It- it was a surprise for my boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah? Is he a criminal too?” You gasp when he pulls down the lace covering your tits, letting them spill out.

“He’s a killer. And he could kick your arse.”

Vigilante laughs. “Yeah, right.” His confident derisiveness makes your knees shake- you hold your breath waiting to find out what he’s going to do with you.  

“Bite down on this.” He pushes his fingertips against your lips, and you feel the rough rubber grips on your mouth. You part your lips, welcoming the intrusion, close your teeth over his middle and index fingers, and let him slip his hand from the glove. 

Vigilante pulls off his other glove and roughly pinches your nipples with his bare hands- you whimper, letting the glove fall to the bathroom floor.

“Was this expensive?” He drags his hands down your torso and toys with the hem of your underwear.

“Y-yes,” you answer truthfully.

He unsheathes his knife in one swift movement and cuts them off you.

“Your boyfriend can buy you a new pair with the money you got for stealing that drive,” 

His knife clatters against the bathroom sink when he tosses it aside to unzip his trousers. Vigilante pushes his cock through the apex of your thighs, siding it along your folds. You squeeze your thighs together in burning anticipation as his cock lightly brushes against your clit.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking wet already. I can’t believe you’re getting off on this.”

Your whole lower body is on edge, tensing up as you watch in the mirror, the tip of his cock sliding between your thighs, made easy from your slick. 

“God, you’re always so fucking ready for me. I mean-” He stumbles. “I mean, for the first time, you’re-”

“I always - always hoped you’d catch me eventually,” you interrupt, breathlessly grinding back against him. 

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you whine as the hard ridge of his thick cock rubs back and forth against your clit. “Why’s that?”

“I knew- fuck- I knew I could get you to let me go.”

Vigilante pulls back and grips your hips, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes to match his height. Then, he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Who said anything about letting you go? I could just take you home with me. Keep using this wet little cunt.” 

Oh, fuck.

“But you better fucking cum for me if you want to live.”

He sinks into you with a decisive thrust, forcing a gasp out of you. Your walls clench around his cock as he fills you up, grinding into you.

“Fuck,” you choke. “I’ve w-wanted you to take me like this for so long.”

It’s not a lie. You really have always wanted to fuck him in his mask.

Vigilante sets a pace in and out of you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the dimly lit bathroom. 

“Yeah, I bet you have... You’re such a fucking slut. Come on, fucking moan for me.”

You don’t need him to tell you to make noise for him. The whimper that escapes your lips as he pounds into you is feral. 

Vigilante’s fingers thread through your hair, and he pulls your head up so you lock eyes with him in the mirror. His red-tinted glare is intense; you’ve only ever seen him so focused like this when he’s fighting- and you’ve never been on the receiving end of this particular stare of his. You know this must be what the lawbreakers in Evergreen experience when they find out Vigilante’s coming after them.

“C’mon, look at me when you take it.”

You can only gasp for air in response as you watch his other hand slide around your torso to work firm circles over your clit. The sensation brings you dangerously closer to the brink, and you push your hips back into him, already desperate for your fast-approaching orgasm.

“Hey,” he growls, his grip tightening in your hair and jerking your head back up. “I said, look at me.”

Oh, god.

All you can do is stand there and let him use you. He thrusts into you, hitting just that right spot while you writhe on your tiptoes. 

“Fuck, fucking look at you.” Your cheeks burn, listening to the continuous, wet, sloppy sounds of him burying himself into your pussy, amplified by the echo of the tile. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Oh fuck,” you sob as he rubs harshly on your clit. “Oh my god, Adrian, I’m-”

“Who’s Adrian?” Vigilante says through gritted teeth. “Your boyfriend? He’s not gonna save you this time, you desperate fucking slut.”

Holy shit.

The atmosphere is sucked out of the air as you gasp for breath. Seeing stars, your vision blurs as the waves of your orgasm begin to crash over you. 

You can’t control yourself as you whine and cry out shamelessly while he fucks into you, pounding your g-spot over and over and over and over, rubbing his calloused fingers on your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill up your tight little cunt-” 

Your sob interrupts him as you feel your walls pulsing around his cock. He pushes as deep into you as your body allows, and the scream that you unleash is so loud that it seems to bounce off the tiled walls and- 

CRASH

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes- bring it down for me, baby,” you hear him sucking through his teeth as his cock throbs, spurting hot liquid inside you.

You ignore the ringing in your ears and keep pressing back, riding out the last of your orgasm. 

Fuck, your legs are weak from standing up on your toes. He grabs you tightly before you can fall forwards. 

You blink.

The bathroom mirror has smashed into a million pieces all over the sink and floor.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. This isn’t possible.

“Uh, Birdie…” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to come to terms with the scene before you. “Can I kiss you yet?” he asks.

You nod. He rips off his mask and tilts your head up to kiss him.

His hand is wrapped around your jaw as he kisses you, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his effort to put a lot of tenderness into the kiss, to slowly bring you both back to reality. It makes your chest swell- you want to caress his face too but-

“Stay still a sec.” He reaches around you and carefully extracts his knife from under the pile of broken glass in the sink so he can cut your wrists free. You shake your shoulders from the awkward position and allow him to spin you around, careful that you don’t stand on any pieces of the shattered mirror and scoop you up. Your still shaking knees wrap around his waist, and you hear his combat boots crunching on the glass as he carries you out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

Adrian unclips his chest plate and places it on the hotel room armchair. You watch silently as he strips from his rain-soaked suit to his boxers, hanging everything up neatly so it can dry. He does the same with your discarded dress, and you feel like your heart might burst as you watch him tidying up after you.

He crashes down on the bed, exhausted, puts his glasses back on and pulls you into a cuddle.

“There’s not much we can do about the mirror without a broom.” 

The smashed glass is the least of your worries. You give him an incredulous look and point to your throat.

“I’m pretty sure you can still talk, B.”

You shake your head, eyes burning as you try not to look up at him.

“C’mon- try. You’ve been talking for weeks now. You just haven’t screamed… like that.”

Haven’t I? Wait-

You remember in the Corvette when he made you cum. And now, come to think of it… you’re pretty sure your face was buried in his neck, so your moan of pleasure was muffled. 

And the doctor… the doctor did say they’d removed most of the growths on your vocal cords. Is it really possible your powers would only work when you actually screamed? Could you be that lucky? To have control of your abilities and to be with just the right person to test it out? It feels like more than you deserve.

Adrian.

Your stomach twists. You could have killed Adrian if you’d been facing the other way. 

“I-” you say tentatively, sitting up and looking away from Adrian just in case. “I feel sick”. 

Anxiety swirls in your stomach as you think about how close you’d come to killing him with your scream. You flop back onto the bed, your head in your hands.

“Nothing bad happened! Just a smashed mirror.”

“Adrian, I could have killed you.” You gulp, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“But you didn’t!”

“Adrian-”

“Well, you almost died tonight. So now we’re even because I almost died tonight. Shouldn’t we be bonding over the shared trauma?”

“Not funny.”

“If you think about it- it kind of is. Peacemaker would be cracking up right now if he knew you almost killed me.”

You cross your arms.

He has a goofy grin plastered over his face. “Am I gonna have to tickle you to make you laugh?”

You can’t help yourself crack a smile. He’s so stupidly carefree, even in the face of death. But it makes you soften all the same.

“Don’t you dare, Adrian Chase, or I’ll scream again.” You scramble away from his outstretched hands, but he grabs you, pinning you to the bed.

“See?” his fingers dig into your forearms as he plants kisses all over your face and chest, his slightly stubbly chin tickling your skin gently. “Look who’s making jokes now.”

You look up into his green eyes as he looms over you with a totally different energy than when he was in his Vigilante suit.

“You’re so mean and scary as Vigilante,” you pout.

“Well, you deserve it for being a big meanie the rest of the time,” he retorts and nibbles on your neck. “And that’s big talk for someone who nearly created her own supervillain origin story.”

The weight of him on you feels right somehow. Like you’ve been sleeping without a blanket your whole life, and now you have one. And it’s all yours. 

You’ve never felt so happy and content than when you’re with him. The sharp edges of you feel like they’re being slowly worn down by his presence. 

You want to say something to him, but you’re not sure how.

“Do you think you’re in love with me?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Weird way to tell me that you’re actually in love with me,” Adrian mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You laugh and try to think of something to change the subject, but he interrupts your train of thought.

“I know you are Birdie.” He says bluntly. He’s not making fun of you- he’s being sincere in the way that he always is when you need it most. “And I know you have a hard time saying stuff like that even though you’ve got your voice back.”

You can’t believe Adrian is being the more socially astute of the two of you.

“I-” You need to say it out loud. Get over this emotional barrier. For him. “I do. I do love you.”

“I knew that. You wouldn’t have moved from London if you didn’t. I love you too.”

“Well, obviously.” You say playfully because he knows you can be unserious for him when he needs it too.

He presses his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes, returning your grin.

“You know we’ve never had sex in an actual bed,” you say, bringing your legs up and crossing your calves behind his waist.

He looks up over his glasses, pausing in thought.

“You’re right!” 

Adrian suddenly clamps his hand over your mouth and lowers his lips to your ear. You squirm in delight.

“Let’s fix that.”

[sun-roach]

Unmasks your König

Why would you even say that to me?

What have I done to you?😭

[scorpio-015]

No, because what do they all have in common ?

[queenfishie]

Re watched “Into the Spider Verse” and I REFUSE that Spider-Noir looks like this btw,

PETERS FACE DOESNT MATCH NICK GODDAMN CAGES VOICE OKAY??

personal head cannon is that Spider Noir has more of a Jim Gordon look, man at least needs a mustache DAMMIT!

[itwasalladreamsworld]

Barbara Howard and Miranda Priestly: Two Sides of the Same Coin. In this essay I will...

[murcielagatito]

some fave fit moments

[kinkstone]

I'm a simple girl. You show me a tall scary looking man in a mask and suddenly I lost my pants

[spinebuster]

weirdest train ever but i’ll take it

[zwiiicnziiix]

read me

hello I'm Vivi, I'm 24, welcome to my eclectic pantry of interests.

this is my spam blog and I put all my trinkets here :)

If you need me to tag anything, send an ask/message me at any time

If you want to see my art/inspo for art you can find all that on my art blog over here

You can also find any info/links abt me here

if you just wanna talk you can do that via ask or messages, im not particularly picky

common tags are all tagged here

[get-more-bald]

I hate when people draw masked slashers maskless ❤️

[itsohh]

Heya! How do you feel about writing smut or anything for Karina Gaarddhøje? (AKA Nøkk). Since she is orange/yellow I'm really curious to know since she is one, if not my favorite.

Ubisoft has been giving us a lot more lore about her recently and I think I've sorta gotten a good feel to her characterisation, so yeah I'd certainly be down to give her a good go.

[hibiscera]

Obsessed with Killer Moth with his mask still on in prison.