#either way it'll end in ghosting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luv-lock · 1 month ago

Text

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤWHORE’S FANTASYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : John Constantine x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. Minors DNI. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You don't notice him at first.

Not really.

You're too busy tugging the hem of your cheap purple dress down over your thighs, smeared lipstick staining the corners of your mouth.

Mascara streams down your face, thick and ugly, like bleeding spiderlegs across dead eyes.

You’re half-high, half-drunk, standing barefoot behind the shitty little bar where the real dirtbags like to crawl, and you’re lighting another cigarette with shaking fingers. The end of it flares like a dying star, and you pull the smoke into your lungs like you’re hoping it'll fill the hollow parts of you.

You stink of alcohol.

You smell like roses.

You taste like regret and somebody else’s hands.

He sees you.

God help him, he sees you.

John Constantine, bastard mage, conman, addict, cynic — he’s not a savior. He’s not a white knight.

He's just another piece of shit who recognizes his own.

He flicks the end of his cigarette into the gutter and watches you struggle with the strap of your dress, tits half-hanging out in the yellow light of the alleyway.

You should look pathetic.

You should look cheap.

You do.

But somehow, you look... more, too.

There’s something about you, something cracked and shining and wrong.

Like a broken mirror catching all the wrong reflections.

Something that crawls under John's skin, burrows between his ribs and digs in sharp little claws.

He tells himself it's nothing.

Just another lost girl.

Just another night.

But he’s lying.

Already, he’s lying to himself.

He lights another cigarette and steps out of the dark.

“You alright there, love?” he rasps, voice like a bad memory, smoke curling from his lips.

You look at him with those dead doll-eyes. No fear. No real interest, either. Just this slow, heavy indifference like you're already halfway in the grave.

You shrug.

You hitch your dress up higher.

You don’t bother pretending to be shy. You gave up pretending a long time ago.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice raw from cheap whiskey and cheaper choices.

John should walk away.

He knows this kind of girl, the ones with nothing left to lose. They eat you alive without even meaning to. They rot you from the inside out.

He should turn around.

He should let you slip back into the filth where you came from.

Instead, he laughs.

Soft, almost pitying.

“Just a light, sweetheart,” he lies, flicking open his battered silver lighter even though his own cigarette is already burning between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious, but too tired to care.

You let him light your cigarette anyway, leaning in, close enough that he can smell the roses in your hair, the smoke on your skin, the slow stink of desperation leaking off you like cheap perfume.

You don't know it yet, but you've already cursed him.

That first night, he doesn't touch you.

He just watches you, out the corner of his eye, as you stumble back inside the bar, laughing that dry, broken laugh at something nobody else can hear.

He tells himself he won't come back.

He tells himself it's none of his business.

He tells himself he’s already got enough bloody ghosts to haunt him without adding another.

But he does come back.

Again.

And again.

You don't really notice him after that first night.

Not the way he notices you.

To you, he's just another face in the blurry noise of your nights — another man with a lighter, another set of boots tracking dirt across the floor.

You don't know he comes back.

Every night now.

You don't know he sits in the corner, half-drunk, chain-smoking, pretending to mind his own business while you keep carving pieces off yourself and handing them to anyone who asks.

You're too far gone to care.

Always high, always halfway between laughing and crying.

Your eyes — God, those fucking eyes —

half-lidded, lazy, dead as winter, but still so pretty it makes something sour twist in John's gut.

It happens on a Tuesday.

You’re outside again, the bar's back alley, slumped against the crumbling brick wall like a broken doll.

Dress bunched up around your hips, one shoe missing, a cigarette burning forgotten between your fingers.

You’re shaking. Coming down hard.

You’re muttering to yourself under your breath, something sharp and ugly.

John watches you for a long time before he moves.

He hates himself for it.

Hates that he cares.

But he moves anyway.

Without thinking, he fishes a crumpled wad of cash out of his coat pocket and crouches in front of you, holding it out like a white flag.

"Here," he says gruffly, avoiding your eyes. "Get y'self something to eat. A bed, maybe. Somethin' better than... this."

You blink at the money.

Then at him.

And then — slow, crooked grin splitting your face — you laugh.

That dry, brittle laugh, like something breaking.

You grab the cash with one hand — and with the other, you reach for his belt.

John freezes.

You’re clumsy, sluggish, but determined, tugging at his pants like it’s just the most natural thing in the world. Like this is just how the world works:

money = you.

"Y'wanna fuck me, right?" you slur, eyes glassy but sharp underneath. "Go on then, mister. Paid up, didn't you?"

He grabs your wrists, not rough but firm.

Pushes your hands away.

"Christ," he mutters, like a prayer, like a curse. "That’s not why—"

You tilt your head at him, mascara streaked down your cheeks, lips dry and cracked.

You look at him like he's the crazy one.

"Then why else you givin’ me money?" you ask, so blunt it cuts.

"No one gives girls like me free rides, mister."

You grin again, crooked and sad, and your dress slides even further up your thighs.

You don't even notice. Or maybe you do. Maybe you just don't care.

John exhales smoke through his nose, staring down at you, feeling something black and oily coil inside his chest.

"Pity," he says finally, bitter. "Maybe I’m a stupid sod with a savior complex. Maybe I’m just drunk."

You squint up at him through the smoke and the haze, studying him like he's some strange animal you've never seen before.

Then you shrug.

Simple. Easy.

Like you’ve already decided it doesn’t matter either way.

"Y'can fuck me if you want," you say, almost sweetly. "You're not ugly."

John laughs. A short, sharp, broken thing.

He almost wants to take you up on it, just to feel something real for a change.

Almost.

Instead, he shakes his head, rubs a hand down his face.

"Go sleep it off, love," he says, voice rough. "Get a hot meal. For once."

You clutch the money to your chest like it’s something hole.

Like it’s the first good thing anyone’s given you in a long time.

And you just smile at him —

this soft, stupid little smile that shouldn't hurt to look at, but somehow does.

John tells himself it's still just pity.

Just a bit of guilt, a bit of bleeding heart nonsense.

But when you stumble away into the night, barefoot and laughing under your breath, he stays there, standing in the alleyway like a man who's just been punched in the gut.

And he watches you go, smoke curling around him, cigarette burning down to the filter between his shaking fingers.

He doesn't leave.

Not for a long, long time.

He sees you again three days later.

He’s not looking for you —

at least that’s what he tells himself.

Just grabbing a pint.

Just passing through.

You find him first.

"Hey, mister."

Your voice cuts through the noise.

Soft. Small. Almost shy.

He turns, half expecting the same disaster he left behind in that alley —

the smeared makeup, the too-short dress, the wild deadness in your eyes.

But you’re different this time.

You're...

sober.

No makeup.

No booze in your veins.

No cigarette dangling from your fingers.

Just you —

barefaced, raw, skin looking almost too thin for your bones, but real.

Alive.

You stand there awkwardly, hands buried deep in the pockets of a too-big hoodie, cheap sneakers scuffing the pavement.

You don’t look like the kind of girl who sells herself to survive.

You just look like a girl.

"I’m not a beggar," you say suddenly, fidgeting. "But... thanks. For the money."

John blinks, caught off guard.

You flash a little smile — nervous, genuine, heartbreaking.

"Mister's a good man," you say.

It punches something deep in his gut.

He’s not.

You’re wrong.

He’s done worse than you could imagine.

But you say it like you believe it. Like it’s fact. Like it's written somewhere in a book bigger than either of you.

He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"You hungry?" he hears himself asking.

You light up. Not much, but enough.

A flicker. A spark.

"Yeah," you say simply.

You spend the day together.

It’s stupid.

It’s perfect.

You get street food — cheap, greasy chips wrapped in newspaper.

You drag him through the streets like a manic little hurricane, pointing out dogs that look like goblins, shouting compliments at old ladies, daring him to race you down alleyways.

At one point, you find a children's park — some half-dead little patch of grass and rusting swings.

You bolt for it like a kid.

"C'mon, mister!" you holler, kicking your shoes off and running barefoot through the patchy grass. "Play with me!"

John stands there like an idiot for a second, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

Then he sighs. Drops the smoke. Crushes it under his boot.

And jogs after you.

You end up pushing each other on the swings, spinning until you're both dizzy, laughing like two drunk ghosts.

You even convince him to climb the jungle gym — which ends with him cursing and almost falling on his ass.

You laugh until you wheeze.

He grins despite himself.

You’re smiling.

Really smiling.

Not that broken, brittle thing he’s seen before.

This one’s messy and real and full of life, like you don’t know you’re supposed to be miserable.

For a few hours, you’re not a ghost.

You’re just a girl.

Later, you sit side by side on the grass, lighting cigarettes with shaking hands.

The sun's sinking, staining the sky blood-red.

John takes a drag, exhales smoke in a long, slow stream.

"You..." he starts, hesitates. Scratches the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.

"You gonna... y'know. Work. Tonight?"

You turn your head slowly toward him.

Wide eyes.

Clear and open and a little confused, like you genuinely don't understand the question at first.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp, bright, cutting.

"Why?" you grin wickedly, teeth flashing. "Mister wanna make his money’s worth?"

John winces.

You elbow him lightly, still laughing under your breath, cigarette bobbing between your fingers.

"Nah," you say finally, settling back on your elbows, face tipped toward the sky.

"I’m good. Probably won’t need to for a week, thanks to you."

You tap ash into the grass.

"Guess you bought me a vacation, mister."

There’s a strange peace in your voice.

No bitterness. No shame.

Just simple, stupid gratitude.

John wants to say something —

something clever, something to fill the aching silence between you —

but the words stick in his throat.

You crush the cigarette out on the sole of your sneaker, rising to your feet in one fluid, tired motion.

"See ya, Mister," you say, tossing a lazy wave over your shoulder as you drift away into the gathering dark.

John stays where he is, sitting on the grass, smoke curling around him like a noose.

He watches you go.

Again.

And he tells himself it’s just pity.

Still just pity.

It’s a week later.

Exactly a week.

John remembers, because you said it.

Because your voice — lazy and teasing and sweetly poisonous — stuck in his bloody head like a song he can’t turn off.

"Probably for a week," you’d laughed.

And now it's been seven days.

He tells himself he’s just passing through.

That he’s not looking for you.

He’s lying to himself. He knows it.

The night air smells like piss and diesel.

The streets are sticky with old rain and regret.

The city yawns open, ugly and hungry, swallowing girls like you whole.

He’s late.

He knows it the second he spots you.

You’re stumbling down a filthy back alley, shoes dangling from one hand, the other hand dragging along the brick wall for balance.

You’re half-folded over, bent at the waist like you’re trying to walk on a sinking ship.

Your pretty dress is twisted.

Your hair’s a mess.

Your mascara — the little you bothered with tonight — is bleeding down your cheeks.

You giggle.

It’s a wet, broken sound.

You take two more steps, your legs buckling.

John’s moving before he can even think.

You're about to hit the concrete when John lunges forward and catches you.

"Whoa there, love," he mutters, arms wrapping around your shaking frame.

You giggle again, breathless against his chest.

"Heyyy, Misterrrr," you slur, blinking up at him with those wide, beautiful, dead eyes. "You gonna fuck me nowww?"

John frowns, adjusting his grip on you.

Your body is practically boneless in his arms, and you reek of cheap booze and something sweeter underneath —

roses wilting in dirty water.

"You alright, pet?" he tries, voice low.

You don’t answer.

Just hum some tuneless nonsense under your breath.

Your fingers tug weakly at the sleeve of his coat like a child needing comfort.

"Christ," he mutters, pulling you closer.

"You’re a bloody mess."

You nod cheerfully like you heard him, but you're not really there, not really.

Your head lolls back and you grin up at him — wide, dumb, beautiful — before you suddenly double over and—

you vomit all over him.

All over his coat, his shirt, his bloody boots.

John grimaces, steadying you as your whole body shudders.

"That's alright, love," he says quietly, patting your back while you cough and gasp and sag against him.

Still — something twists deep in his gut.

Doesn’t even think about it.

Instead, he just tightens his grip and scoops you up —

like you’re something precious, something fragile, something he’s terrified might break if he’s not careful.

He takes you to his flat.

It’s not much —

just a shitty little place that smells like old books, cigarettes, and alcohol.

But it’s clean.

It’s safe.

He strips off his ruined coat, tosses it into the sink, and carries you to the couch.

You’re half-passed out by the time he gets you there.

You’re murmuring under your breath, little nonsense things, like a kid muttering in their sleep.

John finds a blanket.

Tugs it up around your chin.

Your face is flushed.

Your lips are parted.

You look so fucking young like this. So stupidly young and vulnerable.

He pulls a chair close to the couch and sinks into it heavily, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

He watches you.

He watches you all night.

He doesn't move.

Doesn’t sleep.

Not really.

When he finally dozes off — just for a moment — the dream hits him hard.

It’s you.

Of course it’s you.

Your body under his.

Your mouth gasping his name.

Your nails digging into his skin.

Hot and dirty and desperate.

His.

He jerks awake with a sick, guilty twist in his gut, heart hammering against his ribs.

You’re still sleeping, innocent and oblivious, curled up like a child under the blanket he gave you.

John scrubs a hand down his face.

"Fucking hell," he mutters.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You don’t remember a damn thing when you finally stir hours later.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket like a cocoon, staring down at your hands.

When you see him, you blink.

Confused.

Flickering through memories that aren’t quite there.

"I... um," you start, frowning. "Did I...?"

"You threw up on me," John says dryly, tossing a clean t-shirt over the back of the chair.

"And passed out. Real classy."

You flush — a soft, miserable red creeping up your neck.

"Sorry, mister," you mumble, cheeks burning. "Didn’t mean to be a bother."

John ruffles your hair, chuckling dryly.

"S’nothin’, love. You’re alright."

You sip the coffee that he gave you, curling your bare legs under you, shrinking into yourself like a kicked dog.

John doesn’t like that look on you.

Not one bit.

He makes you breakfast —

burnt toast and greasy eggs and orange juice that tastes like tar.

You eat like you haven’t had a real meal in days.

He watches you across the table, smoking and pretending he’s not watching.

When you’re finished, you wipe your mouth on your sleeve and stand up awkwardly.

"I should... go," you say, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"I'll drop you," John says quickly — too quickly.

You blink at him, surprised.

"Really, mister. It's fine—"

"I insist," he says, already grabbing his keys.

He tells himself it’s just to make sure you get home safe.

He tells himself it’s not because he needs to know where you live.

He’s lying again.

The walk to your place is quiet.

You lead him through crumbling back alleys and graffiti-smeared stairwells until you reach a battered old building that looks half-abandoned.

You pause at the front door, shifting from foot to foot.

"This is me," you say softly.

You smile — small and sad and shy.

"Thanks, mister," you add. "For... y'know. Not letting me die in a gutter."

John shrugs like it’s nothing.

Like it didn’t cost him anything.

Like he didn’t dream about you all fucking night.

You wave again —

that same lazy little wave —

and disappear inside.

John stands there for a long time after you’re gone.

Smoking.

Thinking.

Feeling things he doesn’t want to name.

He can’t stop thinking about you after that.

He tells himself he’s just worried.

Just making sure you’re alright.

But it’s not just that.

It’s the way you looked curled up in his blanket.

It’s the way you smiled at him like he was the only good thing in a world full of monsters.

It’s the sound of your voice — broken, brutal, beautiful.

He starts going back to the places he might find you.

Starts listening for your laugh.

Starts noticing every girl with a cigarette and mascara-smudged eyes and thinking, There she is. That’s her.

But it’s never you.

And the empty ache in his chest just grows bigger and bigger.

It becomes a ritual after that.

Every night now, John comes to take you home.

Doesn’t matter where you are, what you're doing.

He finds you.

In some shit-stained alley.

In the back of some filthy dive bar.

In the arms of strangers.

Sometimes he catches you mid-fuck —

bent over some broken table, some guy's hands bruising your hips, your eyes half-closed, mouth open but silent.

Sometimes you’re wiping your face with the back of your hand when he gets there.

Cum glistening on your cheeks, your lashes, your lips.

John doesn't say anything.

Doesn't yell.

Doesn't judge.

He just shrugs out of his coat, drapes it over your shoulders, and leads you away like he’s guiding a sleepwalker.

But it eats him alive.

Every time he sees another man's hands on you, another man's cum dripping down your chin —

something black and ugly and furious wakes up inside him.

He hates it.

He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his cursed, miserable life.

So he starts giving you money.

Not much, at first.

Crumpled bills tucked into your pocket with a gruff, embarrassed cough.

"Buy yourself a proper meal, yeah?" he mutters, looking anywhere but at you.

You smile — that soft, broken little smile — and take it without question.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t ask for more.

But John sees the change almost immediately.

You stop letting strange men touch you.

Stop letting them buy your drinks, pull you into dark corners.

You cling to John instead.

Follow him home like a stray cat.

Sleep curled up on his couch, wearing his t-shirts, stealing his cigarettes.

And he lets you.

He fucking lets you because somewhere along the way, he stopped being your savior.

And started being your jailer.

You just don’t realize it yet.

You trust him.

God help you, you trust him because he’s the only man who hasn’t tried to fuck you.

The only man who doesn’t look at you like you're a thing to be used and thrown away.

John keeps telling himself that's all it is.

That he just wants to protect you.

That it’s not about the way your t-shirts ride up over your thighs when you stretch.

Not about the way your bra strap slips off your shoulder when you laugh.

Not about the way your lips wrap around the neck of a beer bottle absent-mindedly when you're not even thinking about it.

It’s not about any of that.

It’s not.

Until the night it is.

You're sitting on the couch, barefoot and cross-legged, wearing one of his shirts that’s far too big on you.

Talking.

You were rambling about your past again—

About shitty foster homes and shittier men.

About how you learned real young what men really wanted.

About how you stopped believing in fairytales because your prince charming turned out to be another monster with rough hands and a mean mouth.

You were laughing when you said it.

That pretty, broken laugh of yours.

Like it didn’t hurt anymore.

Like you didn’t care.

John should be listening.

He really should.

But he’s not.

He’s staring.

At your lips, moving so soft and easy.

At your chest, rising and falling with every careless breath.

At the hint of skin peeking out when you shift, the worn fabric of his shirt clinging to the curve of your tits.

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans.

Hardening.

Throbbing.

And suddenly he’s not hearing a word you're saying anymore.

Just staring.

Just wanting.

You don’t notice at first.

You're still talking —

some story about some bastard who left you bruised and bleeding and crying at a bus stop.

But then you glance at him.

Catch the way his eyes are dark and heavy and fixed on your mouth.

Catch the obvious, aching bulge in his jeans.

Your smile falters —

just for a second.

Just a flicker of something sad and brittle flashing across your face.

And then you smile again.

A dull, tired smile.

Like you're used to this.

Like you expected it all along.

Like it doesn’t even hurt anymore.

You crawl across the couch to him.

Settle between his knees.

Fingers working open his belt like it's just another job, just another disappointment.

John grabs your wrists.

"Wait," he rasps, voice cracked and desperate.

You look up at him.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just resigned.

"’S'alright, mister," you murmur, that flat smile never leaving your lips. "You’re different, yeah? It’s fine."

He wants to tell you no.

Wants to shove you away and run and never see you again.

But he doesn’t.

He lets you.

Lets you free him from his jeans, your small hands working his cock free, hard and throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

Lets you take him into your mouth —

warm and wet and willing.

Lets you suck him off slowly, lazily, like you're doing him a favor you don't even care about.

And it feels good.

God, it feels so fucking good.

Better than anything he’s had in years.

Better than magic.

Better than whiskey.

Better than the cigarettes burning a hole in his lungs.

He groans low and broken, one hand finding its way into your hair, guiding you with trembling fingers.

You don't protest.

You don't flinch.

You just take it.

Take him.

Until he’s spilling into your mouth with a raw, guttural gasp, the world going white around the edges.

Afterwards, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Still smiling that awful, empty smile.

John pulls his jeans back up with shaking hands.

Silence stretches thick and suffocating between you.

Finally he croaks out, "Do you... do you hate me now?"

You tilt your head at him, considering.

Shrug.

"Hate’s a strong word," you say lightly. "I'm just disappointed."

The words slice into him sharper than any blade.

But you don’t seem to notice.

Or maybe you just don’t care.

You stand up, stretch your arms over your head, and yawn like a cat.

"It’s fine," you add, already wandering toward the kitchen.

"Not that it matters. You're the one paying me now, right? ‘S'all good."

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything.

Worse than if you had screamed at him.

Worse than if you had slapped him across the face.

He just sat there, jeans still undone, staring at you.

At the hollow place where your soul used to be.

At the pretty, broken thing he was slowly making his own.

After that night, something inside you changes.

You’re not sweet anymore.

You’re not soft.

You still smile —

God, you always smile —

but it’s dull now.

Lifeless.

Like a neon sign buzzing in a dead city.

You're full.

Full of disappointment, full of resignation, full of the ugly truth.

John's just another piece of trash.

No different from the rest.

Just another man who wanted something from you, no matter how pretty he dressed it up.

John tries to pretend it’s love.

Tries to kiss you like you're a fucking miracle. Tries to touch you like you're made of something holy.

But you're not.

You’re empty.

You're a vessel. A cracked and leaking thing.

And he’s just another man filling you up with his filth.

Another Mister who wants something and takes it.

You don't hate him.

You don't love him either.

You just accept it.

Same as you always do.

Then it happens again.

And again.

You don’t protest.

You don’t pull away.

You let him touch you.

Let him rut against you.

Let him use you.

But you don't feel it.

Not really.

You don't kiss him with your mouth.

You kiss him with your absence.

You moan because you know he likes it.

You arch your back because that's what they want.

You scratch your nails down his spine because someone taught you that men like to feel owned, just a little.

But your eyes are always distant.

Wandering.

Dead.

John notices.

He notices everything.

How you never meet his eyes anymore.

How your smile never reaches your cheeks.

How you don't fall asleep curled against him like you used to.

You just lie there —

cold, silent, naked —

like a broken doll someone forgot to put away.

Sometimes, when he’s fucking you, he talks to you.

Whispers your name into your neck.

Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how much he needs you.

You don’t answer.

You just whimper prettily when you think you’re supposed to.

It drives him insane.

Because you’re there —

but you’re not.

He can touch you, own you, fill you —

but he can’t reach you.

You’re a locked room he lost the key to.

You’re a dead girl smiling.

One night, he’s rougher than usual.

Not violent.

Just desperate.

Hands grabbing too tight.

Mouth bruising your skin.

Fucking you deep and hard, like he's trying to break through whatever walls you’ve built between you.

You let him.

You always let him.

Afterward, he collapses beside you, panting, sticky with sweat and shame.

You roll away from him, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Silent.

Smiling.

He touches your hair, brushes it back from your face.

"You’re not... you're not mad, are you, love?" he asks, voice raw.

You blink slowly, still smiling that awful, empty smile.

"Nah," you murmur. "You’re just Mister, right?"

You say it so sweetly.

So gently.

And it cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

John doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to fix this.

Doesn’t know if he can.

So he just lies there, listening to you breathe, feeling the space between you turn colder and colder.

Like a grave filling up with dirt.

After that, it gets worse.

The sex is mechanical now.

A transaction.

A ritual.

He gives you money.

You give him your body.

He holds you like a lover.

You let him.

He kisses you like you're precious.

You let him.

He tells you he needs you.

You let him.

But in your eyes —

God, in your eyes —

he sees it.

The truth.

He’s no different.

He’s nothing special.

He’s just another man who fucked you when you were too broken to fight back.

Just another name on the list you’ll forget one day when you're drunk enough, dead enough, free enough.

And the worst part?

You don’t even blame him.

You just accept it.

Because that’s all you’ve ever known.

And John...

he hates himself more every day.

But he still keeps coming back.

Keeps reaching for you like a man dying of thirst reaching for a poisoned cup.

Keeps hoping for a miracle that never comes.

Because you’re already dead inside.

And he’s the fool who helped bury you.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

801 notes · View notes

whateveriwant · 1 year ago

Note

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

4K notes · View notes

uvobreakmylegs · 6 months ago

Text

We'll Never Know the Place

title is from a Fever the Ghost song that felt appropriate for this piece

Part 2 (Phinks x reader)

Chrollo x Cute Hunter!reader

Warnings: death, torture, gore, body horror, mentions of captivity, implied kidnapping

Word Count: 7.9k

“You don't need me for this.”

Chrollo paused in his step, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder as he looked back at you. Feitan halted as well, having been making his way out of the room, and you felt the way he watched you, his expression no doubt turning to one of concern and displeasure at the fact that you were already kicking up a fuss.

Despite having both of these particular men staring at you, you didn't meet the gaze of either; your attention was on focused solely on the unknown male in the chair that sat in the center of the room.

He was slumped forward, his short, dirty blonde hair covering his face somewhat while the blood that had dripped down from his neck stained the bare skin of his torso. It had gone on to soak into the material of his pants before it ultimately created a puddle on the seat of the chair beneath him and dripped off the edge as it continued to pool below. He was only able to lean forward to a certain extent as his wrists were firmly secured to the arms of the chair by way of two pieces of thick rope that kept him firmly attached and thoroughly unable to get away from whatever he had been put through. Which had undoubtedly been a lot, based on what you had heard before and from what you could see now. There were several fingers missing on both of his hands, you noted, as well as something that was off with the skin of his left bicep that appeared to be blackened. A glance at his legs revealed that one of them had been broken severely as it was bruised and bent beyond belief.

There was more damage – there was always more damage with the things Feitan did to people – and while you didn't want to know what it was, the things you could smell clued you in to what he had done to this man. A distinct burning smell, combined with an odor so foul that it made you want to vomit.

The man was dead. Obviously, as you wouldn't have been brought in otherwise.

You had known this was coming, too. After hours of hearing him scream and cry and beg for the pain to cease, you knew what would be happening once Feitan stepped into the main room where the troupe was gathered and whispered something into Chrollo's ear. That had been followed by a quick nod of acknowledgment by Chrollo before he ordered the torturer to end the man's life. You knew that, not long after, the head of the troupe would stand and tell you to follow.

You knew what he expected from you, and there was absolutely no part of you that wanted to go through with it.

“You don't need me for this,” you repeated.

Chrollo stared at you over the fine white fur that lined his coat, his gaze unyielding and his presence as oppressive as ever.

Then he spoke your name, his tone stern.

“I would have thought by now that you knew how useless of an effort it is to try and get out of this,” he continued.

“Insisting on using my ability is stupid,” you argued. You stepped backwards despite knowing Feitan was right behind you. He was watching you carefully as well, likely poised to grab you if you made any attempt to run.

You weren't going to do that. But you would argue with Chrollo.

“Shizuku is right outside,” you continued, “Blinky is better suited for this. It'll take literally a second if you have her do it. Just use her and leave me out of it.”

Chrollo observed you silently, his gray eyes watching as you tried to convince him that Shizuku was the better option for what he wanted. Your argument wasn't just a way of a bullshitting to get out of what you didn't want. You knew that you were right. More importantly, he knew you were right.

But those cold eyes remained impassive no matter what you said.

“I brought you here for a reason,” Chrollo told you, “now I need you to do your part.”

His tone was a tad more dangerous that time, and that was enough to put the fear into you as you tore your gaze away and looked to the side, your fists clenching hard enough that the way your nails were digging into your palms was starting to cause you pain.

“….. I don't want to,” you answered.

“That's a shame,” he said.

He then turned so he faced the body of the man as he said “but I'm afraid this is the last chance you'll get to do it of your own volition before I'm forced to make you do so.”

“……”

There was little other choice than to do it before it got to that point, you told yourself. Otherwise he would give that order, and a sharp pain would form in your skull, getting worse and causing you absolute agony until you did as he had told you. Nor would it end there, as your defiance going that far would mean trouble for you once the troupe's business had finished and you were left alone with Chrollo again. You hated the way he was able to control you, but there wasn't anything else you could do. It was a lose-lose situation.

With a frown on your face and your eyes cast downward, you steeled yourself before you began approaching the man's body, your clenched fists shaking ever so slightly as you made your legs walk you forward.

I hate this

You kept your gaze downwards as you walked by Chrollo, keeping your eyes only on what was directly in front of your feet, not wanting to make more eye contact with him than was necessary. A small bit of defiance that did little to affect him, you knew, but it was all you could do.

How childish, you could hear him say in that subtly mocking tone that you were all too familiar with.

I hate you

After a few moments, you heard Feitan's footsteps walking out of the room before growing quieter. He had stayed when you had spoken out, his warning gaze heavy upon you as you had felt him silently urge you to do as Chrollo had said. Now that you were getting down to business, he was gone, having returned to that main room to sit with the others.

He knew what Chrollo was making you do, as did the rest of them.

I hate every last one of you

They were aware of those feelings of yours as well, and for certain members, it bothered them deeply. They didn't like how upset you became with them, nor how emotional you would get when Chrollo put your abilities to work. But no matter how much it bothered those members, all of them were in support of their boss.

None of them would ever come to your aid. All because in their minds, you were the one who was in the wrong.

The burnt odor coming from the man was stronger when you moved closer to him. Once you were standing directly in front of him, you were able to confirm that the darkened mark on his bicep was, in fact, a burn mark. The sight had you biting your lip in disgust as you thought of the agony he had gone through at the unfortunately creative hands of Feitan and the wide variety of pain he had no doubt experienced before his throat was finally slit wide open.

Hopefully with everything else that had happened, that final slicing of flesh wouldn't have been as painful.

Hopefully.

A cursory glance about the room revealed the moderately sized wooden box that Feitan had been using as a table that was stuck in the corner, as his tools were lined up neatly on top of it. Almost all of them were covered in blood. When you narrowed your gaze, you saw bits of flesh that were still stuck to the metal.

Chrollo already knew what you were thinking.

“Take care of whatever is left over of him over there,” he began, “but you're to do nothing that alters Feitan's tools.”

…. Damn. It looked as though that stunt of yours from last time really was a one time only thing, much to your disappointment. But it wasn't that surprising.

If Chrollo was ever to make a mistake, he only made it once.

Turning your attention back to the man's body, you kept your focus on him while Chrollo stood behind you, watching your every move as you prepared to use your nen. Thoughts of what would work best in the environment and how much you needed to alter came to mind, but first….. First was to make him more presentable. To give him at least a little bit of dignity in death. Because at the end of the day, he was a person who had a life, goals and ambitions, all of which had been snuffed out for the sake of whatever it was the troupe was up to now.

Was it possible that he had been just as bad as Chrollo and the others? Or potentially even worse? Yes.

But you still wanted to show some kindness.

You began by undoing the ties around his wrists, and immediately you found that the rope had been wrapped so tightly that the skin in that area was raw and bleeding, some of it even scraped away against the harsh material that bound him. How much had he attempted to break those bindings while Feitan was removing his fingers?

It didn't matter, you told yourself, because you were undoing them now. Once both pieces of rope were untied and laying on the ground beside him, you placed his hands upon his lap which allowed you to hide the stumps of his fingers somewhat. Though that action caused him to lean too far forward and you were forced to adjust him before he fell over onto the floor. You quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him so he would lean back, and that made his head roll backwards as it followed the pull of gravity.

Now not only did you have a good look at that awful gash in his throat, but also the lifelessness in his unblinking eyes and the way in which his slack jaw hung open.

…. You could fix this. While you couldn't do anything about his throat, you could fix the way his expression looked.

Placing both of your thumbs over his eyelids, you gently pulled them shut. Then, while you kept your thumbs pressed over his eyes, you exerted a tiny bit of your nen that spread over the lids. When you pulled your hands away, his eyes stayed closed. You did the same with his jaw, locking the joints in place so his mouth would no longer hang wide open. When that was done, you stepped away, and the nen you had infused into those places on his face stayed strong. With his face looking like that, it was as though he was sleeping.

Even though that illusion was quickly shattered with one glance towards his throat, that felt better to you.

The other person in the room was clearly of a different opinion.

“You're wasting effort, love. No one who cared for him will know what you did,” Chrollo told you.

You frowned.

“He was a person; he deserves respect, even if it's just this much,” you answered.

“He was a person who existed outside of the troupe,” Chrollo corrected, “therefore he isn't important.”

“Maybe not to you.”

Damn it. Your voice was already starting to crack.

Chrollo noticed that as well and wasted no time in pouncing on your vulnerability.

“You haven't even begun and you're ready to shed tears?” he asked.

“With the things you make me do, what do you expect?” you responded bitterly.

“I expected that you would have grown used to this.”

“Maybe if being involved in this awful shit was something that I actually wanted,” you said, “but I still don't, and I never will.”

He didn't respond that time. Instead, as you were looking at the body of the unknown man and trying to figure out if there was anything else you could do for him, you heard movement coming from behind you as Chrollo walked to the side of the room. What he was doing was obvious when you heard the sounds of chair legs scraping against the concrete floor before they were lifted into the air, and then again moments later, when they were placed a few feet from where you were standing and directly in front of the dead man. An aged chair creaked as Chrollo settled down upon it, and suddenly the full intensity of his gaze was upon you once more.

“Whenever you're ready, love.”

“….”

There was no more stalling to be had, then. Nothing more you could do to put this off. Chrollo probably felt as though he'd been generous in allowing you to take your time and do what he felt were pointless actions in rearranging the man's body. After all, the troupe was still in the middle of a job, and he wanted you to get on with it so they could continue with the current loose end being fully tied up.

If you took any longer he would invoke that pain on you again.

With a deep sigh, you activated your hatsu.

Revival Gardener

In moments, your nen had conjured up your watering can. Moderately sized and brightly colored, it stood out among the gray rock and rotting wood of the abandoned room. The can itself was a pastel yellow and adorned with pink accents, topped off by the two handles that were shaped to resemble cartoonishly cute hearts. It was very likely that if there was ever a magical girl character with abilities that were focused on gardening, your watering can would surely be in her inventory. The light purple packet of seeds that was also adorned with hearts fell into your palm after the watering can, and you figured that would likely also be something she would use, though you wondered how her abilities might differ from yours.

Maybe she would've been smart and would have some sort of ability that was more effective in combat.

As interesting as it might have been to consider the show about a hypothetical magical gardening girl, you couldn't focus on that forever. Definitely not with Chrollo staring down your back. Placing the empty watering can on the floor next to you, you adjusted the packet in your hand, both sides of which were left blank, and reached into your pocket for a pen as you looked to the man again.

His body, his clothes, the chair, and the blood that had been dripped and spattered across the floor. Four things to make note of. Another glance over at Feitan's tools and the blood and gore that covered them, not to mention the blood trail that led from them and back to the body. You would need to make sure you covered all of that area as well.

With all that Revival Gardener was capable of, it sadly wouldn't be a difficult task.

Holding the pen to the packet, you began to write:

Male human body

Adult's clothing

You were about to write down shoes when you stopped to double check yourself. It turned out he wasn't wearing any shoes, so that wasn't something you needed to bother with. You continued with the list.

Wooden chair with rope

Human blood

….. That was it. After double and triple checking what was before you and what you had written down, that was all you needed to change. You flipped to the other side of the packet which had yet to be filled in, and you paused a moment as you decided what you would write.

During that time, you didn't hear anything from Chrollo. He stayed silent as you wrote on the packet, but you could tell that his gaze was still on you. You didn't need to turn your head to confirm that.

After a moment of pondering, you decided to write the word “lavender”. The area the building was in was appropriate for it, with dry temperatures and lots of sunlight. That would grow well here.

With the decision made, the pen went back into your pocket, and you ripped open the packet before dumping the entire thing into the watering can. The seeds, the packet and the words you had written all broke apart within the space of the can, transforming into liquid that began to swirl about within your conjured creation, emitting a soft purple glow as it filled the can to the brim.

When the water stilled was when you could begin, and now with the can in hand, you looked again to the dead man. Exhaling a shaky breath as you clenched the the handles tightly, you took a few more moments before lifting the can above him, and with a tilt of your hands, you proceeded to pour the contents upon the poor man's body. He was quickly soaked from the water while the blood was washed down all over him, pooling in that same place in the seat of the chair. The chair was soaked as well; you made sure of that as you walked around it to make sure you covered every inch.

The body, the clothes, the chair, the blood. All of the blood. You needed to take a few steps back as you covered the floor in the unending water, making sure that you got every last stray drop.

All of it needed to be changed.

The man still looked as though he was sleeping as the water ran down his face and caused his hair to stick to his forehead. The blood from his neck washed down fast, however, joining the growing puddle beneath him that now had the water mixed in.

You then walked over to where Feitan's tools sat and poured the water over them. Though the box and the tools were quickly soaked as well, those items would remain as they were once this was over.

The last thing to be done was to cover the floor where the blood had dropped between the tools and the chair, and just like everything else, the water soon engulfed it.

When you returned to the body to make sure you had gotten everything was when the conjured water finally ran out.

With that, the first part was done.

You took a step back, staying behind the body while your watering can vanished. The second half of the process was going to begin soon, and you needed to watch all of it.

Chrollo chose then to speak once more.

“Come sit with me, love.”

You looked over to him and frowned when you found him motioning to an empty chair that sat beside him. The temptation was there to refuse and insist that you would stand for the rest of it. But just like everything else, this wasn't something you could get out of no matter how much you protested.

You remained silent as you walked around the body and took your place by Chrollo's side, your eyes immediately going back to the man while you gripped at your knees while you desperately hoped that, just once, Chrollo would refrain from saying anything further. Even though you knew that was incredibly unlikely, both due to the fact that there was a fair amount of time that needed to be filled out before you could leave this room, and because there was no way Chrollo would overlook your continued resistance.

Still, you dared to hope that he might, just this once, keep quiet while you suffered.

But of course that didn't happen.

“You know that it doesn't need to be this way, love,” he began.

You frowned again.

“You're right; it doesn't,” you agreed, “and yet you're dead set on forcing things to be this awful.”

You then cut him off before he could speak, saying “don't bother telling me that I'm the one making things difficult. I'm sick of hearing it.”

Chrollo let out a hum in response. Hearing that only had your frown deepen while your hands clutched at your knees harder, all the while you kept your gaze focused on the body. There was no change to be seen as of yet. But that would take a little while, as it always started internally before spreading out beyond.

Right now the man still looked like he was sleeping.

“Have our discussions become so stale that you immediately know what I'm going to say?” he asked.

“They only ever go around in circles. Honestly, I would've thought you'd be sick of the same conversations over and over,” you said.

“Be sick of them? Never.”

Chrollo leaned forward on his knees as he gazed at you, and from your peripheral vision, you saw the serious look on his face as he told you “if it's a chance to help you, then I'll gladly have the same conversation tens of thousands of times.”

“You're not helping me.”

“I am, love. You just aren't able to see it yet.”

“Because kidnapping me and making me dispose of your victims is such a great way to help someone,” you sarcastically answered.

The man's body shifted somewhat as he slouched back in the seat, though even now he still appeared to be asleep.

“I'm putting your abilities to good use,” Chrollo countered, casting his gaze towards the body as well.

“They weren't meant for this.”

“And yet they work quite nicely.”

“Shizuku's ability is more effective.”

“So you've said.”

Chrollo leaned back in his seat as he continued “but Shizuku isn't the one that I'm worried about.”

You scoffed.

“You're trying to say that you're worried about me?”

“I am.”

You shook your head.

“That's a lie. You're not worried; you just want to control me,” you said.

“That's not true.”

“How is it not? You took me away from my work when I didn't want to go with you and you used one of your stolen abilities to make me do what you want. How is that anything other than you controlling me?”

“Because it's for your own good,” he answered.

“I think I know what's good for me.”

“And I say that you don't,” said Chrollo, “the others are in agreement with me.”

Because all of you are monsters

You couldn't say that part. Because even though you knew it to be true, there was no way you could bring yourself to voice such a thing. You had grown up with Chrollo and most of the others, after all. All of you living together and finding those little scraps of happiness within that city of junk and decay.

Even though you hated the people they had become and you made that feeling of them clear, there was still some affection you had for them, for the children they had once been and who were now nowhere to be found.

The man's body twitched, arms and legs moving in response to your nen.

Already there was bile building up at the back of your mouth. You hated how you now recognized that as being a sign that his nervous system was in the process of changing. Just how many times had you been made to do this now? You could count them if you really wanted to, but once again you kept yourself from doing so. The exact number didn't matter. The fact that you were being made to do this at all was awful enough.

Chrollo had paid no attention to the current condition of the body, his focus back on you as he asked “have we already reached the point where you ignore me? I thought we had a bit more banter to go through before that happened.”

Your scowl remained on your face as you replied “for someone who claims to be worried about me, you sure do take a lot of time to mock me.”

“I'm afraid that can only be blamed on you, love. I care about you deeply, but you make it difficult when you kick and scream at me in an attempt to test my patience.”

Hearing that made you bite your lip in frustration; he was making it sound like you were a child throwing a tantrum. That alone was enough to make you want to hit him. Not that it would do you any good, even if, in the moment, it might have been slightly satisfying.

But just like you had told yourself before, the repercussions of such an action would come fast and harsh once the troupe dispersed.

…. Maybe that was pathetic of you. That you, a Hunter, would allow something as simple as pain be enough to give him leverage over you. Weren't you supposed to be stronger? After passing the trials of your exam, how was that enough for him to control you?

Then again, you hadn't taken the exam in the hopes of proving your strength or even in the hopes of becoming stronger. Getting that license was simply the easiest way to achieve your goal.

The chair beneath the man groaned and the legs began to buckle, bending slightly forward while green began to appear in the blood soaked wood. The ropes that had been left on the floor were also being overtaken by the green color, and upon the surface of the floor that was marred by his blood, small sprouts were starting to appear.

With the way the front legs had bent forward, the man's body lurched over, his upper half leaning against one of the chair handles. Despite the change of position, his face was still largely facing towards you, and the sense of peace you had tried to grant him by shutting his eyes and mouth was still there somewhat, even with the awkward position his body was in.

You hated this. You hated that you needed to watch the body of this unknown man being slowly taken over. If you tore your eyes away for too long, the change would stop and you would be stuck in this place with Chrollo for that much longer, which he would definitely chide you for.

Though you doubted he would mind all that much.

“Who was he?” your voice whispered, your nails digging into your hands again as you were having a difficult time with the sight before you.

“No one of importance,” was his response.

“I want to know anyway.”

“You don't need to,” Chrollo said firmly before he added “if you wanted to know his name you should have made that a condition for your hatsu.”

“I didn't make it a condition because Revival Gardener wasn't meant for things like this” you replied.

“I know. Your reasons were far more pointless.”

That last part stung.

“It wasn't pointless. I was helping people,” you said.

He had the nerve to sigh deeply at that.

“Love,” he began, “you chose to become a Cute Hunter.”

“I was helping people,” you insisted.

“What were you helping with? The official role of a Cute Hunter is to maintain the beauty of people and keep them looking younger. Was helping others maintain their vanity so rewarding?” he asked, the disdain slowly but surely creeping into his voice the longer he spoke.

“You know what I was doing. You know wasn't anything like you're saying and you know how much it meant to me,” you said.

You turned your head so you could give him the full extent of your glare as you again insisted “I was helping people.”

“You were growing flowers out of trash,” Chrollo said, “such a thing is hardly life changing and I guarantee there were few who even noticed what you were doing. All of us agreed that it was a waste of your talents.”

“But it wasn't. It isn't.”

He was wrong. The troupe was wrong. It wasn't a waste. They were simply incapable of understanding because of the path they had chosen.

Chrollo shrugged at your response, saying “feel free to cling to those beliefs of yours while you still can.”

“You say that like you think-”

The words coming from your mouth were lost when the man's body moved again, this time in the way of a full body jerk as something inside him gave way to the life growing within him. Whether it was because of that movement or simply something you had done wrong when you had applied your nen earlier, you couldn't say.

But regardless, his eyelids and mouth snapped open, and with him still facing towards you even now, you were greeted with a horrific sight.

His eyes were gone.

All that stared out at you through the empty sockets were the green of the leaves and the soft purple petals of the lavender flowers that continued to grow and fill the space within the man's head. His tongue was gone as well, though his teeth still remained, sitting among the stems and leaves while his gums were being consumed, slowly but surely revealing the bone of his jaw that sat beneath.

Now with his mouth once again hanging slack and open, the flowers began to make their way out into the open, the plant life now poking out at the edges of his mouth. That seemed to have caused a chain reaction, for the plants began to make their way out of his injuries as well. The stems and buds were now hanging out of his neck wound, reaching down his bloody torso where they were met by the ones escaping through the cavities left by his missing fingers, all mingling together as the flower buds grew rapidly. Lavender was blooming in that burnt section of his arm and on his broken legs and spreading out just like the rest of the plant that had found its way to the open air.

Empty sockets continued to stare at you as the flowers continued to grow, reducing what once had been a man into nothing more than a human shaped terrarium.

All the moisture had left your mouth as you stared back. You were left unable to speak as you began to tremble within your seat.

Mercifully, Chrollo remained silent during this time.

When the change began to affect his bones, his neck was fast to break. His head quickly bent over to the side as his skull began to lose it's shape.

And upon seeing that, the horror of it all overwhelmed you.

With a hand over your mouth, the floodgates of your emotions opened wide and you began to loudly sob.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be.

A woman in a sharp business suit and her long hair tied up in a bun looked about the trees that surrounded her in bewilderment, her mind clearly racing as she wondered how this forest had come from nowhere and if she had somehow gotten lost on the way to her intended destination.

“Are you alright?” you called out, causing her to jump as she turned to face you.

“Ah – yes! I just…..”

The woman looked about again as she said “I got mixed up somehow and ended up here. I must not have been paying attention when I was driving.”

“Where were you trying to go?” you asked.

“The abandoned strip mall,” she told you.

“The one that was built on a former garbage dump?” you clarified.

She nodded.

Your hand went to the back of your neck as you said “well, most of it's gone now, but I can take you to see what's left of it, if you want.”

The woman's eyebrows furrowed, but she followed anyway when you beckoned her. Through a moderately sized collection of trees, bushes and a few open glades filled with wildflowers, you led her to the other end of the newly formed forest, and the both of you were greeted with a mound of dirt, concrete and aged garbage, most of which had fossilized. It was large, standing high over both of your heads. That was more in line with what the woman had expected, but she again looked behind herself to see the lush greenery that was clearly present in a place that it shouldn't have been.

She looked to you as she began with “you said… You said that this was what was left of the hill?”

You nodded.

“The same one that used to be a dump that was covered over and had built the mall on top?” she asked again.

Again, you nodded.

The woman looked to the greenery and then to the remains of the old dump site before she looked at you again.

“How?” was her bewildered question.

You nervously clasped your hands together as you began to answer.

“I'd heard about it not long ago,” you told her, “that the structure was abandoned years ago because of the methane coming from the ground and the way it had been sinking, and that it was still sinking into the garbage underneath it. When I learned that nothing was being done about it, I thought I could help.”

Realizing that you hadn't actually answered her question, you added “I'm part of the Hunter Association, and I figured that my skills would be able to fix this place. So I changed the buildings and what was underneath it to this.”

You gestured to the forest as you explained “it took a long time, but I think it's turned out well.”

The woman didn't look any less shocked after you finished speaking.

“You can just….. Do that?” she asked.

You nodded.

The woman continued to stare at you in disbelief, and the longer she looked at you like that, the more you began to worry that she was upset.

Then she spoke again.

“Can I hug you?”

The request was unexpected, but you smiled as you nodded to her. The woman quickly pulled you into a hug, and she held you tightly.

“Thank you so much,” she said, “I've been trying for so long to get the city to do something about that place but they always put it off, saying there were more important things they needed to take care of. They were content to let that place rot and fall apart, and I didn't think anything would ever be done.”

“Thank you so much,” she said again, “you don't know how much it means that you've gotten rid of that junk hill.”

You smiled again as you hugged her back, and a warmth bloomed in your chest as you heard her words of thanks. What you wanted most was happening: this had been your most ambitious project in your role as a Hunter, and before you were even finished, it was making a difference.

If you could do that for this woman, then the thing you wanted most could surely happen:

You could change Meteor City.

Your sobs continued to wrack your body as you watched the man's skin fall limp, held up only by the lavender flowers inside of him. He had been reduced to a skin suit, an unnatural looking thing that few would guess had ever been a real, living and breathing human. The chair he sat on was now beginning to lose it's shape as well, and slowly, the suit of skin began to lower further and further onto the floor as the wood of the chair was also absorbed and transformed.

Once all of the bones had been completely taken over, the skin began to do the same. It started in the areas where the skin was already broken, spreading from there like a disease. You watched helplessly as the last of that unknown man was eaten up by your hatsu, as his skin was broken apart and changed from flesh into plant.

You couldn't help but cry as the thought repeated in your head: this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Your hatsu was never meant to be used in such a way, never meant to be perverted like this. All you had wanted when you became a Cute Hunter was to help people by way of giving them small pieces of joy as you turned trash into something as simple and beautiful as a flower. Even if it was something small, it was worth it to you.

Why did Chrollo find that so objectionable?

The pieces of the man's skin that still remained reached lower to the floor as the chair gave away completely. His blood soaked pants were vanishing quickly, the rope that had once sat by his side was long since gone, and the trail of blood that had led up to the box with Feitan's tools had been replaced by a long and scattered line of flowers.

It wouldn't take long now until everything about the man – his actual body and the things done to him – would be gone completely. No one who hadn't been here would be able to guess as to what had actually happened.

All they would see was a large patch of lavender growing within the abandoned building.

Though the man was nearly gone now, it didn't make it any easier on you, as your tears still fell as you focused on the parts that were still there: the last remaining bits of his skin and his dirty blonde hair that still stuck out at the edge of the growing patch of flowers. It had spread out far enough that it had reached where the two of you sat, and when you felt the petals brushing against the edge of your shoe, you pulled up your feet.

As much as you wanted to console yourself by saying that there was some comfort in the man's body not being allowed to decompose or rot, you knew it would do little to ease your distress. You weren't a good enough liar to convince yourself of that.

Chrollo's feet had stayed where they were when the flowers had extended out towards him, drawing his gaze down to the floor. After a moment of consideration, he reached down to the space in front of him, finding a stem of lavender and grasping at it. Then without even the smallest ounce of force, he plucked it. Sitting back up, he examined your creation, twirling it as he did so and causing the flowers to spin in his fingers.

“The end result is beautiful, love, I will give you that,” he told you, “but ultimately your reasons for your ability are far more superfluous than I know you would ever want to admit.”

You had bitten your lip to keep your mouth shut, though it didn't stop the way you sniffled while you continued to cry as you watched the last of the man's strands of hair turning green and sprouting up flower buds.

“One day you'll see that it was a good thing that I stepped in.”

Again you didn't respond, but you stiffened when you felt him lean towards you and felt his fingers tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. The apprehension of feeling his touch turned to disgust when he placed the flower he had pulled into your hair, tucking it in with the hair he had so gently moved only moments before.

Cruel.

That was all he was.

When the last strands of dirty blonde hair were gone and all that sat before you was the lavender, you knew it was finished. Just as Chrollo had wanted, you had done 'your part'. With no trace of the scene of bloody torture from before, you could now leave the room.

You attempted to do so without another word, but no sooner had you stood up, Chrollo ordered you to sit.

With no other choice, you did just that.

Chrollo's hand traveled to your lap in order to clasp yours, and the squeeze he gave you felt like it was meant to be encouraging, though you knew it was performative. Just like everything was with him.

“I know you think that I enjoy seeing you in distress, love,” he began, “but I need you to know that it couldn't be further from the truth. Your well-being is something that I care about deeply.”

“…. You have a funny way of showing that,” you mumbled, not having the strength to speak louder.

“Think of it as rehabilitation.”

“It's not, though,” you said, shaking your head, “I don't need to be fixed.”

“And once again, you're simply wrong, love.”

“…..”

When you pulled your hand away from his, he chose not to react. Nor did he say anything when you pulled the bit of lavender out of your hair and tossed it to the floor where it was quickly hidden among the rest.

“Can I go back to the other room already?” you asked bitterly.

Chrollo hummed as he took a moment before answering you, as if to rub more salt into your wounds by treating you like a child that needed to ask for his permission before you did anything.

You had pointed that out, once, calling him out on how degrading it was as well as insulting.

“Well, you aren't much different now than how you were as a child, are you?” he had spoken in response.

“Even now, you haven't grown past clinging to your princess dresses and playing make believe that you can force the world to match your idealized fantasy.”

You had slapped him for that. Hard enough that there was blood that dripped briefly from the corner of his mouth and a bruise that had stayed for several days after.

He didn't do anything to you for that. Not immediately.

It was when the job was over and the two of you were left alone in a location of Chrollo's choosing that he retaliated, using that ability that made your head feel like it was splitting in two as he forced you into doing things that you didn't want to do.

Again, the question surfaced: what kind of a Hunter were you that you allowed pain to keep you from fighting back?

…. One that had decided that 'Cute Hunter' was the direction to go in.

The slight self-deprecation of that thought wasn't lost on you. And it wasn't lost on you that it had come from Chrollo, his opinion sneaking its way into your brain without him needing to say anything or even knowing your own internal dialogue.

I hate this, you told yourself again.

It was the only thing you could say because it was the only thing you could do.

“It seems as though we're finished here, so I suppose you can leave,” Chrollo finally told you.

Without another word you stood and all but ran out of that room, having no desire to ever enter that place again and not wanting to risk Chrollo giving you more orders while you were still within earshot.

Chrollo himself remained seated, again gazing at the miniature field of lavender.

It wasn't right, you thought as you wiped away more tears.

Things shouldn't be this way.

Heading back to that main room where everyone else was gathered – because you'd be brought back there anyway if you went somewhere to be alone – your return was noted by all of the troupe, questioning eyes going to your form as you entered and made your way back to the spot in the corner you'd been occupying for the majority of your time here. Those questioning gazes didn't stay that way long, as one look at your tear stained face told them all that they needed to know as to how your corpse disposal had gone.

You had completed it. Everyone knew Chrollo wouldn't have let you leave without doing that. But as they continued to watch you, seeing the way you curled in on yourself and held your knees to your chest after you had taken a seat on the floor, all of them could tell that it hadn't been easy for you.

They couldn't understand it.

As they watched you obsessively and angrily wipe away the tears that you didn't want them to see, those members who had grown up with you were again at a loss as to why you cared so much about someone you didn't know. That, after the things you had experienced alongside them with your childhood in Meteor City, you had somehow managed to turn out so differently from the rest of them.

A few moments passed before Phinks got up from where he was sitting, and with his hands in his pockets, he began to walk towards you, no doubt with the intent of offering some kind of comfort. The harsh glare you sent him when he came close had him stopping in his tracks, and he floundered for a moment before turning around and returning to his seat, the awkward and disappointed look clear on his face as he did so.

You didn't want their pity or their comfort. You didn't want to be around them at all. No matter what they said, the childhood friends you had once had were nowhere to be found, not here or anywhere else in the world.

It was easier to tell yourself that the day Sarasa had been murdered, all of them had died along with her.

For the rest of this job, not another word would be said to you. You had done what was wanted of you, and so your role ended there. All you had left was the end of the job when Chrollo would force you to leave with him, making you follow him like a puppy. The troupe would part ways and then you might see a few of them sporadically between heists, but the majority of your time would be spent with Chrollo, and the head of the spider would return your reality to the one where your world revolved around him and him alone. Your abilities that you had wished to be shared with the world would be only for him, and again you would be forced to languish while you remained in his company, feeling a bit of yourself breaking apart day by day.

Maybe one day he would be successful.

Maybe one day he would manage to brainwash you and you would no longer find what they did so objectionable. Maybe a new version of yourself would emerge, one that had died just like they had with Sarasa, and you would walk around with them like a zombie, committing the same foul acts they did and feeling nothing while doing them. Maybe you would tell yourself the same things they must have, that all that mattered were those within the troupe, and in that way you could callously disregard the lives of others.

That wasn't today, though.

Eventually Feitan would return to where the body had been, no doubt needing to take a bit of time as he pulled the purple flowers that embraced his tools off one by one.

Eventually Chrollo would return to that main room and give instructions to the members that he had deemed necessary for the current job, and he would do so without casting a single glance in your direction.

The rest of the troupe would follow his lead, continuing with the job. Business as usual.

But at the back of their heads, they would remain hopeful for you.

Because if there was anyone who could fix you, it was Chrollo.

#reader insert #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere

1K notes · View notes

simonsslut · 2 years ago

Text

meeting simon in the army.

18+ MDNI || nsfw || f!reader || oneshot/drabble || masterlist

wc: around 4.8k

cw: eventual smut, unprotected p in v, lil massage trope, spit kink, simon being his own enemy, reader being oblivious, simon loves tits, simon’s kinda mean at first but sweet at the end-ish, not proofread.

Lieutenant Riley is familiar with the process of adding a new addition to their little task force. but just because he's familiar with it, doesn't mean he's a fan of it.

a new member, a new person means that he has to most likely deal with another soap of sorts. don't get it wrong, he's okay with soap, but that doesn't mean he enjoys the constant questions soap seems to ask about him, even when he knows they irritate him, but that won't stop his curiosity.

you're confident when you show up to the meeting room, nothing new. recruits are either confident in themselves or they're completely terrified and it'll be written all over their faces.

soap is quick to befriend you, both of you snipers and demolition experts after all. it gives him a whole new buddy to talk with. simon takes this as a good sign, maybe he won't have to spend much time showing your around and telling you about the team and how things work here if soap is gonna spend all his time with you. right? wrong.

Price assigns soap on a mission with another task force soap had recently worked with before TF141. meaning that Simon is going to have to spend every free waking moment he has with you. and for a guy like Simon, this is hell. but don't take it the wrong way, he's like this with everyone.

you're quick to find the large man rude, dismissive. you'll ask barely personal questions and he'll shrug it off and blatantly ignore you. will roll his eyes or just walk away mid-conversation (which was one-sided anyway).

maybe you talked too much? had you asked him too many questions? maybe he just didn't like you for absolutely zero reason. you decided to stop thinking too much about it. you didn't do anything wrong, maybe he's just a natural-born asshole.

Soap had mentioned something about the lieutenant having a stick somewhere deep up his ass and to not worry too much about how he treats you.

however, after telling yourself you'd stop losing sleep over it, you continued.

maybe he just wasn't used to having a woman on his team. They are all men after all. but that wouldn't be professional, plus the others aren't like that with you. they kinda just treat you like their own. they knew about your background, and what you have done, and they respected you for it, so why couldn't he?

simon knows better than most about your background, he had to study your file after Price mentioned your recruitment.

"weapons of choice - melee; knives, axe."

a shared opinion.

he trains with you to see how advanced you really are. weapon training and all that is fine, but sparring? this has to be a joke. that mountain of a man versus you? you've got muscle to you, yeah, but even soap going against simon is an evident loss. and soap is a big guy.

you start off with Gaz. he's also tall and well built, but he's the more common build of soldiers. you guys spar for an hour, or two, and then you take a break.

you don't think much about who your next spar round will be with, so the anxiousness doesn't begin to settle in until ghost's rough voice calls you over to the mat. he's the only one there. and it settles in.

you look over at Gaz and the look on his face is one of pity, your face drops.

it's not even 30 seconds into the round when you're already dropped to the ground. the mat feels like concrete when you hit your back on it.

"c'mon, get up." ghost says in an almost pissed off way.

you groan and roll over, quickly getting back up on your feet. "no mercy?" you ask in a huff. "you won't get mercy when you're fighting for your life in the field, you should know this, sergeant." he states dryly, but the way he said 'sergeant' sounded like an insult rolling off his tongue.

after 30 minutes of repeatedly losing, you admit defeat. but at least he stays with you after hours when the others have left, leaving you both alone so you don't have to keep losing in front of a crowd.

3 months of dry responses, frequent scoldings, straight-up constant attitude from the man and not many interactions besides from when he was ordering you around or lecturing you about a fuck up in training or on a mission.

and even though he wouldn't interact with you much, it somehow seemed that he was always on your ass, always watching to see what your next fuck up would be, always so observant. because why the hell were his eyes always on you? every time you'd glance over at him, he'd already be looking at you with that dark 1000-yard stare, arms crossed and sitting across any room you were in at the moment.

3 months is what it takes for him to not act like a complete brooding asshole towards you even for just a moment. reason? you saved his life.

sort of.

simon was clearing a wide area in a warehouse on a mission and it seems one of the men there seemed to blend in far better than anyone else could. Simon was almost too late, almost the one standing at the receiving end of a bullet to the head, but you had him. and you saved him.

neither of you thought too much about it though, after all, it is your job to have each other's backs in the field. he only gave you a gruff "thank you" when he brushed passed you towards the exit. but you took that thank you as a sign that he didn't absolutely despise you like you had thought he did for the past 3 months.

or so you thought. not much changed afterwards. but at least whenever you'd start a conversation, he'd just stare at you instead of walking off. but he'd always stay quiet. you wanted to give up, you should've given up. but something deep inside you had you pushing.

what it was wasn't so obvious at the time.

but that's probably because you were so oblivious.

you didn't know him like the boys did, you were new. so no one could've blamed you for not seeing the obvious frustration you caused him. soap on the other hand thought it was bloody comedic.

you always assumed the triple checks on your comms and positions were just because he didn't trust you enough to know what you were doing. because why would you think anything else with the way he behaved towards you?

the way he'd suddenly appear when a private was up and flirting with you. he'd come and scold you for having chitchat when you should've been doing paperwork, his jaw tensed. he'd look behind you to give the private a glare that you would've assumed was a 'get back to work' glare and not the threatening glare it actually was, because why would you think otherwise?

when you all went out to the pub for a drink after a long exhausting mission to relax a bit, but you hadn't had alcohol in so long so you didn't think to slow down, eventually blacking out on Simon's shoulder, and ending up in your quarters at the end of the night, boots off and snuggly tucked in under your sheets.

what you did notice is that you'd never be assigned to missions that ghost wasn't on. you caught on eventually but you never mentioned it, too annoyed with him to start an argument you knew you'd lose.

but when you're all at the pub on another night, soap and gaz over by the pool table, drunkenly betting against each other, and price long gone back to the base and having called it an early night, leaving the two of you at the table alone, it slips out.

he's been ignoring your attempted starts of a conversation all night, the alcohol had given you the motivation you needed to try again, but you've had enough of the silent treatment.

"hey, i've noticed I only go on missions that you're on.." he tenses. "'s that because you don't trust me? or somethin?"

he doesn't respond as per usual, and you know he's already annoyed with you but you keep pushing.

"you can be a real prick, y'know?" you mumble out, earning a side glance from him, his hand on the table, fingers tapping on his empty glass. he stays quiet.

"I just don't understand why you dislike me or whatever. I haven't done anything to you personally, I don't think.." you trail off, furrowing your brows as if in thought. he just stares down at you.

"you're a real pain in my ass" you then state rather confidently. he raises his brow at this before looking down at his empty glass and muttering a "Seems we've got that in common."

you roll your eyes and groan, moving to grab your beer but he moves it further up the table before you can reach it.

"hey-" you start but he interrupts, "you've 'ad enough." he grumbles out and you scoff, standing up from the chair and walking over to where Soap and Gaz are laughing it up with each other.

but maybe he's had a bit too much to drink too.

because the moment a man starts flirting with you at the bar, his hand just a bit too touchy, Simon appears, his hand is gripping the man's shoulder and pulling him back with an angered "back off."

you can't even manage out a "what the hell-?" before he's grabbing your bicep and dragging you out of the pub. you stop protesting rather quickly, too tired to continue. you just let him drag you all the way back to the base where he only lets go of you when he reaches the doorstep of your barracks building.

"sleep. now. don't wanna deal with your lazy tired ass tomorrow when you're moping around because you didn't get enough rest." he grunts out before abruptly turning in his place and leaving.

it's the next week when you're in the break room sitting across from Soap who's on his phone and drinking his coffee when you voice your troubles. "I can't deal with him anymore, Soap, really. he gives me such a hard time and I don't understand why," you practically whine to him.

"bloke doesn't know what to do with you when you practically give him a hard on all the time." he says it so plainly. as if it's a common fact, no big deal.

though you, of course, take it as a joke.

"Oh shut up, I'm serious." you groan through a chuckle and he just looks up at you and smirks before excusing himself to go back to his duties, leaving you there to mope at the wall.

the hell does that even mean?

luckily for you, you forget all about your short conversion in the break room, your mind too occupied from the busy week to care about a little dumb joke that soap told.

maybe you should've sat to think about said joke for longer.

you zone out while you do paperwork, your mind running on autopilot so that you don't pay attention to the time on the clock running past 11:30pm.

you hands hurt. your wrists hurt. and your back is sore from uncomfortably hunching over this old desk in this dinky chair that doesn't even spin properly.

you're too tired and too caught up in mentally complaining about everything to notice the tall figure standing in the doorway of the office you're working.

so when he speaks, voice baritone and accent thick, it scares the absolute living shit out of you. letting out a short yell and flinging your pen across the room, you look over at him.

you roll your eyes, too tired to even deal with him right now, preparing for him to lecture you about how sleeping late is bad for you even though literally everyone on base knows that he has the most fucked schedule of them all.

"I know it's late, I don't wanna hear it. this is the only free time I had to do this." you explain, your voice low and tired.

"didn't say anything." he responds and you glare up at him, and he knows.

he walks across the room and picks up the pen that you flung, his heavy steps making their way over to you and handing you back your pen.

he hasn't done or said anything threatening, so then why does it feel like he did?

you whisper a small 'thank you' before looking back down at your sheet and writing a few things down. he just stands there, staring down at your with crossed arms, observing. always observing. that's all he does. all he ever does.

you try to not let it get to you but he's just so intimidating.

you clench your jaw and breathe for a moment before focusing back on your paper. but just as you do that, he rounds the desk and stands behind your chair.

he grabs the chair, pulling it back a bit before his voice demands out, "stand,". you don't hesitate a moment before standing up quickly.

silence.

why does it feel like ages before he finally speaks??

"you're tense." he states and you furrow your brows because what the hell is happening. "y-yeah, I guess?"

the air is thick.

you're so caught up in empty thoughts that you don't hear what he says. "sorry, what'd you say?" you ask but it comes out a whisper without you intending for it to.

"may I?"

you're not sure what he means but you still slowly nod.

you suddenly freeze and your eyes go wide when you feel his palm wrap around your hair and move it to the side, his other hand resting in the crevice between your shoulder and neck, bare.

he's not wearing the glove.

his hand is warm when he suddenly squeezes you there, checking to see just how tense you are and your mind is blank. your thoughts have evaporated and you can't fucking move, because what the hell is happening!?

"why're you so bloody tense?" he asks, his voice so fucking deep that it makes your skin warm up. you've always hated the effect that his voice alone has on you.

'maybe because you're touching me?' is what you think to yourself.

"I don't know? work?" you sound so unsure of yourself that it feels embarrassing.

he mutters a quiet "yeah." while he continues to massage the area.

you wouldn't say this is a complete 180º from the way he's been treating you for the past couple months, but... this is a complete fucking 180º from the way he's been treating you these past couple months.

but you can't deny how fucking good it feels. his hands are so big and warm. the roughness of them surprisingly adding so much more to the massage and it feels so. good.

you can't help the slight moan that escapes your lips when you dip your head forward, giving him more space to work with.

ghost would halt his movements but that would only make you suspicious of what's happening to him behind you he clenches his jaw hard, his entire body tensing as he feels his pants grow tight and fuck is he fighting back a groan.

he did this to himself. he should've just minded his business and muttered an order to you like he usually would. he should've put up the asshole act instead of strolling in and offering a goddamn massage because he would never in his right mind actually do this.

he's barely slept for the past three days, so he doesn't really have control over his own actions, especially when it comes to you. it's always you that gets him like this, only you.

it's quiet for so long while he just massages your shoulders. usually It would be awkward, but this time it's just comfortable.

when he finishes, his hands remain and you start to actually snap back to reality on where you are, who's behind you, and what's going on. you don't move, hell you barely breathe. how could you when you could feel every breath he takes hit the skin on the back of your neck or how you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he stands behind you as if he's a human furnace or something.

there's always been tension. whether it was negative or positive, you were never completely 100% sure which. but it was always there. and it bothered the fuck out of the both of you.

you feel his thumb caress your nape. just a small movement. you wouldn't've noticed if you weren't hyper focused on every fibre of his being standing right behind you, not caring for your personal space despite him always getting pissed about not having enough of his own.

you don't know how to move on from this moment. there're no words in your mouth, your body frozen still under his gaze, under his touch.

you want to say something, anything. but you don't know what.

"ghost," you start, but he doesn't answer, he just rubs his thumb over again. "ghost." you try again.

silence.

"simon." he stops.

"what are you doing?" you turn your head to the side when you whisper this, looking at him stand behind you out the corner of your eye, and he stares right back.

after his silence, you go to move but he stops you, his hands grabbing your arms and keeping you in place. you go to shake him off but when you lean your body back, you feel something against your ass and your breath hitches.

he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw, he knows you felt it, and he knows he's fucked when he lets out a quiet groan.

"it seems you’ve been stressed too..." you mumble out and his grip on you only tightens. you don't think before you nudge your ass against him again but with purpose and his breathing stutters.

"Don't." he demands through gritted teeth, but you only do it again and he doesn't stop you.

he then pushes you forward and you gasp, your crotch hitting the desk edge as you bend over the desk.

he doesn't do anything for a few moments as he thinks over what he's doing. he's your superior. this is wrong. so why does it feel so good to drag his hand down your back.

he then suddenly lets go of you and backs up, confusing you in the process. you stand back up and turn to stare at him, your brows furrowed and you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

the way you look at him, it's as if there's hope in your eyes and that only spurs him on to do what he does next. he moves his hand up to raise the bottom of his mask up to rest just over his nose. he then quickly loops his arm around your waist and pulls you in for your lips to meet his in a kiss born off of sexual frustration.

you're quick to wrap one of your arms around his neck, not caring at all for what this means because god it feels so good.

he groans against your lips and pushes you back against the desk, lifting you a bit to sit you down on it before he mumbles against your lips.

"you gon' let me do this?"

the man, your lieutenant, your superior who you thought hated you so damn much for the longest time, is asking for your permission as his hand squeezes your thigh.

this is crazy. all of this is crazy. yet you nod.

he spreads your thighs with his hands and stands between them while his mouth moves from your lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, his lips hot and wet against you.

you let him push you back until your back is flat against the desk, his hand moving to grab your hip to keep you in place just as he likes while his other hand loops under the waist band of your pants and palms you over your panties.

you can't help but whimper when he does this which only turns him on more. and he grunts against your neck when he removes his hand only to grind his covered bulge against you.

you huff out as he continues to grind against you, growing in need when heat begins to pool in your core while his hands grip at you tightly as if you'd disappear if he let go. and he's not about to risk that when he finally has you right where he wants you.

you pull at his clothes, a whine slipping from your lips and he knows what you want. one of his hands moves to slide your shirt up your stomach and you let him. when he does get the shirt off of you, he doesn't even go to unclip your bra, instead his hand moves to grab the front of your bra and drags it down, your tits falling out.

he grabs one of your tits and mouths it, sucking, while his other hand moves to pull your pants down.

he backs up and fully pulls your pants off before he's back on you, mouth on your tit while his left hand plays with the other and his right hand slips under the fabric of your panties, feeling how soaked you are.

his thumb applies pressure on your clit which has you already gasping and arching into his touch.

he teases you a bit, wanting to see how desperate you'd get before he actually fucks you with his cock. he slips a digit in and groans against your nipple when he feels how your wet warmth clenches around just his finger.

he adds another and then another, wanting to stretch you out enough for him to squeeze in.

he curls and thrusts his fingers in you, getting to that spongey spot in you that has you moaning and throwing your head back against the desk, whining fro him to finally put it in.

"y'want me?" he asks but you can't even reply.

"I asked if y'want me, love." his voice is gravel when he repeats himself, wanting an answer out of you before he takes this further.

you nod, frantic and and grinding against his palm for more friction against your clit. "y-yes, yes sir, please-" you answer and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.

he moves his lips back up to your neck and removes his hands from you, undoing his pants and pulling himself out, precum beading at his red tip.

you whimper at the sight of it. it's obvious to see how big of a man simon is in general, he's huge. and it seems that so is everything else about him.

he doesn't bother to remove your panties as he's too impatient. instead he just moves them to the side, his finger running down your slit before he brings it to his mouth to get a taste of you, letting out a satisfied hum.

he then brings his hand up to you and orders, "spit", and you do.

he pumps himself a few times to wet it before he aligns with your slit and you inhale when he starts to push in, stretching you out so perfectly for him. so fucking big.

he takes his time pushing into you, his warm breath against your neck when he groans as he bottoms out, deep inside you. “so fucking tight…” he groans through gritted teeth.

you clench around him, your hands slipping under the fabric of his shirt and your nails clawing at the skin on his back, wanting him to move already as you grow impatient and needy.

he does just that, drawing his hips back before thrusting back into you resulting in a yelp from you. and he doesn't stop.

his pace is already above slow and picking up with each time he hammers back into you, curses and moans falling from his lips like he's in heaven, because he is.

your lips meet his again and you moan into his mouth with each thrust. he makes out with you like a man starved, like he's been wanting this for so long…you under him while he fucks into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

the only sounds in the room being the squelching of your pussy as he thrusts into you and both of your moans. if anyone was walking down the hallway at this hour which is unlikely, they'd most definitely hear what you two are doing.

he moves his hand down and presses his thumb to your clit while he continues to fuck into you, rubbing it in circles which has you crying out through moans, tears of pleasure threatening to spill out the corners of your eyes.

your breathing becomes ragged as your back arches deeper into him, your hips bucking against his to meet his pace while he groans and nips at the skin on your neck, “takin’ me so well… s’ fuckin good f’me…” he moans and it sets your skin on fire.

he's close and so are you.

your fingers move under the back of the mask to pull at his short hair and he let's you do it, trusting you to not pull the mask off.

your lips against his ear, letting him hear all your pretty sounds and it only drives him further, his pace keeping steady, knowing just what you need when you moan out "i'm close..so close.." and he knows it too as he feels you clench tightly around him.

he surprises you when he places his thumb in your mouth when you moan, flattening it against your tongue and grunting a “open f’me, yeah?” and you do without hesitation, opening your mouth nice and wide enough for him to spit on your tongue. he doesn’t even have to tell you to swallow before you do it automatically, earning a smirk from him before he kisses you again.

the combination of his thumb rubbing in circles against your clit and him hammering into you has your body stuttering and spasming, feeling like you're getting possessed as you let out a strangled and broken quiet scream as you finally come undone beneath him, your vision going for a few moments while he fucks you through your orgasm.

you continue to moan when he keeps pumping into you after your orgasm, chasing his own high while he grunts out "'m gonna come... gonna come on your tummy, love.." before he quickly pulls out of you, leaning back up and pumping his cock a few times before he releases his load on your stomach followed by his heavy breaths.

he stares at you for a moment, his chest rising and lowering in heavy breaths before he leans over you to grab the tissue box in the corner of the desk and wipes his cum off of you.

he puts your panties back in place and steps back, handing you your pants. he shoves his cock back into his pants and then watches you pull yours back on, his arms crossed.

now that the foggy feeling in your mind is gone, you're shy as you stand under his gaze.

you just fucked your lieutenant.

he licks his lip before pulling the mask back down and sitting back onto the chair. you're confused for a moment before he nods his head in the direction of the door and mutters a "go t'sleep. it's late."

you look at the door and then back at him, furrowing your brows in confusion. "but my paperwork-" he interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "I'll do your paperwork. now go to bed. tha's an order." he instructs and you stand there absolutely dumbfounded before you actually register his words.

you slowly nod and he clenches his jaw before he looks at the short stack of paperwork on the side of the desk, grabbing one and beginning to work on it, but you're still there.

"thought I told you t-" he pauses when you lean down to place a kiss on the fabric over where his temple is, taking him by surprise as it shuts him up.

you then give him a sweet smile, your hand sliding down his muscular arm before you turn around and walk out the small office, leaving him to do your paperwork after he fucked you so well just a moment ago on that very desk.

horny brain = ©simonsslut 2023 — do not steal!

simon experiencing blue balls too many times in secret bc he's stubborn.

3K notes · View notes

hungharrington · 9 months ago

Note

Steve realizing his gf is stressed and forcing her to take a mid day break and she's just like babe I'm not in the mood and he's like ok let's take a break for 5 min a mere 5 min like u can def afford that and she's like fine and she sets a timer but by the time the 5 min r up Steve is already eating her out and he's like the timer is up and she's so into in and forgotten that she's like the what?? And Steve just chuckles smugly and goes back down

bro.... did u send this cos u know i've been stressed with grad school??? either way YUM i ate it tf up this was delicious thank you for gracing my inbox with it <3 fem!reader, 1.2k, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

As Steve sets his watch, your thoughts drift to the assignment sitting on your desk, due by the end of the week.

You really shouldn't be taking a break — you're not sure you can actually afford to. Well, your stress certainly makes it feel that way.

But Steve had badgered you lovingly with his wandering hands around your waist, fingers skirting beneath your shirt, and his hot kiss mouthing softly against your neck.

You probably shouldn't be taking a break but also, you're only human. Steve knows just how to press your buttons.

"I've set the timer," Steve murmurs, his voice somewhere behind you on the bed. His big hands smooth up your calves, pressing in his adoring intent. You can't see the heavy-lidded gaze he has, betraying a different intent. "Five minutes, okay?

"Okay," You agree tiredly, voice muffled into the pillow of your bed. "Work your magic, babe."

You're laying on your front, face pressed into pillow, your arms caged around your head. You're well and truly enjoying a moment to rest your eyes and you're betting it'll only get better when Steve starts his massage.

I mean, that's what you expect he meant when he begged you to let him 'help you relax' for five minutes.

Steve makes a little amused noise from behind you, fully intending on working a certain kind of magic.

His hands continue their slow peruse, his fingers spread wide and exploring the expanse of your thighs as they continue to slide up. He presses and soothes the muscles, getting you more relaxed with each touch. You huff a little sigh into the pillow, eyes sliding closed, and your body grows more pliant.

His hands keep moving up, up, up, until the fabric of your skirt is getting bunched up beneath them. Something nervous rises in your chest at the sudden new display of skin. Still, you don't move, almost eager to see what he does next.

Your face is still hidden away in the pillow when his hands begin to knead the skin where your thigh meets your ass. A soft, pleased noise wiggles loose in your chest.

Then—a ghost of a touch pulls a sudden small gasp from your lungs. A finger drags down the centre of your panties, just the slightest pressure.

"Yeah?" Steve probes gently, his voice low and raspy. The weight of his finger remains but he doesn't move it, waiting for your answer.

You're in two minds about it for only a split-second before your hair scrunches up as you nod your head against the pillow. The finger moves again, drawing down to trace over your clit lightly. Your face simmers with heat, even if you've done much nastier things with Steve before.

"Good girl," Steve praises. "Letting herself relax,"

His words sink into you, sweet as honey and warm as a sunbeam. Something twists low in your stomach and you have to resist the urge to readjust your thighs. If your face was simmering before, it's burning now.

Steve's hands move with a precision of well-known love. He knows what you like and he knows exactly how to get you riled up.

"Been working so hard, baby," He murmurs. "Know you have."

He continues his absentminded massage, hands rubbing and kneading the flesh of your ass. One finger always remains pressed against your core, petting against your slowly dampening panties in a way that makes you want to quiver. You bury your stuttering breaths into the pillow beneath you.

"Y'stop taking care of yourself, don't you?" You can barely focus on the questions as they drift out of Steve's mouth. Your eyes are closed again but this time in that growing lull of pleasure that's building up within you. "That's why I'm here though, isn't it? To help my girl relax,"

The damp spot on your panties grows under Steve's masterful strokes and soon, it's wet and sticky. You can't help but wonder if they're translucent but now—fuck, what pair are you even wearing? The thought melts away as Steve's skillful thumb finds your clit and draws a perfect circle around it, teasing you in just the way you like.

"Feelin' more relaxed?" Steve asks. You can't tell if you're imagining the smug tone in his voice but either way, he's a bastard for touching your clit and asking you a question at the same time.

You open your mouth to give an answer and let out a pitiful moan instead.

Glorious heat flames your face but you can't help how it fuels your mounting lust. He's driving you insane with these little touches.

"Good girl," Steve coos, as if your moan is the perfect answer to his question. You make another pathetic noise in response, feeling your hips rock back, desperate for a little more friction.

A disappointed whine creeps out when the touch is suddenly gone and Steve chuckles at the sound of it. "Won't be long, honey. Can you prop these up for me please?"

His hands have shifted, spread across to hold your hips lightly. You kick your legs up without question, enough to move them up, elevating your hips off the bed just barely.

Steve still gives you as praising noise, running his hands down your ass reverently. "That's it, baby. Doin' so good for me, aren't you?"

You're beyond words at this point so you answer him with another pitiful whimper. It's heaven to Steve's ears.

You hear the comforter on the bed rustle as Steve readjusts behind you and get all of a few seconds to wonder what before the heat of his breath ghosts along your inner thigh. Your tummy twists up in anticipation and you clench without thinking.

Steve chuckles again, his hands landing delicately on your either side of your hips once more.

He moves to grip a cheek in each hand and a lust-tinged embarrassment burns your face as he spreads you, your sopping cunt on display, shielded only by your soaked panties. A soft groan of appreciation pulls from his throat without permission.

"God, look at you," He murmurs.

One of his thumbs dips in, pressing beneath the elastic of your panties and moving to pull them to the side. A string of slick sticks to them and Steve groans again as he watching, this time louder. "Fuck, baby, you're soaked. Look at you, practically cryin' for it, aren't you?"

You whimper into the pillow, breath held as you wait in agony for Steve to do anything.

Faintly behind you, there's a small beep of a watch. Steve makes a disgruntled noise and shuffles for a moment, til the beeping stops.

"Five minutes, honey." He says, that almost smug tone to his words once more.

The words reach your ears but mean almost nothing to you. You have to resist the urge to arch your back and whine for him to keep going. But Steve won't have said that for nothing.

"W-What?" You manage to say, the word muffled into the pillow.

"Never mind, baby," He says, words dripping in a smugness that only drives up your body temperature. Your nipples peak in response and you feel your cunt aching for some touch. Steve obliges almost instantly, his thumb tracing down your folds. "Don’t worry bout it. You just sit there and take it like a good girl."

#mmmmm #i feel i almost never write steve eating it from the back #so as a treat <3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve x you #steve x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve smut #jay writes #anon #[takes a drag of a cigarette] haha crazy. could go for this rn

777 notes · View notes

gallifreyan85 · 21 days ago

Note

highkey im LOVING all ur agathaxreader fics im literally in a pool of tears when i read each one and I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHHHH ILOVEIT AND ILOVEUFORMAKINGIT,,, so pls dont explode anytime in the near future i need more fics, i literally need one everyday its now a drug ts insane i have a fic req, if u could make a 'tell ur baby that im ur baby' - i bet on losing dogs, where someone gets jealous that someone else is getting more attention that them, ex agatha losing her self bc she saw u hugging ur old teacher or reader crying themself to sleep because they think agatha likes billy more than them :) PLSPSLSPLSLPSLPSLPSLP I BEG OF U MAKE ONE IM GONNA DIE ILYSM IF U DO

Hii, I'm sorry if this took too long, I was traveling and then had college stuff, so I was in a bit of a hustle. I had started writing this and then kind of got off track a little (hence the title being different), but I tried to keep it around the whole reader thinking agatha prefers billy now, and all that jazz. I hope you like it, if you're not happy tell me, it has a bit more dialogue than my usual fics, but hopefully it'll be okay. Thanks for the request!!

Hurt Me and Tell Me You're Mine

summary: Summary: after Wanda closed the hex, things got complicated. Now you’re on the witches road with your mentor after not seeing her for three years, and she brought someone who you think might be your replacement (Billy.) With everyone reeling after what happened during the third trial, you try to talk to her and sort things out.

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

A/n: as always, more stuff at the end, this was originally supposed to be part 5 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 but I have something else planned for that sooo. idk. it's my bday tomorrow i'm a bit chaotic. enjoy!!

The Witches Road was no place for the faint of heart. You’d learned that the hard way, first getting drenched during Jen’s trial, then almost burning to death because of a curse during Alice’s. When Teen had gotten hurt you caught a glimpse of something in Agatha’s eyes, the way she lingered for just a moment too long after everyone had already made sure he was okay. It had been three years since you’d last seen her and you wanted to sit down and talk, catch up for lack of a better, less normal word, but time didn’t seem to be on your side. And it seemed Agatha wasn’t either. You’d been her student, if that was what you could call it, and she was relentless and strict and sarcastic, but she’d taught you things about magic no other witch ever would. You were sure of it. Her view on magic was all control and precision, yet chaos and power at the same time.

It was a lot.

It was unique.

But you didn’t regret it.

You still wondered if maybe she did. She never told you. In fact, ever since you barged in to find her and this other boy around your age in her house, along with a bunch of witches you didn’t know, she kept quiet around you. So you came along. Of course it would be dangerous, like everything else she ever did, but you could handle it. You didn’t spend three years perfecting your magic best as you could to flake out at the slightest opportunity of chaos. Maybe you were like her after all. And then her trial came along. You were there with the rest of them, on Teen’s side when the others tried to turn on her, and then her mother’s ghost was there, and Agatha was pleading with them, pleading, not to leave her behind, and Alice stepped in, and--

You shook the memory out of your head. Tried to clear your thoughts. It didn’t really work, apart from giving your already minor headache a boost, but you sighed and tried to relax anyway. Being tense would get you nowhere.

It was then that you realized the rest of the coven, whoever was left-- had finally stopped arguing. You turned to see Jen and Lilia talking to Teen, all three of them sitting down, not sparing you a glance. Neither Agatha or Rio were in sight. You sighed. While you did wonder about Rio, who she was and why Agatha seemed to hate her so much, you didn’t feel up to going to look for her. You wanted to find Agatha. And with the others preoccupied, this was your chance.

So, quietly, unnoticed by anyone, you slipped away from the path and onto a little clearing, hoping that Agatha didn’t go far. You’d learned that the trial would be ahead of you whichever way you went, but that didn’t mean you were eager to wonder around such a place alone. You had just spotted something resembling a small pond, or maybe more of a swamp-- it was covered with weeds and tall, wet grass hanging from overhead branches from the trees-- when a voice made you jump.

“You never were very good at following the rules.” Agatha stepped out from a dark nook you hadn’t even noticed, a distant smirk on her face, not quite reaching her eyes, “But then again, that was part of why I liked you.”

You turned around to see her striding towards you in a slow, seemingly composed way, hands shoved in her coat pockets.

“Liked?” you murmured quietly.

She chuckled.

“I did share my very vast magical knowledge with you. Be a little grateful.”

You stayed quiet. Her smirk, which you suspected was fake, fell into something of a contemplative expression. She seemed… less sure of herself.

It unnerved you a little.

“Stray not from the path,” she went on, her voice a teasing lilt. “And yet…”

“I was looking for you.” you murmured.

“Still, it’s no excuse.” she huffed faintly, coming to a stop next to you, blue eyes fixed on the muddy pond. “We’re already down one person. You shouldn’t wander off unless you wanna be number two.”

“Three.” you said faintly.

She gave you a confused look.

“Sharon Davis?” you gestured around the air to no avail. Agatha frowned.

“Who?”

You sighed. “The gardening lady.”

Her nose scrunched, a vague scoff escaping her. “Oh. Right. Two people then. But the point still stands.”

And then--

“Why are you here?”

You stayed quiet. She frowned.

“Pet—”

“You used to call me that all the time.” you said softly. She didn’t look at you.

“Did I?”

“Yes. Now you just use my name. It’s…” What was it? Odd, unnatural, distant-- too distant.

You knew she didn’t care for you in any soft, affectionate way, of course she didn’t, but you felt like she was purposefully being vague and quiet towards you. Maybe it was the three years of not talking. Maybe she already forgot about you. What were you really? A student? How many of those she must’ve had over the years, dozens, maybe hundreds, and you were just one in the long line of Agatha Harkness wannabes, making yourself think she had it in her to become fond of you.

Maybe she did. Or so you thought. The hope you held had slowly started to die out from the moment you stepped into her basement. When you turned to look at her her head was held high, one hand running through her hair, the other somewhere along her side, half hidden by that blue coat, fingers grasping around nothing as if she was perfecting an invisible spell.

“Did you get it back?” you asked quietly blurting out your thoughts.

She paused.

You weren’t sure if she was expecting you to ask about Alice, or what happened, why it happened, but you didn’t. Selfishly enough, you were meaning to keep on track for trying to get her to talk to you. To bridge that gap that was somehow there no matter how hard you tried to follow her, agree to her ideas, watch her when she was watching someone else.

“No.” she said flatly. “Not all the way, at least.” she raised a hand, twisted her fingers, and you watched as a small cloud of warm orange light slipped around her empty palm, swirled for a moment, and then vanished into a puff of smoke.

She wasn’t looking at it. Her eyes were fixed on some distant spot, far beyond the forest.

“That’s still something.” you tried to sound optimistic. “Something’s better than nothing.”

She scoffed, shoving her hands back into her pockets.

“You always were so cheerful. I suppose you’re right, sure. But this is nothing compared to—” she paused. You could see the inner turmoil in her eyes, that quiet fury mixed with longing.

“It’s different.” she said, turning away. “If it had been someone like Wanda—”

“I tried to find her, you know.” you said quietly.

You thought she’d at least turn to look at you. She didn’t.

“And?”

“People say she’s dead. I’m...not too sure. They didn’t even find her body, but…”

Agatha huffed. “You could’ve done something useful.”

You frowned.

What? Was she serious?

“I did it for you.” you said, firmly, a little surprised, almost desperate, “I was doing it to help you—”

“Well a lot of good that did.” she sighed.

You fell silent. Hurt. You saw her gaze flick over your face, and something sharp softened in her blue eyes.

“What did you think you’d do? If you...found her.”

“I would’ve asked her to lift that- that spell. Whatever it was.”

She tilted her head.

“Why?”

Because I wanted to help. Because you’re the only person I can call family, the only one who-

You decided to be honest.

“Because I-- missed you.”

She didn’t say anything. You thought you saw her huff, lightly, glance away-- but maybe it was all in your head.

She was turned away from you, her head towards the faint chatter of the others, Teen talking to Lilia, their voices carrying through the thicket of the underbrush. You felt a wave of frustration course through you.

“Agatha.” you said.

She turned. Perfect posture, perfect teeth, sharp smile in place.

“Yes?”

And no words left you. A part of you maybe wanted to scream. To ask her why she was acting like this, so distant, so unlike her to be gloating so much, the lack of teasing little taunts murmured to you in passing. Instead she was just… quiet. Yes, she teased the others, but you? It was almost as if she was ignoring you.

“Are you going to stand there and gawk at me or are you going to speak?” she asked, enunciating every word with clear precision.

That felt more like her. Something eased inside of you, a familiarity, a warmth, at her voice saying things you were used to. Things you wouldn’t admit you so dearly missed in your time apart.

You took a breath. “Why are you so curious about him?” you blurted.

It wasn’t what you were meaning to ask, your preferred response would’ve been something like ‘can you let me in on what’s going on’ or ‘are you mad at me’ and now she was looking at you like that, like you just asked her something very funny and amusing and she looked smug. More like the Agatha you knew. It hurt a little as much as it soothed. You wondered briefly if you would die with her one day, just like this, meet your end stuck in some nevereding loop of running after the affection of someone who might not even want you anymore, not in her coven, not as her student, definitely not as a daughte--

“Oooh.” she smirked, tilting her head, “is someone feeling left out?”

You crossed your arms. Your insides were screaming yes, yes I am, why are you so interested in him, why won’t you talk to me, I was there first-

Instead you just said, “No.”

She smiled. “No? Are you sure, dear? I do know you very well, and-”

“All this time you’ve been watching him.” you said, looking down at the murky water below, “I want to know why. And it’s not just boredom, you don’t look like that at the people you’re not trying to figure out. So why him? Is it the sigil? Or what?”

Agatha sighed. “And you’ve been watching me, have you?”

You were. You were always watching her, even before, when she was your mentor officially, watching the hand movements, the way she countered spells, cast shields and blasted hexes and walked around with that impeccable, unflinching flair.

“I just wanna know why you’re so interested in him.” you murmured. “He’s just some kid, same as me, and I was here first.”

She paused, lips curving just a little bit upwards.

But she didn’t answer.

You sighed.

Looked down.

Took another breath.

“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Just-- why-- at least tell me why you’re acting like this? What id it, what did I do? Did I do something wrong, are you- are you mad at me?”

At that, her expression changed. It was almost imperceptible, but you caught it easily, a softer shift in her stoic exterior.

“No.” she said after a moment. Her voice was quiet. “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt something deep inside your heart unwind, relief flowing through your veins, a hope growing brighter-- “Then why?” you uttered, your own voice quieter too, slightly uneven despite your attempts at keeping your composure.

“Because,” she sighed finally, turning back to look at you, “you weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to come with us.”

You frowned.

“What?”

She pressed her lips together, frustrated.

“None of this was supposed to happen, toots. No trials, no—” she gestured blindly around, annoyed, “middle-of-the-woods cabins and ghosts and—” she met your eyes, “no Road.”

You paused, not following.

“What do you mean no Road?”

“The Witches Road, it doesn’t exist.” she said.

You stared at her. Blinked. Still didn’t understand.

“But-- it does. It does exist- we’re on it, right now. We’re here-- this is real.”

“Yes.” she nodded, something darker in her eyes. “It’s real. And the question is, who made it real?”

You followed her gaze over to the others. Stopped. Finally understood.

“You think he made the road?”

She waited. “I had my suspicions from the start, but now I’m sure.”

“You’re sure.” you tried to read her thoughts and came up blank. “So he’s a powerful witch, you mean. Powerful enough to make all of this? You think he made-- everything around us, right now?”

She nodded, quiet, and turned to meet your eye, voice low.

“Yes. That much power in someone so young,” you swallowed down a sting of something unfair, “it’s a precious thing. Needs to be handled carefully, or else…”

“Now you’re saying he’s precious?”

“I’m saying his power is precious, and that’s really sweet actually.”

You frowned.

“How much you seem to care what I think about him. I never took you for the jealous type, pet, but here we are.”

“I’m not—” you swallowed. “jealous.”

She chuckled. “No. Of course not. You’re just worried your dear old mentor might’ve found a new favourite student.”

“I’m your only student. And he’s not-- Agatha—”

“It’s alright, pet.” she murmured. “You know you’ll always be my favourite.”

You died there, maybe. Those were the words you needed to hear, however pathetic, however needy, they made something settle inside of you, the frustration-turned-desperation melting to relief, to ease, and more hope.

You hugged her.

She wasn’t expecting it, not at all, and made out a slightly startled oof- as you wrapped your arms around her so tight, holding on for dear life, face tucked into her coat.

“Why does everything have to be filled with sentimental nonsense when it comes to you, hm?” she asked, but you already felt her arms coming up around you, hands that pulled so much life out of others smoothing over your back in a comforting gesture. You didn’t know for sure when the tears gathered in your eyes, but before you had a chance to stop them they were falling down your cheeks, and into the mess of her curled, dark hair. You sniffled.

She let out a sigh, as if this exhausted her to the utmost level, and ran her fingers through your tangled hair.

“There, there.” she said, a little awkwardly, voice laced with exasperation. “You’re okay.”

And you nodded, because she was right, you were okay, and you were fine--

“I thought you-” your breath hitched, “you might be mad at me for- for not coming back so soon- I was trying- I t-tried—”

She exhaled softly, a thousand heavy regrets in her heart, and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, darling.”

“But it does,” you insisted, “it does matter, I should’ve found a way-- and instead he—”

“He isn’t my favourite, only student, and he’s not my-”

“Your what?” you made out quietly.

“He’s not my anything.” she said. “You are.”

That was enough. Enough to ease your worries once and for all, all the untrue thoughts your mind had conjured up about you in the dead of night, that she might hate you, might not want you around anymore, that she found someone better- easier to teach, better at learning-

She pulled away from you with a quiet look, her eyes on you, studying your tearful face.

“What?” you murmured shakily.

“You really care, don’t you.”

“Of course I do-”

She turned away a little, only slightly, like she was maybe unsure if you should see. Her eyes were pale as always, blue and set like cloudy weather, and she had the look of someone so composed on the outside yet hiding a storm on the inside. That was most of her life, you realized at some point while staying with her before. Always so distant, yet so much emotion raging inside. You looked into her eyes and wondered if you were seeing a glimmer of regret. What she did to Alice was a reminder of who you were dealing with, that she wasn’t some friendly, smiling witch or sleepover buddy, but you weren’t about to turn your back on her like the rest of them. Not now. Not here. You might not agree with her morals, but this was something you knew when you begged her to let you join her. You knew what you were signing up for. Witchcraft wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and Agatha Harkness wasn’t a cold-blooded psycho, not like everyone said or thought. You knew her. Deep down, quietly and from the sidelines, but you did. You believed that and you hoped she knew that too.

You wiped your eyes, quiet and careful, and stilled when she rose one hand and swiped off the liquid on your cheek with her thumb.

And you asked what kept lingering in the back of your mind since you all left the last trial.

“Agatha?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

She tilted her head. “Asked you what?”

“To give you my magic. Juice you up, whatever you call it. I could’ve blasted you with it.”

She stilled just slightly, an almost-smile on her lips. “And you would’ve let me?”

“If you asked me, yes.”

“How do you know I just wouldn’t kill you?” she asked.

The truth was, you didn’t. You hoped she wouldn’t, but it was all a slippery slope. You did trust her. Not just a little. Maybe too much. You definitely believed her when she spoke about being on the Witches Road before. And you would’ve let her take some of your magic too. Naively, maybe, you also believed she wouldn’t have killed you. That maybe, somehow, she would’ve stopped just on the brink, and it would leave you slumped over and heaving and panting but alive. You were so close to stepping in when Alice did it first. Would it have been different if it had been you? Would you have saved a life, or exchanged it for your own?

Beside, quietly, Agatha said, “You don’t know what it’s like, dear. All that power, surging into you, it’s like breathing air after being underwater for too long. It’s all you need to do until you feel better. Until you catch your breath. Some could survive that. Some couldn’t. But Alice never stood a chance. And neither would you.”

That stung.

“You think we’re too weak?”

But Agatha shook her head, the look in her eyes almost remorseful. “No. Not that. But it was three long years. Anyone to blast me with even a spark of it was guaranteed to…” she stopped. “It’s not an easy thing, this.” she said, quietly. “Most days I love it. It’s saved me more times than I can count. But it’s not always the easiest to control. Do you think you could make yourself stop breathing the second you took that first breath of air after being down for so long? For three years?I’m glad it wasn’t you.” she said, and you were surprised to her the firm conviction of her tone, “I’m not glad it was her, but I’m glad it wasn’t you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. There was a gentleness in her gaze you oh so missed, that soft look she gave you after saying something far too soft and indulging you in it. Her hand gently fixed your hair, tucking away a strand gently behind your ear.

And you didn’t know what to say so you just stood there, looking at her, feeling like you might cry all over again.

“So we’re on the same team?” you murmured. “Not like, the coven, them, and you and me. I just mean, us.”

She smiled. A fragile, uncertain smile, but it was there. Guarded. Healing. Safe.

“You and me.” she said back, “I promise, kid.”

For a brief moment, neither of you said anything. You felt the moment settle. Dissolve.

“We should probably get back to the others.” she said. “The sooner we finish this thing the sooner we can get home.”

Home? You turned to look at her, but she was already strolling away, posture poised, head up, back straight, that blue coat flapping behind her like a loyal apprentice, instead of you. You watched her for a moment, walking with her back to you, no doubt rather unwelcome now with the rest of the group.

You couldn’t blame them.

But you shoved your own guilt over it down. Perhaps they’d hate you for it, but you’d stay on her side. Just like before, just like always. There were times when even people like Agatha needed someone in their corner, and you swore to yourself you’d stay though the worst of it, where so many others turned their backs on her and left.

And so, with a purposeful stride in your step, you turned away from the lake and followed her back to the others. There was another adventure to come.

A/n: this wasn't proofread, i'm sorry. title is from Diet Mountain Dew (The Flight Demo) by Lana Del Ray. send me your thoughts on agatha or anything else, I love to talk with yall!!! I had a lot of college exams these last few days and tomorrow I'll be 21 (I literally do not feel old enough) but life goes on and what can you do. Thank you for reading and I hope you're all good and have a wonderful day!

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #marvel #mine #agatha harkness x reader #agnes of westview #marvel cinematic universe #mentor agatha harkness #reader insert #request #fic request

126 notes · View notes

loves-alibi · 5 months ago

Text

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.

So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued.

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic

214 notes · View notes

cap-winter-barnes · 10 months ago

Note

HEY QUEEN! i had this idea for a fic… angsty, could also be fluffy and maybe smutty? 👀 anyway, like in the original twisters, reader goes to try and get tyler to sign divorce papers and ends up chasing him around with tornadoes. then maybe she almost dies in one with him, like the pool scene, or she gets hurt? either way, they fall in love again, etc etc. !!!

Sign Your Life Away (Tyler Owens x Reader)

Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of sex, Tyler Owens (need I say more?)

It had been a while since you'd last visited your home state of Oklahoma, and it wasn't without trying, your life has just been a whirlwind of drama for the last few months. Your job had been even more demanding than usual with all of the unforeseen tornadoes smattering the map, one after another.

You are expecting this visit to be short and sweet, in and out, back to your apartment in Los Angeles. The divorce papers you have been carrying with you for quite some time, tightly fisted in your hand as you approach the growing mass of tornado chasers. Despite hoping that your soon to be ex-husband would be here upon your arrival, you soon realise that his little media circus is still awaiting the appearance of the world famous "Tornado Wrangler".

With a racing heart, you perch yourself onto the bonnet of your rented truck, boots balancing on the bumper guard. It may have been months since you last wore your wedding band but you still feel the ghost of the metal that once adorned your left hand whenever you think of Tyler Owens. Tears long dried out for the man, you take a deep breath as you prepare to see him for the first time in a long time, and hopefully for the last, you're ready for a new, fresh start in LA.

The rev of an engine brings you out of your thoughts, the blaring sound of a rock country track blaring through the air familiar to your ears. This was yours and Tyler's song. Keeping your position on your truck you watch as the Tyler's Ram speeds into the lot. You let the media crowd have their fun, surging and cheering for the arrival of their 'star'. Music still playing loudly you can't help but smile as you watch the one and only Tyler Owens soaking in the spotlight. Yet what surprises you is the false smile on his face, there's a dullness in his eyes that you can see from just watching from afar.

As you take in the sight of him, he notices you. He freezes as he makes eye contact, the smile completely disappearing from his face. A quick whisper to Boone and his crew has the crowd disperse with the promise of T-Shirts, signed merch and food to encourage them. Tyler makes a beeline for you, his confidence stride has you nervous.

"It's been a while, Baby Girl." He tips the brim of his Stetson towards you, a sad yet welcoming smile crossing his face.

"I'm not your Baby Girl anymore, Owens." You jump down from the hood, quick to press the worn papers into his chest. "Sign 'em." Before you can pull away, he has his hand around yours, holding you close to his body.

"You know neither of us want that, right?" Swallowing back a retort you meet his eyes, drowning in his hazel pools. "C'mon, Y/N." The pleading in his voice and face have your heart questioning everything.

"Tyler, it'll never work."

He breaks the eye-contact first and you swear you see the glisten of tears in his eyes. "It was good while it lasted, Owens. But we both want very different things."

"Ju-"

"Sign the papers, please. I'm staying in El Reno, come by the motel tomorrow and drop them off."

Without another word you turn your back on the man you used to love, truck door now between you both, you take one more look at Tyler as you see his heart breaking in front of you all over again.

"Okay. If this is what you want."

*The Next Evening*

You're not shocked that Tyler is late to drop off the divorce papers but why do you not feel disappointed that he never showed? Just as you are about to leave to set off back for home, there's a loud knocking at the door. With a sigh you open the door to be suddenly met with Tyler standing dishevelled and soaking with rain in front of you.

"We need to leave, now!"

The panic in his voice is enough to put your trust in him.

"Ty?"

"We need to move, now! I'm serious, let's go." He holds his hand out to you and without a second thought you place yours in his. As you make your way out of the motel room, you notice the chaos erupting around you.

"What the fuck? Tyler, where did this come from?"

With a rambled and short explanation you know just from his tone and demeanour that you're really in trouble if you don't get moving. The tornado is unmissable as it covers the horizon, debris flying across the sky, tearing apart everything in its path.

"We need to find somewhere low."

Immediately your mind goes to the empty swimming pool across the lot, you pull on Tyler's hand, guiding him in the right direction. Over all the destruction you make out the sound of a woman screaming and a young child crying. "Ty!" With one swift nod he runs across the lot to help, carrying the little girl carefully in his arms, never letting the mother out of sight.

The wind speed ratchets up quicker than you expect, this isn't your first experience with a tornado but this is the closest you've ever been to one outside the protection of the Ram. You loved storm chasing with Tyler, long before you were married and during those blissful few years that you were still in that honeymoon stage. A scream leaves your chest as you watch a truck somersault mere inches from crushing him to death. And you know if that moment that those divorce papers were a mistake. You were still madly, irrevocably in love with Tyler Owens, you'd just been in denial for all this time.

As he keeps your shielded from most of the force of mother nature, his arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe, you pray that you both make it through this to work things out.

Seconds feel like hours before the tornado passes. You can't help but shiver violently with fear, exhaustion and the effects of the rain seeping into your skin. Yet as you take in the destruction around you, your mind is on only one thing - Tyler Owens. Without taking a second thought you grab him by the collars of his shirt and pull him towards you. As you press your lips to his own, you can't help regret leaving him behind all those months ago, what an idiot you had been. But you know here and now is where you belong, in his arms.

Part 2 Coming Soon

#requests are open #send requests #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfic #buy me a coffee #buy me a kofi

365 notes · View notes

tacticaldiary · 2 years ago

Text

Frayed Stitches Don't Hold

A Fighting Chance Pt.2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: It's a surprise, wouldn't wanna spoil the ending

"But I can't love you right now." She finishes anyway, her throat thick with tears. "And I think you can't love me the way you want either."

Part 1, Masterlist

The first few days are good.

They're so good, she feels her heart stitching together with every 'I love you', every bouquet of flowers, and every night spent together. He's determined to show her that he means it, that he can fix it all if it means he gets to stay. If it means she stays.

Mornings, afternoons and nights all spent together, it almost feels like when they first started dating.

But then there's a phonecall.

During one of their movie nights, Simon's phone rings that special ringtone they both know well. He loosens a sigh, kisses her forehead and excuses himself, assuring her he'd be back in a second.

And he is. He is back a few moments later but even as she's pressed against him, head on his chest, his mind is somewhere else. She can feel it, feel that he's thinking about what Price had said over the phone.

He's late to bed that day, claiming he needs to call Price back for a moment. "Just a second." He'd said, shutting the door behind him.

The stitching around her heart starts to fray, starts to pull and snap as he starts pulling away again, slipping into his office at randoms times, then coming back out a minute or an hour later like he forgot he's not supposed to be there.

On the 7th day, he doesn't come to bed at all.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"It's not working." She says at the breakfast table the next day, eyes downcast at the pancakes she'd made the both of them.

The clink of Simon's fork stops, and when she looks up he's staring at her as if waiting for her to elabourate.

"You can't not have noticed." She prods at him, setting her cutlery down. "Simon...it's not working." Picking up her plate, she takes it to the kitchen counter to distract herself from his heavy gaze.

"Well it won't happen overnight." He tries to reason.

"It's been several overnights." She shakes her head, turns to face him. "You're here but you're not here. It doesn't matter what you do, doesn't matter what I do, because you're always going to be back at base."

"I'm right here." He says, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don't understand-"

"You stopped coming to bed. You stopped spending the day with me yesterday. You're in your office again, won't eat meals with me," She tries to get through with him, tries to explain as he gets up and strides over to her.

"Stop-" He says, but it's not with his usual easy confidence.

She shakes her head, keeps pushing on. "It's just like I said. It was good for a while but it'll never stay that way-" His arms wind around her, her back to the kitchen counter,

"It's not like that-"

"It is!" Her eyes sting with tears unshed now. "It is exactly like that, and you know it too! I see the way you look when you come out of your office like you've forgotten! I know you know, Simon, and ignoring it is only going to eat at the both of us!" Tears slip down her face now, and it cracks something deep inside Simon, seeing her so distraught because of him.

She's right. Because of course she is. Price had called with a complication to one of their previous op's and he'd just...he'd started to go back there. He knows, he knows.

"The sooner you accept it the easier it'll-" He kisses her mid-sentence, cutting her off and it's so sweet and filled with more feeling than he could ever articulate.

"It's not working." She whispers against his lips, salty with tears. "Please...please let me go."

His arms tighten around her, and he kisses her harder, tries to convey everything his tongue fails to put into words. How she's the only thing worth fighting for in a word so dreary, that she might be the only source of warmth he's ever felt in his heart since the day he walked into his family's massacre.

That she made him feel alive. She coaxed some of his humanity back, showed him not everything had to be cold and harsh and diciplined.

She brought him back.

But not enough of him.

"I love you," She whispers when he sags against her, his shoulders hunching inwards. "I will always love you, "When she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest he goes, levels eyes so pained with hers it nearly knocks her breath away. "But I can't love you right now." She finishes anyway, her throat thick with tears. "And I think you can't love me the way you want either."

His eyes are glassy, his jaw tight, but his lips are sealed. No protest, no arguement.

Just miserable acceptance.

"Maybe we can try again if the time is right later." She says softly, runs a hand through his hair and tries to relish the feeling of it for the last time. "If there's nobody else then-"

"There won't be anyone else." Simon rasps, and he sounds so sure and honest, that it makes her heart flutter. "Nobody else, love. It'll always be you."

"I think you're it for me too." She admits. "But not like this." She watches the line of his throat as he swallows hard. "Not right now." Her lips press against his cheek and it's almost too much to bear.

"I love you." He mutters.

"I know." She assures.

"I love you." He repeats almost to himself.

Was this something he was destined for? To see anything and everyone he loved just...leave? Walk away, get murdered in front of him? Something inside him rages in indignation, anger at himself, at the worlds, and all he wants to do is spend a few hours in the base's shooting range-

Oh.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

His instincts were the problem. Most of what he knows is the cool metal of a gun, the blind loyalty of his team and the comfort of a structure he's known since he can remember. Every problem can be solved by a mix of indifference and a pistol, right?

It's the softer part of life he's not used to. The part that expects him to talk and communicate his anger instead of shooting at a cardboard target for an hour until he's cooled down. It wants him to weave a type of softness and understanding into his demeanor that he's not grown up knowing.

It's what she deserves.

And something he needs to teach himself.

With the thought settling like an ache in his bones, all Simon does is press his forehead to her shoulder, arms still around her waist. Her hand rubs soothing circles on his back, one tangled into his hair the way he likes. It's almost funny, isn't he the one who should be comforting her? Isn't she the one that went through the brunt of his ignorance?

But then again, she's always been the better person.

"I'm not stayin' away from you forever." It's Simon who pulls away first, fixes her with a grave but intense look. "I'll come back for you, yeah? Not letting you get away that easy, love."

"I'll count the days." She smiles, watery and flimsy but real.

They stand there in each other's space, breathing, existing for as long as they can, soaking in the second until they have to pull away and face their new reality.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(9/11/2023)

1K notes · View notes

radiance1 · 1 year ago

Text

Okay, I know there's a LOT of Hcs where Kyrptonite is highly favored by ghosts to eat, like candy, or in one of my other posts catnip.

But consider.

Just, consider.

Kyryptonite is just Ecto-ranium and vice versa.

Maybe they aren't completely the same, maybe there's only a slight difference, but still.

Just, imagine.

Danny, fighting the GIW who somehow managed to get their hands on Kyrptonite, who were trying to get results in finding a way to fight ghosts with it, made something experimental with it that they genuinely don't know if it'll work or not and then try to capture Danny.

They're out of options normally.

So, they use kyrptonite and it absolutely KNOCKS Danny out.

Dude is super weak, powerless, barely even standing.

Then vice versa.

Superman goes to deal with Lex Luthor (or any other villain) and Lex has a shipment of a new material called Ecto-ranium that he was going to mess around with or sell off to gain a monopoly out of it.

Then uses it against Superman.

It has the same effects as Kyrptonite.

Twas almost the end for both of them, but through sheer luck (team Phantom and uh whatever other hero was present) managed to avoid capture/death and was taken off the scene.

Once Vlad is made aware that Kyrptonite has the same effects as Ecto-ranium, you already KNOW he's gonna make an enemy of Lex Luthor in a rush to buy it all up so that it'll never be used against him (and by extension Danny, either intentional or unintentional, up to you really.)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

916 notes · View notes

adr1enneee · 2 months ago

Text

From Sea to land

Captain Caviar cookie x mermaid reader

Reader is a girl btw

[♥︎•.pretty dividers made by anitalenia.•♥︎]

★

reader Is lowkey kinda weird but not rly, don't be weirded out by her actions pls

If a lot of readers words sound cave man ish it's on purpose dw >:]

it's like how the mermaids would call stuff different names than land cookies

land cookies: ship/boat

merfolk cookies: hollow whale

etc etc…

★

lowkey tired of fics portraying mermaids that despite either interacting with a person once or never they already know how everything works. So in this reader isn't gonna act all majestic and soft(yet) she's still a predator that hunts for her food for the witches sake.

In this fic, the reader is a gem mermaid with the ability to transform into creatures of various shapes and sizes in order to protect the ocean and her kingdom, sharks, eels, whales, etc!

Swimming about the murky waters only to discover endless wrecked ships, she finds a submarine stuck on debris, she watches for a while then she decides to help the sharp-toothed cookie and candy-eyed cookie. After the trio all manage to evade one very angry mermaid and properly introduce yourselves, you eventually get close to the two, especially the one known as Captain Caviar cookie.

you all know how the story ended so this will pick up right after they all escaped Black Pearl cookie and after Candy Diver cookie casually revealed they were a ghost.

btw if i added the whole part where they meet Black Pearl cookie and try to escape from her plus the stuff before that i would not get this fic as done as quick so we just skipping to where they are safe and out of the water. :’]

"Sooo this is where we part ways eh? I gotta say y/n cookie, we would've been soggy crumbs if you hadn't used that flashy power of yours!"

you chuckled, a little sad that you'd probably never see the two again but also a little happy about the praise. “Well I couldn't stand to see your lives cut so abruptly, I..have a soft spot for land cookies you see.." currently the pair was out of the submarine and now on the beach near the docks. You were at the very shallow part of the sea, practically a beached mermaid. you had to drag yourself this close to the dry sand and as you lay flat on your stomach you played with the warm grains a little, as did Candy Diver cookie, making random shapes out of the sand and a messy attempt at a sand castle, nevertheless they perked up at your words.

"■■●●○●???"

The sounds of sloshing and bubbling was basically incoherent but captain caviar seemed to grasp an understanding of what they were trying to say because they kept pointing at their legs and wiggling their feet before covering them in some sand.

The captain scratched his head and looked down at your tail "yeeahhh...speakin of standin', we've seen ya turn into all sorts of sea creatures so far but I don't think it'll do ya any good if you want to come on land with us."

"Unless ya wanna be in a fish tank the whole time..." he grumbled under his breath, no doubt already against that idea.

This dawned on you and made you feel that sadness again but only for a moment, you thought hard, then had a crazy idea.

"I can turn into any kind of creature I want, what if I can turn myself into a land cookie?"

Captain caviar cookies expression turned into one of skepticism and a little bit of hope, "Ya think that'll work? Ever done it before??" candy diver tilted their hand in confusion, although still continuing to bury the rest of their legs in sand.

you flipped yourself onto your back and sat up to look at your tail, "I'll admit that I never have but I'll never know unless I try!"

With that you concentrated on the power in your gem, imagining your body transform into what the two cookies had, your tail split and formed your new legs. You now had the leg part down, a rather painless process as you literally transformed into creatures far more complex and large. It did take a bit of energy out so you didn't really bother to will-away most of your scales. There were still big patches here and there that would easily tell other land cookies that you weren't one of them but all in all you did have legs that resembled the dough that land cookies had. You did your best for your first time and that's all that matters right now.

"Not bad for my first time, oh well, hard parts over" you spoke proudly, looking up at Captain Caviar cookie only to see his stunned expression, "Well I'll be! Looks like ya can do anythin!" you giggle at the praise, though as you attempt to mimic the way he's standing you realize that you have no idea how to work them. They weren't useless but all you could really do was wiggle your feet a little and twitch the muscles in your legs in an attempt to stretch them.

"Ah, right, you never walked before, here we'll help, right Candy Diver cookie- woah! Candy Diver cookie!"

You look over to see that Candy Diver cookie managed to bury themselves waist deep in sand and carefully used the sand to make it look like they had a mermaid tail, even using a small twig they found to carve scales in the sand covering them.

You both looked at them for a moment before bursting into laughter. Their shenanigans temporarily put a halt on your crisis.

Now in brighter spirits you reached out for Captain Caviar cookie and tugged on the end of his coat, he turned to you, "A little help?"

"But of course mate! Here let me-" for just a split second he looked down at your legs and while he admired how your patches of scales glistened in the sunlight his eyes traveled to an uncovered area, in your mermaid form there just would've been a slit but due to your change in anatomy and lack of clothing your vagina was more prominent and easily noticeable.

Captain Caviar cookie stumbled on his words and averted his eyes, “H-here! Us cookies like to cover ourselves”

The flustered Captain hastily took off his coat from around his shoulders and helped you slide your arms in the sleeves, it felt weird..not bad but still very weird.

“Is this your shell?” this almost snapped him from his flustered state, “Shell?” “y’know? Your protection from predators? many of my little friends have shells!” Captain Caviar let out a hearty laugh, “Ooh, no no, we wear fabric, er- clothes for many different reasons, ‘course there's loads of different names for all kinds of clothes, but that's what it's generally called.” he couldn't help but find your curiosity endearing. You rubbed the fabric and admired how it felt.

The Captain buttoned the coat and offered you a hand, you hesitantly took it and attempted to stand, it was difficult and damn near impossible but you were determined.

After a couple of failed tries Captain Caviar cookie decided to speed up the process and yank you to your feet, causing you to yelp and fall forward against his awfully warm chest and taking a moment to inhale his scent, your free hand clung to his shoulder, claws threatening to dig into his dough at any moment. “Woah there! See I've gotcha!”

You wobbled from side to side, frightened by this foreign sensation in your new legs, your squeezed his hand and slowly pushed away from him, a terrified look on your face but still, you've literally fought plenty sea beasts before, this shouldn't have you feeling like this and yet it does because you feel so vulnerable. Besides your razor claws and teeth you didn't have much of an advantage. Though a little less now because you were being helped by a cookie with some scars that shows he's been through some tough battles himself and survived.

Not to mention just how much muscle he had, or how attractive he actually looked up close-

“Ah ha! There ya go, not shakin’ so much anymore, now let's try walkin’“ Captain Caviar put your arm over his shoulder and neck then went to your side. Candy Diver watched curiously, sounds of water splashing around inside of their suit.

They watched as Captain Caviar cookie began showing you how to walk, first by simply demonstrating lifting his legs and moving his joints and then gradually helping you to move on your own. After your first small step you already felt like you accomplished something big, however you seemed to bite off more than you could chew, you tried to take a big step and it resulted in you nearly collapsing, luckily Captain Caviar caught you just in time. After that you tried again and little by little you were able to take bigger steps, now the hardest part was doing it on your own.

You almost wanted to add to Captain Caviar's scars as you felt him pull away from you, though with his encouraging words you decided to swallow your fear and try to take a step on your own.

On the side, Candy Diver cookie decided that they were done playing in the sand and wiggled themselves out. After dusting Themselves off they ran to you two, “■■●○!!” You thought you could feel them telling you words of encouragement because of their body language but for all you knew they could have been cussing you out-

Regardless you tread on, your body is stiff, having the fear of face planting into the sand...Your focus began to switch to not get a mouth full of sand and before you knew it you were actually walking!

Strength was taking root in each step you took and you only noticed after you stopped and took a look back to see that you were about 10 feet away from Candy Diver cookie and Captain Caviar cookie. Candy Diver cookie was waving their hands in the air as a way to express their excitement and Captain Caviar wore a big grin, proud of your progress.

“Good! Now…it won't be easy gettin’ ya inside, we've still gotta go through town, hope yer up for a challenge!”

You were confident enough to declare that you could handle anything and thus the three of you walked from the beach through the town and you were practically gonna explode from all the different things you were seeing. Land cookies with such colorful shells! erm, clothes..! and the things they've built were just astonishing, sure you've seen a couple of their buildings from a far but to see them up close was a whole different experience.

Your sight seeing had to come to an end eventually, you soon made it to Captain Caviar's cave as you called it, Candy Diver was busy in a different part of the building, (tbh they were probably watching tv or something) “This is a very interesting cave, you sleep here?” “ain't no cave, this here is called a bedroom” carefully he led you to what he called his bed, where he slept and ohh did It feel heavenly against your palm.

Captain Caviar turned to go put some souvenirs he had from the adventure on his desk, meanwhile you remembered watching him button up his coat for you so you picked and pulled at the buttons till they came undone and you felt the air hit your bare skin and scales, you slid the coat off of you and collapsed onto the bed, giggling at how soft it felt. You kicked your legs a little, mimicking the way your tail would sway in the water whenever you were happy about something.

The cookie turned and immediately returned to his flustered state, “So soft! I always struggled to sleep back in the water, always had to look out for predators, strong currents, not to mention everywhere I slept was rarely ever as cozy as this..”

You stretched your arms and legs out on the bed to fully get every fell of it, looking over to see that Captain Caviar cookie wide eyed and slack jawed, you sat up, “are you alright Captain Caviar cookie?” unbeknownst to you, for land cookies it was very indecent and illegal- to just go around with nothing covering your privates.

Captain Caviar cookie realized this and tried his best to compose himself, your lives were very different for sure, really only similar via the love for water that's for sure.

He also realized that his crew were awaiting his arrival and he needed to go catch them up on everything that happened, and for now at least explain the situation with Candy Diver cookie cause trying to explain that he nearly died from a mermaid, befriended a ghost and now had another mermaid in his bedroom would be too much for them to handle and he was too tired to have to deal with all the questions.

“Uhh…YEAH! yeah…I uh…will be back soon, I have to go do some stuff, for now try to get some sleep ey?” your happiness faded a little, “you'll be back soon right?” fear crept up on you as you realized you were in unfamiliar territory with no way to navigate around it.

Captain Caviar only reassured you, “Come on now, mate! We've faced the most dangerous sea beast there is! Ain't a cookie here that can come close to that kind of power”

With that he bid you a goodbye and closed the door behind him.

It was starting to get dark and you already found yourself getting a little bored, you already explored around his entire room, the small trinkets to the pictures on the walls of him and his crew to his clothes. Eventually you returned to his bed and stretched your limbs, it dawned on you, you examined the space around you but you didn't get a chance to examine your own.

It started with just feeling your legs, your thighs, calves, feet, you suspected there were more names than just legs for the various different parts of them but for now you didn't bother thinking too hard about it.

You shifted to your side and wondered what they called this part of your behind that felt incredibly squishy, you wondered if it was used to break your fall, or maybe the extra dough was there to protect against a vital organ? No matter, all you cared about was how nice it felt to rub that area.

You really had no shame, it wasn't in your nature to want to feel shy or insecure about something that you were gifted, you weren't exposed to the cruel world of land cookies. The most you covered up was your chest which was literally only covered because you saw a couple mermaids weaving themselves various different patterned coverings using underwater plants.

Feeling up yourself had begun to make you feel hot and flustered and you knew all too well how to satisfy yourself. You sat up and began to peel away the plants on your chest, it was mostly kelp but there were other smaller kinds of plants in there too.

You didn't really know where to place the plants so you just did what you did best back when you were in the water, you ate them! You were hungry after a long and eventful day!

After your quick intermission was over you quickly returned to what you were previously doing, you quickly spread your legs and instantly began carefully dragging a finger up and down your whole vagina, you had to be careful, your claws were not retractable so unless you were so insatiably horny to the point you would break your claws off just to finger yourself then you just couldn't. Instead you always opted to simply rubbing your clit for satisfaction. Which wasn't bad, you weren't really interested in any of your species enough to want to mate with them.

You knew that the cookies here had customs and mating rituals far different than your species, you'll admit that you did see it happen once or twice so you have an overall idea of how courting and the whole process works.

Also hearing stories from a couple of mermaids she had small talk with, she came to the conclusion that unlike her species, who only mated for reproductive reasons, many land cookies did it simply for satisfaction and this is why after a night of getting too close to shore and definitely not being creepy- you watched from afar as a drunken cookie pleasured themselves in a secluded area by the beach and you tried to do it yourself.

Ever since learning of how good it felt to mate with yourself you always wanted to learn more about the things land cookies could do that their kind couldn't.

This time felt strange though, of course with the legs but also because one, you were on land, and two, you couldn't help but pick up on Captain Caviar's scent on the bed. Your main concern was the second one, you wondered why you decided to trust a cookie you only knew for a few hours, maybe you were unknowingly searching for a potential mate despite how picky you were. If you weren't interested in the ones in the sea maybe you could have better hope in the ones on land? which led you here.

‘Great, I might have gotten myself in a lot of mess because I wasn't thinking with my head! Worst part is that I don't hate this..’ you chastised yourself for trusting such a brute.

A brute that had a lot of strength and the muscles to prove it

A brute with such beautiful scars and intricate patterns on his body

A brute that helped you accomplish the impossible, walking on land

Any other cookie would've took advantage of that and took your gem, or so you've been told would happen if you were to encounter land cookies.

you whined, fingers picking up speed as you remembered how his body felt when you fell onto his chest, when your hand was on his shoulder and when your arm was wrapped around his it, it didn’t help that the bed, matter of fact the whole room was filled with his overwhelming scent, at first you didn't seem to notice nor care but now that you started to yearn for him the smell became so powerful that it made your legs quiver.

You couldn't deny it no longer, regardless of how short you knew this cookie for, you wanted to mate with him.

Just the thought of it sends you into a frenzy, your soft cries and whimpers increased in volume and length as you accepted this truth. You didn't exactly understand how the act would play out, nor did you fully grasp the entirety of having a mate but you knew that you desperately needed him.

You've been told that with the right partner, it would feel much better than simply rubbing yourself and oh did that thought rile you up further. Thinking about how many good qualities the Captain had made you only want him more, you were sure that with his experience and physique he would make a perfect partner. After all most mermaids wanted mates that were strong enough to protect them and their future offspring from danger. They were all very strong of course but a little extra protection never hurt, better safe than sorry.

Furthermore, you edged closer to your climax and by this point you could only let out small pants and Captain Caviar cookies name, your increasing body heat and pleasure mixed with the thought of him only added fuel to the fire until it was too much.

Your fantasies about him, unrealistic and possibly too upfront about what you wanted him to do to you was just what you needed to finally cum.

Just as you came you couldn't even speak anymore. All you could do was gasp for air as your body convulsed and quivered.

Soon your body slowly calmed down, just in time to, because you suddenly heard the sound of the doorknob turning, immediately you snapped out of your state and tried to act normal like you didn't just leave a wet spot on Captain Caviar's bed, you laid on your side and pretended to be sleeping, even going as far as to hug a pillow that undoubtedly made you throb a little down from the smell, it had his scent, the smell of salt water and a hint of something sweet to it.

They needed to be washed but you didn't know that nor did you really see a reason too, sure you literally had your juices on his bed but that was all for more reason not too! It showed that you were eager to mate!

Anyways, the door creaks open, in stepped Captain Caviar cookie, he looked a bit irritated, seems he had to do a little more than simply explain things to the Salty Sharks.

“damn Custard cookie, someone outta throw him and his blabber mouth to the barracudas…”

He looked at you, slowly starting to get used to your nakedness but not quite. your eyes were shut so you luckily didn't see the dark blush that formed on Captain Caviar's cheeks, You sniffed the air and instantly sprung up, still clutching the pillow. “Fish!”

He chuckled, holding two bags up, “Yup, assumin’ you ain't eat all day, went ahead an stopped by the market an picked up a couple for ya”

mental note, he provides for you, the list of reasons you wanted him was getting longer by mile.

He knew that you weren't like him and didn't have to cook your food before eating so he handled one of the bags of fish to you.

He had different looking fish than you, you were too busy trying to get to your meal that it didn't matter to you in the moment, immediately throwing the pillow to the side you ripped up the bag, nearly eating the plastic but being stopped by him in the process. You eventually got to the fish and you immediately began to chow down, definitely better than the old kale.

Captain Caviar's blush remained strong at the discovery of your lack of top but decided not to question it for now. He sat down next to you and began to take out his cooked fish and ate with less aggression than you. The smell of fish was strong but his smelt different, a rather good smell. The difference was starting to dawn on you, it was the same kind of fish but his looked darker and it had specs of something black, red and some orange sprinkled on top.

“Why is yours different? Is it not the same fish as mine?” he then had to explain to you the whole process of cooking food and adding seasoning to enhance the flavor. you rotated between staring at him and the fish intently a few times, trying your best to understand the process. It's seemed a lot to do to just make your food taste better.

You stared at his fish, the more he explained the more you wanted to try it, as if he read your mind he offered you a piece.

Carefully you set your own fish down and put your hand out and accepted the small offering.

Pulling your hand back you looked at the small piece and sniffed it for a second before shoving it in your mouth.

Almost immediately your eyes lit up.

You begun singing out praises about the taste, amazed at how land cookies are geniuses for coming up with this.(girl wait till u try a seafood boil)

You then thanked him and continued to eat your own fish, the two of you continued to talk for a while, you asked him questions about himself and he did the same for you.

You found out things like Captain basically meaning leader, and that he competed against many strong cookies and won. He couldn't help but laugh at your shocked expression.

Then whatever he asked you, you answered truthfully

You told him tales of your battles against giant deep sea squids, the time you just barely dodged getting impaled by a swordfish and one about when you wrestled a shark for the remains of a fresh kill to which you flipped the shark after seeing a few divers do it in the past and took your meal to your cave to eat by yourself.

You didn't stop there tho, you also told him about what It's like to be a mermaid, most would usually live in groups, families, however for you it was rather lonely and cold, the mermaids you knew were basically just neighbors, their homes not too far from your cave and you made conversation whenever yall came across eachother every now and then, shared a meal before but that was it.

he listened intently, he half expected your story to be...happier, calmer. he told you he heard stories from rather terrified sailors that many mermaids would cackle beneath the waves and poke holes in boats, even dolphin-dive across small boats to scare cookies for no reason.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing, you admitted that you've jumped over a few boats in your time to ease the boredom.

You both resumed your back and forth of times of the past, at one point while Captain Caviar rummaged through his bag and pulled out a can of beer. The sound of the can opening made you perk up.

…and just like that you had more questions and wanted to try whatever he was drinking, this time he was hesitant, telling you not everyone is a fan of the taste but after remembering that you kill and eat almost every part of what you kill, eyes, insides, bones etc for a living, he offered it to you, it was cold to the touch. You sniffed the can, the smell rather strong. when you took a sip you immediately regretted it, you tried your best to swallow but it burned your throat going down and you made that very clear by shaking your head and making a grossed out face.

He laughed louder than before, “Good right?” to which you protested, “Absolutely not! I take it back, not everything land cookies make are good!” earning another laugh from Captain Caviar cookie.

The rest of the night went well, aside from the whole bed situation, you licked up what you could and then wiped the blood and juices from the fish off your hands and onto the bed, catching him by surprise.

Sure you didn't like the reprimand he gave you for getting the blanket dirty but he did inform you that it needed to be cleaned, he grabbed both of your bags and went to throw one away, he took some stuff out the other, set them on the desk and threw the other away. When he turned back around you were already peeling away the sheets and pillow cases like he instructed, careful to only have him see the current mess and not the one from before he walked in.

You both walked to a new room, he told you this is the laundry room, that it was smaller than he would have liked but it got the job done which is what matters. You nodded, not really understand what he meant.

Another moment of teaching you how a washer and dryer works later and here you are sitting in front of the washer, head tilted and watching the blanket spin with the water again and again. Captain Caviar was in a different room showering and by the time he was done He returned to see you attempting to work the dryer, you managed to put the wet covers inside though you didn't know how to start it, you huffed and was seconds away from mashing the buttons before Captain Caviar approached you and showed you how to do it.

The next thing Captain Caviar showed you was showering, you did come from the sea so you were bound to have a lot of bacteria and grime on you, he wasn't sure how your body would react to soap so he added very little to the water. being submerged in water again made you want to go fully under but Captain Caviar advised you not to as the soap would burn your eyes, you grumbled but listened.

Though you did temporarily change back into your mermaid form so that you could feel a bit normal, albeit half your tail was sticking out of the tub.

It was weird scrubbing your body with this rag but if land cookies did this then you guess it shouldn't hurt

Next your eyes were squeezed shut and the Captain was washing your hair with a bit more soap, the scratching of your scalp made you relax and want to drift off to sleep, this was cut short as he grabbed a cup, filled it with water and poured it over your head.

oh well that ain't to bad either, just gotta make sure soap doesn't get in your eyes and mouth.

Some time passed, you were back in your legs and given a towel to dry yourself with while he went to take the covers out of the dryer and make the bed.

While drying, you notice yourself in the mirror, you've seen your reflection before but never this clearly, by both land and sea cookies you would be considered attractive and you were proud of that.

A small knock on the door made you jump, “ya good in there?”

His voice was a little muffled but still as naturally gruff "yes, you can come in”

He didn't even get to walk in all the way before you asked, “I can see myself, have you put magic upon this..this..?” You paused, not finding the right words to place upon this contraption.

“Nah, it's called a mirror, it shows you what you look like, another thing made by cookies but I myself have no idea how it's created so who knows, could have magic in it” he walked in and set a couple things on the counter, you looked at it, it looked like a very tiny brush, it would take forever to brush your hair with that.

Another learning lesson, you were eager but starting to become more and more tired by the minute.

Mint, he called it, the harsh stingy flavor in your mouth is called mint, you now assumed that these cookies must have crazy, using different scents to cover up your natural one was one thing but to brush your teeth was even more wild!

You didn't lIke the feeling of the brush and toothpaste on your mouth and was letting out small growls over it so he huffed and grabbed your jaw and gently squeezed to keep you in place, “Alright quit yer fussin, open up”

So here you were, getting your teeth brushed for the first time by a land cookie.

“Now spit it out in here n’ use some water to wipe ya mouth but don't rinse the inside, it can't do it's job if it doesn't sit for a while.” pretending you understood what he was yappin about you did as he instructed, spat it out in the sink, used to running water to wipe your mouth clean and even made sure your spit went down the drain.

All in all, it has been a very tiresome day for you both, moreover when he had you put on some shorts, via saying 'place it on the ground, step into the two holes and pull them up' as for a top he gave you one of his, he rarely wore them, only really covering himself in the colder months. Might as well get you used to clothes as soon as possible.

With all that out of the way you finally, finally got to go back to the bedroom.

and with that you ended the night off by sleeping under a fresh blanket next to Captain Caviar.

You tried to keep your distance but ended up clunging to him like a remora on a shark

★Timeskip★

It's been a few months now

During that time Candy Diver cookie and you met the Salty Sharks and became part of the crew. It was hard for many of them to wrap their dough around the fact that they had a ghost and a mermaid on board with them now but eventually they've grown to accept it and actually like you two.

You've learned the ropes around the land here and on the ship, an especially good help on repairing the bottoms of ships because you were immune to getting soggy.

It was a lot of work sometimes but of course through all this you stayed close to Captain Caviar cookie and Candy Diver cookie, after that near death experience the three of you went through it proved a great opportunity to share your sides of the story and further scare rookie cookie.

With the help of Captain Caviar cookie you were able to get yourself your own place to stay, you insisted on a small place because you would really only return there to change clothes and sleep. Over time you really began to find your style and fell in love with clothes, you'd spend the money you and your crew mates received after long voyages mostly on clothes, you were told by a few to start saving a little just in case so you did so without really seeing a need to.

You rarely turn the lights on in your home, always got food from returning to sea and hunting or bought from the market, never used the air conditioning or heating, heck the only thing you really used in your home was the water.

Though..as of recently you've grown a habit, one only growing worse the more you were around a certain Captain.

You wanted to deny it, suppress it however you could, you truly did, but your body knew what it desired. It was that time when the women of your species went into heat.

Each night you'd return to your home desperately trying to simmer down the wetness pooling between your legs, with how limited your situation was it would take a couple rounds of playing with your pussy to fully be satisfied for the time being before it would creep back up the next morning.

It was taking a toll on you and was starting to affect your day to day life. You went shopping less and only went to the market. You feared if you dared enter the waters during this time you'd have to fight off men left and right.

You were thankful you conveniently weren't supposed to go on another voyage for another few weeks but this didn't mean you were off the ship, when y'all were stationery you were tasked with various things, the more experienced cookies did internal repairs and check ups, while others cleaned and gathered supplies.

On the ship you could barely keep up with your tasks, you were either tired from the long and vigorous night before, or you were often In a daze, standing still and daydreaming of heated scenarios that would make you hot and bothered, hence why you always ended up being exhausted the next day.

You had to make up lies to not worry the others, many of them consisted of, “Nightmares” “My neighbor's were fighting again haha” and “I stayed up watching TV again”

Word that you refused to clean the bottom of the ships as usual multiple times eventually got to Captain Caviar cookie, you were a mermaid so this shouldn't be something you had a problem with. Seeing as he genuinely cared for the well being of his crew he wanted to confront you about this but there you were, already finished scrubbing the deck the best you could and off, in a rush to get home.

As you made long strides you heard one of them shout at you in the distance, “Hey scales! Ya best get back here! Ya still have lots to do y'know!”

Still, you walk a little faster even till you were nearly out of sight. The Captain decided to take matters into his own hands, he asked what happened and after being caught up he decided to go after you, putting one of the more experienced cookies in charge till he got back.

He knew where you were going, there's no way you'd abandon your duties to buy clothes, as for food, when you were hungry you used to jump right off the ship to catch your meals so food wasn't the problem here. By the direction he knew you were heading home, if you were tired you could've slept on the ship so that crosses that off the list of potential reasons in his mind.

Your house was so close now and you wasted no time in making the last few steps a little quicker, relief washed over you the moment you got that door open, that desire was taking over your senses more and more but you still remembered to close the door behind you.

You almost smiled now that you were alone, it had been rough all day trying not to touch yourself. The thin walls where everyone slept wasn't a good place to relieve yourself because you were quite loud, even if you were to cover your mouth or bite down on something you wouldn't have been able to hide your moans.

Basically in your eyes you did all of your crewmates a favor by not having them hear you every single night but this was far from the truth, whenever you'd randomly disappear it would just leave another poor cookie to finish your work for the day..

You got to your room and grabbed an old piece of clothing from the day before and fell to your bed, learning from your mistake of getting Captain Caviar cookies bed wet with your juices you made sure to put something under you for easier clean up.

You got your pants and drenched underwear off as quick as you could, your heat was getting harder to deal with, it would appear that it would only increase the longer you went without properly mating with someone, it would eventually go away after a few weeks but it hadn't even been a single week and you were already at your limit.

You didn't bother with much teasing and went straight to abusing your clit as always, sometimes your fingers went down to gather lubricant seeping out before returning to the place they gave the most attention.

To your surprise you came rather quick this time, however you knew this wasn't the end. As your body jolted and convulsed, after your insides tightened around nothing and your legs locked up..you were still extremely horny.

This was frustrating, you were actually considering gnawing off your claws in order to satiate that need to be filled..

[Knock knock knock!]

“Y/n cookie! I know yer in there! Heard ya been actin funny lately so I came to check up on ya!”

your half lidded eyes shot open, no, no no no!

He can't be here right now, you were busy, did he follow you to your house!?

You practically threw yourself off the bed and rushed to get your pants and underwear back on, chastising yourself when you almost left without swiping the old cloth off the bed.

“DON’T UH- don't come in! I'm fine Captain Caviar cookie! I just needed to do something! I'll be back on the ship in a bit!”

As you came closer to the door you heard him scoff, “I don't buy that one bit, word ‘round the ship is that you've done this many times before, just what has ya rushin home in the middle of work everyday?”

Your face dropped, you fell silent, you couldn't tell him that you were becoming a problem on ship simply because you wanted to masterbate.

Your silence was alarming and his voice sounded concerned, “Is there somethin serious goin on with you Y/n cookie…?”

You swallowed, you didn't want to do this but for the sake of not keeping him in the dark you figured it's best that you told him what was troubling you, he's heard all about the life of mermaids from you, why would he be freaked out by this..?

Slowly, you opened the door little by little, revealing your restless state, “Woah! What in the world happened to you!?”

It took you a moment to get your words together, you didn't look him in the eye when you spoke.

“If I tell you, you promise not to be..freaked out..?”

His concern only grew but he nodded and made the promise to you, with that confirmation you opened the door fully and invited him inside.

Your home was very small and you didn't bother with much furniture so you simply took him to your bedroom. You sat down, him following behind you and sitting next to you.

your body was tense, eyes shut and you concentrated on how to explain this to him, you eventually sighed.

“Okay, here we go..”

Swallowing your fear of his reaction you began.

“Captain Caviar cookie..I've told you all about my life as a mermaid, especially about how friendships and relationships work”

He raised a brow, did one of them sea-cookies catch your eye? Nah, that wouldn't really explain leaving the ship abruptly and coming all the way here.

He nodded and urged you to continue, eager to get to the bottom of this.

“Well..around this time it is what you would call our..”

Your eyes stared into the floor so intensely you could practically burn holes through the wood.

“..mating..season..”

The silence that fell was deafening, oh gosh, you knew you shouldn't have said anything.

Maybe you should've just plunged into the sea and picked some random mate after all, it would've saved you some trouble.

“Ah…so that's why ya been sneakin off the past few days ey?”

You didn't want to guess what his face looked like right now, his voice was quiet though you guessed he'd either be confused or disgusted.

“Yes, it's only getting stronger and I have yet to..properly mate” he hummed, the quietness returned.

With all that off your chest it was now Captain Caviar cookies turn to speak, “Well Y/n cookie I gotta say, that was…a lot, I'm glad ya had the courage to tell me this”

“For whatever It's worth, I'm with ya till the end of the line n’ I hate to see ya have to isolate yourself like this, so…” he trailed off. This time it was him who looked away and you who looked over at him.

“If ya need help to uh- get rid of this problem of yours I could help ya out..only-if-ya-want-of-course-!” With every word both of you blushed further.

All anxiety and fear you felt was thrown out the window at this, you placed your hand on his making him finally look at your face.

You gulped and spoke,

“Yes, please Captain Caviar cookie..I need you..”

Just as you said that he leaned in and placed a kiss on your lips, you could smell his sudden spike in arousal.

You gripped his shoulder as the kiss deepened.

His hands moving to pull you closer to him made your body rise in temperature.

His rough hands against your dough was driving you crazy, you two broke the kiss to catch your breath and you whimpered at the attention you were getting at last.

You gasped when he placed his hand over your clothed pussy, rubbing the area in a slow circular motion. The hand on his shoulder moved to his forearm, squeezing it so that he wouldn't pull away.

“If my observation is correct, ya haven't been able to properly touch yourself cause of them claws right?” he was closer to you now, you felt his own body heat at this point. You nodded, lidded eyes focused on his large hand against your growing heat.

“Poor thing, let's get these off ya” following suit you slid your pants and underwear off with his help, a thin strand of your slick sticking to your underwear didn't go unnoticed by the sharp eyes of Captain Caviar cookie.

He smiled and shed his coat, discarding it to the side of the bed.

You desperately wanted him to touch you all over, “Please touch me again..! Your hand feels so different compared to mine”

He nodded and got close enough to where he was now kissing and slightly nipping at your neck. All the while his hand returned to your heat. His fingers drew long strokes up and down, instantly earning a whine. “Ahh..I've missed seeing this…” he breathes against your neck, fingers now playing with your clit, now that you weren't doing the work it felt much better, also since you were lowkey crushing on him ever since you first came on land…

His finger slid down to your opening and your breath hitched, he slowly slid a finger into you, stiling for a moment. His finger was pretty thick so he did what he could to get you used to it, it was your first time having something inside you.

At first there was a small sting of pain that made you flinch, to help with it Captain Caviar cookie used his thumb to rub your clit a little to take your mind off of the pain. Eventually it did and you were back to panting and letting out soft noises.

You weren't sure what you wanted or how to say it so you pleaded for more of whatever he was doing.

He obliged and gradually pulled his finger half way out and then sunk it back into your wet hole.

You squirmed, legs spreading a bit, trying to get more of whatever this was, he saw your desperation and it was getting to him. As his finger got faster and your moans increased he felt himself get turned on further. A throbbing that was beginning to become painful by the second.

He did his best to keep his focus on you, you just looked so mesmerizing and the sounds you made went straight to his dick

Being bold he pulled all the way out, added a second finger and then slid them deep inside, “ha..ah..Captain Caviar cookie-!”

The sweet sensation of his fingers moving around inside you, a place that you desperately wanted to touch for a very long time, along with his thumb against your clit was sending you over the edge.

Your body was beginning to quiver, a hand returning to his forearm. “Faster please..”

Oh, you shouldn't have said that, cause that was this cookies que to start being a little rough with you. His fingers went as deep as they could and with more vigor, they curled around your tightening walls making you cry out.

The noises your mouth made were loud but not loud enough to cover the squelching sounds coming from your hole.

“Can't-! I..I can't-! Please Captain..I'm g-gonna..” Captain Caviar cookie couldn't contain himself, he let out a few small groans, wrapping an arm around you and bringing you as close to himself as possible. Your delicious sounds were getting him worked up even though he hadn't touched himself once. “I got ya, I got ya…” he cooed at you.

Despite how good everything felt, you subtly wanted to make him feel good too, with your free hand you placed it on his thigh, dragging it onto his crotch. In response he groaned a little louder, he felt hot and hard under your touch.

His scent was intoxicating more than ever before, it was already hard to deal with normally but with his added arousal you couldn't control yourself.

Your knees suddenly buckled, body stiffening and the middle of your back arching little by little, without thinking your hand squeezed around his crotch, making him shudder and grunt.

“There ya go, doing so good…” His words spurred you on further, familiar waves of your orgasm came but felt more intense seeing as you were giving your body what it wanted.

It took you a moment to get your breathing under control, getting fingered for the first time was…something.

Speaking of, he looked at his soaked fingers and without thinking, he lapped up your essence, causing you to question his sanity. Was this a normal practice mates do? On land and in the seas you've never seen such things before however that doesn't mean you didn't find it attractive.

Captain Caviar cookie made sure to lick up every trace of you off his hand, he's tasted countless amounts of things in his time, from the disgusting mudshakes and salt water juice that he was forced to get used to…to fancy foods he couldn't even pronounce the names of thanks to Oyster cookies extravagant parties and dinners she hosted often.

Regarding how good you tasted, he made a mental note to get another taste in the future, whether that be later tonight or at a later date.

“ya okay there mate?” His voice was hardly one of concern this time, it was low and more ragged.

Instead of responding verbally you let your actions speak for you, you leaned over and kissed him once more, this time adding tongue to it, his tongue, saliva, his scent, everything of him was addictive and you couldn't get enough, eventually the ache between your legs returned and you pulled away with a high pitched whine.

“I'm assumin ya ain't satisfied yet ay?” you nodded, ashamed that his efforts didn't fully satiate your hunger but this didn't disappoint him. Rather, he chuckled to your shock, “That's good to hear Y/n cookie, here let's get this off”

Looking down at your top you hastily remove it, leaving Captain Caviar cookie to see all of you again.

Now that he had your permission to actually look at your naked form he admired every part of you.

You ease yourself back against the mattress, sitting up on your forearms, you gazed up at him, awaiting his next move.

He came down to your level, one forearm supporting his weight and the other one already getting acquainted with your boobs and eventually your nipples.

You squirmed under his touch, you rubbed your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to relieve the buzzing feeling down there currently increasing once more. His tongue lapped at one of your nipples while a hand rubbed the other.

You laid there and softly moaned from the strange feeling, all the pampering you were receiving was nauseating, you couldn't think of being anywhere else or with anyone else.

By this point, with your feelings growing over the past few months you knew deep down that this wasn't just the work of your heat cycle causing your need for Captain Caviar cookie, it was simply making those feelings more Intense, going against your instincts of finding someone of the same species and getting it over with, you chose to suffer just to hope of some day claiming this cookie as your mate.

It seems that the divines were extra kind with you because you were able to make this happen after all.

You weren't the only one either, during voyages and whenever you and many of your crew hit the town for a night of fun you failed to notice Captain Caviar cookie being at your side more than he would be with other cookies. Sure he made sure nobody got hurt, that rookie cookie got juice instead of alcohol, and that Candy Diver got a change of the freshest water in their helmet-

He kept his eye on you more than any other cookie.

On the deck, when things were calm you all would chat, crack jokes and play games together you and Captain Caviar cookie found yourselves laughing extra hard at each other's jokes and teasing.

There was much more to it, there were times you found yourself at his door because you couldn't sleep, at that time you did your best not to make it seem like anything more than just asking for help and comfort.

All this time it felt one-sided..

..it most definitely was not one-sided, that's for sure.

Just your presence drove him mad, he was thankful that he knew how to keep a stern face for the sake of his title and reputation as the Captain of the Salty Sharks, while everyone slept peacefully in the ship he had a problem with getting a little behind on paperwork because he couldn't keep his mind off of you.

If only you knew how many times he was either on his bed or sitting at his desk and jacking off to the thought of you, watching you lean over the side of the ship to watch the waves or how you'd be on all fours scrubbing the little nooks and crannies of the ship you were stationed at…

Heck, maybe he could smell your arousal just as you could with him.

“Crumbs..you feel amazing” was all you could say through heavy pants and needy sobs, you couldn't stay still for a second.

every lick and suck, pull, and rub had you gripping onto the sheets beneath you.

He looked up at your flushed face, mouth gaped, and tears threatened to fall down your cheeks.

Seeing you like this was getting him more riled up than he expected. He groaned against your soft dough, the light vibrations making you moan once more.

Eventually, he decided to show you a little sympathy, Captain Caviar cookie pulled away from you, a thin string of saliva keeping him connected for a moment longer before he wiped his mouth with a toothy grin.

“haha, sorry mate…this ole’ sea dog couldn't get enough of ya” true to his word, he kissed your forehead and caressed your cheek.

Captain Caviar cookie carefully took your hand and placed it on his rather large bulge

You didn't need his help to begin trying to make him feel good.

He inhaled sharply, “Feel that? It's all for you…” You whined, him giving himself to you so easily was already too much.

After a minute of massaging his covered cock he fully pulled away and off the bed to your dismay.

You watched as he pulled off the pieces of clothing that hid his bulge.

Aside from the gold adorning his arms and dog tags, he was completely naked.

As you learned, he had a couple more tattoos previously hidden by his pants

You drank up his full appearance, “woah..you look lovely” you spoke gently to him

Happy with your comment he climbed back onto the bed, this time he wasn't at your side. Captain Caviar cookie had put himself between your legs.

You felt his cock lay against your folds, it was way bigger than his fingers.

Definitely longer too, you stared at what you were dealing with. A small twinge of fear and curiosity crept up on you, and it showed on your face clear as day.

Seeing your face, he reassured you, bringing up your many strengths and acts of courage he's both heard and seen from you.

They had no relation to the current situation, but they did highlight how you've looked danger and death in the eye many times and didn't back down, which was still a pretty cute gesture.

The small confidence boost helped ease you up. You gave him your consent to resume.

He did fear that he would hurt you. Two of his fingers weren't enough to properly prepare you for him

Bracing himself against your sopping wet pussy he tried not to just sink all the way down to the base in one go-

He slowly began to push himself inside, immediately you let out a whimper to voice your discomfort

Captain Caviar cookie rubbed your thigh, going a little slower to try and make it easier for you.

He did stop once he was about halfway in. Giving you small praises to comfort you the best he could, he further checked up on you, made sure you were still okay with this and when you let him know that the pain lessened he pushed in more, of course because of how much he was packing he couldn't get his full length inside.

Once he hit that spongy wall, he finally stilled.

The both of you were panting, in a daze from this strong feeling. Captain Caviar cookie bit his lip to keep some restraint and sanity for the sake of your wellbeing, but it was so hard. You felt incredibly tight and hot, it left him shaking ever so slightly.

You were no better, you felt so full, stretched beyond your limit, the tip of his cock kissed the entrance of your cervix and dared not to pull away.

It took a while, but eventually, after a few heated kisses and more reassuring words, you granted him permission to start moving.

He nodded, pulling halfway out and slowly sinking back in. You two barely even started, and yet the both of you felt like coming undone at any moment.

There was still a bit of pain, though, with every roll of his hips meeting yours that oh so familiar feeling was becoming stronger.

That feeling of immeasurable pleasure was taking root, and you didn't want it to end

You laid all the way down and wrapped your arms around Captain Caviar cookies neck, bringing him closer to you

“I need more..h-ah! please!” Your heat only worsened the more rough with you he got, but you really couldn't care.

Your mind was turning into putty with every thrust, holding back your words became impossible, you spewed out breathless babbles of how much you wanted him for so long, how you used to get off to the thought of him and it eventually slipped out that you wanted him to breed you..

All this time, he'd been careful not to hurt you in any way, but when you practically begged him to fill you up?

He just couldn't hold himself back anymore

You didn't think much of the weight of your words cause your mind was turning into mush by that point, but he did, within the span of a few seconds he slid his arms around your waist in a tight hold.

His body fell forward against yours, pinning you to the mattress, unable to move nor squirm much under his weight.

His shark-like teeth sunk into your neck, effectively marking you and further restricting your movements.

Now he truly began to fuck you properly, a new drive to truly mate with you gave him the energy to become a more ruthless version of himself.

Tears streamed down your cheeks. You sobbed and cried out, you could only lay there and take his cock deep in your weeping pussy, your back arched, chest squished against his.

Your legs trembled as you felt a sweet coiling from within, you were about to cum so soon, “C-Captain! Captain Caviar- I'm about to..to cum!”

Your cries were heard but disregarded, with no encouragement or reassurance this time.

The only response you got from Captain Caviar cookie was a guttural moan against your neck that was now starting to bleed strawberry jam.

He didn't stop or show any sign of stopping anytime soon, so you had no choice but to cum all over his dick.

Your pussy fluttered and tightened around him, it was too much for you, you found yourself becoming an overstimulated mess under him. You had no time to calm down and recover from it.

You clawed at his back, effectively leaving your own form of markings on his dough.

Your legs began to feel how they felt when you first transformed into a land cookie, like jelly.

After your first orgasm he proceeded to keep you in that position till you came once more, he then gave you a less than 30 second break because in reality what you thought was the end was simply a position change.

He had you on your stomach now so that he could reach a hand down and overstimulate your poor pussy more by rubbing circles around your clit while he pounded away at your insides. He was as cruel as ever, not moving his hand away for a while even when you came again.

Did I mention that he did in fact cum inside you twice during this? He definitely made a mess inside and outside, it was way too much to keep inside and so a lot of his cum got on your thighs and sheets.

He then had you lying flat on your back again, using his fingers to fuck his thick cum back inside you.

You asked him to breed you so he was going to make sure he did just that, all the while abusing your clit once more, sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it.

Your body was coated in sweat. You could barely keep your eyes open anymore. Nearing another orgasm you placed your hands on his head. Firmly keeping him in place while you focused on reaching yet another strong orgasm.

Sure that you were utterly and though roughly bred, he finally gave you your long-awaited break.

Captain Caviar cookie gave you whiplash with how quick his gentle demeanor returned like he didn't just give you life changing front and back shots-

He climbed up and laid next to you, doting on you, asking if you were alright and giving you light pecks and massaging your dough.

Even though you were pretty tired, you did your best to tend to him, giving him your own small kisses and praise.

You both cuddled each other, you nuzzled against him, exhausted after all of that.

Captain Caviar cookie made a small joke about how you won't cause trouble on board anymore.

You then proceeded to double down on it, mentioning that sure your fellow shipmates wouldn't have to force you to do your work, but now he would be the one dealing with you from then on.

…and soon another

……and possibly more

Captain Caviar cookie wondered, now that this was set in stone, what would your offspring look like...??

Would they have a tail? legs?

He decided not to think too much about it for now; Captain Caviar cookie preferred to only think of you right now.

You both really needed to do a lot, a bathroom break, shower, and a change of sheets.

Buuuttttt that can wait a few minutes, you two needed to rest up for a moment to even have enough energy to do all that after all...♥︎

there's plenty of fish in the sea, am I right(GET OUT-)

I didn't expect this bs to be this long if you made it this far I'm so sorry I have a fixation on mermaids and this stupid cookie💔

#cookie run smut #captain caviar cookie #Captain caviar cookie x reader #salty shark crew #candy diver cookie #crk smut #crk x reader

109 notes · View notes