#he slowly traces the scars on your skin with his claws

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

I saw that half-abyss!reader scenario and I LOVE IT…. big brain <3 may i give you some crumbs… I have a lot but I'll leave some for now :,3

okay sooooo let's say you don't die- hbJHFHJFVHJF off to a great start already but. you manage to survive and you're still the same, except for one thing… whenever you see Childe, or Legacy, you're docile and curious, slowly remembering your past memories and emotions. Feeling safety with Legacy… I love your brain so muuuUUUCHHH such a familiar feeling and you want "more" of it, and staying near or with Foul Legacy or Childe helps you feel at ease, and feel less like a weapon. (also if he sobs for whatever reason he'll have an abysmal creature holding or staying close to him, trying to murmur words <3 there be some hope between these them)

Slowly you start to disobey some orders from Dottore (scary) and show a bit of aggression towards him and almost everyone else but mothman and Childe. aaAAAHHH SORRY I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS BECAUSE OF THIIIS

~ 🩹 anon!

ohoHO i am CONSUMING these crumbs anon >:D (referencing this ask)

imagine at first you're still wary towards his human self- that's Childe, Tartaglia the Eleventh Harbinger; you've glimpsed him at meetings when Dottore brought you along as a servant- you don't know him. Childe almost cries whenever he tries to talk to you and you simply stare blankly forwards, not even acknowledging him. but Foul Legacy- you remember Foul Legacy, even just barely. you remember the warmth he brings and the strong, yet tender Abyssal energy he radiates- there's a curious gleam in your eye when you see him, and when he spreads his arms you step into them, leaning your head against his chest

Childe does his best to bother Dottore into letting him see his "experiments", just so he can spend more time with you- he's hoping his presence will comfort you even slightly, and whenever Dottore steps out of the room Childe is beside you in and instant, speaking softly and running his thumbs over your icy hands. he only hopes you can hear him, somewhere, even if you don't react

sometime Dottore makes you two spar, so he can observe both you and Childe's Foul Legacy. Childe despises it, the very idea of harming you in any way making Foul Legacy growl in fury, but he has to go along with it- Dottore is his superior. yet somehow you never land a single blow on him, always skirting away when you're too close and keeping your grip loose. it's like you're holding back, and Childe feels his heart grow warm with hope once the session ends, watching you turn back to your normal human form, eyes as blank as ever

then he hears it- a quiet "...Ajax...?" in a familiar, scratchy voice, and he blinks, almost choking on his tears

"yeah... i'm Ajax. you remember me..." he reaches out, wanting to say more, but Dottore whisks you off to another room for more testing, and Childe is left alone in the training arena

but the next time he sees you, you stand close to his side, a tiny spark in your eyes, and Childe smiles for the first time in weeks

[idiotmf]

Alien who loves your skin

NSFW, MDNI

Content: Fully gender neutral reader, slow fucking

Alien boyfriend who is obsessed with touching your skin. Bonus points if you have skin imperfections for him to be amazed about.

He gets super excited when you shave because “it's so smooth!!” But he also doesn't care if you don't, because, look! You can grow fur!

He endlessly traces scars, as if he's trying to feel every little thing, committing it to memory. 

Sometimes he touches your skin, then his own, and then yours again, marveling at how different you are. You're so soft, squishy, and cute!

He'll trace your skin while slowly thrusting into you, his claws carefully teasing your sensitive spots, making you writhe in pleasure and frustration at his slow pace. 

He's not an aggressive lover most of the time, but he does enjoy teasing you quite a lot—the look on your face when you can't get enough, the way your hips shake to try and get his alien cock deeper into you.

He'll let you wriggle for a while but then grabs your hips, his thumb-like claws softly stroking your skin as he holds you still for more slow torture. 

He loves the way your skin flushes as you moan out, and your voice is another thing he loves about you. 

Sometimes, he'll flip you over and fuck your hole from behind; it's something you showed him in the hopes he would go feral on you. It turns out he does love the position, but only because you make such cute mewling sounds when he doesn't give you what you want.

These days, he just slow-fucks you while sensually tracing your beautiful back and watching those cute goosebumps erupt all over your skin. 

He revels when your orgasm builds, your body writhing in need, trying so desperately to get more but he's denying you, pounding into your puffy hole for hours with excruciatingly slow movements, almost carefully so, but deep enough to hit all of your favorite spots. 

You don't know if it's despite the painfully slow pace or because of it, but every orgasm feels more shaking than the last, leaving you not only panting but wanting more, and he'll give you exactly that. His pace switches quickly, leaving you just enough time to let out a small yelp before he starts that punishing pace that makes you see stars, just before he cums inside of you, the slightly bioluminescent seed painting your beautifully smooth thighs, as he makes sure to touch your skin some more and let you know just how pretty you are, calling you his favorite star in the galaxy.

[bluekidchaos]

I don't need to know where we begin and end (I'd still know you)

there is so little haymitch smut so i made some myself :3 might write a similar fic to this but no smut only angst and fluff maybe..

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, nightmares, panic, unprotected sex, technically age gap but it's not mentioned, pet names (sweetheart and baby), no use of pronouns but female parts mentioned

Words: 841

Can also be read on AO3!

Back to masterlist.

You wake up with a scream, sweat dripping down your forehead as you pant. You feel arms holding you down and you trash in a panic trying to get loose, your ears are ringing and you look around the room frantically catching your breath and trying to reassure yourself that you are safe at home and not in the arena. 

Your eyes land on Haymitch, who is fully awake next to you, holding you in his arms and shushing you. His voice finally cuts through the ringing and you hear the panic in his own voice. 

"Sweetheart, you're safe, you're in district 12. Not in the arena." He's petting your hair and rocking you slowly. "I'm here with you, it's alright."

You turn in his arm and cling to him, sobbing into his chest and he holds you tight. The pressure of his arms around you grounds you as he keeps talking, telling you you are safe and he's there for you. 

When you had calmed down a bit more he asked what he could do to help you, always being so caring and gentle in moments like these. 

"Distract me, please?" You answered as you kissed him sweetly. He nodded and kissed you back, a bit more intensely.

Haymitch used his weight to position you on your back again with him leaning over you, still kissing you. One of his hands cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip and pulling it down a bit. He used the opening to slip his tongue inside your mouth, letting it glide against your own. You moaned into his mouth and bucked your hips against his thigh. 

His lips traveled down your neck, sucking and nipping at all the right places, leaving little marks in his path. Neither of you bothered undressing properly, only pulling up your sleep shirt to expose your chest so he could wrap his lips around your nipples. 

Haymitch was only in a pair of pajama pants so your hand dragged down his stomach towards his cock. Nails scraped over the sensitive scars there before dipping below his waistband and wrapping around his hard member. He let out a groan at the feeling of your warm hand around him.

His own hand slipped down to pull your panties down, fingers dipping into your heat. Spreading your lips apart and smearing your wetness over your clit. Rubbing his finger gently in a circular motion and adding more pressure with every swipe. 

Your head drops to Haymitch's shoulder as you moan out at his movements, panting into the space between his neck and shoulder. You plant light kisses over his neck, "Please, fuck me Haymitch..." Words trailing off as his hand once again quickens its pace. 

He groaned at your desperate whines and nodded his head eagerly. 

He moves his hand to reach back to his bedside table to grab a condom but you stop him and lock eyes with him. He looks at you confused for a second. "I really wanna feel you, just wanna feel you, all of you." 

"Fuck, sweetheart, of course-" Haymitch moves the two of you so your leg is slung over his waist and positions himself at your entrance, looking back up at you for consent before pushing inside in one move and moaning at the feeling of you. "God, baby, you're gonna be the death of me." Planting more kisses all over your face as he starts to move. 

Your hands plant themself on him, one around his shoulder to claw at his back with every thrust that hits your sweet spot, and one tangled into his hair. You used the leg not around his waist to help push yourself up and down on him, following his pace. Lips alternating between messy kisses and planting hickeys on each other, any surface of skin you could reach in your current position got covered in bruises and bite marks. 

Haymitch's hands hold you close to him, groping you and grabbing at your plush hips and ass to get you even closer. One hand lands on your thigh to help you move with him and the other sneaks down to your clit. Rubbing circles over you that makes you see stars. 

The room was silent except for the sound of your breaths and quiet moans. 

Your eyes lock with his, silently telling each other you're close, your cunt clenching down on him hard while his hips stutter in their pace as he's pushing the last few times before you fall over the edge. Haymitch's orgasm is just behind. 

Lips attaching as he fucks you through your orgasms. Heavy breaths, high-pitched moans, and low growls carry through the room as you both calm down. 

None of you bothered to untangle your limbs, just staying in each other's arms and laying in the afterglow. Haymitch's arms hugged you close to him, his hand stroking your back lightly. "You feel any better, sweetheart?" 

You chuckled in his arms, planting a final kiss on his lips with a smile, "Much."

[mochinomnoms]

Do you ever think about eel cuddles? I feel like there are times when they want to snuggle and be in their eel forms while doing it so it's more comfortable for them. I kinda picture being in a big tub with one, their shrimpy is either nakey or wearing a bathing suit and just chilling in the bath with music playing and talking to them. Maybe you get to mess around with their fins or touch their cool claws all the while getting covered in their slimy love.

I do, I think about it so much and I am a sucker for non-sexual intimacy!!!! As much as I like to think about spicy thoughts with the tweels, there's something so domestic about sharing a bath with your partner, scratching and massaging their scalp and carefully rinsing out the shampoo so that it doesn't get in their eyes. It's easier to scrub your back when you have someone else there to do it for you. Yes, it's not the only time they'll see you naked, but there's something extra vulnerable about seeing all the moles, stretchmarks, and scars on your skin under a warm bathroom light.

Floyd isn't a big fan of bubble baths or using things like bath bombs, surprisingly! The idea of foaming bubbles and fizzy colors is cool at first, but all the smells and colors can overstimulate him when he's trying to relax. If he's trying to relax with his shrimpy, he actually prefers to use products with scents that remind him of home. Allow me to flex my ex-Lush employee knowledge, but he likes products that smell a lot more fresh, salty, and even citrusy! Plus, it makes you smell a lot more like him in the end. Floyd will rub his soap into your skin, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck to revel in the contact. For added measure, he'll rub his face, hands, and tail into you so that you'll be all slick and slimy just like him! He'll even do you the favor of massaging it into your skin if you throw a fit about feeling too wet. By the end, you'll have such smooth, soft skin that Vil is going to wonder if Azul decided to start selling his serum to the public.

Jade is just a tad bit more adventurous, if adventurous means picking all the woodsy, floral, and earthy scented bath products he can get his hands on. His favorite scents are rosemary and chamomile, which sounds weird at first but are actually quite pleasant. Jade will get you your very own shampoo, conditioner, and bath products suited for your hair and skin. He will only keep them in his bathroom, though. He slowly but surely gets you accustomed to his products, lush bathroom, and the soothing scrap from his nails that he repeatedly assured you wouldn't hurt. He'll use his claws to gently trace shapes and his name into your skin as he compares how different your skin's texture is compare to him. He's marveling how your fingertips prune up and your nails get softer, unlike his own hands which stay firm, slick and sharp. You're gonna get so used to Jade taking care of you in the bath that you're gonna be dragging yourself every other evening to wash up with Jade to take care of you. And care he does, for your his shrimp as well!

As a the shrimp to an eel, your their symbiote and they'll also expect you to clean them up too. Easier said than done when they're covered in a layer of mucus that sticks to your fingers and makes it hard to grab a hold of their squirming tail (they move it on purpose cause they think your furrowed brows and pout is funny). You can get them to settle down once you manage to trace the ridges of their fins, a particularly sensitive spot on their body that's the equivalent of tracing nails along your spine, soft and delightful shivers will make them chirp and click as you draw shapes and place kisses. It's a sight that the big bad scary eels reserve just for your eyes. Softness in the sea is reserved for only their mate, after all.

[gratelove]

Take Me

Jon Snow x Reader

In a secret rendezvous, Jon Snow and his lifelong friend confess their love, struggling with the societal barriers that keep them apart. Faced with Jon's impending departure to the Night's Watch, they decide to give themselves to one another, stealing a moment from the world, a moment that was theirs and theirs alone.

Warnings: 18+, p in v, virginity, fluff, smut

The dim glow of the fire was the only light in the room, casting shadows on the stone walls of Jon Snow’s bedroom. The flames danced and crackled, filling the silence with their rhythmic song. The winter wind howled outside, its icy fingers clawing at the castle’s sturdy walls. But inside, beneath a thick pile of furs, warmth reigned supreme.

Jon lay on his back, his bare chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. His dark hair spilled over the pillow, framing his face in a mess of curls. You lay beside him, propped up on your elbow, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. You watched your own movements, the way his skin felt warm and smooth under your fingertips, like silk stretched over steel.

“Remember that time you tried to ride Ghost like a horse?” Jon asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice was soft, as if he were afraid of breaking the tranquility of the moment.

You chuckled, your hand pausing mid-circle. “I was sloshed, Jon. I thought he was big enough to carry me.” Your eyes glinted with the memory, the corners of your mouth curling up into a smile. “To be fair, he didn’t seem to mind until you came running out, screaming like I was trying to kill him.”

Jon shook his head, his smile widening. “You could have broken your neck. Ghost may be big, but he’s no horse.”

You laughed softly, the sound a melody against the crackling of the fire. “And who taught him to knock me off with a nudge of his head, hmm? You spent weeks training him to do that, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe. I couldn’t let my best friend go around thinking direwolves were for riding. What kind of man would that make me?”

“A smart one,” you teased, leaning down to rest your head against his shoulder. Your finger resumed its lazy path over his chest, tracing the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin. “You’ve always been a better man than you gave yourself credit for.”

Jon’s expression softened, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I don’t know about that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a lot I don’t know. So many things I’ve done… mistakes I’ve made.”

You lifted your head, your eyes meeting his. “We all make mistakes, Jon. It’s what we do after that matters.” Your hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against his stubble. “You’re a good man, Jon Snow.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the truth in your words. Finally, he sighed and nodded, his gaze softening. “Thank you,” he said simply, and the warmth in his voice matched the fire’s glow.

You fell into a comfortable silence, the firelight flickering over your faces. Outside, the wind howled again, a reminder of the harsh winter beyond the walls. But here, in this room, you were safe, wrapped in warmth and the familiarity of each other.

“Do you remember the day we first met?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Your voice was low, tinged with nostalgia. “You were what, ten? And you were trying to shoot an arrow straight into the heart of that practice dummy.”

Jon chuckled, nodding. “I missed every shot that day. I was so nervous.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes sparkling with the memory. “You were there with your father. He introduced us, and you didn’t even say a word. Just stared at me with those big eyes of yours.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I was so shy back then. You were the one who broke the ice. You said I looked like a lost pup.”

Jon grinned. “And you kicked me in the shin for it.”

“And you deserved it,” you said, giggling. “I was not a lost pup.”

“No,” Jon agreed, pulling you closer under the furs. “You were always stronger than you looked.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “And you still are. You’ve been with me through everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. Jon’s arm tightened around you, his thumb stroking your shoulder in a gentle rhythm. The action caused a shiver to rush down your spine. His fingers were like fire on your skin, burning hot with each touch.

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face, softened in the glow of the firelight. Jon’s eyes were closed, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His features were relaxed, more at peace than you had seen him in a long time. Your heart ached with the love you felt for him, a love that had always been there, growing silently until it could no longer be denied.

“Jon,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

He opened his eyes, turning his head to meet your gaze. “Hmm?”

You smiled, your hand reaching out to touch his face. Your fingers brushed over his cheek, down to his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips. “I love you,” you said softly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Jon’s expression softened, his eyes darkening with emotion. He turned his head to kiss the inside of your wrist, his lips warm against your skin. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice a low murmur. He peppered kisses down your arm and the sensation caused you to squeeze your thighs together at the ache it created in your core.

The look in his eyes sent a shiver through you, a longing you had been trying to suppress rising to the surface. You shifted closer, your body pressing against his, your hand moving from his face to his chest, once again. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the heat of his skin as your hand traveled lower.

“Jon,” you whispered again, your voice trembling. Your hand moved farther, finding the hem of his trousers. “I want to be with you,” you said, your eyes locked on his. “All of you.”

Jon stiffened at your words, his eyes searching yours. “Y/N, we can’t,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

You bit your lip, your eyes filling with a mixture of sadness and desperation. “But you’re leaving soon,” you said, your voice breaking. “To join the Night’s Watch. Once you take the black, you’ll be sworn to celibacy. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever see you again. I want to be with you, Jon. Before you go. I want you to be my first.”

Jon sat up, his face tightening with conflict. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with pain. “I can’t,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re a lady of the North, and I’m a bastard. If we did this… if anyone found out…”

“No one will find out,” you interrupted, sitting up as well, your voice trembling. “I don’t care what people think. I don’t care about titles. I care about you. I want you, Jon. I want my first time to be with someone I love. With you.”

Jon looked away, his jaw clenched. “If I did that,” he said quietly, “I’d be taking something from you. Something that can’t be given back. If you lost your maidenhead to me, it would ruin your chances of finding a husband. A good man who can give you a life, a home, a family. You deserve that.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “What if I don’t want that?” You asked softly. “What if I don’t want some lord, or a life that means nothing to me? What if all I want is you?”

Jon turned back to you, his eyes filled with sorrow. “You think that now,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “But what about in the future? What about when you want children, a real home? I can’t give you those things. Not openly. I’d always be a secret. You’d always be living a half-life, hiding in the shadows.”

“I don’t care,” you insisted, your voice rising with desperation. “I don’t care about the future, or what might happen. I care about now. About this moment. I don’t want to look back and regret not being with you when I had the chance. Please, Jon. Just this once.”

Jon’s face softened, his eyes filled with love and sadness. He reached out, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than anything. But I can’t let you ruin your life for me. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”

“You’re not ruining my life,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You’re the only thing that makes me happy. If you leave, and we never… If we don’t share this moment, I’ll always regret it. I’ll always wonder what it would have been like.”

Jon closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall. He knew the truth, even if he wished it were different. In the eyes of the world, he was nothing more than a bastard, a stain on the Stark family name. He had no lands, no title, no claim to any future. The best he could hope for was to join the Night’s Watch, to live out his days in service on the Wall. He had nothing to offer you but a life of secrecy, of stolen moments and hidden love.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t. If you regret this later, I’d never forgive myself.”

You looked at him, your eyes pleading. “But I love you,” you said, your voice cracking. “And you love me. Isn’t that enough?”

Jon pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “It is enough,” he whispered. “It has to be enough. Because I can’t lose you, and I can’t be the one to take away your choices. I won’t be the reason you’re unhappy.”

“I am a woman that is capable of making my own decisions. You do not decide for me. I decide for myself. I get to choose what I will regret and what I won’t. I get to choose the life I lead and burdens I carry. And I choose you, Jon. You, and no other. Let me be sullied. Let me be stripped of maidenhead, as long as it is by your hand. Take me, Jon. Take me before we never get the chance again. Take me before you leave me. You owe me that much.” Your eyes burned with determination as Jon sat in silence for a long moment. The air between you was thick with anticipation. You could see Jon’s resolve beginning to crumble at your words. He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped your cheek.

“What if I do this and I can’t let you go?” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “What if I need this too?”

Your eyes softened, and you moved closer, your face only inches from his. “Then don’t let me go,” you whispered back. “Be with me, Jon. Here. Now. Forget the world outside, even if just for tonight.”

Jon’s breath hitched, his heart in his chest. He knew what he was about to do had consequences, but in this moment, he couldn’t find a reason to care. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. This kiss was filled with years of unspoken feelings and hidden desires.

The kiss deepened, your bodies pressing together as the heat between you grew. Jon’s hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, needing to feel you against him. You responded in kind, your hands sliding to the hem of his trousers, hooking into the band, then ran your nails up his abs. Your touch sent shivers down his spine as he groaned into your mouth at the pleasure and the pain.

You broke apart and your small hands found the bottom of your slip. He watched you pull it over your head and throw it to the ground. The firelight cast the shadow of your, now bare, silhouette against the stone walls. While the fire was warm, the cool winter breeze floated through the window to send bumps up your skin. Jon licked his lips as he drank in every inch of you. He lifted his hand, but stopped before his fingers could reach your exposed breasts. You looked down to see his hand trembling, his breathing shallow. He was just as nervous as you were. This was his first time as well. You grabbed his wrist, moving his hand until it rested on your chest. You sucked in a breath at the sensation of his warm palm against your nipple. Slowly, his hand ran across your sternum, up and over your collarbone, and down to your other breast. It moved down the curve of your waist and down your abdomen, mapping out every inch of your exposed skin. Your hand gripped his shoulder as he pulled you onto his lap.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked, his voice rough with desire and restraint. You could feel his bulge pressed against your core as you straddled him. He needed to hear you say you were sure, needed to know this is what you truly wanted.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes locked on him. A pool was forming in between your thighs. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With a groan, Jon captured your lips, flipping and lowering you both onto the bed. He moved slowly, reverently, as if you were something precious and fragile. You wrapped your legs around his wait, pulling him hard into you. You needed to feel him now. You had dreamt about this moment for too long, and now that it was happening, you couldn’t contain the need. He ground against you, earning a moan, in between kisses. He pushed his cock against your exposed center again, making you buck your hips. You felt Jon smile into your lips and you had to pull away for air.

Jon took the opportunity to rid himself of his trousers, leaving him fully exposed. You propped yourself on your elbows, eyes traveling down the v that was perfectly chiseled into him as it led straight to his hard length. He was large and the idea made you nervous. You were told it would hurt, but were worried he may not fit. He ran his hand through his black curls to give him better vision of you gaping at him. A devilish smile made its way to his beautiful face. He crawled on top of you, placing his hands on your shoulders to gently push you against the mattress.

“Are you nervous?” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his question. Your eyes went from his, to his length, and back up to meet his gaze.

“Yes. It’s going to hurt,” you said, trying to swallow to bring moisture back to your dry throat.

“I’ll go slow, my love. As slow as you need.” You nodded, taking a deep breath. You braced your hands on his shoulders and watched as he used one hand to align himself with your entrance, the other next to your head. You felt the pressure as his tip struggled to enter your tight core. You clenched your teeth at the pain and sensation. You shut your eyes and squeezed his shoulders. The further he stretched you, the harder you squeezed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You winced as his full length entered you. You felt a large hand caress your cheek and you opened your eyes. You met a worried gaze, as he searched your face. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m ready.” You nodded and he hesitated for a moment, then slowly began to pull out. He slid back in and your back arched at the pain and pleasure that filled your belly. His thrusts became even as you adjusted to his size. Jon moaned in pleasure when your nails ran down his back. His cock filled you whole. Your legs wrapped right around his waist, pushing him in as far as you could. You wanted to feel all of him, take all of him.

“Y/N,” he growled your name in your ear, his hot breath hitting your exposed skin. He kissed and sucked on the nape of your neck, causing a loud moan to escape your lips.

“Oh gods, Jon,” you whimpered, feeling a ball of sensation being to grow in your lower belly. The pleasure started to feel so overwhelming, you didn’t know if you could take it. Your hands pushed against his chest, not able to bear the sensation. Jon grabbed your wrists, softly pinning them to the bed, one of either side of your head. He picked up pace, you almost screamed at the pressure threatening to burst.

“Hearing you moan my name is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.” His words made your toes curls and your back arch.

“Jon,” you moaned louder, wanting to say it over and over. He groaned, his grip on your wrists getting tighter.

“Say it again.” Your lip quivered with over stimulation. Your head was swimming in a mix of pleasure, not able to form any other thought than his name. He thrust into you harder than before, pushing the deepest he could. This won a scream of his name from your lips. Your eyes met his and they were full of passion and desire. His curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “You’re so beautiful.” Those words sent you to your undoing. You felt yourself finally burst, waves of pleasure and shivers rushing up your body all the nerves in you going limp from stimulation. Only a few moments later, Jon pulled out, releasing onto your bare stomach.

Your eyes were closed, but you felt warm fabric brush over your skin. You opened them to see Jon cleaning his mess off of you. Once he was done, he left a trail off kisses from your bellybutton down to your bundle of nerves. You squeezed your thighs, not being able to handle any more. He smirked and collapsed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.

In this moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing a love that defied the rules of your world. You clung to each other, as if trying to imprint this moment into your memories, knowing that it would be all you had when the morning came.

Jon’s fingers gently stroked your hair, his heart still racing. Peace washed over you as your head rested on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. “For giving me this. For being with me.”

Jon kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll always be with you,” he said softly. “No matter where I am. No matter what happens. You are a part of me.”

“And you, me,” you replied. You smiled against his chest, your heart filling with love. You had stolen a moment from the world, a moment that was yours and yours alone. Though the future was uncertain, and the outside world may never understand, you had this night. And for now, that had to be enough. It was enough.

[risuola]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈 ⋯ now you are my favorite.

contents ✤ archangel!satoru x demon!reader, religious topics mentioned, blood and slight violence, wc. 2649 ⋯ reader discretion is advised series masterlist

“What’s on your mind, angel?” Your voice is gentle and yet it cuts through the silence like a knife. There’s a taunt hidden wrapped tenderly into a silky sound leaving your mouth right before it presses against Satoru’s spine – he feels the words on his skin, they’re warm and right between two marks gracing his scapulae.

He watches you in the mirror, your long-clawed hand snaking around his torso, touching his body, prodding his flesh. There’s something possessive in a way you hold him each time and yet, he feels good. It’s unfamiliar, he’s still getting used to being graced so intimately, to feel things so intensely but he likes it. And it scares him too — how easily he accepted the sin once the stains of it sunk into the pure canvas of his soul.

“Nothing,” he lies and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards when he catches himself lying again. Is that what he became? A liar? You hum, giving him time, and move your lips along his shoulder blade, paying special attention to the sensitive spots from which his wings come out. Shiver runs down Satoru’s spine as you kiss the proof of his heavenly heritage and then, he sees more of you when you slowly shift to press your lips to the peak of his shoulder. “I’m still struggling.”

“I know,” you make your way between his body and the bathroom counter, he feels your hot breath fanning over his throat and you kiss him again, your mouth tracing the arcs and edges of his collar bones and neck. You need to encourage him, place his hands on the curve of your waistline before he allows himself to touch you. You feel the squeeze and then he lifts you onto the cold marble, sitting you at the edge of the sink and you purr when his large palms brush along your spine and sides.

Satoru’s eyes are glued to the mirror, he sees your back — bare and silky underneath his fingertips. He sees the scars that adorn the peaks of your shoulder blades, two vertical lines that slice cleanly through your flesh, surrounded by a dark pattern of veins. It’s smooth when he touches it and you like when he does, it makes you tremble.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he breathes in the scent of your hair and you hum. Your thighs wrap around his hips and he lifts you again, you feel his strong arms around you as he carries you towards the bedroom.

Seconds, and your back meets the bouncy mattress. “So,” you muse, invading Satoru’s personal space as much as possible the moment he lays beside you. “How it went? Will you tell me?” You’re curious, you’re right up his business and he hums. What else is new?

“How what went?” He looks at you, the eyes filled with heaven itself focus solely on your pretty face and he swears silently, that you will, one day, be the end of him. A demon beautiful enough to turn even the greatest believers into sinners. First time Satoru heard one of his brothers say this about you, he scoffed, brushing it off as if his own nature was superior to everything else what’s prone to your influence.

“You know what,” you smirk, running the tip of your nose along the column of his neck — he feels your breath fanning over his sensitive skin and your warmth seeping through his bones.

“It went… alright.” It didn’t. The angel lets out a deep exhale as his eyelids drop.

It didn’t go well at all.

In all honesty, Satoru didn’t expect to see God at all after he has decided to stay with you. Truth is, he didn’t want to, ashamed of his own body, he wished for nothing else but to hide from His sight forever. ‘You have fallen, my son’ — father told him before he managed to scramble a word out of his mouth. Maybe abandonment wasn’t the cause of his dread after all. ‘You’ve fallen so miserably, it’s a shame.’ He felt ashamed, that’s for sure. Satoru has never known a feeling such as this one, a poisonous mixture of regret and… was is really regret? But the look of disappointment stung deeply into his very existence, it brought tears to his eyes and made his head hang low.

And his brothers, the archangels, were present too, watching his misery without a word of support and with disapprobation. There was a volume to it, so thick in the air, Satoru thought he’ll suffocate from the sheer pressure of it. ‘An angel stained with disgrace no longer has a place in Heaven.’ And he cried. Down on his knees, he cried from remorse, his pristine white hair covering his watery eyes and his knuckles white from the force with which his fists were clenching against dirt. ‘The devil tarnished your pure soul. You’re damaged, Satoru, stained.’ It felt like punches to his gut. “I have given you everything and look what you’ve become.” Was he truly damaged? You surely aimed to break him, but did he feel broken?

“Did it?” Your soft voice feels like balm on his troubled mind. A velvety embrace grasping all of him, piecing him back into one. You are the gold that for centuries held shattered porcelain together. His mouth open, but you’re quick to shut him, running the pad of your thumb across his lower lip. It’s dry, you know he’s been crying a lot lately. “Seems like you shed some tears.”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” He turns his head towards you and there’s a smile dancing on his lips. It’s soft and barely reaches his eyes, but it’s enough. You cup his cheek with your hand and he sighs again, savoring the cold feeling of your palm against his delicate skin. It’s soothing, like aloe on a burn.

“You were not made to lie, Satoru.”

“I know I wasn’t,” he whispers, closing his eyes. You watch his white eyelashes flatten against the very tops of his cheeks, contrasting with the reddened, rough skin over there. “Sometimes it feels easier to lie than to say the truth.”

“I might not understand what you’re going through, but I will try,” you promise, meeting your forehead with his. He looks so broken in your palms, you wish to put him back together and keep him safe. "Did you cry for forgiveness?"

"I don’t know.” Maybe it was relief? Satoru couldn’t tell if what he felt was just fear of judgement.  The moment he faced God, after being so thoroughly involved with you, the angel didn’t fully understand what the feelings bubbling inside him were. “Part of me wished for His blessing. But then, I thought of you and caught myself wondering what if God decided to forgive me? Would I break his trust again and go back to you?” His words are quiet, but you hear every sound. His shaky breath, the pauses between syllables, the uncertainty. “I think I would.”

‘You are naïve,’ God was accusing him, displeased eyes looking down at the angel’s curled form. ‘It’s not love, demons don’t have feelings. They have urges, they want to break, they want you to sin. And you have sinned.’ But you didn’t seem to be an emotionless monster his Father was describing you as. What you showed him was real, it felt real. Every caress of your hands, the warmth he shared with you at nights, when tangled together you slept through the darkness — all of it was natural. It didn’t feel staged, it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. ‘Nothing about that demon is real.’

“Do you still pray to him?”

“Sometimes. Not often.” The response is a little distant, but a soft smile dance on the angelic features. He has to admit to himself that the prayers he’s been directing at the Lord weren’t hundred percent honest. He didn’t mean to ask for forgiveness, he didn’t mean to apologize and there was no going around the fact that you were at the back of his mind every time he tried to cancel it. God knows he craves your closeness more than he craves flying back to Heaven.

“You hope he’d take you back?”

“I’m curious if he’d still listen. I was his favorite,” he turns and looks towards the window lightheartedly. The dark sky holds the city captive in the shades of night and Satoru finds it ironic how humans tend to confuse the space above them with Heaven. Now he looks up whenever he thinks of his past life too.

You hum, “of course you were,” and you run your long, clawed finger down the curve of his bicep. “Now you are my favorite.”

“I can live with that,” he breathes out, tightening his hold around you and everything feels right again.

“Are you struggling too?”

The question catches you off guard few weeks later. You look up from the plate of nothing but chocolate pieces and once your eyes find the angel, they settle on his face. Satoru moves slowly, pushing the chair next to you a little to the side and sitting on top of the table. It forces you to tilt your head back.

You scoff. “With what?” And you’re reaching for another bonbon when his fingers grab the side of the plate.

“With everything,” he says, calmly but you can tell he tensed. You can tell he’s nervous because you feel it. It’s warm in your hand, scented like iron, you can almost taste it on your tongue. You’re tensed too, you realize, a little too late, when your eyes fall down to where you keep a hold on his forearm. Your long, sharp nails dig into his skin with force enough to break it, you watch for a moment how the crimson drops follow the pale contours of his wrist.

He bleeds again. Your angel bleeds again. You hurt him.

Again.

Your fingers snap open and you allow him to take away the plate of treats.

“I’m not struggling,” you mutter, scanning the lines of your palm, now accentuated by the drying red.

“You are,” he’s persistent. “You were not made for loyalty and happiness. Your soul craves evil and you compensate it to yourself by being gluttonous. Lustful. Insatiable,” he points, and your eyes roll in annoyance. “You’re angry. Too prideful to admit that you’re checking the capital vices off the list like tasks. Look at me,” his tone softens and you smell his blood again when he reaches to your chin, grabbing it gently and pulling it upwards. “Being with me is against your nature too. It’s okay to struggle—”

“Spare me,” you snap, springing up from the chair. Wood falls to the ground and bounces with impact, the dull sound hanging in the thick atmosphere between you and the creature made by God himself. “I’m not struggling.” Too prideful. “Fuck.” Angry. “Fuck…”

And you take few steps back. He’s right and you hate that he’s right. You crave him, your very soul craves him, aching for each and every second of time and attention he’s willing to give you but it fails to conceal what’s underneath the sheer desire. You want him but you also want to sin. The joy of turning believers into religious weeds has run dry, leaving an empty shell pestering for something, anything. But you can’t have him and the misdeeds. You can’t cause mischief so freely as you used to do and then expect his arms to be open to hold you.

“Seems like you are, demon,” he calls you by the name and it makes you chuckle. You can’t tell how many times you teased him in the very same manner, replacing his name with a playfully mocking angel when you watched his breakdowns and savored his tears. But his words are not taunting. There’s care in them, and warmth and love that you know there’s no lifetime and universe that you would deserve. No one deserves to have an archangel to themselves.

He’s moving towards you and you flinch. “Stay back,” you warn but he’s deaf. “I will hurt you.” You try, but he shakes his head before his hands find yours. Your clenched fists rest on top of his open palms like heavy rocks on clouds and he hums, coaxing your grips open enough so that he can slide his long fingers in the spaces between yours, threading himself within your lines.

“If blood is what you crave, take mine. You always tell me how sweet it tastes,” he’s calm and you hate the way his scent fills in your nostrils. The muscle inside your chest races uncontrollably, you’re mad at it, it won’t listen.

“I will hurt you.” You growl. It’s low, it’s threatening. Your eyes glint with red as they burn holes in his beautiful face and it hurts you to keep your own hands loose enough to not squeeze his too tightly.

“Then hurt me,” he whispers, inching even closer. He’s tempting, you feel the warmth of his chest against you, his quickened breath. It’s odd, it’s not in his nature to entice. “Feed off my pain. Feed the evil inside you before it gets out of hand.”

“I can fucking control myself,” you’re sneering and as you roar, the walls tremble. It feels hotter, you’re tensing as you look up into his eyes — the blue doing nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. You hate it, it hurts, it eats you from the inside out. It burns as if the flames of hell had suddenly exploded inside every cell of your very being, bubbling with wrath and boiling.

“Clearly you can’t.”

And you’re pushing him away, taking another step back but he’s right after you. Your arm swing, the claws slide across his chest leaving long marks that open in an instant. The light fabrics of Satoru’s clothes, now cut into pieces, quickly soak the blood that’s oozing from the wounds. Red doesn’t suit him.

He winces, it hurts him, you know it hurts him, but he doesn’t fight it. And it feels good. You hate it, you hate how good it feels. The sweet, delicious scent of pain breaking through the metallic smell of blood, the way you can see his heart struggles to keep up with what’s happening. You take a deep breath, it fills your lungs, shots through your spine. Not a thousand of sinners could match the intensity of an archangel breaking. It’s ecstatic.

But then, you’re on your knees. The sweetness turns bitter as your lips press tender kisses to the angel’s knuckles. The taste of iron coats your tongue, it’s no longer hot as it dries against his skin. The euphoria of what just happened lasts no longer than seconds before it catches up to you that you hurt him. Again.

“Forgive me,” you ask and the words feel foreign in your mouth. Apologizing is as against your own as kindness and love would ever be, yet you find yourself muttering quiet sorry’s into his stained skin. But he knows that it’s not an angel that you’re addressing, absolution is not a thing you wish for. So he kneels down himself, wrapping an arm around your trembling form and pulling you flush to his wounded chest.

“Is it better now?” He asks, his voice soft and caring right at your earlobe. You’re nuzzling his neck, hiding in the safe space between his ear and shoulder as his fingers trace idle circles at the expanse of your back.

“Yes,” you whisper and hold onto him. You melt, molding yourself to the curves and edges of his shape, letting his kindness envelop and calm you. “But your pain wasn’t what I wished for.”

“I asked you to hurt me,” he coos. “It will heal. It’s fine.”

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[latenightdaydreams]

Could we get Werewolf! Konig who is just really needy and desperately pawing and clawing at ftm!reader begging for reader to take his knot just once :(( because that's "all he needs to tide himself over" (which it isnt, he's lying)

ALSO ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WRITING 🫶🫶

THANK YOU💖💖

Werewolf!König x FTM!Reader

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: ftm/trans man, oral, penetration

1.1k word count

🐺

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It’s late at night as you lay on your bed scrolling on your cell phone, shirtless in black basketball shorts as you rake your fingers through your hair. The door pushes open, drawing your attention up as König casually walks into your room. He sits on your desk chair, turning it to face you as. His pale blue eyes looking at the way the moonlight highlights your resting body. Your scent is driving him absolutely crazy.

“Hey König.” You put your phone down on your chest.

“Hallo.” König’s eyes meet yours.

“What’s up?”

“Can we talk?”

König stands and walks over to you on the bed, sitting close beside you. His tail wagging softly behind him. Lacking any type of restraint, he reaches out with a clawed hand, reaching out to caress the side of your bare arm.

“Yeah.” You smirk, noticing that he has been acting more clingy than usual.

“I need you, Liebling.” His gaze shifts, drifting down your body. “Your scent is driving me insane, please.”

“König, I don’t know…”

“Bitte, I just need to release this…tension.”

His clawed hand moves to caress down your chest, his fingers tracing your top surgery scars affectionately. Your body shivers in response to his gentle touch, goosebumps covering your flesh. He guides his hands down to your abdomen, caressing your happy trail, eager to follow it.

“I promise I’ll be gentle with you.” König hooks the waistband of your shorts and pulls downward slightly, teasing himself further.

A low chuckle leaves your throat as König begs for access to your body. The thought of being with König isn’t something you’re against. You’re just worried about ruining the friendship by adding sex to the mix of things. You place your hand on his as you look back into his eyes.

“Just one?”

“Uh- yeah. Just once is all I need.”

The sound of König’s tail thumping on the bed from excitement, as it seems like you’re about to agree. His large hand travels back up your torso, enjoying your sensitive skin. He leans in and presses his wet cold nose against your neck, taking in a deep breath.

“Okay.” Your voice is raspy with lust.

“Ja? Liebling, you won’t regret this.”

König wastes no time once given your consent. He sits up, quickly pulling your shorts down, leaving you in your boxer briefs. His nose pressing between your legs, taking in a deep breath of the delicious scent emanating from between your legs. A low growl leaves his lips as you feel his claws drag across your tensed abdomen. Slowly, he pulls down your boxer briefs, eyes locking in on the soft bush of hair that covers your mound.

“Du bist so hübsch, meine Liebe.” König whispers as he fully undresses you.

With his large hands, he lifts your legs over his shoulders. He licks the tip of your growth, looking up into your eyes to see your reaction. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbow, one hand caressing König’s ear, encouraging him.

He opens his mouth and takes you in, bobbing his head on your cock. The deep moans fleeing your lips only encourage König. His hands move down to his pants to get his own cock out, gripping it and stroking himself slowly as he enjoys your taste. He swirls his tongue around your tip before pulling his head back.

König stands up and pulls down his pants, your eyes falling on how massive his cock is. He looks at your expression and smirks. His body sinks down in the bed as he pulls you to him slightly, laying you on your back. With each hand grabbing your legs, he lifts them over his shoulders and lifts you up slightly by your hips. Primal lust consumes him as he feels his cock line up with you.

“Are you ready for me, Liebling?” He gently presses his tip into you.

You nod, before words are said a loud moan leaves your lips. König shoves himself into you, a little too excited to be able to touch you like this. A low growl rumbles in his chest, feeling how tight you are wrapping around his cock. His hands squeeze your hips, claws slightly digging into your flesh. With slow steady thrust, he begins to move inside of you. Your hands grab the pillow underneath your head, feeling König’s fat cock stretch you.

“Y/n, you feel so fucking good, so fucking tight.”

König studies the look on your face, your eyebrows pinched together from the mixture of pleasure and pain. His hips slowly pull back and slam into you, his heavy balls slapping against you. One of your hands reaches out to caress his face, your gaze locking with his.

“König…” You moan out in a deep huff.

“You’re taking me…so fucking well.”

Your moans of pleasure only encourage König, his hips rolling harsher into you. There is a desperate primal urge to get his scent over every inch of you so others know that you’re his. His nose moves to your neck, breathing you in deeply. The only thought on his mind is to bite down deep on your sensitive flesh, mark you permanently.

The rapid motion of his cock thrusting into you causes a wave of euphoric heat to crash over your body. Your eyes squeeze shut tightly as your hands move to his arms, holding on to him as he begins to attempt to bury his full length into you. Slowly, he opens his mouth and begins to sink his sharp canines into your neck and break the skin.

His hands grab your hips tightly as he pushes forward with slow calculated thrust. Your eyes shoot open as you feel the pressure of his knot attempting to enter you as you’re already full. A pathetic sounding whimper leaves your lips, you can feel yourself getting stretched past what was comfortable.

König bites down with even more pressure as his knot slips in finally. An animalistic groan comes up from his throat, muffled into the skin on your neck. His cock begins to throb, filling you completely with his cum. He slowly pulls his head back, licking the mark he gave you as he rests his body on top of yours.

“You’re perfect, y/n.”

A smile crosses your lips hearing his complement. His hot body rests on yours as he kisses up your neck, leading to your mouth. The kiss is surprisingly tender and passionate. He’s never been so attracted to a man before like he is with you and now, you’re here, accepting his knot.

An hour passes before he can finally withdraw from you. His arms wrapped around your frame as he slowly slips out. You begin to sit up when his large hand rests on your chest, gently pushing you back down.

“Mein Prinz, what is the rush?” His hand travels down, gently rubbing your cock.

[moonlightazriel]

Prologue /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N Blackbeak keep dreaming about the same male for decade’s now, she wonders what this all could mean.

Word Count: 751

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes: Welcome to my new series, i hope you guys enjoy it just as much as i do. I was so excited to share this with you all.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

The sound of leathery wings sounded above her head, she looked up expecting to see the black wyvern hovering over her head. She blinked a couple of times, landing in front of her was the male, he had onyx hair, brown skin and the prettiest hazel eyes she had ever seen. His sharp jaw and plush lips were forming a smile, he was smiling at her. 

She tried to touch his face, retrieving her hand quickly before her iron claws could do any damage to his smooth skin. The male shook his head, marred fingers grasping her wrist. He lifted her hand, pink warm lips ghosting over her cold skin, a kiss of midnight on the back of her hand.

She closed her eyes, feeling warmth spread across her chest, that thing skipping a few beats as he pulled her closer by the waist, still holding her hand. She waited for the kiss, feeling his breath fanning over her face, he smelled like night chilled mist and cedar. The scent wrapping itself around her and calming her wild heart.

“You have plagued my dreams for centuries.” She spoke, her voice hoarse like she had been silent for so very long. “Will I ever see you one day?” Her eyes watered. 

The same dream, the same male, but she never found him, and she had spent so long looking for him. She knew he was different from her lovers, from anyone she had ever met. She knew she had to find him, see him at least once, to bring peace to her tortured mind. 

With all the gentleness in the world, he cradled her face in between his hands, the rough skin brushing against the sides of her jaw. Those beautiful hazel eyes, tinted with specs of gold looked into hers, like they could see the fractured soul underneath the brave facade she tried so hard to keep together.

“Don’t wrap your pretty head around it.” His lips touched her forehead, and she leaned into that feeling, the only time she actually had peace was in the arms of the stranger that walked on her dreams. “You won’t have to wait much longer, but please..” She watched as worry laced his features.

She wanted to soothe the furrow of his eyebrows, with a cold hand, she brushed the tip of her finger against his cheek, slowly going upwards until she traced his eyebrows, the left one and then the right one.

“Whatever you want to say, do not worry, please.” She begged and the male nodded.

“Do not be hurt if I don't remember you, I'm not even sure you will remember me.” He chuckled, the sound lighting something within her heart.

“Like I could ever forget you.” She traced his lips.

“The Mother works in mysterious ways, all I know is that our time is coming soon.” He warned and her heart filled with hope, would she finally be able to feel his arms around her waist and his hard chest against her for real? No more play pretend, just reality.

“I can’t wait to meet you.” She allowed herself to feel that love, slowly taking roots in her heart, taking her by surprise.

“Soon, my love, soon.” He promised, his lips capturing hers in a delicate kiss.

She woke up, sweat coated her forehead and her heart hammered against her ribcage knocking the air out of her lungs. She felt dizzy, her fingers touching her tingly lips. The early rays of sunshine invading her room, forcing her to shut her eyes tightly together, the image of him burning bright as she did so. 

Y/N got up, her body protesting but she had things to tend to. She was able to relax under the scalding water of her bath, but the dark circles still marked her eyes, giving her a tired aspect. She inspected the bumpy scar on the left side of her face, two smaller ones marred her eyebrow, missing the eye for an inch, and the biggest one was from the beginning of her hairline to her cheek, irregular skin patched together forming that monstrosity on her once beautiful face.

But just like her, the male also had his scars, and he never seemed disgusted by hers, he always looked at her with love and admiration, she was sure that when they found each other for the first time, he wouldn’t judge her. Nothing would be different between them, her heart just wondered when that meeting would happen.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310

[allmyocsarebritish]

Domestic bliss <3

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings (?): Fluff, old timey dancing, the song I imagine they were listening to is linked at the end!!

The soft jazz of Alastor's radio accentuated the cozy atmosphere, as rain pattered against the glass of your window. Streaks of red light infiltrated the room, basking it in a warm scarlet glow. The scent of pine and the taste of fresh, woodland air emanated from the marshland that spread over half of your shared hotel room.

With a short sigh, you rose from the mahogany desk, wandering over to Alastor, who crouched beside the radio, fiddling with the dials. His coat was draped over the back of your classy chair, the sleeves of his button up rolled back and fastened in place, exposing scarred, slender forearms, which faded from his skin tone to ebony black. He reached out a hand to you, soft smile playing on his black lips as he rose from the floor.

"Shall we, my dear?" He offered, to which you intertwined your fingers with his own.

"Of course, love."

He brightened, free hand delicately resting on your waist, testing the waters to ensure you were comfortable. You leaned into his touch, your own arm draping over his shoulder. Together you waltzed and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the song, and, as the music continued you drew closer and closer towards eachother. Alastor's clawed fingers lightly traced grounding circles across your back, sending slight chills gracing your spine at the gentle sensation.

The drawl of Duke Ellington became nothing but background noise to Alastor's rhythmatic and comforting humming. It drew your attention away from the radio, capturing your undivided attention onto him and him alone. Where it belonged, entirely captivated and enthralled.

Slowly and almost tentatively, as if expecting him to jolt away, you laid your head on his chest, feeling the vibrations in time to the song. But instead of pulling apart as you expected, Alastor leaned further into you, hand separating from your own to soothingly stroke at your hair. Your own arm came to rest on his hip, hugging his waist. The two of you swayed in time to the beat, parting on occasion as Alastor twirled you, which left you giggling and flustered each time before swiftly joining back together.

Eventually, when the music began to fade and the song drew to a close, Alastor's humming also ceased, leaving the room feeling still and silent. You sighed your contentment, though your breath hitched in your throat due to surprise as you were jolted upside down unexpectedly, your back folding over his arm in a dip. He chuckled at your shock, and you chimed in upon catching your bearings.

Alastor pulled you back up in a much more elegant fashion, tugging you in close, your still-heavy breathing matching pace. Your cheeks were flushed and eyes were wide, staring admiringly and adoringly into his own, half closed as ever, to which you were met with the smallest foreign glimmer of emotion.

Affection.

To most it wouldn't be remotely noticeable, but to you, it may as well have been a dramatic love confession. Domestic moments such as this with such a powerful overlord did nothing if not secure your love towards the radio demon. The softening of his smile, the way his tail (which was never exposed to anyone else) wagged in contentment, the occasional slight flick of his ears. They were all permanently ingrained into your memory, as cherished as an age-old family heirloom. This was the way you intended to spend the rest of your afterlife, blissful and content with the one you loved.

Song link:

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

Monster under the bed

Pairings: Monster!Eddie munson x fem!reader

Summary: After a long day of work, all you wanted to do was rest. Someone in your home has other plans, more specifically, something under your bed.

Warning: unprotected sex (monsters don't use condoms), Darkish theme, Teratophilia, oral sex(fem receiving), fear kink if you squint, slight rough sex, scratching, biting, mention of blood, monster!eddie likes you don't worry and you like him too. Eddie refers to you as Doll as a pet name. If I missed anything, please let me know nicely.

A/n: Not proofread. If these sort of au's bother you, don't read them. Yes I did hop on the monster fucker train. Fic is inspired by my favorite comic

Word count: 2.5k

18+ no minors

Your feet hurt as matter of fact your entire body hurts. Pulling extra shifts all week is starting to take a toll on your body. The only thing on your mind right now was your nice, comfy bed and sleep. You made your way up your apartment buildings stairs since the elevator was once again out. After climbing almost five flights of stairs, you finally reached your apartment door.

The first thing you did was strip yourself of every piece of clothing on your body, leaving you completely bare. You don't mind since you live alone anyway, and sleeping nude is just way more comfortable. You slide under the thick duvet and nestle deep into your pillow. You hope you're able to sleep much better tonight than you've been able to for the past few weeks.

There was this constant scraping noise that would happen only at certain times of the night. They were long, deep scratches, and you could never pinpoint exactly where they came from. Eventually, you just convinced yourself it was a rodent in your walls to help ease your mind.

The moment your head hit your pillow, sleep didn't take long to overcome you. Your breathing becomes steady as you drift deeper and deeper into sleep.

Scratch! Scratch! SCRATCH!

You jolt awake immediately, heart-pounding, and as your body is covered in a cold sweat. Tears brimming your eyes as the noise gets louder. The scratching sounds like it's coming from in front of your bed this time. Slowly, you crawl to peak over, and you see it. A very large stark white hand with claw like fingernails digging into the wooden floor.

Your mind tells you to run away and call the police do something.

Yet there you are frozen in place as another too large of a hand creeps from underneath your bed. Your mouth agape as you fall back on your elbows. You watch as a head slowly creeps and peaks up at you. He continues to rise carefully up until you see him..all of him.

His pale skin, almost glowing in the moonlight. His eyes are a dark crimson red, almost black. He opens his mouth slightly to reveal a set of fangs. His body littered in faded scars. Your mind still blank as you try to take in what is standing before you.

His eyes are staring down at you intensely. His features are soft yet hard at the same time. His nose is prominent, and his lips full. You can't help but think of him as attractive. Shaking your head at the thought, remembering that once again, you're in danger.

He slowly starts crawling his way up the bed until his face is mere inches away from your sex. Your mind keeps telling you to run away and go hide. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent. Your fear and a hint of arousal fills his nostrils and a long serpent like tongue traces over his lips. That's when you noticed just how hungry he looked. His eyes boaring into yours as fear continues to take over your body. You can't move. You can't speak.

"Runaway."

"Go get help."

You repeated in your mind over and over again.

His face still hovering over your naked sex as drool from his mouth leaks down his chin. Your eyes swelling up with more tears as you realize this might be the last night you're alive. This thing, monster, creature, whatever he was, was going to probably eat you in your own home. A place that's supposed to keep you safe. He smirks up at you, bringing two large hands up to the back of your thighs, holding them open.

That's when you realize exactly what he wants to do. What he looks so hungry for and the thought sends a shock wave to your core. You hate yourself for thinking like this. You should be fighting him off and running as far away as possible. Yet you stay and spread your legs a little more wider for him as you feel yourself growing wetter. His long tongue carefully darts out, swiping along your wet fold.

Your breath hitches, and you try to crawl away, but it's no use he's too strong. He continues again and again lapping at your folds avoiding clit in the process. You go to reach out and tug on his hair but one of his large hands reaches out to grab both wrists. Your hips buck up involuntarily, as you're desperately looking for friction.

Tears are spilling down your face. You know this is wrong and shouldn't cave in, but you don't want it to stop. You're growing more hungry as his tongue continues to tease your pussy. He must have taken just small amount of pity on you when his plump lips latch on to your swollen clit suckling it gently.

The hand around your wrists finally lets go and moves it to roughly squeeze at your tits. You arch your back as you feel his tongue swirl around your clit as he begins sucking it harder. "Mmm fuck!"

He chuckles darkly against you as his eyes never cease to stop watching you squirm beneath him. The pure extacy etched on your face, enticing him to keep going. His mouth licks and sucks at your clit until he brings his serpent like tongue lower to tease at your entrance. He pushes it in inch by inch, easily splitting you open around the wet muscle. He hums as he tastes you on his tongue. Your thighs immediately go to squeeze around his head, but he roughly pushes them back as he grunts again.

You desperately pleaded. "Mmm!, keep going!"

He smiles, and you can just see a small flash of his fangs that you noticed earlier. His tongue plunged deep inside as he thrusts it in and out of your core. Your hands shoot immediately to his head, already becoming too overwhelmed with pleasure. "If this is what his tongue feels like you can't imagine what his cock would feel like" you thought to yourself.

He can feel your pussy clench around his tongue signaling that you're getting close. You claw at the sheets and yank at his hair roughly. He doesn't stop you this time as it seems to only spur him on even more. You begin grinding against his face allowing your clit to brush against his strong nose.

His tongue relentlessly pumped in your weeping pussy as you feel a tightness in your core building. He removes his tongue for a moment to focus solely on your aching clit sucking on it harshly . You cry out, and your legs begin to shake, as an intense amount of pleasure washes over you. His mouth never leaving your clit as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

"Aww, my little doll, you're trembling . Felt good, didn't it?" He spoke as his husky voice startles you at first.

Your body glistening in sweat as you come down from your high. Mind still foggy as you try to steady your breathing. Once you come to, you begin to think this was just some intense dream. That couldn't have been real. There is no way. A hand on your hip pulls you forward snapping you back to reality. Your eyes move and focus on this "person" in front of you. His once deep red eyes are now completely blown with lust. His chest heaving and his face coated in your juices.

He's staring at you almost like he's waiting for some approval. That's when you noticed it. His cock hard and thick the tip leaking with precum. He's aligned himself already at your entrance, but he seems to want your blessing first before gliding it in. His eyes looking to you and back to where his cock is positioned. You look up at his large form and nod. "I want you inside me."

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you. " He smiles, flashing those fangs again before biting down on his lower lip.

His eyes closed at your words. He ran his cock in between your wet folds, lathering himself up in your juices. Your pussy fluttered at the mere size him. Taking a deep breath, preparing yourself for him to stretch you open. He pushes just the tip inside your entrance.

You gasped. "Ahh! Oh god!"

He stills and goes to pull away, but your legs wrap around his waist, desperately not wanting him to leave. His long curly hair falls in your face as he leans down closer to your neck. You looked him deep in his eyes. You weren't as scared as you were before.

You know, if he truly wanted to hurt you, he could have easily done it by now. His long tongue runs up the delicate flesh of your throat before biting down, causing a squeal to escape your mouth.

Your body feels like it's on fire. His breath against your throat makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. A shiver sends down your spine.

"What a pretty little sound. I want to hear it again." His voice is low and seductive in your ear. His tongue swiping over the bite mark he left behind. He sinks his teeth back into your skin, drawing just a small amount of blood.

"You taste so fucking sweet." He hums to himself. Everything about you tasted so good.

Your mind getting lost in the pain and pleasure of his sharp teeth in your skin.

He continues biting and sucking at your neck as you bring your hands around to his strong back, digging your nails into his cold flesh. You dig your nails deeper and let out a sigh when he bites down on your pulse. You claw and leave bright red stratch marks down his back it doesn't seem to bother him.

"wanna--need to feel you inside me now." You continue to beg him not caring how desperate you sound.

"Patience doll, we're getting there." He cooed.

He sits back up, removing his weight from on top of you. He moves his hands to your waist long fingers digging into your skin. The tip of cock still gently nestled just slightly at your entrance. He pushes in slowly and stops to look at you. His eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort before continuing.

You choke back a cry at the intrusion. You've never had someone as big as him before, and you were worried you wouldn't be able to take him. He continues to push inch by inch working you open around his cock. You wiggle underneath him as you're growing more impatient and frustrated. You throw your head back against the pillow with a huff.

“Shh, just a little more." He reassured you with amusement etched in his tone as his thumb brushes your clit.

Why were you all of sudden forgetting exactly what was between your legs? He should terrify you, and yet you wish he will never leave. You try to stop thinking so much and focus strictly on the pleasure he's been giving you. His touches go from rough to soft, like he's reminded himself how fragile you are compared to him.

He continued to push in slowly until his cock disappeared into your body. You both let out a low groan at the feeling. He stays still allowing you to adjust to his size before pulling almost all the way out, and plunging back inside you. His heavy balls slapped into your ass with the harsh snap of his hips. His grip on your waist tightens as his claws break the skin just a little.

You immediately reach out, trying to grab a hold of him, but it's no use. His cock pumping in and out of your pussy as he sets a brutal pace. Your hands immediately go to cover your face as your body jolts with each powerful thrust. “Mine. All mine.” he growls down at you. The sound of slapping flesh echoes off the walls of your apartment.

"Oh, please don't stop." You chanted at him as your voice grew horse.

"Don't stop."Don't stop."

He bites down hard on his lip as he plunges deep into your tight pussy. You feel that tightness building up again and you reach down to play with your clit. He notices, and instead of stopping you, he snakes his tongue out of his mouth letting saliva drip down onto your sore bud. You reached down carefully rubbing soft tight circles around your clit.

He moves his hands to grab around your tits as his hips snap against yours. You begin to your rub clit faster causing you to clench around his cock. His breath hitches for a moment as he let a soft whimper at the feeling of you squeezing him tight. You begin rubbing your clit harder while his cock hits that sweet spot on your inner walls.

Your legs wrapped around him tighter as your second orgasm washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath as you throw your head back. Your body quivering and shaking from your release. His head hangs down, and his mouth parted, letting out low groans.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you. His thrusts are becoming more frantic. He gives his last few hard pumps of his cock before he’s shooting his hot cum inside your sensitive walls

"mmphf! Shit!." He cursed as he came deep inside you coating your walls with his cum.

He continued to pumping his cock milking himself of every last drop. His cum filling you up as it spills out and runs down the swell of your ass and onto your sheets. His balls coated in your slick and his cum making a mess of you both. He easily tried to pull out, making a loud schlick noise in his leave. You wince just a little at the loss of him inside you.

He collapses his heavy weight on top of you. Neither one is moving as your bodies are covered in sweat. His long, thick hair falling across your face. His back is covered in markings from your nails. Your body is sore and weak. You feel like your legs are made of jello, and there are tiny welts from his nails on your waist and thighs. Your neck littered in bite marks.

You both lay there for what feels like hours trying to catch your breath. Your minds are cloudy from bliss. He's has his face buried in your neck while you're trying to smooth down his thick hair a bit. He sits up slightly, smiling down at you. You came to the realization that you were never truly afraid of him. He was never something to be afraid of. He had every opportunity to hurt you, and yet he didn't. He never did because he had no desire to.

"My little doll." He whispered against your lips.

He kisses your lips gently before moving from on top of you to cover your body with your duvet. He tucks you in tightly and tenderly rubs the back of his hand against your face. Your eyes grow heavy, and your body is too weak to move.

You don't want him to leave, and he can sense that. He slowly eases his way down to retreat back under your bed. Your arm hanging over the side as you rolled to lay on your stomach. His large hand creeps back out to intertwin with your fingers as you both fall fast asleep.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

two years. it's been two years since you appeared in Teyvat, the world you're supposedly the Creator of- two years since you were torn away from friends, family, and everything you've ever known to be thrown into a game you liked to play. two years since you woke up in a sunny grass field, the familiar hills of Mondstadt greeting you as you opened your eyes.

two years since you first found yourself under the blade of characters you adored, hatred and fury in their eyes, and they only continued to hunt you when you escaped by the skin of your teeth the first time, then the second, and third.

the first year was terrible, filled with fear and hunger and the thick blood that fell whenever your skin was broken, gleaming an odd golden color- the darkness of life only broken by a chance meeting with one of the most battle hungry people of Teyvat- your favorite Harbinger, the Young Lord Tartaglia

except, he wasn't Tartaglia, at least not his human form. instead you met Foul Legacy, who had been searching for you ever since you arrived, the Abyssal corruption in his blood lowering to a soft hum in your presence, and the way his single eye shone with delight upon seeing you allowed your heart hope, just a little bit.

now arrives the second year you've spent in Teyvat- instinctively you remember the month and day, although not quite the hour, and awaken to Foul Legacy snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, purring and crooning when he sees your eyes slowly blink open. he nudges your hands gently, claws tracing over the innumerable scars you've received whilst being hunted and tracked by nonbelievers- but Foul Legacy knows. he knows who you are, has heard your voice during weekly sparring sessions, and he's determined to protect you.

when he dips his head to press his maw against the back of your hand, you know Tartaglia is there, too.

your smiles are rare, but less so around Foul Legacy, and you give him one now, met with a joyful chirp and a pair of strong arms wrapping around your waist. the first year was terrible- but the second year was bearable. perhaps this year, the third, will be the one where you stop merely surviving in Tevyat and begin to live with Foul Legacy at your side.

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruins | 8 |

Part eight [series masterlist]

Summary: you’re a mender from the dawn court specialised in cursed or broken relics. When Azriel enters the dawn court the truth-teller is silent, it’s not till he asks for your help that realises who you are. 2980words

It’s getting hot and heavy 🤝

Warning: [18+] smut, mentions of scars, swearing.

Azriel’s shadows were in a frenzy, dark wisps exploring every expanse of her bare skin and he hadn’t even moved to take her clothes off, yet.

Her legs wrapped around his torso, fingers twisting in the back of his hair as if trying to keep him there as long as she could. Azriel tried to fill the minuscule distance between them, dining table wobbling.

Fumbling fingers caught the buckle of his holster, the truth-teller rattling by his hip as is if it too had something to say. The blue syphon his chest flared, shadows concealing the harsh glow from her eyes.

Azriel caught her hands in his, he forced himself back and removed his lips from hers. She whined in protest, shifting to the edge of the table. He wasn’t sure why he’d stopped, his mind still heavy and clouded from his need to kiss her, to claim her.

“Take it off,” her whispered breath blew his shadows away from caressing her face as if they’d fainted at the request, the command. “All of it.” Her gaze roamed down to the laces of his trousers, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

God’s, he nearly fainted at her words too.

Azriel wasn’t one to fall for someone at first sight, but for her he would fall to his knees if she’d asked. His mate.

It felt like a surge of lightning had struck through his veins, the energy launching him back into her orbit. His teeth crashed into hers, his palm cupping the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

She ripped the holster and the straps of his armour off of him, weapons clanging to the floor as she clawed at the clasps at the back of his top. Her fingers traced the ripples of muscles, but did not go anywhere near his wings.

Did she feel the same fated, golden piece of string tightening or was it just him? He felt it unraveling within, he couldn’t stop his own hunger. The way she seemed to match his breaths and move in sync with his own body. He was too greedy to stop, too engrossed in her tongue slipping past his lips and into his mouth.

God’s, if he got to do one thing in his life, let it be her.

Azriel wasn’t much of a talker, but he didn’t need to be when she was slowly coaching him with her words. Voice low and controlled, coaxing his shadows to push her tunic down her shoulders. He’d never heard someone so smooth, like liquid. He did however miss her lips on his, but he nudged his nose along her collarbone, sucking the spot at the base of her throat, teeth grazing as he pulled away.

“I want this,” she said between trembling breaths, she fisted his hair and tugged him back to see his face. “Do you?” Her brows furrowed, grip tightening in his short locks as she waited.

“I want this,” he said, biting back the thought of his need to say he wanted her instead. Wanted all of her.

She let go of him, dark wisps curled around her fingertips dragging them back to the nape of his neck. Azriel lifted her from the table, securing her legs around his waist.

Azriel stumbled down the hallway, a palm keeping her up and fingers digging into her inner thigh. He wasn’t sure if she was whispering to him or his shadows. Low and sultry as if there was a need to be quiet. He swayed, elbow planting against the doorframe as he tried to keep his balance.

The large bed a welcome sight, his wing flared slamming the door shut. He dropped her to mattress, hands still clasped around his neck pulling him along with her. He wondered if it was the bond keeping them together or her need for some sort of release. Something he’d happily give her and ask why later.

Her touch slipped away from and fell to the bedsheets, nails snagging the rough cotton. Azriel didn’t get a chance to question the break, she stretched out beneath him arms laid above her head and raised her hips, gaze flicking to her trousers.

“Be a dear,” she said, gasping at the cool wisps of darkness sliding up her stomach and between the valley of her breasts. He didn’t need to be told twice, accidentally ripping the button off the waistband in his haste.

One of his hands followed his shadows, pinching her nipple as he shoved the trousers over her hips and down her smooth legs. She grabbed his other hand and guided it to the hem of her panties, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s not till his shadows tore back around his ear did he notice the puckered and raised skin marring her left shoulder, his fingers strayed from her breast and traced the rough flesh. Scars he was familiar with, she seemed to understand his hesitant touch as she too stared at his hands.

She sat up, perched on the edge of the bed guiding his touch back to her chest.

His head dipped to the spot and he kissed the sensitive, but rugged scar. She pulled the lace of his trousers, freeing his cock from his pants. Warm hand wrapping around his shaft as she dragged her palm up and down.

Azriel pulled his hand out of her panties and tapped her clothed cunt, prompting her to raise up on her knees. She rocked into his palm, humming as he tapped her again. His head clouded with lust, tongue heavy with the weight of words he couldn’t say. Not yet, he wouldn’t ruin whatever this was. For a moment it seemed she needed it as much as him.

He rested his forehead on her shoulder, her hums of approval fanning against the shell of his ear. One finger slipped into her cunt, two and Azriel was too focussed on her rhythmic breaths, the increase of pace she dragged up and down his cock.

The moment she stopped, his head lifted and he allowed her to guide him back with her. He chased her movements, elbows sinking into the mattress either side of her. She grabbed his face, nails digging into his cheek and brought his lips to hers. He winced as she grazed the cuts on his jaw, but he leant into her touch pushing the pain away.

She sucked in breath, tip brushing against her cunt. Legs trembling as he clamped one of her thighs down and pushed inside of her. Azriel groaned, sliding his cock into her wet cunt. His wings twitched, her gaze flitting to the action, their shadows looming over her face.

The locket around her neck glimmered, shadows dancing around the glass pendant trapping the spec of light. She clawed at the necklace and freed the ball of light, chest shuddering as it swam around the swarming darkness.

Azriel’s wings tucked slightly, allowing the light to pass through. The flicker of fear she’d sent down the bond he thought at first was the abrupt move of his wings but his shadows dove over his shoulders and took refuge under his wings.

A rogue wisp scolded him for scaring his mate. The blanket of darkness that comforted him, seemed to do opposite to her. His brows furrowed, eyes blurring as he traced her face and her diverted gaze.

She traced the black swirls on his chest, finger plucking the thin silver chain dangling in her face.

“Gods.” She gasped, glancing down to his dick sliding in and out. Her breasts bouncing up and down with his momentum. “Why does this feel so familiar,” she said more to herself than him, tongue swiping her lip.

In another lifetime, Azriel thought maybe there had been many before this one. Hopefully many more to come. He liked the idea of meeting his mate life after life, chasing the same curve under his palm and hum of her body reacting at his touch.

“Feels good,” he grunted, pushing away the lingering thoughts and the hissing of shadows in his ears.

“Fuck, like that,” she said placing her palms against his chest and pushing him back, setting the pace of his thrusts.

Azriel nearly came undone at her instructions, he slipped his hand through the space between her arms, fingers on the column of her neck. Her back arched, amber eyes burning into his as they fought for a desired pace.

“Not yet,” he said, thumb pressing the side her neck. He slowed down, grinding into her and smiled down at her parted lips, a nick of blood staining the side of her mouth where she’d bit down on it.

God, he’d be thinking of this encounter till his dying days. If this was his last time, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He wasn’t sure if it was the silent command of the bond or the way he knew her body, but she fell away beneath him. Her hands dropped beside her on the bed, eyes fluttering shut as she steadied her breathes. He wasn’t far off, riding the high and cumming not long after.

Azriel pulled out and fell beside her, dragging the bedsheet over his waist and tucking her in beside him. He nudged her toward him, cheek pressing into his chest and arm sliding over his torso. Her finger trailed the slash of a stab wound curving under his rib cage.

She didn’t ask nor did she react to his own touch tracing the burn scar on the back of her shoulder blade. A mutual agreement of savouring the silence. The feel of her rough skin against his, something he wanted to explore more. He wondered if she too felt the same.

Too tired and scared to say too much after doing so much. The way she fit beside him felt natural, like she was supposed to stay and sleep came easily to Azriel for once. Her touch coaxing him to into a deep slumber. His shadows diving into the curl of his wings, the hum of their movements filtering away.

Azriel woke with a jolt, the weight on his chest shifting and his shadows swarmed his vision, the blinding light spilling through the window. Her blossom scent merged with the dark wisps, a familiar spec of light stealing the darkness from under his wings.

"Shit," her hoarse voice fanned against the side of his face. Her head bounced off his wing as he tucked it in and allowed the light to spill in from the window. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, squinting down to Azriel shifting beneath her and she snatched her hand from his bare chest.

Huffing Azriel sunk back into the mattress, inky mussed hair sticking up in the wake of her fingers tugging them last night. He lazily drew patterns into her back as she sat on the edge of the bed, shiver running down her spine along with a smokey wisp.

"Do you want to wash up first or should I?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her gaze wandered down to the bedsheets bunched up around his waist, his back resting against the headboard.

A smile tugged his lips, she shoved his shoulder trying not to mirror the curve of her own mouth. Azriel tugged her by the wrist, her knees digging into the bed. "As much as I had a fun last night, I'd rather not summon the wrath of your high lord," she said, slipping out of his grasp. Her brow raised, chest sticking out as she followed his gaze to her breasts.

"I doubt he'd mind."

She shook her head, searching the room for her scattered clothes. "That's because he's your friend," she said, flinging his shirt at his face. "I on the other hand will be scrubbing your scent off me till I have no skin left. And pray to the God's that I don't get punished." She'd disappeared from the room as soon as the last word fell from her lips.

Azriel sprung from the bed, shoving his pants on and following her through the hallway. "Punished, what do mean by..." He fell back a step as she whirled round at him, finger jabbing his chest. He couldn't think of any instance that could make her mind think that Rhys would hurt her. "You mean Eris?"

The lightning in his veins last night turned to lead, the heaviness of his thoughts staring at the tattoo on her forearm, the burn tormenting him. His gaze flitted to the puckered skin on her left shoulder that curved over her back and shoulder blade.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Says the spymaster, don't you torture for a living? If anything I should be more scared of you punishing me, is that what you do?" She prodded, but Azriel couldn't believe how things had gone so wrong so fast. "Get close, what am I to make a bargain with you too? Feel sorry for me? Because I survived under the mountain, not you and I will not explain why I will always choose Eris."

Like the way she chose to lean into Eris when they retrieved the relic from under the mountain, leaving with him to Dawn and how she ran to him in the autumn court seeking him out to heal her. Her actions always showing who she trusted. She'd never once shown him a flicker of interest before last night, but with Eris she'd chosen to go to him each time he'd appeared. He put it down to history, fifty years under the mountain would push anyone closer but it still hurt.

Always hitting him right in the gut, he stepped back as if she'd struck him. The anger rolling off her burning in her amber eyes, he could see the hesitant gaze of hers on his hands. He didn't move, allowing her space to retreat to the bathroom.

Azriel didn't hang around, throwing on his fighting leathers and strapping his weapons back on. He stepped out into the morning sun, the winter breeze sore against his face. The cold wind whipping through the two upper fangs of the mountain pushed him down the pebbled trail. He couldn't bring himself to stay in the cabin, to replay the words she'd spat at him or breathe in her scent.

Flying seemed to be his only escape, he circled the sky breaking through the surface of clouds. The blue syphons attached to his armour flared, even above the cabin he could sense Rhys's energy and his raw power. He didn't bother to wash away the remnants of last night, knew it was something that couldn’t be cleansed or banished. Mate's scents mingled and became entwined for eternity. Rhys would know as soon as he walked into the cabin, would recognise his claim on her.

His boots landed on the fresh mound of snow, tendrils of shadows murmuring around him. The whispers fell away as he straightened, a tiny spec of light tangling with the wisps, a piece of her. He swatted his hand through the haze, stalking towards the door hoping the light would retreat with her.

"I thought I told you no distractions." Rhys's voice echoed through the cabin, door shutting softly behind Azriel.

Azriel didn't bother kicking off his boots, he collapsed into the sofa and leant back staring at the cobweb dangling from the ceiling. "There are no distractions, brother," he said, releasing a trembling breath. She’d made it clear that last night was a bit of fun. It stung nonetheless for him.

"Mor took her back to Velaris," Rhys said, his talons scraped against Azriel's mental shield trying to feel around for some explanation of whatever atmosphere he'd walked into. The tension hung in the air, the mender not even able to meet anyone’s gaze much like the shadowsinger who refused to look at Rhys.

He didn't want to enter the bathroom, the thought of his mate scrubbing his scent off her skin. She couldn't have known though, he'd gone over every second of last night and not once did she lean into the bond. He'd tried tugging that strand of fate, in hopes of waking it for her but it did not snap.

"You slept with her?" Rhys asked, knowing the answer and trying to get him to talk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the curl out of the rug.

"Well technically she slept with me," Azriel grumbled, the more he thought of the steamy exchange, the more he thought of how she pushed for it more than him. He just couldn't understand how the mating bond hadn't snapped at the connection they'd created last night.

Rhys leant on the edge of the table, unaware of the memory clinging to Azriel’s mind where she’d sat last night. The first time he’d claimed her, lips crashing into hers.

The prickling heat spread over his chest, the thought of her thinking he would punish her. His mate. He’d tried so hard to keep his distance and all it took was her telling him that she wanted it. Not him, but the act of lust.

"You couldn't fight the urge?" Rhys smirked, violet eyes sparkling as Azriel's shadows tore towards him.

He was enjoying his torment, a bit too much. Azriel threw a cushion at him, "shut up. You had no restraint when you had your mate closer." Azriel thought he'd done quite well, up until now anyways.

“So what now?”

Azriel rose from the sofa, “nothing, she doesn’t know.” He shrugged, shadows shielding his figure from Rhys before he could read how he defeated he truly felt.

“You’re gonna have to tell her,” Rhys snapped, he blocked his path to the door. “Your scent is merged with hers, if we can smell it so can everyone else.”

Welp, sorry for this rollercoaster 😵‍💫 still lots to unfold with this story. Thanks for reading and commenting! Love hearing what you have to say on the each part.

taglist: @rcarbo1 , @st4r-girl-official ,@azrielswhore , @cynthiesjmxazrielslover , @shizukestar , @wolfbc97 @thecraziestcrayon , @i-am-infinite , @krowiathemythologynerd @nebarious @sidthedollface2 @sttvrdustt @negomi123 @clementine11102

[mslowlife]

Last Night

18+ ONLY NSFW

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Warnings: SMUT smut smut, swearing and mentions of scars &lt;3 Summary: Morning cuddles lead to something more... Word Count: 1309

A/N: ok but WTF? my last post blew up so thank you everyone <3 i hope u guys like this, first smut post O_o

You rolled over, wrapping your arm over Simon’s lower torso, tracing his bear and sensitive skin with your dainty fingertips. A soft hum of satisfaction sighed from his lips.

Your nails rain over the ageing scars that strewn on his torso. Simon never told the stories behind the scars, and you never asked. It was the one part of his life he kept secret, he didn’t want to unearth the horror’s he’s seen, especially the physical reminders. Simon didn’t mind that you’d trace his scars, in some strange way, it gave him another story, another physical reminder of you and your unconditional love towards him.

“Come here” He whispered, moving onto his back and guiding you to come closer, you easily complied resting your head on his chest. Simon gently stroked your hair, as you closed your eyes and breathed in his scent of tobacco and musky cologne.

You looked up towards him, his eyes already on you. There was something about your doe-eyes that did something to him, in fact they did many things, in many ways. But in moments like these, where the two of you lay intertwined with each other in bed, holding each other in a state of complete intimacy was unmatched. 

“What’s on your mind love?” He breathed, wrapping his arm around the small of your back. 

“Nothin’, jus you” You mumbled

“Yeah? What about me?” He simpered, his voice low and hoarse.

And just like that, Simon’s tempting and sultry voice brought you back to last night, where he had you pinned against a wall, fucking into you like he’d never before. Last night he was someone else, he made you feel ways he’d never done to you before. And you weren’t complaining, I mean, how could you? He was fucking you into a pure state of euphoria and bliss.

“Jus last night, you know” You spoke

He locked eyes with you again, something in his eyes was devilish. “Oh yeah? Did I make you feel good?” 

“Of course you did, you always do.” You could feel yourself getting wet, the eye contact, his embrace, and oh, his voice. Gosh, that thick English accent could put you in a coma. It was so commanding, yet so gentle. But when he spoke dirty, it drove you crazy. 

“Well how about I show you again how good I can make you feel?” Simon whispered into your ear, slowly kissing your neck.

“Show me”

Within seconds, Simon was on top of you, licking your neck, making a fluttering sensation pulse through your entire body. He slowly licked his way down to your collarbone and shoulders, where he sucked the warm skin, scattering dark red bruises. You threw your head back, breathing heavily. Simon kept a firm grip of your waist, holding you closely and securely. You intertwined your leg cheekily with his, now wrapping your arms around his neck, forcing his head to be close to your chest.

Suddenly, he lifted you up, you clung on, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to a nearby sofa. As he sat you down on scratchy fabric, you quickly sprung onto him. You littered kisses all down his neck and to his chest, you gazed upon him, he laid shirtless on the couch. You caressed your hands down his cheek, palming his chin, then down his sculpted muscles, your mouth drooled as you touched his body. 

You crawled onto his lap, Simon then tilted his head upto yours, where you met eachother with your lips. You swirled your tongue in his mouth, tasting him passionately. Simon’s hands moved to your body, he grabbed your thighs in a firm grip, leaving faint red marks, then he moved his hands to your lower stomach and waist. Where he massaged the skin as he kissed you. You ran your hands through his thick hair, so overwhelmed with the way he handled you. Then you moved your hands to his back, clawing and leaving deep red marks. Simon delicately tugged on the ends of your hair, bringing you both deeper into the kiss.

“Simon- I need you” You whimpered, helplessly craving him.

“Shh, patience my love” He replied.

As some moments passed, you switched positions. Simon hovered over your naked curvy body, lightly tracing his fingertips over your glistening skin, first from your stomach, to your waists, then to your inner thighs. Your breathing was shallow and fast, your eyes watched him as he moved further down your body.

Simon reached over for the nearby draw, seizing a small plastic coated object. He tore the foil off, then rolled the latex down. Butterflies grew in your stomach as his deep blue eyes gazed over your body.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, staring hungrily into eachothers eyes. He lined himself at your entry, he breathed heavily before thrusting himself deep inside of you.

You squealed in both pain and pleasure, screwing your eyes shut. Simon held onto your waist, a sinful smile creeping on his botched cheeks.

“Fuck-“ You screamed out, gripping onto the sofa as his pushed himself deeper into you. 

Tears welled in your E/C eyes as you felt him filling you up more and more. No matter how many times you two had sex, you always had to adjust to his size.

“You’re doing so well.” He chuckled, paying attention to your discomfort.

“Just give me a sec” You groaned, keeping your eyes scrunched shut.

“Such a pretty girl for me” Simon praised, rubbing your exposed stomach.

“Always for you” 

Slowly, Simon began to move, ensuring he checked on how you were handling him. He kept the pace slow, paying close attention to your facial expressions, as well as how your body moved and reacted. Both your bodies found an insatiable groove, moving with each other in perfect synchronised movements.  

“Faster baby” You begged, purposefully moving yourself for more pleasure.

Simon grinned, speeding the pace up gradually, sometimes slowing down until he barely moved, making you whine in frustration, but then suddenly pounded into you catching you completely off guard.

Skin slapping, moaning and breathless panting filled the small, plastered room. 

“You fucking like this? Remind you of last night?” Simon grunted, digging his hands into your hips.

“God- Fuck! Yes Simon, just-like-that!” You squealed in bliss.

A sinister grin crept over his face as he watched you beneath him, your face twisted and turnt with every thrust.

“Fuck- fuck, you’re so good for me! You’re my girl, alright? For-fucking ever” He panted, pounding into you.

“Yesss! I’m always yours” You cried back.

The familiar knot in your stomach started appearing, you tried to push it back, but at the pace Simon kept, it was near impossible.

“Oh fuck fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum” You moaned.

Simon’s hand reached down, swirling his fingertips on your clit, as his cock went in and out of you. The sensation of both pleasures was overwhelming, you couldn’t last much longer.

“Cum with me, please baby” You begged, holding onto his forearms as he drove into you. 

“Yeah, yeah? You want my cum?” He asks, trying hard not to cum there and then as he watches you.

“Uh-huh, yes please!” 

Your body tensed, feeling your orgasm ride through your entire body, the feeling was incredible. And as you came, so did Simon, stringing together curse words, groans and your name the entire way through.

Simon slowly pulled out of you, you lay there on the sofa below him, breathing heavily and covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

“You okay baby?” He asked, rubbing your thighs that lay around his body.

You nodded, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath.

Simon leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s go take a shower, yeah?”

[onefourone]

GOOD (Part 1) — next part

simon 'ghost' riley x gn!reader

warnings: none

There were many words people would use to describe Ghost. Determined. Rough. Resilient. Tactical. One thing he'd would never call himself is soft. There wasn't anything soft about him, both physically and mentally.

That's why he struggles with the way you treated him. You're good to him. Too good. Your sweet whispers and gentle touches... the way you look at him like he was the most precious jewel you'd ever seen. It was too much. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

He didn't deserve the way you'd greet him at the door after coming home from a long tour. You give him a kiss — so soft, like you're scared he'll break. He was finally able to shed 'Ghost', revealing the soft belly of 'Simon' beneath the shell.

You herd him into the bedroom, pushing him to sit onto the plush bed. He can't stop the emotions that claw up his chest and throat when you kneel in front of him. There was no heat in your gaze, you knew he was too exhausted for anything like that right now. He had to close his eyes when you began looking up at him with pure reverence as you unlaced his boots. It was too much.

His tried to hide the tremble of his hands by clenching them in the sheets beneath him. You slowly made your way up his body and helped him out of each piece of clothing. It wasn't until he was in nothing but his boxers that he finally opened his eyes to look at you.

Your expression makes his breath stutter.He waited for your expression to morph into disgust, his scars rendering him ugly and undesirable. When it never came, he allowed himself to relax even further. Your eyes held nothing but love and devotion.

He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't—

He's snapped out of his brief spiraling when you gently order him to turn onto his stomach. He eyes you curiously, huffing a bit when you laugh.

"Just trust me, Si."

And he does. He does trust you. More than anything or anyone. So, he follows your order like the good soldier he is. He hears you open the small drawer on the side of the bed. You retrieve a bottle and bring it to his line of sight. Massage oil. He begins to protest, telling you that you don't have to do this.

You don't have to touch him. Ugly, scarred, disgusting—

The way you shush him is firm, but not unkind. You stroke a hand down his face, still covered by his mask. You don't make any moves to touch him yet, ready to back off if he truly isn't in the right headspace for this. He turns his head to look at you, ignoring the strain on his neck from the uncomfortable position. There you were, perched up on his back like an absolute angel. He stared into your eyes and once again looked for any traces of fear or disgust. When he found none, he nodded gently and allowed himself to lay back down.

You let out a please sound and popped open the cap. He shivered involuntarily when you made contact with his skin, the oil cool from the AC being on. He let out a please groan when you immediately began digging into his sore muscles and tight areas.

His mind felt so amazingly silent. For the first time since he left, there were no angry voices and disturbed thoughts. There was nothing but you, your hands and the bed beneath him.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up to him once again. He tried to fight it, he really did. He hates going to sleep before you. He felt like he was failing to protect you. You weren't being fair, though, with how magical your hands were.

Sleep began to swirl around his brain before ultimately spreading across his body. He vaguely hears you making a pleased sound at this before darkness claimed him.

"I love you."

You whispered those words into the air, continuing to rub the oil into his back until he was fully asleep. Once you began hearing the soft snores rumble out of his chest, you smile and gently climb off of him.

You glance at him once again to reassure yourself that he was asleep before going into the drawer on your side of the bed. You pull out a small box, opening it to reveal a black band with gold trimmings. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth (a bad habit he'd surely scold you for indulging in if he were awake). You glance over the sleeping man, feeling anxiety threatening to overtake your entire being.

What if he says no? What if he doesn't want you? What if—

You clench your eyes shut, trying to silence those nasty thoughts. Your hands quiver as you place it back in the drawer. You took a deep breath to help calm your nerves. You take another look at him next to you, smiling at his sleeping body. You nod to yourself, feeling a hot wave of determination flood you. Tomorrow will be the day, no matter what happens. You won't ever forgive yourself if you never ask.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Remy LeBeau x mutant!gn!reader who’s mutation makes their physical appearance zombie-like? Of course, there are always positives in their mutation, like regeneration, and fast accelerating movements.

there’s always the negative outcome though. In some cases of their mutation, the reader can experience slight cannibalistic tendencies, and they tend to get rid of that feeling by biting or eating part of themself, not hard because they can regenerate, but it still hurts them.

Beneath the Surface

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze, as you sat on the rooftop of Xavier’s mansion. It was a place you often retreated to, especially when the darker aspects of your mutation weighed heavily on you. Tonight was one of those nights.

Your body felt heavy, your skin pale and mottled like the dead. The feeling clawed at the back of your mind, the urge you hated, the one you tried so hard to suppress. You glanced down at your hands, eyes tracing over the faint scars from the countless times you had bitten yourself, trying to satiate the unnatural hunger that gnawed at you from within.

A shudder rippled through you, and despite the cool air, a bead of sweat trickled down your temple. You clenched your fists, fighting the temptation to give in. The pain always helped, the biting, the self-inflicted wounds, but the relief never lasted long. You hated it, hated the part of you that felt so out of control, so inhuman.

"Chère…?"

The familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Remy standing at the edge of the roof, his red-on-black eyes soft with concern as he approached. He moved with his usual swagger, but there was a gentleness in his step, a carefulness that told you he had noticed something was wrong long before you even realized he was there.

"I was wonderin’ where y’ were hidin’," he said quietly, taking a seat beside you on the ledge. His gaze flicked over your hunched shoulders, the tension in your jaw, and the way you were avoiding his eyes. "You feelin’ okay?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slowly. "Not really, Remy."

He frowned, his gloved hand brushing lightly against your arm. "Wanna talk ‘bout it?"

You hesitated, your stomach churning with anxiety. You had never been able to hide the truth from him, even if you wanted to. Remy had always been observant, and more than that, he genuinely cared. But explaining this part of yourself—your mutation, the grotesque side of it that felt too monstrous—was something you weren’t sure you could put into words.

"I…," you started, your voice shaky, "it’s happening again."

Remy’s brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer. "The hunger?"

You nodded, the word alone making your chest tighten. "I’ve been holding it back, but it’s… it’s getting stronger. I can feel it. The need to—" You trailed off, your fingers trembling as you pressed them against your lips, stopping yourself from saying it aloud.

Remy was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, but then he reached for your hand, gently prying it away from your face. "Y’ don’t gotta be ashamed of it, chère."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "How could I not be ashamed, Remy? I look like… this." You motioned to your body, the pale, scarred skin, the patches of near decay that marked your appearance. "I feel like some kind of monster."

"Y’ ain’t a monster," he said firmly, his grip tightening around your hand. "Y’ never been a monster, *chérie*. I’ve seen monsters, and y’ ain’t one of ‘em."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words making your throat tighten. "I want to believe that," you whispered. "But when I get like this… it’s hard. I feel like I’m losing control. And I hate it."

Remy’s thumb brushed softly over the back of your hand, and he tilted his head, his voice gentle but unwavering. "Y’ ever let me help with it? Let me be there when y’ feel like y’ losin’ control?"

You bit your lip, unsure of how to answer. You didn’t want to burden him with your mutation, with the horrors of it. He deserved better than that—better than the side of you that wanted to consume, to bite and tear just to keep yourself grounded.

"I don’t want to hurt you," you admitted softly. "Or anyone else."

Remy chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievousness. "Chère, I got enough trouble handlin’ myself. Ain’t worried ‘bout a few rough patches with you."

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering there for a moment. "Y’ ain’t gotta do this alone, y’know. I can take a bite or two, if it means keepin’ y’ safe."

You blinked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Remy, you—"

"I mean it," he cut you off, his voice soft but serious. "If y’ ever feel like that, y’ tell me. We can figure it out together. I ain’t scared of ya."

Your chest tightened, a flood of emotions overwhelming you. How could he be so calm about this? How could he look at you, someone who was practically a walking corpse, and not flinch?

"I don’t understand," you whispered, your voice shaking. "How are you not scared of me?"

Remy smiled, that easy grin that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. "Because I know y’. I know the real y’. And all this—" he gestured to your appearance, "—that don’t change nothin’. It don’t change how I feel ‘bout y’."

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, and you looked away, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. "Remy, I—"

"I love y’," he said softly, cutting through the doubt swirling in your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face him, wide-eyed. "You… you love me?"

He nodded, his eyes soft and unwavering as he held your gaze. "Always have. Don’t matter what y’ look like, what y’ go through. I’m here, mon cœur. I love y’, just as y’ are."

A sob escaped you before you could stop it, and you leaned into him, your body shaking as you let yourself fall apart in his arms. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as you cried into his shoulder.

"I’m scared," you whispered, your voice muffled against him.

"I know," he murmured, his hand stroking your back gently. "But I’m here. I’ll always be here. Y’ ain’t gotta be scared no more."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him. The hunger still lingered, the darkness still clawed at the edges of your mind, but with Remy by your side, it felt a little less suffocating. A little less impossible to bear.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so monstrous after all.

As you pulled back slightly, your eyes met his again, and without thinking, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle, filled with all the things you couldn’t say, all the fear and love and gratitude swirling inside you.

When you finally pulled away, Remy smiled, his forehead resting against yours. "Told y’," he whispered, "ain’t nothin’ gonna scare me away."

For the first time in a long while, you smiled too. Maybe you could let yourself believe that.

[makethatelevenrings]

Vestiges of the Past // S. Riley x f!reader

a/n: probably the last thing I post for a bit before I scuttle off into LSAT mode once more. enjoy. I just really wanted to see a fic where Simon's girl is just as uhhhh murderous as he is. And so I wrote it.

warnings: reader is military, canon-typical descriptions of violence, Simon remembers what Roba did to him, SMUT 18+ ONLY, rough sex, under-discussed kink but it's all consensual, degrading language, biting, clawing, spitting, fucknasty baybee

The door to the dive bar creaked open as it scraped along the floor thanks to the dented hinges from one bar fight too many. Your boots scuffed along the wooden floor as you approached the woman seated at a small table with two beers in front of her. Pulling off your gloves, you stuffed them in the pocket of your hoodie and offered her a perfunctory nod.

“Laswell,” you greeted.

“Nice to see you again.” She motioned for you to sit and nudged the second beer in your direction. You took a seat and popped the cap off using the edge of the table before sitting back against the chair.

“What’s going on?” Short and to the point, she noted. Much like the masked man that typically shadowed you. Laswell had worked with Simon more than you, but she heard good things from John. So when this came across her desk, she knew she could trust you.

The blond pushed the file across the table and you stopped it with a single finger, brow raised in interest. You flipped it open and your brows furrowed as you read the information.

“I don’t understand,” you said as you lifted the papers and took in the photo of the target.

“Enrique Giraldo-Hernandez, Roba’s second-in-command,” Laswell explained. “After Roba’s death, Hernandez laid low and slowly built up the organization again until they popped back up on our radar.”

Your shoulders stiffened and you glanced up at the agent. “And why are you showing this to me?”

“In three days, 141 will be given the orders to capture him, alive, and to bring him back to American soil for trial.” Laswell pushed another manila folder towards you and watched your face carefully as you opened it. Your lips pursed, jaw tightened, and eyes darted all over the page as you took in the photos before you. One of your fingers moved to trace over the lines of the battered face in the image and you blanched at the sight of what Roba did to him.

You had seen Simon’s scars, of course. It had taken him time to take his mask off in front of you, but when he did, you steeled yourself so you didn’t flinch at the sight of the Glasgow smile and the scars that etched deep in the skin of his face and neck. You had merely pressed your forehead against his, hand stroking over the hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and stood in silence until he could breathe normally.

Seeing the images of Simon Riley’s broken body stretched out on a hospital bed after escaping that coffin made your blood boil. He had whispered some of his memories into the quiet of the night. You had traced the scars on his body too many times to count. Their ridges were a map you learned by touch alone.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Your voice was tight and laced with barely concealed rage. Was she taunting you?

“Because that gives you a three day head start.”

You left that night with a note written to Price and Simon explaining that MI6 needed your help with gathering intel.

People treated you as an outlier in the task force. The others served in the SAS while you were recruited from SFSG, a wizard at reconnaissance and intelligence. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were the threats that people looked out for while you were just their errand girl. Simon relished in this realization as they suited up three days later to hunt down an organization that he thought was a ghost.

He remembered the first time he saw you.

Special forces recruits had gone through the first few stages of selection, whittling down the numbers to just about fifty individuals who hadn’t even gone through SERE yet. Simon was called to watch these next few rounds to ensure that the weak were culled. He had been on break for two weeks when he became twitchy so when Price offered this opportunity, he jumped at the chance.

The doors to the sparring gym were propped open, letting wind drift into the enclosed space. He heard the typical thud of bodies hitting the mat and a grunted exhale. No one was scheduled to be in here for the day and he gathered himself to yell at whatever birdbrained recruits thought they would get extra training outside of their allotted time.

He paused at the doorway and quickly realized that they weren't recruits. One of them was one of the civilian secretaries that worked on base, Beatrice, and the other was…you.

“Nice,” you said in a gentle voice. “That was a good control of your fall there. It gives you more leverage.”

You stood from the mat and offered your hand to Bea and helped her up, a grin on your face. “And you said you couldn’t take me down.”

“You’re going easy on me,” the other woman huffed. You huffed out a laugh, something easy but with an underlying sharpness. You easily knocked Bea to the ground and shrugged, offering her hand once more.

“I am.” Your inquisitive gaze glanced at the shadow looming in the doorway. “But tomorrow, I won’t go easy on you. This weekend is your chance to learn to defend yourself. Tomorrow, you’re going to be sore and tired and cranky as all hell, but you’re going to show up and you’re not going to give up until you can pin me. Why?”

Your focus returned to the woman before her. “When he comes for you, and he will, he won’t go easy on you either. So, I want you to kill them. Because it’s either you or them and I refuse to let it be you.”

Price explained to him later that you were a second lieutenant that offered to train Beatrice while she worked with the police to get a restraining order on her ex-husband. Simon requested a copy of your file from one of the women in the records office and every single woman in that room regarded him suspiciously as she gathered the files. You were a beloved figure for them, he learned. As one of the few women on base, you were fiercely protective of them, especially since they tended to be contracted positions rather than actual soldiers. But the real reason you were on the base wasn’t to help teach self-defense. No, he learned that one quickly too.

When he settled into a meeting to go over the SERE portion of training, the Ghost found himself seated across from you.

It was easy to underestimate you.

He never did.

When Task Force 141 approached the gates of Hernandez’s compound, they found the metal loosely swinging back and forth with the wind. Price led the charge into the compound, but he paused at the sight of the guards already dead on the ground. The land was cratered from grenades and gore splattered the earth. Silence greeted them as Gaz pushed open the door that was already shoved inwards. Bodies littered the long hallway, blood mixing in with the rich red velvet carpet that lined the ground. Soap stepped over a still twitching corpse to check to the right as Gaz took the left.

Simon paused in the doorway as he took in this place that housed the ghost of a man who once existed years ago, still pacing the cells in the basement.

“Someone got here before us,” Price told Laswell over the comms. The CIA agent hummed out a noncommittal sound as they moved upstairs. Simon’s skin itched under the mask. His hand trembled just slightly. The walls…he remembered these pale, yellow walls. He remembered the way they would bleed into one another as he was dragged from room to room so Roba could taunt him with the sunlight before he was forced back into his cell.

The stairs led to the office. The same office where he had a few teeth removed. His tongue slicked against the replacements that lined his jaw now. His mind ran on autopilot and his feet took him step by step by step closer to that room. That room where they played the screams of his teammates for hours at a time in the hopes that it would break him.

Price counted down on his fingers before forcing the office door open. They spilled into the room, rifles raised and fingers poised, but they found the culprit of the massacre that consumed the house. A blade hung loosely from your hands and you turned to face your lover. Fresh blood stained your face like a mask. Hernandez’s neck was gashed open and an ugly scar was carved on either side of his lips.

“It’s over,” you said. Your attention was directed on Simon. His hands stopped shaking. “It’s over.”

“The lieutenant was sent to retrieve more information regarding the compound before we sent the rest of the task force in,” Laswell explained. “But when the mission went south, she was forced to take direct action.”

“She defied orders to bring him in alive,” the officer spat. You studied the small water stain on the wooden table before you and drowned out the suits arguing around you. Laswell assured you that she had your back, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. You didn’t care what happened to you.

Roba’s organization was completely decimated. No one would be slithering out from under a rock to take over. Even if they did, you would hunt them down. No one could escape you.

“She did what she had to do to stay alive. In one hundred years, when this information is made public, what would you rather the people of England see? That you discharged a medaled officer because she defied an order simply so she could live? Or that you were more concerned that you weren’t able to question a drug lord?”

A scoff and then the scrape of a chair scooting backwards brought you back to focus. The suits stalked out of the room muttering to themselves, but Laswell was pleased with the result. You would be suspended from the field for a month for going rogue and would have to pass your recertification exams, but you were still a lieutenant for the 141.

“Nice work,” she said as you two walked down the hall towards your office.

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked the question you had wanted to voice the moment she showed you those photos. The blonde shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and let a sad smile cross her face.

“I know what it’s like to wake up hearing the screams of the person you love.” With that, she patted your shoulder and headed in the direction of Price’s office so she could tell him the good news. The captain was still seething at your disobedience and deceit, but Gaz assured you that he was more upset at the fact you could have died going off on your own like that.

You nudged the door to your office open and felt the hair on the back of your neck prickle. Before you could reach for your sidearm, a hand curled around your throat and threw you back against the wall. You clawed at the muscled wrist that kept you pinned and went for a well-aimed kick, but he merely avoided it with a side step.

“You know what they would have done if they captured you?” Simon snarled into your ear. His grip relaxed minutely against your skin, allowing air to slip back into your lungs, but his large thigh pinned your hips against the wall to stop your squirming.

“They didn’t,” you whispered. His hand moved up to grab your jaw and squeeze, forcing your eyes to meet his. The rough fabric of his mask brushed against your temple as he leaned in closer.

“They would have broken you. Brainwashed you. I wouldn’t have been able to save you. They would have killed you after ripping apart every last part of your mind.”

“You would have done the same fucking thing,” you snarled. Your words were muffled from the way he held your face, but you wouldn’t let his stupid fucking attitude shut you up.

“It’s different.”

“How? How is it so different? Because I’m not the Ghost? Because I’m not as big as you? Bec-”

He yanked you forward, your chest colliding with his, and released your jaw to slide his hand down the length of your arm until his gloved fingers slid against yours with a reverence seen only in a church.

“It’s different,” he reiterated. Indignation flared in your chest and you wrestled against his larger body but he slid his jean clad thigh between your legs, stopping your movement when it pressed just right against your cunt.

“Take the mask off,” you breathed. Your chest heaved with deep breaths, forcing yourself impossibly closer. He reached up and slid the fabric up, revealing the scars that Roba and his men inflicted all those years ago. Scars that you didn’t give two shits about. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and then he squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lips to part, and spat directly onto your tongue. 

You slicked your tongue across your teeth, mingling his spit with yours and then, without warning, you leaned up and bit down on his jaw. His sharp intake of breath sent a thrill of pleasure down your spine. Simon steadied you with his hand on your waist. His fingers curled against the plush skin of your ass and you craved the feel of him against your skin.

“I did it,” you said softly once you pulled away, revealing the slight imprint of your teeth at the hinge of his jaw. “Because the only mark I want to see on you is one I give you.”

His dark eyes studied your face and traced over every wrinkle, line, and blemish. The sincerity in your gaze. The way your pupils expanded.

His nimble fingers yanked the zipper of your pants down and you got the hint, quickly kicking them off along with your boots. He captured your lips in a searing kiss as you worked your hands under the soft cotton of his shirt and ran your fingers along the ridges of his abs. You only broke apart so you could yank his shirt over his head with yours following. He grabbed a handful of your ass and you groaned against his mouth as he kneaded the soft flesh and dragged you impossibly closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he easily took your weight. Simon carried you over to your desk and in one sweep of his hand, everything was scattered onto the ground.

Including your monitor.

“You get to explain that one,” you said dryly. His only response was to lay you back against the wood and grind his still-clothed cock against your panties. A hitched gasp escaped you and he bent down, pressing his lips against the swell of your breasts as his hand reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Simon bit down on the top of your right breast and sucked, leaving a dark mark of his own. Your hands flew to his shoulders and you dug your nails into his skin. He grunted as you dragged your hands down, but he continued lining your skin with hickies.

When Simon finally stopped his assault on your tits and stood up straight, you took in the sight of the scarred Adonis before you. He was so beautiful, even if he didn’t believe it. Your fingers traced the scars that adorned his chest and he captured your hand in his, raising it to his lips and placing a delicate kiss against your wrist. Your eyes fluttered shut at the intimate action, as if seeing it would ruin the moment.

“It’s different,” he explained as he ground his bulge against you. “Because you’re mine. And I won’t ever let them take what’s mine from me again.”

Smooth plastic slid over your wrist and your eyes snapped open just in time to see him secure zip tie handcuffs around one of your wrists. He snatched the other before you could fight him and bound your hands together, leaving you spread out on your desk in only your underwear.

“And clearly you need to learn that lesson,” he rasped. The cold metal of his pocket knife slid against your ribs and you felt the fabric of your underwear give before he slit the straps of your bra and yanked it off. You squirmed under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious about being so exposed like this. Did he lock the door? What if someone came in?

Simon palmed himself through his jeans before he undid his belt buckle and slid it out of its loops. He considered it for a moment and then folded it up and laid it on the desk next to you. A whine escaped you and you pressed your thighs together at the thought of him using it. He chuckled, one hand stroking your cheek and the other pushing his jeans and boxers down.

“Don’t worry, love. I always treat my things well.”

The scent of him invaded your senses as he shoved his mask between your parted lips, forcing you to taste the sweat and smoke that clung to the fabric. He grabbed your ankles and settled himself between your legs, hooking each of your legs around his waist. Simon grasped his thick, solid cock and rubbed it against your cunt. Fuck, normally he ate you out or fingered you open before he did this. There was no way you would be able to fit hi-

Your eyes rolled back as he slid into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he bottomed out in one stroke. A muffled scream escaped you as his cock speared you open, but you were thrown more by the sudden pleasure than any pain. Had he fucked you so much that you were carved out for him?

“Feel that?” His breath washed over your face as he pressed his weight against you, grinding himself deeper than you thought he could possibly go. “You’re made to fit me.”

You tried to move your bound hands down to touch your clit but he smacked your cheek and yanked your hands above your head. Simon pressed his palm against your cheek as leverage while he pulled out of your aching cunt and then bullied himself back in. You let out a desperate whimper and he clicked his tongue.

“No complaints,” he chastised. “You wanted this, right? That’s why you’re so insubordinate. So irritating. So fucking stupid. But you’re my stupid girl, ain’t that right?”

Your head swam from pleasure and tears dripped down your cheeks as he began to rail you. Holy shit, the two of you had done kinky stuff but this was another level. Your pussy clenched around him and he chuckled low in his throat.

“You like that, huh? Being my little cocksleeve. Being my pocket pussy. Took on a whole fucking cartel but at the end of the day, you’re just a mindless little slut.”

A whine escaped you and you tried to babble something through the soaked fabric of his mask, but you were just consumed by Simon. You should be ashamed right now, being reduced to this mewling, quivering little fleshlight. But your skin burned with want as he grabbed your hips and just started pounding into you. Anyone walking by could hear what was going on and know. You strained against the zip ties to no avail. None of your strength or smarts were on your side right now.

“If they caught you, they’d break this pretty little mind of mine,” Simon snarled. He ripped his mask out of your mouth and forced three fingers into your drooling mouth. Once sufficiently coated, he silenced you with the gag once again and reached down to rub harshly at your clit.

“You understand me, woman? You’re. Mine.” Each word was punctuated with a harsh thrust and a slap to your thigh. Pleasure shot through you at each strike and you clenched around him. He chuckled and pulled out of you before grabbing your hips and easily flipping you onto your stomach. Simon wrapped his hand around your throat and yanked you back so your back met his chest.

And then he just started pounding into you again.

Drool pooled at the corners of your lips and spilled over the edges of the makeshift gag. You slumped against his hold and accepted your fate as his little cockwhore. Because holy shit, he was hitting that little spot in your cunt that made your vision blur and your mind turn to mush. His balls slapped against your clit as he rammed into you and you could feel yourself starting to fall apart at the seams.

“Should keep you like this forever,” he breathed against the soft skin of your neck as he mercilessly fucked you. “Naked and chained to my desk so I can use you anytime I want.” His fingers came down to rub circles against your clit and you choked out a gasp. His other hand curled around your throat and he added just enough pressure to make your lungs burn and that tidal wave of pleasure finally crashed over you.

The second he felt your cunt pulse around him, Simon buried his cock as deep as he could and spilled into you. He bent down and captured the skin of your shoulder in his teeth, leaving an imprint behind but just shy of drawing blood. You were too fucked out to think of the pain. Your hands twitched uselessly in front of you as he rubbed you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then kept going until you were whining from the overstimulation and pulling away from him the best you could. He stopped his torture on your sensitive nub, but his hands continued roaming along your body.

What a fucking sight you must be. Fucked hard, spread out on your desk with your tits pressed against the rough wood, sweaty, cum-filled, and crying from the pleasure. The mental image made you clench again and the wraith behind you let out a grunt. You waited for him to start fucking himself dry into your sensitive little cunt, but instead he inhaled deeply and stilled your squirming. His hand stroked down the length of your spine and as he slid his cock out of your folds, he placed a delicate kiss to the base of your spine. You pushed his mask out of your mouth and smacked your lips in an attempt to wet your mouth.

“Done being mad at me?” you asked, voice rough from your muffled screams. His lips met a scar that marred your shoulder and he nestled his face against your neck. He nipped at your earlobe and then soothed the sting with his tongue before nosing against the bite mark he left on your shoulder.

“Was never mad at you, love.” The snick of his pocket knife opening was your cue to loosen your hands so he could cut the zip ties off with less risk of hurting you. His thumbs ran over the depressions they had made into your wrists and he brought your hands up to worship your wrists, your palms, your fingers with delicate kisses. You started to sit up and he immediately moved to steady you and pull your body against his chest. Tilting your chin up, you met his gaze and found nothing but devotion present in those dark eyes.

“If you ever.” His hand smacked against your ass and you jolted but he was already kneading the flesh and soothing the sting. “Up and leave to go on a suicide mission again, I will find you, drag you back here, and kill you myself.”

“I had to, Si,” you murmured, your forehead pressing against his bicep. One of your hands traced the nasty scar below his ribs from that fucking hook Roba had in the cells.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.” His lips met your temple. “I’d do the same.”

“You have,” you reminded him. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

“‘S not a joke, love.”

“Never was, Si.”

He curled his massive body around you and tucked your head into the crook of his neck. In a moment, the two of you would get dressed and walk back to his room on base. You would wash each other in the tiny shower with the lukewarm water and you would discuss the Man City score and if England had a chance to get the cup and what color curtains you would put in the kitchen.

But right now, you savored the puff of every breath he exhaled against your skin. It was a reminder that, despite Roba’s best attempts, despite his father’s cruelty, Simon Riley was still here, living and breathing, and you would worship him for every moment you had. He extracted himself from the cocoon of safety he had encased you in and bent down to rifle through his jeans for something. A chill swept across your skin and he noticed instantly, his eyes darting around the room for anything to cover you with. You had a throw blanket tossed in the corner of your office for when it got cold and he retrieved it. As Simon wrapped the soft fabric around you, one of his hands stroked along the calluses of the fingers on your left hand and you felt the weight of his devotion settle across your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed into the silence of the night. Simon let his lips press and linger against your forehead as you looked at the simple ring that now adorned your skin.

You took on the worst parts of him without fear. You faced down what tried to destroy him and, in turn, destroyed it. The Ghost didn’t believe in attachments.

Simon Riley would marry you tomorrow if he could.