#he’s vertically thick

[abjectapathy]

[mattodore]

they're the 🐺 and 🐇 emojis

[jrueships]

as president of the Jamo fan club my first thoughts on this photo were … as you would put it inch resting but I must also know your thoughts

disgusting...

[gamermattsgf]

Sour diesel p.2 // dealer Chris

Warnings: shower sex / clitoral stimulation / praise kink / drug dealer Chris x reader / size kink / unprotected sex / vertical prone position (I literally have no idea what else to call this lol) / piercing kink / thoughts of exhibitionism / slight hair pulling

Summary: still feeling the strong effects of the diesel you had just previously smoked, chris now wants a taste, and doesn’t mind pulling you into the shower with him to do so...

Author’s notes: ew why did it take me so long to write this and decide what I actually wanted to do with it lmao. Just a quick disclaimer, if you can’t really remember what happened in the first one I recommend going back to re-read it because this is a continuation of what happens straight after the first one ends. Also lowkey- why does this one get so sappy and soft at the end lol? I should really start writing tooth rots soon too. So anyways… get out ya sour diesel playlists and enjoy ;).

“If you overthinkin’, I get high with you, if you ever sinkin’, I go down with you, all I need, my baby and a cigarette” - CIGARETTES, Amir Obe

. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹

‘shit that is strong stuff…’

You laugh at Chris’ throwaway comment, hyperaware of the way your whole entire body tingles itself into a horny hot-sweat. The thick smell of weed on both of your clothes and the redness of your eyes certainly don’t help in cementing the fact that you are both high out of your fucking minds right now.

Chris feeds his bottom lip into his mouth and tugs on the central silver lip ring he has hooked into his plump flesh.

The sight alone makes your toes curl. It’s as if every single move he makes drags you deeper into a violet haze of ecstasy until you’re so far away from clarity that you can barely see it anymore.

Chris’ soft chest rises and falls as his cock lies there in front of you two, bare, and needing a lot more attention.

Releasing his moist lip from his teeth, it recoils backwards slightly and you watch his lip ring glint hypnotically in the light of the ceiling fan above him.

They look dewy, a peachy pink cream colour… perfect for sucking on.

Your drug dealer’s frosty irises surround themselves with the bloodshot white of his eyes, and the redness almost exemplifies the popping blue colour of them.

His pupils dilate, and he seems to be deep in thought.

You shift uncomfortably on your knees, trying to press your aching heat down onto one of the balls of your feet to suppress its unbearable throb.

Suddenly Chris sighs.

His voice is deep and raspy, almost as if he’s just woken up from a deep slumber. You love it when you two link up to smoke weed together because his voice always drops down to this gorgeous register and it makes your folds slick beneath your underwear every single time.

Unbeknownst to Chris of course.

He’ll just sit there, knowing exactly what he’s doing, yet not knowing anything at all as he balances the blunt in his mouth, blowing out leisurely smoke rings and pumping his system full of relaxant narcotics. Perhaps sprawled out on his back across your bed if at your place or out on his deck in one of his chairs at his…

His voice always ends up the same though, gritty and an octave lower than usual.

‘Wanna take a shower with me, ma?’ He questions casually, as if saying something like this to you is rather a normal occurrence. It elicits a tight tension within your muscles, and you struggle to not grind yourself down onto the ball of your foot.

You swallow thickly at his request, and Chris’ lips twitch up into a little lop-sided smirk. He wants to see you naked. So fucking bad. And he’s not ashamed to admit it. He thinks about it a lot. More than he probably should.

He also just likes to think about you a lot.

Usually when he does his deals with other clients. He’ll always hand over his weed, or his bag of pills and then he’ll think about how much he misses your face.

Then when he’s stretching out his hand and expectantly raising his eyebrows for his money he’ll think about how much he hates letting you pay for your drugs.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he fucking loves spoiling you by giving you free rein of his most expensive strains.

Just a moment of your time is money enough for him.

And then whenever he slinks away from his deals with his black hood up, he leafes through his money and counts it… thinking about how much he can’t wait to see a text from you again.

Sometimes he purposely gives you smaller volumes of weed just so that you run out faster and have to come guiltily crawling back to see him again for more.

With that being said, he takes advantage of this moment, flicking his eyes down to the subtle rock of your hips that rut forward once and then retreat back to their original resting position.

You squirm about at the thought of his shower.

‘Um… yes please’ you clear your throat and mumble politely, your cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. And it’s almost unbelievable to think that you had the thickness of his cock stuffed all the way down your throat moments ago because of how you were looking at him now.

Chris snorts at this nervous reaction, a gruff and teasing giggle slipping past his lips whilst he tilts his head patronisingly. ‘What? You all shy now or somethin’?’.

You avert your eyes as he pokes fun at you, a hint of his Boston accent catching in the back of his throat as he smiles at your endearing behaviour.

You shake your head and muscle up the nerves to look up at him through your eyelashes. You sigh. ‘Sorry it’s just uhh… well- I’m just a little shocked at myself that’s all’.

Commenting on your previously greedy actions, it’s as if you can still feel the soft throbbing of Chris’ thickness stroking against the walls of your mouth. The taste of his cum haunts the base of your throat, and the memory of saliva seeping from your mouth to dribble around his pink head permeates your vision.

The look of the strings of spit connecting his tip to your lips as soon as you had pulled away from him almost become too much for you to bear.

Suddenly, you crack a laugh, and Chris is so fucking high that he finds it within himself to join in, even though what you had said wasn’t really that funny.

After recovering, Chris quickly silences and retreats back to looking at you lustily, his eyes glistening with that primal need to have you for himself, but equally to have you wailing and crying out his name with his windows cracked wide open.

Because he wants passing people to know, to know what’s going on in the bathroom of his apartment. And he wants them to be jealous. Jealous of the way that it’s him who’s pounding into you, him whose skin is slapping against yours, and him whose back is getting clawed at by your nails until it’s red raw.

‘I kinda wanna kiss you…’ he randomly muses to you. And you too, fall silent, and find yourself gravitating towards him naturally. He does the same, his eyes once or twice obsessively looking down to your lips. They hold a begging kind of gaze that almost has you rolling about the floor for mercy.

‘Do it then’ you breathe daringly, both of you two then coming in to bridge the gap. Chris presses his lips into yours, and then immediately you feel the artificial metal ring of his piercing against your own bare skin.

He squeezes his lips closed and traps your bottom one in between his two.

In one solid motion he makes you shiver by smoothly sliding his tongue across the skin of your lip, before wetly detaching himself and doing the exact same thing to your top one. He utters a breathy moan, the cold air on his prick making it throb and harden once again whilst you let him kiss you.

It’s not long before it escalates, and the taste of your saliva has Chris hooked. So much so that he lurches forward a little more to grab both sides of your face aggressively with his hands.

He keeps you held there, the large expanse of them moist with sweating arousal as your mouths drop open even further into the now very messy kiss.

Now it’s just your tongues flattening against each other’s and licking from side to side, spit whipping about and coating the corners of your mouths when sometimes each of you miss your mark.

‘Shower? Please?’ Chris breathlessly pants, his desperate tone almost making him seem like he’s transitioned into heat as his hands slide down your neck, then your tits, only to land on the fabric of your shirt. He boyishly twists it into his knuckles, and impatiently tugs you towards him.

‘O-okay… shower’ you acknowledge him, and then pull away.

Your wobbly feet rise to a stand from off of his scuffed green couch and only then do you realise just how wet you are after your thighs close and rub together.

Chris looks up at you with doe eyes, before grunting and standing up too, trying to pull his grey sweats and boxers up simultaneously.

He messily tries to tuck his weeping cock into his pants, but heaves an annoyed mumble when it takes longer than expected, before he is pushing himself back into you once he’s successful.

He leans in with his mouth already agape hungrily. The fever and determination he has only makes your horniness worse, still in an absolutely trance on your diesel high.

Your tongues sloppily lick each other’s, and Chris moans a quick ‘Mhh, so pretty baby’ into your lips with his eyes feathered closed in enjoyment.

He walks you backwards one or two steps, before humming again in thought and stopping. He then decides to not bother with trying to get you to walk to his bathroom, and so pulls away from your lips to kiss his teeth.

He shuffles back slightly and you eye him quizzically before he’s reaching his palms downwards and turning them up to his ceiling.

They twitch slightly when he purrs ‘up you come baby’, clearly wanting you to leap your thighs into the cups of them so that he can carry you.

You smile slightly at this, and smooth your hands over his shoulders for support before hopping into his hold. He groans a little at the force exerted upon his arms but then quickly flexes them and easily hitches your legs around his thick hips.

‘Atta girl’ he praises you softly before sponging a wet kiss onto the collarbone that sits right in front of the reach of his lips.

He then starts to walk you both through the corridor of his apartment to his bathroom.

On your way there he has to step over piles of his stuff that he’s lazily thrown onto his floor, like a heap of empty Pepsi cans and also his beloved pink North Face puffer jacket that he usually does his deals in.

It lays in a crumpled heap next to his mess of playing card. Presumably he must have had people round playing black jack earlier and just hasn’t cleaned them up yet.

After a bit of turning your head to the side and playfully biting the helix of his ear, he gets you to the door of his bathroom and victoriously kicks it open with his foot.

Twisting to the side, he squeezes both of you past the doorframe and looks up at you with lusting eyes before he is using his foot again to force the door shut behind him. It slams and traps you two into Chris damp-smelling bathroom, the scent of his cologne combatting the mould of the old walls and intoxicating your senses.

You forget how fucking good Chris smells underneath all of that weed.

He suddenly releases his grip on you, and you drop to the floor, your feet padding onto his white bathmat.

He pecks you on the lips once, before twisting around to turn his attention to the shower. He reaches into it and twists the dial which makes water come spurting out of the head. Whilst doing this you simultaneously take off your top and unbutton your jeans.

You slide them down your dewy legs as Chris reaches his palm in to test the temperature of the water before looking back at you, his stomach flipping in excitement at the sight of you standing there in your bra and underwear.

‘Is the shower ready?’ You speak up timidly, standing squished and self consciously with your arms folded over your stomach as you look at the man who has always been on your mind outside of deals, and not just because of the drugs.

He hums. ‘Hmm, not yet, wanna make it nice for you…’.

He turns back around and leans out of the shower.

Shaking his wet hand, a couple of droplets fall to the floor before he is taking off his zip up and letting it plonk to the bathmat. ‘Still feelin’ shy ma?’ He comments with a smirk on his face at the fact that you haven’t yet taken off your underwear.

You laugh and shake your head, his silly attitude managing to ease the tension. ‘Mhh, a little bit’.

Sometimes you get extra nervy when you’re high. It isn’t necessarily Chris’ fault that you feel this way, it’s just the kind of influence the drug has on you depending on what kind of strain you smoke.

His white shirt peels off next, before both of his sweats and his boxers come off.

‘That’s ok, I’d prefer to be the one taking off your underwear anyway…’ he rambles, the sentiment of his want travelling straight to your clothed core and making it burn with heat.

He stands there in his naked vulnerability and by now the shower has heated up enough to billow steam into the room and fog up the mirror in front of his sink.

‘Can I?’ He speaks gently and raises his eyebrows whilst gesturing to your white panties, decorated with a little brown teddy bear logo on the front of them. As if Chris couldn’t adore you more, your taste in panties makes him feel warm and fuzzy, the effects of the sour diesel only making his attraction to you worse.

You nod and Chris takes that as his chance to step forward and feed his thumbs into the soft cotton fabric bunched around your hips.

To distract you whilst he pulls them down, he starts to kiss you again, and you find yourself sucking on his lip ring whilst your panties drop to your ankles.

Chris’ arms then snake around your back, both pulling you towards him and enabling him to fumble around with the strap to your bra. After successfully unclipping it, he whimpers in victory before pulling away from you.

‘Ladies first’ he jokingly gestures and grasps onto one of your hands like a gentleman whilst he leads you into the shower.

He steps in after you and shuts the glass door, both of you getting soaked in the scalding water as it trickles from the shower head and onto your hair. Chris is quick to make sure that you’re directly under the stream of water so that you can absorb all of the warmth, and he looks at you through water droplet-stained eyelashes.

You smile and blush up at him whilst he gingerly trails his fingertip up the endless waterfalls of water slipping down your curves.

He then starts to draw aimless patterns on your skin, like an artist ravishing his muse.

He threads one of his hands through the thick sopping wet mop of your hair, strands clumping together as he drags his fingertips through it and looks at it in fascination.

Your lips crash against each others once more after a single look passed between you two.

Now it’s almost as if you literally can’t breathe without a constant taste of each other’s flesh.

A nicotine addiction, but for bodies.

After kissing slowly, for a while, Chris’ cock begins to ache.

He detaches himself, now the two of you fully soaking wet and the steam residing between your bodies making its way down your throats. The atmosphere is hot, choking, lustful.

Manoeuvring around you, your slickness throbs at the sight of his arm reaching up to unhook the shower head from its hold. Fat water droplet gather at the bottom of the strands of his long hair, and they drip down to the floor at every movement he makes.

‘Your turn baby…’ he lilts cheekily into your ear after using his other free arm to wrap around your front and pull you into his chest. Using the hand gripping the shower head, he teasingly turns the pressure up until the force of the water is hammering out.

He kisses your cheek, and you feel the grin on his face as you struggle not to crumple into his hold. Your knees feel like buckling, and the ache between your legs is almost strong enough to make you feel dizzy.

‘Chris I-’ you stutter quietly, but he doesn’t give you a chance to finish before he’s quickly moving the burst of water and concentrating it upon your clit.

Your throat echos a cry as you arch your back, your head falling into the crook of his shoulder as he licks his tongue over the tepid skin of your throat.

‘Yeah, you like that don’t you…’ he mumbles cockily against your flesh, the hold he has against the shower head unrelenting, even when trying to squirm away from it.

He keeps a firm lock over your body, and the waves of sensitivity it brings you almost makes you pass out. You whine and pant, slinging your arms behind your head and clawing at Chris’ neck.

You feed your shaking fingertips into his hair to yank on it, practically begging for mercy.

‘Feels so good’ you whimper, and Chris nudges your head to envelop your mouth into his once again. This way, he swallows your noises of extreme euphoria for himself.

Your wet bodies slide together, steaming rising from in between your legs as Chris starts to control the water’s flow against your core by moving the shower head in a circular motion.

‘Open up a bit wider for me baby’ he instructs you soothingly, and uses one of his kneecaps to knock into the back of yours, commanding you to spread your thighs a little farther.

You feverishly nod with an ‘o-ok’ before your wobbling legs are stepping further out and the vibrating pleasure is increasing the more Chris gains access to your clit.

You feel his hard cock brushing in between your ass, and it throbs wildly, Chris no doubt aching to bend you over… which he does, unexpectedly.

He presses your left cheek against the wall and your hands come flying up to slap against the cold tiles whilst he forces your back into an arch.

‘Fuck baby’ you mumble, drunk off of the feeling of Chris touching you in the best possible way.

‘Give it to me momma… wanna hear how good I fuck you… make it loud’.

Chris is smug when he presses his tip into your weepy hole, one of his hands coming up to also lean against the tiles above your head, which gives him the right kind of support. His other hand still works the shower head down at your core, and you let out a strangled moan after he fits himself inside of you.

He stretches you out from behind, and you whine a little in pain at his thickness. ‘Ahh Chris… l-little slower please’ you hiss as you suck your teeth, the rough skin of his cock throbbing inside of you and spreading your walls apart. Your mouth is dropped open and your focus is on breathing as soon as you say this, a line of drool accidentally falling from out of one side of your mouth.

It splatters heavily to the floor next to your foot.

Chris sees this slimy mess, and smirks at how much he’s fucking you up, his ego stroking itself as he slowly pushes his hips forward as per your request.

‘Fuck, look at you getting all hot and bothered… my cock really that big huh?’ He patronises you whilst watching your back rise and fall laboriously at having to take in deep stuttering breaths.

You moan a ‘yes’, feathering your eyes shut just for a second to regain your composure.

Chris grins devilishly, mumbling back a stern but simple ‘take it.’ In response.

So you do, and wait until he fully bottoms out to whine for him to move again.

Chris obeys, and his wet hips snap against your ass, causing a resounding clap sound to cacophony across the expanse of his bathroom with the water in his shower still running and its stream battering quickly against your heat.

Tears almost draw within your eyes as you fully soak in how well he’s treating you, fucking you up from both the front and behind.

He groans lowly in a humongous effort to try and hold off his orgasm, just so that you can have yours first, because he realises that you deserve it a lot more than he does after letting him thrust his cock up into your mouth.

‘That good baby? I feel nice?’ He questions, but of course he already knows you love it because of the way you’re almost pathetically crying for him to go faster.

‘Make me cum please- please make me cum’ your fucked-out voice drawls, your fingernails clawing at the tiles of his shower for traction as his fat tip nudges against the most sensitive part of your core with every thrust he makes.

With the shower head still firmly held against your clit, he helps you build up your organs and after a couple more thrusts, he finally finishes you off.

He drops the still running hose to the floor in favour of gripping onto you and making sure that you don’t fall, his hips continuously going but slowing their roll as he helps you calm down from your high.

After your cunt gets too sensitive to withstand anymore of his hard prick, you tap out, and Chris pulls out, panting in tiredness and stickily jerking himself the rest of the way to his own eventual orgasm.

He squirts his cum rapidly onto your back, and you shiver at the feeling of its warm consistency, twisting your body to try and get a look at it erotically dripping down your ass cheeks.

Both of you heave, trying to catch your breaths in the heat of the shower, which proves to be an even more difficult task as soon as Chris turns you back around to face him.

‘C’mere… want more kisses’ he babyishly mumbles, requesting for your lips softly on his once again with a pretty pout on his moony face.

He whimpers happily after you give in, laughing a little at his afterglow submissiveness before pressing small peppering kisses around the corners of his mouth.

You kiss each other once more, and this time instead of you biting against his piercing, he bites against your bottom lip, your tongues lazily twisting in the swelter of the shower.

You guess that the hot water probably washed away a good half of the drug, because you didn’t feel as high anymore.

You stay there, kissing for a while until Chris decides that he wants to rinse you off.

He passes the shower head that had once been firmly focused on stimulating your clit around your body to wash any cum and sweat away, before announcing that he also wanted to wash your hair for you.

You almost melt at the sentiment and patiently stand there whilst he massages a dollop of shampoo into the roots of your hair, sudsing it up and smiling whilst he combs his long fingers through your strands.

After gently whispering ‘okay, now lean back for me…’, he passes the stream of water over your hair and bites his lip in concentration, wanting to make sure that the experience is just as soothing for you as it is for him.

You almost forget that Chris is just your drug dealer as he helps you out of the shower and grabs one of his white towels from his radiated hand rail.

Wrapping you up in one, he makes sure that you’re warm and snuggly before tying a spare one around his own waist.

Water droplets still drip from his chest as he grabs a small hand towel to place on top of your head. He then gently rubs your hair and tries to dry it as much as he can.

You both giggle at how silly you look in the mirror with the towel messily strewn across your head, which is exemplified by Chris deciding to make you laugh even further by vigorously shaking his wet hair out like a dog.

After you’re dry, he helps you back into your clothes, before playfully patting your ass as you both exit his bathroom, Chris shutting the door behind you two.

You suddenly swallow nervously and get anxious once again.

You just had sex with your dealer… twice.

What the fuck does that mean for your relationship? Are you going to have to block him and never speak to him again? Are you going to have to pretend like none of this ever happened?

You sure hope not.

As all of these worrying thoughts swirl about your mind like a raging storm, Chris suddenly comes in like a ray of sunshine and scares the clouds away with a silly sounding ‘hey, wanna play video games with me? I got a really cool new one over the weekend’.

As if he hadn’t just railed the shit out of you moments earlier.

You feel like this is Chris’ own special way of telling you not to worry about it, you can both think about the consequences later… so you smile back at him, returning to the living room where his old green couch lies before plopping down onto it.

‘Turning down a chance to beat you in Mario Kart like I always do? Never… gimme a remote and you’re on!’

. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹

Author’s notes p.2: I want to make out with drug dealer!Chris to the song Percolator by SZA so bad. Bye- this is so specific but MUCH needed. Thank you all for waiting on the much anticipated arrival of Sour diesel part 2, I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did and likewise, I should be getting to work on cherry popper real soon! Ask, and request anything as always… until next time babies :)

Taglist: @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @stursweet @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @thesturniolos @sturniolosreads @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @nicksmainbitch @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattslolita @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @mattestrella @hearts4chriss @orangeypepsi

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her

Daryl burst into the clinic like a mad bull. Maggie did her best to slow him down and explain. Down the hall, you easily heard the whole thing as you did your best to hold perfectly still as Denise stitched you up.

"The hell is she?!" Daryl roared.

"Just calm down. She's fine," Maggie was insisting. You could picture her with her hands out, trying to slow him down.

"Fine?! She got fuckin' shot! Dun tell me it's all fine," he growled back.

"Daryl—"

Heavy boot steps approached down the hallway. "You might as well tell him we're in here, let him in," you said to Denise.

"Kind of in the middle of something here," she replied, not taking her eyes off the delicate work she was doing on the wound near your hairline.

There was a moment's hesitation outside the door and then Daryl knocked loudly. "Hey—Denise? Can I—"

"Come in, Daryl," you responded loudly. He burst in and his eyes whirred over you. "Hi," you greeted him calmly.

He was clearly relieved to see you vertical. You couldn't move as Denise was still stitching the bullet graze on the side of your face. His face clouded over with a shadow as he peered at you.

"It's just a graze, Daryl."

A flame seemed to flicker in his eyes. "On yer head," he emphasized. "Which means ya were damn fuckin' close to bein' dead."

You winced as the needle pricked a particularly tender spot and Denise muttered an apology. Daryl began to pace in front of you.

"Who the hell would want to shoot ya in the head?" he demanded, his agitation almost growing with every passing second.

"A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that," you joked wryly.

"This ain't a fuckin' joke, Y/N!" he barked.

Luckily, Denise had just finished and she dabbed briefly at the wound with a bit of gauze and then put down her tools. "I'll just be—I'm gonna—" She pointed awkwardly at the door and rushed past Daryl and out into the hall.

A thick, heavy silence fell. His gaze was intense. You shrugged and gave him a look. "What do you want me to do, Daryl? It's not like I asked for this."

"I want ya to stay alive," he said forcefully. "And if that means ya dun go outside the walls anymore—"

You scoffed and slid down off the table you'd been sitting. "Don't. You of all people—don't even say it," you warned him dangerously.

Daryl gulped and some of the heat of his anger left him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously and paced another line in front of you. "Well—what then? Cuz we can't have ya gettin' fuckin' shot."

"What's the difference? This world is trying to kill all of us, every day, one way or another. The only difference with this is that I know the asshole who pulled the trigger."

Daryl nodded. "Alright. Then we pull the trigger on them first. Cuz I ain't gonna have ya dyin' on me."

"We?"

"Yeah. We. I don't give a shit what this is, ya ain't alone on it. I won't let ya be. I can't."

Prompt: "Who the hell would want to shoot you?" / "A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that."

[astralnymphh]

ROBINS EGG BLUE

⤹ . moments with domestic!ellie x pregnant!reader

WC; 1.07k

⤹ . content; fluff, lovey–dovey, may cause baby fever or heartwarmed tears to swell, reader discretion is advised ౨ৎ

pregnancy is infuriating as not being able to comb your hair thoroughly. there is always a fat fucking knot to stem the fluid moment thereof– just as there lies a fat, fleshy boulder fastened to your stomach for a gruelingly long nine months. the bulge of your belly button has witnessed most of three seasons, and you weren't buoyantly idling around for the fourth to appear. this baby– this little devil, needs to get the hell out of dodge.

from the chagrin of a pair of jeans failing to button at the hips, straining the seams as you pull that fly parallel to your mother yanking the poor hairs from your scalp with a paddle brush– to the fleeting aggro nearby popping a blood vessel you feel when arguing with your wife, ellie, about some nonsensical, fruitless or futile dispute about what wallpaper pattern best suits the small dimensions of the nursey– pink and pearl striped with roses or robins egg blue and beige striped with roses, ellie continuously states "they're basically the same baby, i don't see what all the fuss is about." or whether ellie should throw in a batch of dino nuggets or regular nuggets cause the taste totally isn't the same, the shape definitely impacts how salty it is to your tongue, illogical banters.

but ellie will still be your loving, selfless, fond, and doting wife. your number one. apple of your eye. stupid auburn–haired heartthrob. you name it. through thick and thin of your expanding belly, she will always be the first palm to greet your baby in the morning, plastering her blanket–hot hand just beneath your navel and pressing her sweat damp fingerprints dimpling into your stomach, bending her index lightly into the petunia purple stretchmarks that vertically dip into your hips, waiting for minutes in the virgin sun morning for your baby to kick. literally, she has abandoned her old forenoon routine just to feel that first thump on her hand. and when it finally does happen, a little pounce vibrating beneath her palm lines– her fingers twitch lightly and a smile immediately crafts upon her rose lips, purring excitedly upon the fringe of your ear, words that only your snoozing brain with hark, "huh, see? he knows who his mama is– told ya."

but, ahh, stretchmarks.

she adores those little lightning marks lacing your belly– you on the other hand, thought the contrary, to which that husky fry would remind you, "ts' cause y'gotta baby growing in there, yeah? ours." flowing past the pouty berry lips so adamant on plowing kisses to the span of your scruff, ghosting them dry over the fine threadlike hairs with a pitched promise to never let you– or your belly go.

or, goddess, that one time ellie insisted you sit on the couch while she played her acoustic guitar, denting her fingertips with the strings as she plucks, subtly leaning the bay oak instrument closer to your belly so the baby would pick up those hollowed notes vibrating through the air. the fattest smirk would mushroom those cheeks to hug her nose– grooving those nasal lines to encase the thin curve of a smile, deepening at the corners. you even recall the dorkiest shit ever, how it carried to your ears out of the blue and left you pinching brow lines of amusement, "gonna' play this lil' guy guitar everyday– hey, d'ya think if i do that, he'll come out already knowing how to play?" spoken on a smokey chord, glancing up at you through lashes slightly downturned due to her facing the belly, directly. you told her with a sigh, "ellie, that is not how it works." dumbly smirking back, and she replied, "what? c'mon, maybe if i play electric, he'll be born a rockstar!" squeezing her voice with silly enthusiasm. a roll of your head cracks your neck, dangling back to barb, "you are ten times the idiot than you were yesterday." cause, well, she's constantly spewing the dopiest ideas. next thing you knew, she was rasping, "m'your fuckin' idiot." that cheesy motherfucker, slinking her guitar off the round of her thigh and stowing it at the sofa's footing, lurking forward on all fours to tackle your belly with bespattering kisses, moist and fiendish as ever.

infuriating was the task of putting socks on. fucking socks. the effortless effort that would usually clock you under ten seconds, moreso felt like ten eons. "ughh!" you would grunt from the depths of your compact lungs, extending two zombie arms over the blockage of your portly belly, perking the ears of ellie who was just in the abutting room, walls thin enough to bombard with sound. she whips around the door trim, leaning her lank weight away from it and cocking her head, distinguishing the predicament you had landed two feet in. a dry chuckle sounds from yonder the room, trailed by her honeyed resound, "need sum' help babe?" which, to her, falls to strike as a question– au contraire, soft, padded footsteps of feet who already had socks on, lucky them, carries ellie over and at your side, crouching with her knees splayed apart like bird's wings, raising hands to politely creep fingers under yours, prying the cottony ball from your grasp and craning it to her chest, sidling in her squat so that she would be an eyeshot vis–à–vis to you, at your beckon practically.

you remained silent, doused in the soft moment before you, yet a little embarrassed you couldn't do it yourself. a raspy, "here's one.." croaks from her throat prior to a hand cupping the ribbed underside of your ankle, tamping it gently into her chest so she could unfurl the sock and roll it up your foot, hedging your toes first with the linty fabric and laying it up the heel, letting the band snap in place– and her fingertips lingered at the ankle, caressing the nub for only a twinkle in time. "and the second one.." she scoops up the other foot, repeating the same tedious tenderness she gave to your other, gliding her hand from your ankle to your knee as she stood up, plating a pressure to the top of your thigh as she leans in, lips first, uttering, "there you go," smacking a puckered kiss to your stagnant lips, whispering upon them, "m'comin' to the bathroom with you. wanna hold him for a bit."

not even wild wolves could tear ellie from your baby, her baby.

[caramelcleopatraa]

TEAR IT UP

word count: 1.4k

x: took me a couple of days to finish this. excuse any errors you see. hope you guys enjoy this <3 please comment... I love comments.

content: Roman Reigns x Aahliyah, 18+ MDNI, creampie, doggy, missionary, dirty talk

His thrusts were strong enough to knock the wind out of her. And they were, making her lose her mind in the best possible way. The fresh crescents that formed on his wrist from her fingernails were fresh as she clinged onto him to dear life. She was already dripping before he even touched her, so she couldn’t imagine the mess that she was making. Not that she would be thinking about that right now. Not when he’s in her ear saying all of her favorite things, knowing the effect he has on her. “Damn, you’re taking daddy’s dick so good.” With her face pressed into the pillows, she couldn’t see his face, but she already knew that he was wearing that smug smile, confident in his ability to give her good dick. And he always delivered. He was in complete control, moving and maneuvering her however he wanted. “Talk to me baby, let me hear you.” He couldn’t possibly expect her to talk back right now, especially when she’s face down ass up with her hands held behind her back. She stares at the empty wall, focusing on nothing but how good he is dicking her down. “I- umm- I- oh fuckk daddyy.” He chuckles to himself and replies, “I can’t hear you, do I need to slow down?”

Her eyes rolled as he milked out his thrusts, teasing her in the most agonizing way. “Noo, daddy pleasee!” He lets her hands go, but she keeps her hands in the same spot, while his hands palm her ass. Feeling him knead at her ass greedily made her wetter. “Please what?” The harsh spank that he gave her made jump, and momentarily brought her out of her haze. “Please keep going. Make me cum, I want it so bad.” Roman’s large hands left her ass, while he slid out of her, making his way to sit beside her. “Come ride this dick.” Without hesitation, she straddles his thick thighs and stabilizes herself by holding onto his shoulders. She let herself have a little fun, dragging his tip up and down her folds. His ragged breaths let her know that he was enjoying this. But those ragged breaths would become loud grunts as she slowly lowered her hips, taking all of him. He filled her up so well, and she was addicted to that feeling. Of course she was addicted. Sinking down onto him felt like heaven each time. His wandering hands grabbed her ass while her hips parted from his thighs to sink down onto him again. And again, and again, and again.

“Bounce on that dick Aahliyah. Get that nut baby.”

That was all she needed to hear. 

Her hands trailed from his shoulders to his chest, pushing him down on the bed. She started to grind her hips, biting her lip at how good he felt. The long vertical mirror displayed both of them, entangled in each other. He took occasional glances at the mirror to see her ass slam down against his legs. Her juicy titties and fat ass were his to play with, and he didn't waste a second to give either of them attention. His warm tongue swirls around her nipple, emitting soft deep moans that make her go crazy. “Daddy, I need you,” she pleads, now grinding slowly on his rock hard length. He loved hearing her ask and beg. Her soft voice pleading never failed to make him hard. “What do you need daddy to do?” She whines, knowing that he knew what she wanted. “I need you to tear this pussy up daddy,” She says, staring at his beautiful chocolate eyes. His strong arms wrap around her body, leaving no space between them. He planted his feet on the bed and wasted no time pistoning his length into her. She could only scream and shake at how good he was fucking her. She couldn't escape the cage formed around her torso. She could only lay there and take it.

“This what you wanted, huh?” She tangled her hands in his hair, babbling small yesses. “Ahh shit, I'm finna cum daddy.”She was so high off pleasure. She was sure she was shattering his eardrums with how loud she was screaming. “Mhm, Get that nut mama. Get it.” His voice was everything she needed to tip her over the edge. She hid in the crook of his neck, still grabbing at his wavy black hair. His hands reunite with her ass again, harshly grabbing at her cheeks and fucking her deeper. Her eyes roll from the mind melting orgasm. His hips slow down, allowing her to come down from her high, but they were nowhere near done. He swiftly flipped her over, swapping places. She was fucked out, fresh off of an orgasm and recovering, but he was ready to dive back into her again. 

“You okay?” She propped herself on her elbows, chest still heaving. “Yeah, that dick is too good.” He chuckles and stands on his knees, positioning himself in between her legs. “I’m glad you like it, ‘cause I'm not done.” She never wanted him to be done. Even when she’s fucked out like she is now, she always wanted that dick. “Looks like I got you hooked.”

He strokes himself a few times and aligns himself with her slit. “I don’t play bout my pussy.” She chuckles this time, amused at his response. “Prove it then. Prove you don’t play about this pussy.”

His tell-tale smirk let her know that her wish will be granted. Her legs that rested on the bed were swiftly hoisted into the air. “Hold them.” She obeyed his command and held her legs down, knees grazing the shell of her ear. She loved provoking him. She was a mouthy one, and he loved shutting her up. She tightened the grip on her legs as he entered her. Roman trained her to take his dick. Night after night after night, fucking her senseless until she became a pro. 

He had a perfect view of her. Legs held back and out of the way, pussy on display, and that lust filled stare. His thumb works lazy circles into her clit, his dick halfway submerged in her cunt. “Please move,” She whispers needily. “Be patient ma.” Before she can whine, he lets a string of spit slowly drip on his dick. She moaned at the sight, with a stronger urge for him to move his hips. He shoves the remaining inches inside of her, making her mouth form the letter O. He remained deep inside of her for a few seconds before pulling out completely and slamming back into her. He crawled to meet her and finally gave her what she asked, jackhammering himself inside of her. He observed her expressions as he beat her pussy up. Every moan was fuel for him to keep going. “Ughh, keep fucking this pussy Daddyy, don’t stop.” Her grip on her legs loosened as she melted into the bed. “Don’t make me have to hold your legs in place,” Roman growled in her ear, making her whimper and flimsy grab at her legs to keep them in place. The sinful squelches and smacks of their hips meeting acted as background music, and she was the main vocalist. Her eyes scanned up and down his flawless frame. She had a picture perfect view of him plowing into her. And his loud grunts and groans were only bringing her closer to her orgasm. 

“Mhm, take all this dick, baby.” He knew she was close. The way that she was clenching onto him everytime he pulled out confirmed that for him. “Damn daddyy, you finna make me cum.” He chuckled to himself. He could unravel her so fast, and he left her asking for more. “Go ‘head. Cum all over this dick.” She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back while she lost all control. A ring of her cum formed around the base of his cock. Roman used his right hand to lightly squeeze her throat. He was close too. His pace was slower now, but deep, overstimulating Aahliyah. His face contorted in pleasure, relishing in her wetness. “Damn girl, I'm finna come all up in this pussy. Fuck, this pussy feels so good.” He gave her a few powerful thrusts before coming deep inside of her. They moaned in unison at the feeling of the warm liquid coating her walls. They were both glowing, entranced by the intense wave of pleasure flowing through their bodies. She let go of her legs and wrapped her arms around his neck and enveloped in a passionate kiss. He pulled away panting, staring deep into her eyes.

“I told you daddy doesn't play about his pussy.”

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41

[gyusimp]

°•Lord Muzan feels tired after work

⚠️ WARNINGS: NSFW | Smut content | Fem reader | Fingering | Semi-oral | Minors DNI!

Finally the one-shot I promised! I changed the initial idea so I basically rewrote the whole thing again because of a dream I had and it gave me all the inspiration I needed lmao it even gave me an idea for another longer fic with Muzan. I ended up doing it in the canon Taisho Era so enjoy!

Art credits for the creator (not mine)

It wasn't physical fatigue that he felt, after all, the progenitor of demons was tireless. He was rather fed up. Fed up with his employees, his servants, humans in general and how exhausting it was to be the only perfect and intelligent creature among them. His day had been full of problems today.

The current role he had was that of a young and rich businessman, owner of a company importing foreign products whom he murdered in order to carry out his plans and continue increasing his fortune. He forged a few papers, impersonated some people and murdered others and so the company was his now but that included all his stupid and useless employees. He was so fed up with damn humans, sometimes he avoided dismissals, it depends on their mood and how efficient they were at some point then Muzan fired them, otherwise he just called them to his office simply to kill them.

Then a few months later he met you, a young and beautiful woman in the business world with a company dedicated to natural medicine and importing medicinal plants. You were an essential piece in his plan to conquer the sun. He married you when he had the chance to but you eventually found out that he wasn't human. How come you were still alive then? You discovered it on your own, you didn't make a fuss or try to run away from him, you simply let him know that you already knew through small clues or ways of acting, like you were in charge of closing all the curtains in the house during the day but you didn't ask the servants to do it for you. Your loyalty to him remained despite knowing what he was and that was not lost on Muzan.

One night, he told you what this was all about, if you hadn't left despite knowing his condition then you had to stay alive. Muzan gave you the choice if you wanted to become a demon or not but whatever your answer was, you had to serve him for your entire life. The fact of being immortal did not tempt your human weakness but you told him that by having the ability to walk under the sun, you could be his eyes in the light of day and help him do different things so you both ended up accepting. You were legally his wife, so in front of everyone Muzan treated you as such although there were times in private where he was still a little soft on you, plus, he is an attractive looking man which led you to feel some things more for him , taking on mind his demonic nature.

Today had been a terribly long day, the fatigue in Kibutsuji's body caused the veins on his forehead to stand out strongly under his skin, his red eyes appeared and his pupils turned into vertical slits like a cat's.  He took off the black trench coat he was wearing and left it on the coat rack at the entrance, his fangs grew to normal size after having hidden them all day, as did his sharp blue nails, making one of his servants tremble who should have already gone home. The man next to him was observed with indifference, his skin was pale and he was sweating coldly having seen the small transformation of his master, then he remembered the stories of those man-eating creatures that the women of his town told the children.

"A monster! This man is not human!! MISS KIBUTSUJI, THERE IS A DEMON IN THE HOUSE!" the man shouted trying to alert you.

His shrill screams tried Muzan's patience and when the man turned to walk up the stairs towards you he was cut into pieces in less than 2 seconds. The reddish and thick liquid splashed Kibutsuji's face making him sigh and wipe it with a handkerchief as well as his hand, the drops dripped on the stairs and when he walked next to him he moved it with too much disgust using his foot and continuing his way towards your room upstairs.

Like a gentleman, he knocked on the door before entering and upon hearing your voice he entered the room. You hadn't heard anything but his murderous look told you that he wasn't in the best of moods so you didn't say anything. You went to the bathroom in the large room and put on a pearl-colored sleeveless sleeping dress with a matching silk robe. Just like your husband, you preferred to dress in a Western style, you left your hair down and went out. You found him sitting on the edge of the bed, with both hands together mumbling some things, noticing how stressed he was and without saying anything you knelt on the bed behind him and started massaging his shoulders. You were involved in the world of medicine since you were little, so you knew the points where stress usually accumulates. Feeling your hands exerting pleasant pressure on his body, Muzan couldn't help but tilt his head to the side and put aside everything he was thinking, he took off his tie and closed his eyes, sighing tiredly. You continued caressing his neck, shoulders and back until slowly his muscles relaxed and his veins stopped showing under his skin.

"Can i...?" You asked, bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt.

You unbuttoned the entire garment and got rid of it completely leaving his naked and well-worked torso exposed, you continued massaging his shoulders and back until he felt good enough to close his eyes and lay his head on your chest, feeling your breasts very close to him. Your hands were soft and light, with a sincere and warm touch making his thoughts go elsewhere. While you continued doing your thing, he got rid of his belt and unbuttoned his pants without you realizing it, then grabbed your wrist with some force and brought you in front of him so that you were sitting astride his lap. As soon as you sat down, he took it upon himself to stare at you and open the robe you were wearing to see your breasts under the thin fabric of the nightgown and how your nipples were beginning to stand out. He took off your robe and then grabbed the hem of your nightgown to pull it up and take it off as well. A few seconds passed, he lightly patted your thigh to make you lift your butt so he could get rid of your panties as well, leaving you completely naked under his gaze. He gently took your hand, still looking at you, and brought it up to his face to caress it against his cheek and kiss your palm elegantly.

"You are a rather attractive woman...worthy of bearing my last name." You felt so lucky when he took the time to compliment you since you knew his disdain for almost everything.

You melted at his touch, at his kisses, but an unusual sensation on the skin of your hand made you look in that direction. You saw how a mouth began to form in Muzan's palm with teeth, tongue and everything. You knew about all the changes and transformations that his body was capable of so it no longer surprised you at all since he also knew how to use those changes to your advantage. Muzan smiled at you with seductive malice and with his free hand he grabbed your waist while the hand with his mouth went straight between your legs, placing his palm just below your pussy. You couldn't help but moan and startled a little when you felt his warm breath hitting you, you felt his tongue come out from his palm and begin to suck and lick all your folds. You looked at Muzan with a huge blush as you grabbed his shoulders. While his palm was in charge of your center, he brought 2 of his fingers to your hole, making you arch your back as you felt him enter and arch his fingers inside you. Both sensations made you begin to moan his name and move your hips on him to increase your own pleasure as he hardened dangerously beneath you. His entire mouth sucked on your pussy, playing with it with his teeth and pressing your clit against his tongue over and over again as he moved his fingers and the mouth on his face kissed and bit your neck and collarbones. You were starting to get very wet, the saliva and your juices between your legs making you feel very hot and slippery. Muzan's free hand took you from behind to bring you closer to him and caressed your back until it went down and reached your butt, then he went to your bust and began to knead one of your breasts between his fingers, causing you endless moans.

"Aa-aah...Muzan! Aah!" You could barely speak properly.

You rubbed your center on the palm of his hand while the mouth beneath you devoured you completely, you listened to the wet sounds that leaked beneath you and imagining the dirty scene aroused you more and more. The simple act of letting the Demon King fuck you as he pleased turned you on no matter what. Muzan was going too fast and every rub on and lick on your folds was killing you, you clung tightly to his shoulders making scratches that regenerated immediately feeling your orgasm getting closer to the point of not even being able to stay upright. Your head leaned down, leaving your left hand on his shoulder while you held on to the bed with your right as if your life depended on it, never stopping moaning or moving.

Muzan watched you from above, proud of the mess he made of you, of how he was able to lower such a prestigious and elegant lady to such a level, making her beg for more as if she were a prostitute. You were close, he knew it by the way you squeezed his fingers tighter than before and he didn't want to let this moment pass him by. Muzan grabbed your chin to make you look into his eyes.

"Look at me...you're about to cum, aren't you? I want you to look at me..."

You tried to raise your face towards him but lust was stronger than your five senses, your body was heavy with pleasure and you could barely open your eyes properly. You didn't heed his request and that might make him angry so this time he held you tighter, digging his nails into your soft flesh making your cheeks sting.

"I told you I want you to look at me when you do it...it's an order." He demanded.

You clung to his shoulders without stopping moving and he increased his speed, you squeezed him again and just when you felt yourself on the edge you looked down but forced yourself to half open your eyes and look up again just as you screamed of pleasure as you feel all your whitish and slippery discharge come out from your core, wetting all of Muzan's hand under you where his mouth did not waste a single drop.

"Your taste is very pleasant, dear. I would never get tired of it." He licked his lips.

You were shaking in his lap, sweating all over your body, and a huge blush came over you again when you looked down and saw the mess you had left in his pants. Muzan smiled evilly at you and pushed you on the bed to change places and position himself over you after having completely gotten rid of all his clothes.

Your hair was a mess on the bed, your chest rose and fell trying to normalize your breathing and you could feel your sensitive folds throbbing after such a strong euphoria. You finished having your orgasm, you were wet and slippery and Muzan wasn't going to waste that.

"It's my turn, precious."

He told you, showing you his fangs in a smile and in less than you expected he opened your legs to position himself in the middle of you, he took one of your legs behind your knee and placed it on his shoulder without letting go and then entered you with a single thrust making you moan intensely. He didn't care that you had not yet adapted to his size, he began to stretch you and move repeatedly inside you until he aroused you again. You could hear his soft moans and grunts in your ear as he moved, you took him by the shoulders again and adjusted your legs so you both felt better.

Even though this was only the second round for you you felt almost dead tired, your legs and waist were starting to hurt and you envied the way your husband wasn't even sweating. A pleasurable sensation formed inside you as you felt the crashes of each of his thrusts against your clit and the pressure you felt on it again and again causing you to stretch your toes and squeeze Muzan very tightly again. He loved feeling you that way, you drove him crazy with pleasure and you noticed how the veins appeared again on his back and arms but this time it was due to the strong arousement he was feeling. He had the nerve to lift his head from your shoulder and moan heavily as he closed his eyes and increased his speed, feeling you suck him deep.

"Fuck...you're perfect nngh, you're even better than those 12 fucking idiots." He moaned, complimenting you.

You loved pleasing your husband and even more so seeing that you were doing a good job. Knowing that you could manage to put the Demon King in such a vulnerable state turned you on more, making you eagerly wait for his orgasm and the second one on your part, but on the other hand it made you nervous. Muzan's arousal was as strong as 10 men combined every time he fucked you and his release was just as intense or even more so, so when he tilted his head back after you cum again, you felt a huge amount of his falling inside you reaching the bottom of your insides, spilling the rest between your legs until forming a whitish stain on the bed, under the two of you.

The way Muzan felt his scent permeate your flesh once again made him feel powerful, it was a way of claiming you as his because no matter how many times you showered or cleaned yourself, how many days went by without him fucking you, Muzan let his cells inside you, so that any creature that knew of his existence would also know that you belonged to him.

[gh0ullie]

breeding!

[Itto+ Ayato + Childe + Gorou]

NSFW, 18+, Minors do not interact!

────────────────────────────────────────────

tags: breeding, impregnation, mating press (itto), aphrodisiac (ayato), light bdsm(childe), heat cycles (gorou), knotting (gorou)

Itto

He’d always wanted to be a dad. Pride as an oni meant a fervent desire to further his line, and Itto knew by now that he wanted to do so with his lovely girlfriend: you. He’d tried to be casual when he brought it up, but had fumbled the conversation and blurted out his true thoughts. “I want to breed you like a cow.” You’d blushingly agreed, not letting on the extent of how much the idea turned you on. 

He’d gone to the lengths of abstaining for the past week, and as pent up as he was Itto was desperate to shoot his massive load inside of you. When you walked into the room in nothing but a tiny bit of frilly lingerie, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. 

Now, pinned beneath him, he makes short work of getting you prepped and ready. Filthy squelching emanates throughout the room as he pumps you with his large, thick fingers. 

“Itto,” you mewl beneath him, “I’m wet enough… put it in.”

Like you’d flipped a switch, he’s pulled out his fingers and positioned himself at your entrance in what feels like just a second. He grabs each of your legs in one hand, and presses them up towards your chest, crouched over you like a beast ready to devour his prey. Moving one hand back to his cock, a low, grumbling moan falls from his lips as he rubs it against the wet folds of your pussy, ghosting the tip over your clit as he does so. 

Then, leaning forward and pressing you to the mattress, he slides all the way inside. You’ve never felt him this deep before, and it shows, your jaw hanging open as you cry out his name again and again. Powerful thrusts reach deep inside of you as his balls slap against your ass. It almost hurts, but the waves of immense pleasure drown out anything else. 

“I’m going to pump you full of so much cum,” he tells you. 

“Yes, please!” you cry. “Fill me up! I want your baby!” 

You can feel him pulsate inside of you and your cunt twitches around him. His rhythm gets more and more frantic, the weight of him pressing down on you heavy and intense and incredible. You feel yourself coming close to your own orgasm.

When he cums, the position you’re in – Itto’s cock nearly vertical inside you – drives the hot spend straight to your core. There’s so much of it, and the sensation is incredible. It pushes you over the edge, drawing tears from your eyes and turning you into a moaning mess. For good measure, he fucks his load deeper inside of you with a few more hard thrusts, before finally relaxing, his cock warm and comfortable inside of you. 

He leans over and kisses you deeply, with so much love it’s nearly overwhelming.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Ayato

Heir to the Kamisato clan. That title came with responsibilities, and all his life Ayato knew he’d one day have to produce an heir of his own. When he met you, he knew you were the one. The thought of you, tits heavy with milk, belly round with his child inside… it was almost too much for Ayato to bear. This thought always lingered at the back of his mind as he courted you, and now, finally, it was time for him to truly make you his. 

“Are you ready?” he asks as he leans over your naked form, one hand on your hip, the other on your knee. As you looked into his eyes, they sparkled with anticipation. 

You nod, and he gets to work. He spreads you open, and takes in the sight. You blush profusely at the intensity of the stare, and shut your eyes. You hear Ayato fishing something from his pockets, then hear the clink of something made of glass. You gasp as something cold hits your pussy, and your eyes snap open. A trail of viscous liquid flows from a small glass vial onto your sex, coating your folds in a sticky mess. 

“This should help,” he says softly, a smile on his face. “You should start to warm up soon.” 

And you do. The cold melts into the heat of your body, and quickly turns you even hotter than you had been. The sticky liquid drips into your entrance, mixing with your own heated arousal. 

Ayato reaches down and pulls his length from his pants, stroking himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’m going to get you pregnant, you know.” You nod vigorously, and he slides his way inside. 

Even with the lube, his girth is a lot to handle without any foreplay. He knows this, and takes it slowly. Every inch that slides in sends a new wave of pleasure washing over you, and you try not to clench yourself around him, it’s tight enough as it is. 

Slowly but surely, you loosen up, the lube heating you up and getting your juices flowing even more quickly than usual. Ayato finds his pace, gently thrusting inside of you deeper and deeper each time. Before long, you’re both panting heavily.

Ayato reaches a hand up and strokes your cheek as he thrusts ever more vigorously. He’s close to coming undone. Nuzzling into his hand, you whisper his name between pants. 

“Ayato… hurry… cum inside,” you whimper.

“Oh, are you that eager to have my child?” he teases. 

You nod vigorously. “I want your baby, Ayato. Please, hurry!” 

He can’t resist your pleas. Moving both hands to your hips, he presses you down against his cock with each thrust. It’s so deep inside you know that you feel completely and utterly full when he thrusts in, and your walls clench down to try their best to keep him there. Faster and faster he thrusts, the noise of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room, until finally… 

With a long, low moan, Ayato blows his noble load inside of you. You can feel the semen coating your insides, hot and thick. 

You don’t even get a chance to rest before he starts thrusting again. 

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” Ayato says, his voice sly. “Once isn’t nearly enough to guarantee an heir, you know. We’re going to go all night.” 

────────────────────────────────────────────

Childe

For Childe, it was a sense of possessiveness that filled his mind with the thoughts of impregnating you. He wanted to make you his, truly and completely. 

“My darling,” he says, his voice sugared, as he slides the collar onto your neck. “I’m going to breed you like the bitch you are, isn’t that exciting?” 

You nod, your eyes sparkling. 

“Good. Now open your mouth.” 

He stands up from his kneeling position and unfastens his pants as you oblige. Whipping his dick out, he wastes no time moving it to your parted lips, shoving it past them and into your waiting mouth. You get to work immediately. Bobbing your head up and down his cock, your tongue running along the bottom as you go, you can feel yourself heating up down below just from the girth of him in your mouth. 

He tangles his fingers through your hair, guiding you up and down his length with an increasingly rough hand. After a few minutes of his breathing gradually getting heavier, he pulls you off of him with a pop. 

“Right then,” he says, letting go of your hair and grabbing the leash he’s attached to the collar. He lifts you off of your knees and turns, guiding you to the bed and tossing you down onto it roughly. 

He climbs up over you, spreading your knees and grinning at the mess he sees between your legs. 

“So wet already! Eager, are we?” he teases. You flush and nod, and he laughs. 

He runs a finger along your slick folds, eliciting a moan. Spreading your legs even further apart with his free hand, he slides the finger inside, curling it upwards and raking it along the top of your cunt. He pulls it out as you mewl beneath him, bringing the finger to his lips and licking the juices away. 

“Look at that, I don’t even need to prep you,” he says, his voice praising. He moves the hand to his cock, guiding himself to his entrance. You greedily swallow him up as he pushes inside, the both of you moaning in tandem.

Wasting no time, he gets to work bucking his hips, reaching deep into your core with his impressive length. He rubs a hand over your belly, right above where he’s thrusting into you.

“I’m going to fill you alllll the way up, right here,” he says, “I’ll fill you up so much there’s no way you won’t get pregnant.” 

You tighten around him. He pauses at the grip, before yanking the leash, pulling you up into a kiss. As his tongue snakes it’s way between your lips, he keeps going, thrusting faster and rougher as you both approach climax. When he lets loose inside of you, the hot rush of cum spurting inside sends you over the edge. Your cunt milks his cock for every drop, before the two of you finally collapse in a sweaty pile of limbs. 

“So,” Childe says, “Round two?” 

────────────────────────────────────────────

Gorou

He’s been acting strange lately. More impulsive, snappier and much, much touchier. You’ve finally worked up the courage to confront him about it, and now here you are, staring him down as he avoids your gaze.

“It’s heat,” he finally says, scratching his chin and looking down at the floor. You can see heat rising in his cheeks. “My kind go into heat. I’ve been taking steps to suppress it but… there’s only so much that magic and medicine can do.” 

Your face explodes in a blush. This wasn’t what you were expecting, not at all. Your own gaze wanders to the floor, and a thought flashes into your head as the awkward silence sits heavy between you. 

“If it’s heat, then don’t you just need to breed?” you ask. “Won’t you feel better after that?”

 His head snaps up at this, and he stares at you, his jaw hanging open. 

“It… it would probably help,” he admits after a few moments of gawking. 

With a deep breath for courage, you crawl across the floor towards him. 

“Then let’s do it,” you tell him. 

He looks like he wants to protest, but when you trail a hand down his abdomen, his base urges take control. He pushes you into the floor, pinning your hands and kissing you deeply. You moan into the kiss, and this draws a moan from him in turn. Your tongues swirl around each other, his sharp canines scraping across your bottom lip. 

A knee comes up between your legs, spreading them apart. His tail is flitting this way and that, and a hand moves from your wrist to your chest, pawing at your greedily through your clothes. 

When you pull away from the kiss for breath, he moves immediately to your neck, seemingly not wanting to waste even a second. 

“Gorou… Gorou slow down, let me get my clothes off,” you laugh though your heavy breaths.

“S-sorry!” he says, seeming to snap back into himself., he leans back onto his knees, freeing you to pull your top up over your head. He waits patiently as you peel your underwear off as well, before giving him a nod. Then he’s right back on you, nuzzling into your neck as his hands roam across your body. 

Soon, one hand drifts to his pants, from which he pulls out his rock hard cock. You can see that it’s already dripping, and realize just how much he needs this. Reaching down, you rub a few circles around your clit, before using two fingers to spread yourself wide. 

“Gorou,” you whine, “I’m ready. Fill me up, right here.” 

His tongue hangs halfway out of his mouth in a pant as he takes in the view of you, spread wide, his eyes sparkling with desire. Then he obliges, sliding his way in and immediately setting to work pumping inside of you. 

As deep in heat as he is, it doesn’t take long for him to come. You gasp as you can feel his engorged heat expanding inside of you, knotting into place as he rides out his long orgasm. The feeling of his hot seed spreading out deep inside of you, combined with the comfortable fullness of his knot gets you going. As he comes down from his climax, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in close. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper into his ear. Perking up, he nods. You’re in for a long night, it seems.

────────────────────────────────────────────

[abjectapathy]

[greycaelum]

Indulgence Collections 🪷: Touch

Satoru has been sporting his hair longer than usual. He's been so busy he never got the time to drop off his barber shop and get his trim.

"What'cha doing pretty?" Satoru hums from the bathroom sink while he shaved his day-old stubbles, keeping his face flawless. He's wearing a cotton short while unbothered going topless displaying his well-defined muscles.

"Nothing much wanna try something after you're done." You held a small bag and plopped down the couch of your bedroom to wait for your beau.

You heard the running water and him rummaging through the cabinets. He finally emerged from the bathroom with a black shirt on that hangs loosely on his body but didn't hide his damn enticing collarbone.

"What did you wanna do?" Satoru climbs onto the bed but you stop him and you open the bag.

"I got you~ this! ta-dah!" You excitedly presented him with a razor you found while strolling around the shopping district.

Satoru took a few human seconds to understand the meaning behind your words.

"Oh?" A wide grin appears on his lips and takes the razor from your hands. "Are you gonna be my personal barber now?"

You shrug and go to the bathroom to spread out some newspaper on the floor and a chair from your dresser for him to sit on.

"You've been complaining about your hair lately, but you don't go to your barber anyway. So you'll have to make do with me."

Satoru leaned on the doorframe and chuckled as you prepared your make-do salon in the bathroom. True, his nape has been itchy with the amount of thick hair brushing his skin when he removes his blindfold. He doesn't know where you got the guts to try this stuff with him moreover he knows you've never done this before. But he didn't stop you when you pulled him to sit on the stool and put a towel around him.

"Woah, woah, don't start with the razor, Baby." Satoru held your wrist and gave you the scissors you got with the razor. "You have to section my hair first. Like this..." He shows you where his undercut starts. "You cut it like, vertically, okay?"

"O-Okay." You nodded and remembered how his barber did it when you went together to get his haircut. "Like this, right? Is it too short?"

Satoru watches your eyes so focused on his hair that it's too cute to look away from the mirror. 

"Cut a little longer... Yeah just like that." Satoru chuckled when you almost cut a thick chunk of his hair and your face went pale. "Awww, you have no reward if I come out bald, Baby."

"Shut up, I'm trying my best here." You huffed and finally finished trimming down his hair. "It looks good?" You look in the mirror and can't help but laugh at how he looks like the teenager he was in 2006 it's just that his jaws are now more pronounced and a screaming masculinity exudes from his large build.

"Mnnn, go get the razor Baby, you do it like this..." Satoru shows you how to shade his side cut and gives you the razor. You look so obedient as he teaches you how to do it that he can't help but pinch your nose making you yelp.

"I should just follow the hairline, right?"

"Kind of, you start here then curve it here." Satoru directs your hands while you mimic his hand gestures before nodding. "Scared?"

You shook your head and held the razor. Slowly you shaved the excess hair from his hairline, the artic locks were soft against your hand as they fell down leaving a clean line on his nape. It feels ticklish as you shave the back of his neck making that undercut you love so much more defined now. There's just something about Satoru's undercut that makes it so irresistible to your touch. A few more runs of the razor and you're finished. Brushing off the hair from his neck you stared at his clean undercut intently.

Satoru looked at the mirror and whistled.

"At this rate, I'm never going to my barber again." Satoru ran his finger through his hair, feeling it a lot lighter as he ruffled it to a mess.

Without warning he swept you off your feet and threw you over his shoulder, trudging our of the bathroom to the bedroom.

"Satoru!"

He throws you on the bed and climbs over you, peppering you with ticklish kisses all over your face while you try to shield yourself from the onslaught. Instinctively your hands wrap around his neck making contact with his fresh undercut, tickling your palm. Satoru groaned in pleasure when you ran your fingers up to his neck and down to his spine.

"That feels so good, Baby." He purred, drowning you in his weight with his face pressed between your chest. "Do it again, pleaseee~" He mumbled and wrapped an arm around your waist. "My head feels so light."

He didn't have to tell you twice as you ran your hand over and over until his breathing gradually slowed down.

"Y'know... 'm glad you cut my hair." Satoru opened one eye and looked up at you.

"Why?" You hummed and kissed the tip of his nose making Satoru purr.

 "I feel safe when it's you holding my head."

Your eyes softened and nodded. You understand how vulnerable he is regarding his neck up to his head.

"Don't worry that pretty little head of yours and sleep. We got the whole day for ourselves."

Satoru smiles and nuzzles his face even deeper into the valley of your chest and sighs in relief as your fingers thread through his hair, lulling him to a peaceful slumber. The sweet gentle way you tug on the roots of his hair and the scrape of your fingernails against his scalp is the kind of friction his body longs to feel all the time.

"Never let me go, Baby, please..." He murmured between his dreams and your touch.

[@lexiene] happiest birthday dearrrr sunshine~🪷 I hope you like this small gift I prepared~✨🫶🏻

General Taglist: @ice-icebaby  @aeanya @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

—Grey,

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 19

An: Thanks for your patience, I am so excited about this part!! SMUT WARNING, it gets spicy!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100 (way too long!)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.

Photo credit to @ave661

Ghost towers over me, his dark shadow cast upon my cowering frame. Fearful eyes drag over the predator in front of me. How he analyzes my every move. How his black shirt clings to the thick muscle around his shoulders and arms as his chest eagerly heaves with excitement. How his gloved hands clench and release, ready to wrap themselves around me and tear me apart. This is what he was made for. This is the chase that sets him on fire, makes him feel alive.

“Now what’re you going to do?” his voice sounds like it could cut. After his initial attempt, I quickly cornered myself between the wall and the dresser. Now Ghost fills the entire walkway between the dresser and bed, leaving me with nowhere to go. Everything about his posture tells me he’s only seconds away from trying again. I spare a glance at the weapon in my hands and my grip tightens around it. “Your trapped, y/n, what’s your next move?” What the hell kind of training is this?

But I don’t get much time to think. The ambiguous soldier in front of me slowly stalks forward. There’s a vertical slit in his eyes like those of a wild cat who has just identified its next prey.

 “If I wanted to kill you right now, how would you stop me?” he inches closer. My mind falters: the knife. The knife. But I can’t use it. I don’t know how. What if I end up hurting him? I feel my head start to shake, the word “no” at the tip of my tongue. He sees the fear finally catch up. “Use it, y/n,” Ghost urges me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the words are quiet on my lips. Tension fills my body.

“You won’t hurt me,” his words are immediate and almost cocky. The corners of his eyes crinkle from a cruel smile. Have I forgotten who he is? Don’t I know his reputation? He didn’t take his vest – his main source of protection off for no reason - I’m the furthest thing from a threat to him.

Ghost is done taking his time with me. He lunges forward with his arms outstretched. I make a last-ditch attempt at escaping by leaping toward the bed, but just as my foot touches the mattress a thick arm wraps around my waist and roughly pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand wrestles the knife from my grasp and as soon as the metal is gone from my hand, I feel the strangely familiar pressure of it against my throat.

“You’re not holding the knife properly,” he reprimands. Ghost’s chest pushes into me from behind and I can feel his arms flex as they constrict even tighter.

“Is this your idea of training me?” I bite back. Fear turns to frustration. How is it so easy for him to manhandle me like this?

“Come on, I know you can take it rough,” Ghost’s coarse voice brushes against my ear. “If you let the enemy touch you like this, you’re dead.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky it’s you,” thick sarcasm coats my tongue. I feel the hem of my shirt start to rise above my stomach as the electric heat from his body transfers through my skin. Then, just as fast as it happened, he lets go.

“Here,” he wraps my fingers around the handle in the proper position. “You’re not about to win a knife fight against a member of the task force. Your only goal is to create an opportunity to escape,” there’s a newfound seriousness to his voice. I turn around to meet his eyes. For a moment, I almost know what he’s thinking. If the Ultranationalist tries anything the next time he visits, Ghost won’t be there to protect me. I’ll be all on my own. This, and the wiretaps, are the best he can do.

“Okay,” I resign. “How?”

“You have to draw blood. Lots of it,” his lower lids squint as he gauges my reaction. How capable am I of violence? He hasn’t had the opportunity to witness that yet. If I’m being honest, neither have I. I’ve never been put in a position where I’ve had to hurt someone before. I don’t really know what I’m capable of. It’s a daunting possibility.

“Show me,” I force a nervous swallow as he closes the space between us. I feel my heart rate start to pick up.

“There are only two vulnerable spots that’ll slow him down when he’s wearing a vest,” Ghost starts to circle me. I don’t hear when he stops behind me. But I feel his large hand slowly snake around my hips, stopping on my stomach. His bicep flexes as he pulls me against his chest again. The back of my head is just level with his shoulders and I feel him bow down as the soft balaclava brushes against my hair. “His neck or his gut. Arms and legs won’t work, they’re not painful enough,” a shiver runs down my spine from his chilling words.

“They sound pretty painful,”

“Not enough. You need to do real damage,” the low vibrations of his voice against my skin makes the hair stand on the back of my neck. Ghost presses his fingers into the soft flesh between my hips and moves his hand back and forth in a straight line, tracing the vulnerable area. I can’t help the involuntary gasp that escapes my lips. “This is where you’ll aim. Drive the knife deep into his stomach and drag it across as far as you can. If he tries anything, I want you to spill his fucking intestines,” Ghost’s breathing deepens as he imagines the scene. His fingers press harder into my skin and some twisted part of me wants him to leave bruises, but not with his hands.

“Is that what you’d do?” the words are light on my tongue. Every part of my body he touches feels as though it’s about to combust.

“I will do so much fucking worse, y/n. When this is over and I get my hands on him, his own mother won’t recognize him. They’ll have to use his fucking teeth to identify him,” he growls. The pictures that flash through my mind are horrific. But some part of me likes it – knowing the extent that he is willing to go to for me.

There’s a palatable tension in the air. I can taste it: metallic and salty like iron. Like the desire for violence. Like the static before lightning strikes. I feel it radiating off him in waves that wash down between my shoulder blades. I believe every word from his mouth.

“Let’s try again,” I suggest, changing the topic.

Sweat rolls down my skin as we practise again and again for hours. Ghost lays out several different scenarios, from trapping me against the dresser to pinning me against the bed. He is relentless. But with every touch, every grab and push and shove and pull of hair, every time he presses himself against my hot skin, the desire to feel him in me grows even stronger. Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose. Because I know how much he likes to see his hands wrapped around my throat. And I know how he was filled with a jealous type of rage after that man had a knife pressed against the same spot. Every time Ghost’s hands pull me closer, it feels like I’m being reclaimed.

My heart pounds in my ears after so long without a break. When he pulls away after another round I finally collapse onto the floor, just for a moment, just to catch my breath. Ghost looks even taller from this spot as he watches me with his arms crossed.

“Get up,” he huffs, not nearly as out of breath as I am.

“In a moment,” even my voice sounds exhausted. My face is hot and I’m sure it’s flushed.

“I don’t want you lying on the floor,” Ghost grumbles. I feel the corner of my lips twitch at the thought that pops into my head.

“No?” I feign innocence. “How do you want me?”

“Watch your mouth y/n,” he snaps. Ghost steps around me to pace the room, but I don’t miss how he takes the opportunity to adjust his pants when he thinks I can’t see. A warm sense of pride blooms in my chest. He feels the same tension. The same desire as the night in the cabin. Maybe even stronger this time.

“I need to rest for a moment,” I lie my head on the floor while keeping eye contact with him. I can just see the edge of the black paint around his eyes, peeking out from under his mask.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got more in you than that,” there it is again. Sweetheart. I can’t even hide the effect it has on me. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from outright smiling. And it works. He has me up on my feet embarrassingly fast.

“Fine. Let’s go, I’ll win this time,” there’s fresh determination behind my words, but even I know they’re not true. I can tell he’s smirking by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. Ghost is enjoying this way too much. But I can’t lie, so do I. He knows.

Ghost comes at me fast. I know he’s holding back and yet his power is terrifying. He grabs me by the shoulders and whips me around toward the dresser. One of his hands tries to snatch away the knife, but I hold it just out of his grasp. Then he goes for my neck again as my back presses into the hard edge of the wooden dresser. Ghost is careful about the force he uses. He knows how easy it would be to seriously hurt me right now. His hands lightly hold my throat, just enough to immobilize me, but I know if this were any other man, I’d be in serious trouble right now.

With both hands occupied I take my chance and swing the knife toward his stomach. His eyes flicker down to watch the move. He still has time to stop me, yet his hands remain where they are. I let the tip of the knife gently drag across his shirt.

“You let me win,”

“It’s not ‘letting you win,’ it’s training you to take an opportunity when you have it,” Ghost’s eyes are back on mine, his hands still wrapped around my throat. He could’ve let go almost a minute ago and yet I feel his thumb gently rubbing up and down the tender skin just below my ear. “Besides, I was thinking about something else…” he trails off, a smug smile evident in his voice.

“And what’s that?”

“Places better than the floor,” Ghost keeps eye contact with me as he says this. I feel my stomach drop and that familiar ball of desire starts to form again.

“Better than the floor for what?” I furrow my brows in feigned confusion, but when he glances down my bottom lip is already drawn between my teeth. He knows he has me. There’s electricity in the air between us. Something magnetic simultaneously pulling us together, yet preventing us from connecting. I feel his hands twitch against my throat.

A low hum stems from his chest. “We could do this all night, sweetheart,” Ghost’s eyes darken. We’re close enough that I can see his pupils dilating and my reflection staring back at me in his eyes. I wonder what he sees as he looks at me.

“Yeah?” I murmur. “But we don’t have all night, do we? So, tell me what you want Simon,” my voice is low and seductive. Two can play this game. He pulls me closer. Our foreheads are almost touching as my hands find their place on the sides of his ribcage. The knife is still wrapped between my fingers.

“You already know what I want,” his voice deepens as his volume drops to a whisper. His scent wraps around me and reels me in. The metallic musk is warm and inviting. The scent of gunpowder no longer so alarming, but simply rather a part of him. But there’s something new about him too, something sweet and spicy that I can almost taste, that makes me want to wrap my lips around him and savour every part.

“I want you to show me,”

“I want to,” he barely whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his grip tightens enough that I can start to feel the effects of his hands. My cheeks are flushed and my head feels lighter than before.

“I trust you. Then and now,” I run my hands up his strong arms before tracing the tip of the knife against the mask and along the outline of his lips. Ghost takes the blade from my hand and places it on the dresser behind me. A warm sensation spreads throughout my body as his hands travel down the side of my abdomen, past my hips and thighs, before wrapping around the back of them and heaving me up onto the sturdy surface.

“Are you sure about that?” Ghost asks as he rolls the bottom of his mask up and tucks it out of the way at his nose. My lower stomach turns to static as my eyes latch onto his lips. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip. I think about how soft they’d be as they glide across my own.

Ghost rubs the outside of my thighs as he presses himself between my legs. There’s that unmistakable twinge of desire from the soft pressure. It’s like every time I look at him, the sensation grows and clouds my better judgment. This is dangerous. Everything about him is dangerous. And yet he’s so alluring. When I stare into those dark eyes it feels like someone is draping a velvet curtain around me, completely blacking out the rest of the world. The only thing left, is him.

“Yes, sir,” I don’t hide the teasing smile that crosses my lips. I know how crazy it drives him to hear those words drip from my tongue. My hands travel across his broad chest as Ghost loops his arms around my back. His lips brush against mine tantalizingly slowly. I dwell on the sensation of his warm, damp skin moulding against my own. A fuzzy feeling encases me everywhere until I feel the familiar sharpness of his teeth skirting my bottom lip, revealing what he really wants.

He’s like a dog with a taste for blood. Once Ghost took my flesh between his teeth for the first time, he knew there was no going back. I feel that same hunger now as his sharp canines move from my lips to my neck. The serrated sensation is startling as he attaches his lips to the tender patch of skin just under my ear.

“Simon,” his name escapes as a breathy gasp. My mind starts to slip, but I can’t let him mark up my neck. “Not there.”

He hums against my throat, sending pleasurable sensations through every nerve. I want him to keep going so damn bad. But he can’t.

“He’ll see,” I can barely make out the words.

“Good,” Ghost mumbles against my skin.

“That can’t happen,”

“I know sweetheart,” he croons, slipping his hands under my shirt. “But you’ve no idea how much I want him to,”

“What?” I lift my arms as he slides the shirt over my head and drops it to the floor.

“When I think of those dirty fucker’s hands on you all I see is red. I want to bash his fucking head in until his skull is dust,” Ghost presses a delicate kiss to my collarbone with those vile lips. His hands gently caress my shoulder blades and run down my back, stopping at my bra strap. “If they knew you were mine, no man would dare touch you,” my lungs freeze from his words.

“Yours?” I ask and his head rises. Ghost’s hand leaves my back to cup my face. His charcoal eyes meet my own with an indescribable intensity. They’re incredibly dark and thrilling and full of desire. And there’s nothing like them - nothing like Ghost. The feeling he stirs within me is so unique, so completely irreplicable, that no other person will ever compare.

“My asset,” he rasps. “Mine,” his thumb brushes against my lips.

“Just your asset?” I already know his answer, but I want to hear the hushed words fall from his mouth.

“So much fucking more than an asset,” Ghost presses his lips against mine. I’ve witnessed the violence he’s capable of, so to feel him handle me with such a level of tenderness is all the more significant.

“Show me,” I whisper against his mouth. I feel the sharp breath he draws in and the accompanying hunger.

Ghost’s hands return to the back of my bra and skillfully release the clasp. I let the fabric slide off my shoulders, before dropping it to the ground. It’s almost as if I can physically feel his eyes rake down my body and take in the sight before him.

Ghost hands press against my back, arching me towards him as he bends over to attach his lips to my sensitive skin. I slide a hand up the back of his neck and under his balaclava and wind my fingers through his thick hair. The heat of his wet tongue glides around my nipple and goosebumps rise across my chest. Then I feel that familiar sharpness that causes my breath to hitch and I know he’s about to leave bruises. If anyone ever sees below the hem of my shirt, they will immediately know I’ve been marked - no, branded as his.

He revisits the faded hickeys from the night at the cabin while also adding to the growing collection. The large bruises from all those weeks ago have faded from my torso and legs. So, he paints over them with his own.

As Ghost works his way lower and lower, I reach for the neckline of his long-sleeve shirt and tug it upward.

“Use your words,” his cool breath fans against my hips.

“Please?” without answering me, Ghost pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, baring himself all to me. Last time the only light I had to see was from the glow of the fire. Now, every inch of ink, every freckle, and scratch and scar littering his upper body are exposed. Not a single mark diminishes his magnificence. And while his beauty is altered from war, he is more stunning than any man I’ve crossed paths with before. The power he holds is almost beyond comprehension. Time and time again he leaves me in utter awe.

My eyes drag across the artwork painfully etched into his skin as his lips tease even lower on my hips. The throbbing between my legs intensifies with anticipation. The pictures tattooed on him are a brutal reflection of the horrors he’s witnessed and committed - of the people he’s lost. Like some part of him was afraid of forgetting and this was the only he could ensure he’d remember. My hand is cold against his warm skin as I run it up his arm.

At the same time, he reaches for the button of my pants, unhooking it with just one finger. Careful eyes glance up for permission before sliding them down my legs. Then, he quickly loops a thumb around my underwear and pulls them down immediately after. Ghost rests on his knees as his arms wrap around my thighs and pull me to the edge of the dresser.

The warmth of his lips lightly brushes over the faded bruises on my inner thighs and just when I think he’s about to add more, I feel the heat move up between my legs and press hard against my clit. The mask and black paint frame his eyes as he peers up through my legs with a half-drunken gaze.

“So fucking wet already,” his deep voice vibrates against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Is that all for me, Sweetheart?”

“Yes sir,” the words escape as a whimper. He has me wrapped entirely around his finger. In this moment I would do anything for him. Anything just to feel him touch me, to feel him pulse inside me with as much need as I have for him.

“Atta girl,” Ghost hums and then presses his tongue against my clit in wavelike motions. The pleasure from his movements consumes me as my head is thrown back and I gasp for air. “Look at me, sweetheart. I’ll stop if you don’t look,” and when I do, every feeling intensifies even more.

Ghost traces a wet finger around my entrance before slipping it in as his tongue continues to work in circles. He gently teases another finger before adding it as well, slowly stretching me even more. Simon worries about all the ways he could hurt me; thinks of all the reasons he shouldn’t be trusted and yet I’ve never had someone take the care he does to make me feel so damn good.

The waves of pleasure coursing through my body intensify as he picks up pace.

“Simon,” I plead. “I-I’m close,” the words feel like prayers on my tongue and only one god can answer them.

My knuckles whiten as my hands desperately grip the edges of the dresser. He curls his fingers and hits that perfect spot. Tremors travel through my legs and I feel myself climbing closer and closer.

Simon presses his other hand onto my stomach and adds to the thrilling sensation even more. His starving eyes never leave mine. The vibrations of his soft groans against my very core are almost enough to send me over the edge.

The waves of pleasure grow stronger and the only things I can focus on are those reflective pools of desire. The rest of the world blurs and all that matters is him.

Simon’s fingers curl against me again and every muscle in my body tightens all at once before simultaneously releasing. Yet he doesn’t stop. Even when my legs latch around him and cage him in as I ride my high, he doesn’t stop.

My heart races and with every breath I take, the air feels cleaner, purer. My head feels lighter and a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And as my body relaxes, Simon stands from his knees. His forearm brushes against my bare chest as his hand wraps around the back of my head and his lips press into mine. I can taste myself dripping from his mouth.

“You’re mine,” Simon murmurs against my skin. The addictive spice of his cologne fills the air. It lingers closer to the nape of his neck and mixes with the heat of his skin.

“Yours,” I confirm. As he pulls away, there’s something different about his eyes, something undeniably possessive.  

Simon wraps his arms under my thighs and lifts me up with ease as my legs wrap around his back. My hands rest between his neck and shoulders. I let my gaze drop to the section of his tattoo that covers his shoulder and half his chest. There’s a collage of objects and events, a line of barbed wire seemingly wrapped around a man in a field. The sudden feeling of falling overtakes my senses and my entire body tenses as my back lands against the mattress.

His hands are still wrapped around my legs as he towers over the bed.

“Fucking hell,” Simon muses to himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

I feel that familiar pit in my stomach as he reaches for his belt. The quiet, clinking sound of metal fills the room and my heart rate starts to pick up. The tension in my lower stomach grows again as he moves to undo his pants and smoothly steps out of them.

I never thought I would enjoy allowing someone to have so much control over me. But as he stands over me and climbs onto the bed with a definitive goal in mind, I am willing to submit to whatever he wants.

The heat of his legs spreads to my sides as he straddles my waist. Simon has all the power in the world over me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Soft hands rest against his thick thighs as he considers the expression on my face. Wild hair frames my flushed cheeks. My lips are chapped as I draw them between my teeth at the sight of him. As his eyes continue down my frame, they proudly skirt across the marks garnishing my chest, past my hips, until he finally lingers on my hands gently rubbing circles into his meaty flesh.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Simon’s head tilts as he asks this. He grabs the tops of my hands and leads them up his thighs.

“I’ve a few ideas,” my voice cracks as I speak. I almost feel nervous again. As we reach the hem of his underwear, he slows but doesn’t stop.

“Every day,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “After every meeting with you, every time you grab my arm or whisper my name or look at me with those fucking eyes, this is what you do to me y/n,” he places my hands over the large bulge in his underwear.

I feel him throb under my hands as he strains against the fabric, aching to be freed.

“Every day I wrap my hand around my cock and imagine it’s yours,” Simon holds my hands in place as his hips subconsciously grind against the friction. “I think about what you felt like wrapped around me that night,” his voice is thick with desire. I feel myself gripping tighter as I long for his touch against my feverish skin. “No one’s ever done that to me before, y/n.”

“Simon,” my voice is unsteady. His eyes flicker up from our hands. “I need you.”

He leans down and cages me in with both arms, yet my hand never leaves his pulsing length. Simon’s breathing deepens as I stroke him above his boxers. He pauses, searching my eyes for something I’ll never understand. When our swollen lips meet and his tongue brushes against mine, I slip my fingers just past the band of his underwear. A low growl vibrates through his chest as my hand inches closer and finally grasps him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans as I pump his cock in my hand. The needy sounds escaping from his chest make me want him even more. As I trace my thumb around the head of his cock he starts to grind against my hand. “y/n.”

Simon grabs himself and slides his length along my entrance. I revel in the feeling of being trapped under him.

“Please Simon,” I whine as he teases me back and forth. The need to feel him is overwhelming. Fuck, he’s all I can think about.

“Look at me sweetheart,” Simon mumbles and as our eyes meet, I feel him push his throbbing tip in. “Does that feel good?” he whispers.

There’s a distinct tightness as he stretches me out perfectly around himself. Already I feel my walls clenching around him and he hasn’t even started thrusting. Simon slowly adds more length. He bites his bottom lip as he watches my expressions. He revels in knowing how feral he makes me.

“Oh, fuck,” the breathless words graze my lips. So damn good. Every small movement sends jolts of pleasure through my core.

Simon grabs my waist with his hands and starts to pick up speed. Each thrust feels like he’s reaching deeper within. And every time he hits that tiny bundle of nerves and I clench even tighter around him I feel like we grow even closer.

The muscles in his back flex as I wrap my legs around the vast space and pull him closer. My hands grasp his forearms cemented into the bed beside my head. My fingers and knuckles turn white from holding onto him so tight as his thrusts grow harder and harder. Fuck is he thrusting hard. Each stroke is so damn powerful that I can’t help the whines and whimpers that echo throughout the room.

As his intensity grows, so does the volume of my cries. Until a large hand wraps itself around my mouth and stifles the sounds. “Shh, can’t have anyone hear how good I make you feel,” Simon’s hot breath brushes against my ear.

His quiet grunts fill my ears as he picks up his pace even faster and he bows his head to the crook of my neck.

Every nerve in my body is overwhelmed with pleasure. His compelling scent fills my lungs. His desperate sounds reverberate through my ears. The pressure and friction of his body against mine are all too much.

I already feel another high coming.

Simon’s fiery lips latch onto my collarbones. As his head is bowed, I slip my hand behind the mask and feel his thick hair between my fingers. It's every small detail about him that drives me over the edge. His heavy breathing. How his hand presses hard against my mouth to stifle my moans. How hot his skin is against my own. Beneath my fingers, he feels so real.

Every thrust strokes that perfect spot so deep within me. I slip a hand between my legs and circle my clit. Behind my eyelids, stars explode with pleasure. I try and tell him how close I am, but the words don’t make it past his hand.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he moans into my ear. “I know you’re close,” Simon’s lips press against my ear. His sharp teeth gently tug at my lobe. Despite his hand, my moans grow even louder. He maintains a steady, powerful pace that rocks the bedframe and stirs my soul.

My hand circles around myself even faster to keep up with him. Every muscle in my body grows tenser and tenser. Inching closer and closer to a complete release.

I so badly want to close my eyes, but I know if I look away from him now, he’ll stop. I feel them well wet with tears from how fucking intense he makes me feel. The rest of his room, the base, and the world all disappear. All that matters is him. All I need is him. Simon. Fucking hell, Simon. My vision blurs and my walls tense harder than ever before.

Stars explode behind my vision as I stare into his eyes and I feel like I can reach out and touch his soul. White light blinds my vision and I feel my entire body freeze like I’ve been possessed by something otherworldly. Everything releases all at once and I ride the waves of pleasure that course through my bones. Simon replaces his hand with his swollen lips.

“You did so good sweetheart,” he rasps. But I know his mind is elsewhere right now. I sense how rock-hard he is in me. How his cock throbs with every thrust. I know he needs this as much as I did. How desperate he’s feeling right now.

“Don’t hold back, Simon,” I whisper into his ear. He pulls his head back to look me in the eyes. Being intimate with him has taught me just how much he values eye contact. This is how he connects. It’s not about sex, it’s about vulnerability. And this is a state he doesn’t let others see him in. Whether he’ll admit it or not, he trusts me.

I stroke his jaw and lock my legs around his waist as he quickens his pace. His breathing deepens and his hands tighten around my waist as he uses me as leverage to thrust even faster.

His lips part as quiet grunts and moans work their way through his chest. The soft sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. My walls clench around him. After my second, high every part of my body is even more sensitive. Feeling him inside me is borderline painful, but watching the look in his eyes is all that matters.

Simon’s thrusts begin to falter. His chest brushes against my breasts as he leans down and brings himself closer. His hands move to cup my face as his eyes bore into my heart. One last desperate moan escapes his lips as he presses his forehead into mine. He pulls out and finishes on the duvet before collapsing directly on top of me.

“Fucking hell, y/n” he mumbles into my neck. My hands wrap around his broad back and rest there as we both catch our breath. “You’re something else.”

A comfortable silence settles over us in the moments afterward. Simon gives me a Henley to wear and slips on his pants before settling back on the bed. His hands gently wind themselves through my hair as I lean against his chest.

I expect him to pull the balaclava back down almost immediately like he did last time. But he doesn’t. Simon leaves the fabric rolled up and his jaw exposed. As he rests his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, I gently trace my fingers along the sharp feature and down his neck.

My mind drifts to all the possible reasons why he wears it all the time. Why none of his soldiers know what he looks like. Why even after being so vulnerable with me, he choses to keep it on. But I won’t ask. I know if I’m ever going to find out it’ll be because he feels the time is right. But I don’t think I’ll ever find out. Because I don’t think I’ll know him long enough.

The time on his watch reads 17:04. There’s just under an hour before I have to be back in my room.

The soothing motion of his hand brushing along my hair is almost enough for me to dose off. His breathing is slow and even. His heart thunders strong and healthy behind his ribcage. There’s something so sure about him. Something safe.

“Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you read to me?” I think of his copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I skimmed across the other day. About the story of a boy who escapes an abusive childhood. Who finds freedom. And I wonder if he sees himself in the story. If he feels like he escaped.

“Would you like me to?” his low voice almost sounds tired.

“I would.”

He sighs as he reaches for the old beat-up book. Simon flips the worn pages open to a dogeared spot just over halfway through. He clears his voice and then pulls me further up his chest so his arms can wrap around my waist and hold the novel at the same time.

Simon’s voice is quiet and thick and comforting as he starts at the top of the page. I don’t know what events led here, but the characters sound troubled. My entire body relaxes and wishes we could stay like this forever. The looming threat of returning to my own room hangs over my shoulders, yet I try my best to push it away. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his warm skin against my cheek. Of the strength of his heart. I allow it to lull me almost, but not quite asleep.

“I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist,” Simon slowly reads the pages, leaving himself time to picture the scene.

My head moves with his chest as he breathes deeply. He’s like an anchor, holding me here, keeping me safe as the storm wages on around us.

His words fade and the room gets darker and darker.

When I wake up, I recognize my quarters.

And I recognize the looming shadow. His husky hand wraps around my wrist and demands my attention.

But this time, I’m expecting him.

[naffeclipse]

Temperate Tail

Tigertaur!Eclipse x Reader. Sickness. Non-consensual touching. Kidnapping.

Prev

You moan quietly at the arms underneath you, lifting you away from the cool cave floor. Blearily, you peek between heavy eyelids to watch the deeper shadow of stone break away to red evening, burning into a black-blue twilight on the horizon. The leafy foliage flutters with a warm breeze. You shudder underneath it as the arms that hold you squeeze you a little too tightly. The motion of being carried away is not as smooth as the nagas ought to be.

Sun and Moon went to hunt for themselves. You thought they had only awakened you a moment ago, gently fed you another sensitive plant, and told you their plans.

They worried, whispered, but you had shooed them away. They can only hunt together in the dusk or dawn, and you’re well aware that they’ve kept from satisfying their stomachs to watch over you in your sickness. You can survive a little while on your own—all you do is sleep.

And the nagas are not the only dangerous creatures in the jungle.

“Back already?” your hoarse voice crackles under the ill strain to speak. You allow your head to loll against the firm arm cradling you. 

You desperately long for the flower to kick in soon and spare you the furious whiplash effect of fevers one moment then chills the next. Sun and Moon have been diligent in tending to you; a fact you still have to stomach. Under their constant care, you’re useless, at their ever gentle mercy.

This body pressing you close is not the warmth of a sun-heated patch of grass nor the cool shadows stretching underneath a misty tree. It’s even, neutral, calm. The being is steady in a way that betrays the skilled strength hiding under short fur of orange and deep red. An unagitated killer, carrying away his prize prey.

Your eyelids fly open.

“Eclipse,” you half growl, half groan.

A large hand, tipped in compacted but curved claws, slaps over your mouth. Your weak protest is muffled under his near smothering palm. Deep red eyes flash in warning. His gait is swift and seamless, not the swaying motion you register with Sun or Moon. The beast holding you flies over the forest floor upon four tiger legs, his upper half bearing the resemblance of a man in form. The silent pads of his paws let him ghost through the forest, you caught in his muscular embrace.

His focus remains on the forest as it deepens with shadows and reddens with the last slips of sunrise. You boil internally, not only because of your sickness, but at how long he must have been lying in wait, watching, willing Sun and Moon to leave you for but a moment. The fiend.

Eclipse is the only beast who stands a chance against Sun and Moon, save for one other in this mad jungle.

You try to bite his hand but only succeed in scraping your teeth against his palm and getting hair in your mouth. His round ears flicker. Turning his head, he watches for a moment, still bounding between thick, mossy trees before resume his cunning getaway.

You want to snarl at him, threaten him, demand he puts you down now. His hand gags your every attempt to throw threats. Furious and festering in your feverish state, you struggle to find a way out of his arms. His claws press against your cheek, almost squishing the flesh against your molars. The promise of bruises hangs over his fingertips.

His own threat flares in his round, black pupils—so unlike the slitted gaze of Sun and Moon.

You glare at his orange, light yellow, and dark red mane-like growth of fur around his head, flaring around him like sun rays. He’s always made you think of a dark sunset, eclipsing a land of light. Upon his face, he’s marked by an orange and deep red jagged crescent, and around his deep red eyes are vertical white stripes that cut from the corner of his gaze.

Through the quiet buzz of the jungle, you fight his vice-like hold and your own fading strength while he carries you from the lush and verdant part of the jungle to tall grass, wild and whipping in the summer breeze, to thickets speckled with rocky crevices. 

Eclipse’s territory. The pulse in your throat quickens. You try to kick but weakness sets upon your sickly form.

He stops in the center of the verdant field. His large head tilts down to gaze at you. The appetitive glint in his wine dark eyes fills you with acidic apprehension. He nimbly folds upon his tiger legs, sitting not unlike a cat pleased with the mouse he’s brought back. His large palm lifts away from your mouth—there’s no worry that Sun and Moon will hear you now. He lays you down on the thick grass. The emerald green colors darken just as the sun slips away, leaving a purple twilight against the sky. The lush vegetation brushes against you like strands of hair. You shudder.

“Take me back, right now,” you demand is overwhelmed by your croaking. That is not the fierceness with which you want to address Eclipse.

His wide grin upon his large head splits to reveal curved canines. He licks his teeth once. You force yourself to not flinch, though holding your head off of the ground is beginning to take its toll on your limited energy.

“No. You’re staying here, with me, until I say so.” He bows over you. Large tiger paws dig slightly into the moist dirt as his hands arch for you. “As if those two snakes were taking care of you. You still have a fever.”

You glare. He has too many limbs, too many claws to watch for. Though you fade under the aching pulse eradicating your body, you refuse to close your eyes for even a moment.

“I don’t need your help.” Before his hand takes a hold of you, you twist onto your belly. Shoving your knees up and working your elbows, you begin to crawl away—as slow and pitiful as you are, you refuse to stay here a moment more. You push with strength you do not have. Glass blades swipe against your arms. The almost muddy ground soaks into the fabric of your long khakis. 

A large hand seizes your ankle. With a rattling breath sucked out of your lungs, you’re dragged back over the grass and flipped upright. Before you can curse him, Eclipse tucks you under his white hirsute belly of his lower tiger half, two massive paws pinning your arms by your sides. His weight holds you down like a striped blanket. 

You groan sickly. Throwing him a half-lidded stare of disdain, you can only watch as Eclipse lays down on top of you, his arms crossed over your midsection as you struggle to breathe under his weight. He tilts his head, his mane-like fur too short to take after a lion, but the tufts are spikey and vibrate with orange, light yellow, and deep red hues.

“You won’t get any better crawling around in the mud,” he drips with derision. “Why are you so difficult?”

Clutching your hands into fists, you bare your teeth as if you had as sharp of fangs as him. He laughs. The harsh, sharp sound makes you vibrate within your ridiculously chilled body. If you weren’t sick—if you had your machete—

“Get off me,” you rasp. 

“Relax, kitten,” he purrs, lifting a hand to trail a black claw over your arm, tracing from the crease of your elbow to the curve of your shoulder. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” 

He does not feed you, and you very much want to bite.

You shiver. Goosebumps prickle your skin under the lethal brush of the tiger’s hand. Your breath catches when his touch nears your neck. Your fever spikes. Caressing your throat, Eclipse’s claws linger on your jugular vein. The very beat of your heart pushes back on his presence. You will your frantic pulse to not give away the violent fear flooding your veins, too weak to throw him off you and run.

His deep red eyes flash with a predatory smugness. You squirm. In what you can only understand as delight, he shifts his hand to firmly press on your shoulder, restricting your movement further.

A moan slips past your teeth.

“I will make you feel better,” his throaty growl fills your body. You freeze, eyes wide like a gazelle. 

“Eclipse,” you try to argue, but you cough.

Softly, so softly you almost don’t understand what’s happening, Eclipse begins to purr. You feel it within his tiger half as well as his chest. Fully laid out underneath him, deep rumblings fill you like the echoes of thunder. A strangely gentle vibrancy soothes the edge of the fever. You gasp quietly at how sweet the relief is—how swift and consuming it is of the ache that’s been plaguing you for a day and night now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, harsh in your allayed confusion.

“Giving you what you need: me.” His wicked maw splits into a wide smile. “Don’t deny you feel better. I can already see it in your face.”

“No,” you groan, but it’s not your best lie.

He laughs softer this time, condescending but adoring, as if he can’t get enough of your antics.

Internally, you writhe. The aching soreness, the flip-flopping of shuddering from chills and melting from the fever is washed away like mud from a stone, but you wonder if that could be due to the flower you consumed earlier. His purring… it is enticing, seductive in how it urges you to stop resisting. You hate that a sliver of you wants it. You loathe that you want him to keep taking away the sickness.

You’re useless. Eclipse has stalked you time and time ago, and pounced just when you were foolish enough to believe you were safe. Now, you don’t even have a weapon to brandish against him. He’s too swift and cunning—he always has you before you realize what’s happening. 

A perfect ambush predator.

He keeps telling you that you need him. You have never revolted against such a bold declaration more than this. His bone-snapping strength and his sound-breaking speed are intimidating, certainly, but you won’t let him play with you. 

He acts hungry, he keeps looking at you as if you were a sweet morsel, and you refuse to believe that he is anything but a monster yearning for flesh after he’s finished playing with his food.

Depleted of adrenaline and reserved energy, you can do nothing but soak in his healing rumbles.

Eclipse’s body lays lightly over your own. You carry vague suspicions that he’s not resting his full weight on you—crushing you to death is not his means of slaughter. He has far too many claws and a pair of powerful jaws for that. Instead, stomach to stomach, he longues over you as if soaking in the starry light. This close to your chest, you wonder how well he senses your angry heart.

Insects buzz through the grass. You have an urge to shiver in the lack of safety in the night, but Eclipse’s purring keeps you from feeling too aware of your surroundings. In the darkness, his orange and deep red hues have melted to a muted color. The length of his tail playfully flickers behind him, long and tipped in black. He is too cat-like, too large, to be trustworthy.

“Relax, sweet little kitten,” he croons in a low voice, “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

You glower in the dark. His predator eyes can see your expression perfectly, but he only sneers in reply.

As if sweeping aside your ungrateful attitude, Eclipse plays with wisps of your hair, twirling the strands around his claws with a casual intrigue. He never tugs on the strands. You do little but breathe. His purrs are alleviating the worst and you need every ounce of strength you can steal to get away from him. The gleam of his deep red eyes become black in the crescent of moonlight.

He leans down. You turn your head away but that does little to stall his nuzzling. He rubs affectionately against your nose, your neck, even your hair, and you protest with loud grumblings. You squeeze your eyes shut at the stroke of his sleek fur—something so dangerous shouldn’t be so soft. A whimper escapes you, and you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the next one. His purr picks up. He effortlessly ignores your half growled cursing while fussing his fuzzy short mane against your cheek.

When will he have his fill? Is he ever going to be satisfied bating you around like a delicious little mouse? Your heart skips a beat.

“Why are you doing this?” you grunt.

“You smell like those awful snakes,” he growls lightly. He pulls back in the slightest so you can catch the sizzling pleasure in his gaze. “You have no idea how much better you smell with me all over you.”

“I don’t smell like anyone but me,” you hiss. But you’re not sure. Have Sun and Moon left their scent on you? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind seriously until now.

Eclipse tilts his head slightly. The wild fluff of his head speaks to his jungle prowess. Hanging only an itch above your mouth, he muses in tune with his purring. 

“You do smell lovely.” He traces a tapered finger from your temple to the edge of your jaw, as if sizing up a morsel. “Like dried petals with a slight spice.”

A shudder takes over your shoulders. He hooks your chin in his grasp then deliberately rubs his fluffy cheek against your mouth. A thick sultry ting of amber and dark earth fills your senses, ending with a lingering, spicy musk.

You sputter, tasting hair. He snickers with a simper when he lifts his head.

The strong scent reminds you of when he first surprised you. He pinned you to the ground before you realized you were being hunted. A mistake you refuse to make again. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to tear your throat out, but he purred and fawned over you, and dragged you off to a rocky crevice to find out more about you. You were terrified then—but you at least had your machete on you.

The shiver that rolls down your body is not for his pleasure, despite his smirk. You’re going to find a way to wring his neck.

“Stop it,” you snap, your voice thick and labored.

“I am good for you. You can’t deny that,” he leans in closer. He lays his head beside your own, covering your chest. You swallow at the graze of his teeth against your soft neck. 

His voice lowers, “You like to think you have claws, but you don’t. You need me. You need to trust me.”

You screw your eyes shut.

No. You can’t. You can only rely on yourself. Sun and Moon are sweet, they practically begged to help you, but you can’t accept that, not truly. You won’t let them have your back just to get a fang or claw in it.

It hurts. You remember.

When push comes to shove, you can only hope you’re out of reach of everything and everyone.

“Kitten,” he purrs, turning your chin with a sharp finger. “You’re safe with me.”

You stare back at him, eyes narrowed with disbelief. The rhythmic swells of his purrings have yet to wane. The delicious relief holds you down still. He envelopes you like a waterfall, crashing down, drowning you where you stand.

A sliver of you wants to trust him, and that part of you is very, very wrong and weak.

His one round ear twitches, and then both lie flat against his skull The summer breeze ceases. Unease pricks your spine. His expression sharpens as he rises, hands pressed into the grass on either side of your head, claws extended.

The deep purr within his body cuts off. For a fraction of the night, he holds your gaze with a promise.

I will steal you away again soon.

His jaw splits open in a snarl that quakes the meadow. Your heart climbs up your throat, rattling under his force. The next second, Eclipse leaps off of you. You gasp at the sudden loss of the tiger’s presence. A flash of midnight blue scales darts through the grass. 

Moon.

The naga strikes in the blink of an eye. Moon’s fangs snap inches from Eclipse’s neck, vicious spit dripping from his sharp incisors. The flare of his hood makes him larger, and horrifying, and the glinting red and yellow diamonds flaring underneath his intimidating display promise lethal retribution. The tigertaur dives deeper into the field, effortlessly lunging out of reach from a furious swipe of Moon’s claws. Eclipse grins; there is nothing humorous in his glinting jaws.

The meadow rustles to the side of you. A sweeping mass of golden scales circle you, crushing grass and smothering vegetation. Hands take your shoulders. A low hiss fills the air with a threatening rage but soon softens. You look up, stunned. 

Sun, too.

The naga instantly grabs you and holds you against his warm chest. You lock your arms around his spindly neck, minding his sharp head spikes. His blue eyes are dark as if ink were spilled into his irises. His arms tremble for one moment before steadying around you. In the emptiness of Eclipse’s purrs, your entire body shivers and the fever returns in thick, heavy waves.

You twist your head back, fighting the ache dripping back into your limbs. Moon is coiled upon his tail, tall, taller than you’ve ever seen him hold himself up. He watches the meadow with a fervent rage. His red eyes are wide, glinting dark like arterial blood.

Sun says Moon’s name. In a snap, Moon is slithering to your side, his hand brushing the small of your back with a reassuring—or in need of reassuring—touch. You try to say their names. Sun tucks your head against his shoulder.

The moment they turn away, you see Eclipse in the tall grass, not yet gone. He’s crouched, half-hidden. He grins like the Cheshire Cat between wavering blades of green. His fingers dance in a goodbye. Your heart drops into your stomach.

Sun and Moon shoot away—a fight avoided is the only good fight. Cutting through the grass, rustling through it with thunderous hissing, they spirit you out of Eclipse’s territory. You cling tighter to Sun and watch Moon’s and his long tails become whipping blurs, scales glinting with shards of starlight.

“You came?” you gasp. You try to not choke Sun with your crushing grip.

“Are you hurt?” Moon hisses.

“No.” You shake your head. “Eclipse was watching the cave.”

“We put that together,” Sun gives without his usual musical timber. “Did he do anything to you?”

“No.”

He nods, relieved, but it’s short-lived as a dark cloud passes over his usually sunny expression. “You scared us, lily pad. That’s the second time I’ve found you gone.”

“We should have stayed,” Moon says, his snarl lowering into remorse.

You let your head fall against Sun’s shoulder, bouncing along with his swaying. Moon’s concern rings in your head like a bell. 

They came for you. They didn’t let you go. You close your eyes even as liquid spills underneath your eyelashes.

They take you far away from the tall grass, and they don’t stop until you’re well into the densest, darkest shadows of the jungle. You cling to the quiet sound of the nagas’ hissing.

You still feel Eclipse’s purr deep within your chest.

[sprout-fics]

Extraction

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Read here on Ao3)

(Part 12 of 'Little Mouse')

Word Count: 6.6k Rating: Mature Tags: Rescue missions, Team bonding, Team Dynamics, TF141 & Reader, Price whump, Maus feral biting maiming stabbing killing, KorTac member cameos, Gaz hates helicopters Warnings: Gratuitous Violence A/N: Little Mouse will be taking a break after this so the author can clean her plate and not get burnt out! Thank you!

“Rookie, how copy?”

"On task." You huff back, pausing to hold a hand down over your radio to respond to the thick Manchester accent that prompts you. The walls of the vents around you are a little tight on your shoulders with the bulk of your gear, but you manage to inch your way forward, looking towards the drop that will lead vertically down to the basement. To Price. "I'm in the vents."

You hear a snort then from a different voice as Gaz switches his own communications on.

"Go figure." He snarks, but his voice betrays the nervous waver there, the anxiety that is present in you all. This mission is dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. It means infiltrating deep into an enemy base, unknowing of Price's whereabouts, vastly outnumbered and facing almost certain death.

Things the 141 does best.

"Focus." Ghost snaps, and you both fall silent, clamping down on any doubts in favor of the imminent task at hand. "All stations, report."

There's a pause, a low crackle of static before a different voice floats over the airways.

"I'm inna security suite." Soap reports with a hushed murmur. "Got eyes on you, Ghost.”

"Good man." Ghost responds immediately, and you huff at the pleased little intonation of his voice at Soap's work. "Did you clean your route?"

"Squeaky clean. If anyone saw me come in, they won live to tell the tale." Soap reports pridefully, no doubt preening about his handiwork.

You breathe a sigh of relief at that, shoulders drooping with the exhale that is perhaps a touch too loud for your current circumstances, hidden as you are.

"I'm standing by with Nikolai." Gaz chimes in, voice hushed to match your tones. "We've secured a chopper in the southeast quadrant."

There's a pause then, and Gaz adds "Why am I on chopper duty? I bloody hate these things."

You hear Soap snort.

"Stay focused gents." Ghost snips at all of you, hushing any idle chatter. "Let's make this clean and quick. Won't be long before we're discovered."

There's a chorus of copies all around before you chime in once more. “Soap, did you check the basement cameras? Price might be down there.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few moments before Soap supplies. “Aye, he is. Cell three. Good copy, Foxtrot-01.”

"I'm making my way to building three." Ghost tells you all, low and quiet as he navigates the dangerous exterior of the structure you're in under the cover of darkness.

"Aye, I've got you covered, Ghost." Soap declares from his sniper nest atop the building across the way. Then he pauses for a moment before adding "Watch your six."

Ghost huffs, amused by the sergeant's concern. "Watch your own six, Johnny." He replies, but there's no venom there, just a quiet reminder to you all. Stay safe, stay silent, stay hidden. Here, in the den of the enemy, there's no way you all will make it out alive if the alarm is raised.

"Rookie, what's your position?" Ghost prompts as you continue to crawl forward, trying to slither along your belly as quiet as you can to avoid any detection. Yet even as you move there's a distant noise that pricks your ears, and you freeze.

Footsteps.

You pause where you lay, flat on your stomach, the cold metal of the vents pressing through your gear. The slats of a vent under you allow light to seep through. It illuminates your face as you stifle a breath, hearing boots echo down the hallway below you. It takes a moment for you to click off your radio, making sure the team's voices won't betray your position.

In the silence, you can hear your heartbeat thrum loudly in your ears, and you wonder if perhaps the person below can hear the drum of it against the metal sheet. Somehow, they'll look up, see your wide eyes gazing down, reach for their side arm in a jerking motion too fast for you to follow, and you'll enter into the great beyond, blood dripping from the vents.

You slowly raise a hand to your face, trying to stifle even the barest hint of your breaths just as a figure comes into view below you. Red hair, under a cap, a coarse mustache above a mouth downturned into permanent scowl.

O'Conor, you realize with a swooping flutter of your heartbeat, blood freezing tightly in your veins as you recognize the commander of KorTac, the man who remains bent on the destruction of your team, the man who wanted Price alive.

You try not to shake as you watch him pace into view, hands trembling over your face and eyes impossibly wide at the sight of the commander.

"Declan."

It takes every ounce of strength inside you to not flinch at the sound of a familiar voice, heavily accented and rough as a tall, ominous figure catches the attention of the Irishman. There's another pair of footsteps, and you watch as König enters into view below you, his superior height leaning over O'Conor.

"We need to talk." König declares gravely, voice low in warning. Yet O'Conor, rather than being intimidated, merely squints his eyes up at the Austrian. You try not to tremble as he looks up, praying to any God that will listen that somehow he won't see you in the shadows

"Aye." O'Conor offers in response, his voice betraying his own threat. "That we do."

Yet then, to your surprise, he glances around as if to look and see if there is anyone nearby.

"Not here." He declares, a little lower, and promptly turns on his heel, leaving König to follow.

You think for a moment König will somehow lift his face to you, stare his eyes into yours in the dimness, lift a single gloved finger to his lips in warning. Yet instead he shifts where he merely shifts where he stands before following the commander.

You wait a long, heavy minute for the footsteps to fade before exhaling a heavy, trembling breath. Your hand shakes noticeably as you raise it to click your radio back on, greeted by the murmur of your comrades growing frantic in the absence of your voice.

"I'm clear." You tell them, voice wavering. "Ghost, be advised, two VIPs exiting to the south of the building."

You pause a moment, letting your heartbeat try to settle in your chest before adding: "It's O'Conor and König."

You hear Gaz curse.

"Solid copy." Ghost responds darkly, voice dipping to a low, sinister growl. "Soap, give me a sit-rep. Can I intercept?"

The radio crackles for a moment before Soap grunts in frustration. "Negative." He grits. "They're on the opposite side of the building, you'll be spotted. Cannae risk it."

"Sir." Gaz interrupts as you begin to move forward again, almost to the drop. "Do we have permission to shoot on sight?"

You do pause at that, realizing belatedly the thing you've done, revealing the position of your strange enemy turned ally to your comrades, to the same men who wait silently for the destined moment where a bullet pierces his skull.

The breath in your chest stutters to silence, and in its place is the cold, icy realization of the death sentence you've handed to the man who dances in the shadows of your dreams.

Then, Ghost's voice.

"Permission granted."

A shiver works its way through your limbs, raising up your throat in a protest you barely swallow before it can echo to your teammates.

No.

Yet it's too late. You hear Soap murmur an affirmative, once again reporting his findings to Ghost. It's a small bit of solace when he conveys the two men have exited the building, headed outside and into the midnight darkness. Yet the lurking shadow of fear doesn't abate, not even as you reach the vertical drop down towards the basement, maneuvering yourself at an angle so you can descend feet first.

The mission, you remind yourself. Price. He's your objective first and foremost, as you seek to undo the wreckage you've created, bring him home safe where he belongs.

"Got em on cams." Soap reports again, but his voice betrays something a little puzzled at the sight that must be playing before him. "Looks like they're havven themselves an argument."

You hear Gaz huff a mirthless sound as you slowly shimmy your way down the shaft and into the story below. "All not well in KorTac?" He asks smugly, only to be hushed by Ghost.

"Rookie, how copy?"

"Nearly there." You echo back a little breathlessly. "Just getting to the basement."

"Roger." Ghost responds quickly, pausing so you hear the sound of a silenced bullet meeting its target. "Hold when you get there, making my way to you now."

You mutter an affirmative just as you reach the bottom, kneeling before you begin to shimmy forward once more. There's silence over the comms, interrupted only once or twice by Soap relaying positions of some of the mercenaries to Ghost, sealing their fates as the phantom draws their final breaths on their behalf.

It's in the few minutes that follow that you manage to scoot forward, peering into each room you pass to see if the prisoner there is the man you've come to save.

At last, as you peer down into the dimness, you blink and try to squint before noticing a familiar set of gear, the British emblem etched into the shoulder of his uniform. Still. Silent.

"Ghost, I have a view of Price." You breathe, trying to quell the stammer of your heart the way Price's head lolls onto his chest, the ragged, cracked rise of his chest that speaks of something broken. A familiar pang of guilt roils low in your stomach, despondent, outraged at the fate you've led your captain to- locked in a damp, dark prison cell with nothing but brutality as his companion.

"How's he look?" Gaz presses before Ghost has a chance to respond, and you release a shuddering exhale, trying to stay composed despite the tremble of panic threatening inside you. Years of training force you to exhale long slow through your nose, eyes closing as you force yourself through the hammering despair inside you.

"Bad." You reply, quieter now, and the silence that echoes over the comms speaks of nothing less than dread.

You gather yourself despite it, prepare to try and find the will within you to press ever onwards, echoing Ghost's callsign over the comms in a bid for orders.

Yet the lieutenant doesn't offer another word, and even as you echo his name in concern there's only silence that greets you, cold and absent.

It doesn't take long for you to make up your mind then, because after only a second's hesitation, you begin to work the vent shaft open with your multi-tool, gently prying loose the screws. You hear Soap once more try to raise Ghost, and by the time the lieutenant responds you have the vent entrance swinging open on a hinge, opening far enough for you to begin to try and slip through legs first.

"Two KorTac operatives down." He reports, voice deadly quiet, hushed. "Rookie, stand by."

"Too late." You offer him in return, with a shake of your head as if he can see it. Whatever Ghost snaps next at you, a reminder to stay put is muffled by the low thud of you dropping to the floor.

Price doesn't even lift his head at the sound, and you try to erase the frantic murmur of your fluttering heartbeat as you quickly but quietly dart forward, kneel before him.

"Price." You whisper, urgent and afraid, hands grasping at his arms to try and shake him. You swallow the horror that draws across your face as you examine him. His clothes are the same as the ones he'd been captured in days prior. Yet they're disheveled, torn in places where scarlet stains the fabric. His face is a mangled mess of blood and swelling, his shoulder lodged at an angle that looks wrong. When the captain breathes there's a hitch in his chest that has you choke on a trembling noise of pain at his condition. It wavers your voice as once again you try to rouse him, words betraying your fear. "Price. Wake up. Please wake up."

Price doesn't respond, and in the silence you feel your world begin to fracture at the seams.

You stand abruptly, letting your hands gingerly tilt your captain's face so the red smear of his blood flakes against your gloves.

"John." You whisper then upon seeing the full violence etched across the flesh of his face. Your hands shake as you look over the crimson drowning one of his eyes, nose broken, bloodied. The air in your chest feels too heavy, too pressing as you try once more to echo his name. "John."

It's only then that Price's eyes flutter open. You see him blink against the haze for a moment, eyes clearing quickly. The years allowing him to narrow in on you just as you breathe a desperate, smiling shudder of relief, eyes warming with tears.

"Rookie." He mutters, and you wince despairingly at the drag of his voice in his chest. Wet. Fractured but not yet broken.

"Yeah. Yeah cap, it's me." You tell him breathlessly, the smile on your face soured by concern. Your heart feels a too rapid flutter in your chest, searing brightness of adrenaline fueling the pulsing thrum of blood in your veins.

"You made it out." He breathes with realization, and once more your mind flashes to the sight of him tossed into the yawning maw of a dark van, taken far away from you even as you scream in the confines of Soap's unbreakable hold.

Yet then he shakes his head, grunting with pain at the motion. "Rookie. You need to leave. They're looking for you. O'Conor said-"

"Damn O'Conor." You hiss instead, moving quickly now, behind him and pulling out your blade to begin sawing at his restraints. "We're getting you out of here, cap. Not leaving without you."

"We?" Price echoes, still a little dazed. "Don't tell me-"

"Yes. We." You interrupt, freeing his hands and now working on the wire that secures his torso to the back of the chair. "Never leave a man behind, Price."

As if reminded, you raise your hand to your radio and press down so your voice echoes out. "This is Foxtrot-01, package secured. Standby."

You hear a whooshed sigh of relief, a breath that has been held for far too long before it's Gaz's voice that answers back. Yet before he can speak it's Ghost's voice that interjects. "Good copy, Foxtrot-01. Stand by for RV."

"Copy, standing by." You clip back, knife working its way through the remainder of Price's bindings. Yet as you move around to his front to slice the zip ties securing his ankles to the chair, Soap's voice echoes forth with a crackle and a low, grave warning.

"I've got eyes on ye, Rookie. Those guards outside are getting mighty suspicious-"

A noise outside, just as you tear loose the last few restraints. It makes the both of you look up sharply, dread awash in your limbs as you realize too late you've been made.

The door clicks open just as you dart in front of Price, who wobbles to a stand behind you. Hands reaching for your automatic you watch the door to swing wide, hard enough to crack on the wall beside it.

"WEAPONS DOWN." A voice bellows from a dark figure in full gear, a helmet obscuring your enemy's face as he lifts his weapon towards you both, flanked by two more men behind him, a fourth and a fifth down the hallway. "NOW."

You feel your hands tremble despite your grip, glaring into the darkened visor of the soldier before you, eyes tracing the emblem of a wolf on his shoulder. It's the insignia of KorTac, an oath sworn to the company of men and women designed to kill you all, to reduce the 141 into a smoldering pile of ashes so smoke curls into the sky.

The same insignia he wears.

"WE WILL SHOOT." The guard barks, adjusting the grip on his rifle. "SURRENDER. NOW."

You could. You could lay down your weapon, fail both yourself and Price once more at the meek reward of your life- even if means submitting to O'Conor's hands, to the torture within as they try to break you, to hand the mangled pieces of you to Price in hopes it would rot and fester his soul. All while eyes watch from behind a bleach teared hood, unable to help lest he too be destroyed.

König. Your mind tries once more, summoning the hooded figure into your thoughts in a desperate plea that you shake away despite the dangerous temptation there. Yet even in the face of capture, his words beckon to you, prying open your thoughts with his voice.

"Some things are more beautiful when they are free, Maus."

"FINAL WARNING. WE WILL OPEN FIRE."

You don't comply, feeling the terror in your veins muted by the cold, trained instinct of survival and the reminder of the things he seeks in you. The pure beauty of something dangerous but wild, enchanting and deadly but untouchable. The moment he catches you in his grip is the moment he loses the magic inside of you, the spell that binds him to you.

You focus not on the tumult inside of you, of the dreams and the nightmares, the prophecies of future or damnation of the past. Instead, the world narrows down to the level of your scope before you, the feeling of your captain at your back, knowing that even in the darkest moments here in the face of certain defeat that he'll never give in. Price will fight until his dying breath, his grave one of glory from battles fought and victories gained. You feel his unwavering determination bleed into you as he places a hand on your shoulder, strengthening you with his touch alone.

You'll never surrender.

A clatter behind them. You blink just as they turn, and with a hiss milky white smoke begins to fill the hallway. There's a moment where the guards yelp, try and turn in the direction of the smoke, and too late you hear one of them reach for his radio, yelling a "Contact-!" before his voice is swallowed by a scream.

A massive shape moves in the mist, and you watch as his hands secure the man to his chest, reaching a blade around to the front of his throat. The wet gurgle his victim gives is the only thing he can manage before he slumps to the floor.

Ghost.

Before the remaining guards can raise their weapons, choking on the smoke, you launch forward into the fray. Blood boiling at a feral, raging simmer, you jump at the man who barked orders at you and Price, onto his back and wrapping your legs around his front to keep his arms restrained. It takes little effort for you to draw your own knife against his neck and pull. The sound he makes as he screams is muffled by the palm of your glove.

You tumble off him as his knees buckle, moving before you can fully catch your breath. No stopping. No hesitation. A single heartbeat means the difference between life and death, and you watch as the next guard tries to reach his comrade held up to the wall by Ghost's hand around his throat. He turns to you a moment too late, using the wall to brace and jump a few inches higher. You catch the whites of his eyes as you descend on him, unable to scream before you plant the blade in his shoulder. Your weight crashes down on him, sending you both falling to the ground.

He tries to grapple with you despite the blood oozing across the silver of your knife, hands fumbling as he tries to regain himself enough to dislodge you. Before he can, however, an arm reaches down, wraps across your throat as you're hauled back and up, against the uneven and rigid surface of a tactical vest. You kick out just enough for your feet to brace against the wall beside you, sending your opponent hurtling back until he hits the opposite side of the hallway. Yet he doesn't let go, his hold on your neck tightening and choking your air supply, a hand on your head at just the right angle to twist.

Before he can, there's movement beside him, and you feel your balance thrown off center as someone else manages to dislodge you from your captor's hold, sending you sinking to the ground. You raise your head to see Price grappling with the man, trying to use every ounce of his remaining strength to fend him off. That same, untamed glint in his eyes glimmers past the red rim of his gaze, teeth gritted as he tries to reach for the man's weapon.

It takes a moment for you to yank your knife out of the other man's shoulder, and he weakly tries to reach for it in your hands before you plant a boot on his visor so hard that the plastic cracks. Turning, you hurl it at Price's attacker, landing it between his shoulder blades. The man grunts, goes down to one knee, and you watch as Price secures a hand on his jaw, on his helmet and yanks his head abruptly. The resounding crack as a result has you tense, face grimacing as the guard's arms fall limp at his sides and he slumps. Dead.

You slump against the wall, chest heaving, blood splattered, hands roaming over your vest to make sure you still have your weapons and ammunition, searching for an injury you missed. Yet your gaze snaps to Ghost as he walks over to the soldier with the cracked visor. The man gives your lieutenant a wheezing, whimpered plea, only for Ghost to raise his weapon and fire once into his skull, putting the man out of his misery. Silence settles over the hallway, the last of the smoke dissipating in the carnage the three of you have left.

"Sloppy." Ghost tells you flatly as he helps you to a stand, your legs finding their strength once more. "We need to work on your close combat skills."

You resist the urge to snap at him, feeling adrenaline pump with poison through your blood. "Let's survive first, LT." You tell him instead, and Ghost nods before turning to Price. You look between them as the men meet eyes, a wordless recognition and meaning passed through their stare.

"Broken?" Ghost asks, and despite the flatness of his words he still manages to convey his relief and concern at the sight of his captain

"Ask me when I'm in Hell." Price huffs in return, and despite the bruising on his face you swear you can see him pull a smile.

"I'll see you there then." Ghost quips, raising his hand and offering Price his pistol. The captain takes it, holds it gently to check the number of shots left before he nods, turns to you.

"You escaped." He states, rather than questions. "How?"

"Answers later." You tell him, once again lifting your weapon to your hands, widening your stance in preparation of Ghost's orders. The lieutenant catches your eyes, gives you a terse nod before shifting to address you both.

"We need to move. Rookie, watch our six." With that he raises his own automatic, takes a stance ahead of you and Price, allowing you to flank the rear and watch for any signs of reinforcements coming up behind you.

"Soap will meet us up top." Ghost murmurs darkly as the three of you approach the stairwell up from the basement, hovering around the corner. "Nikolai and Gaz will provide ex-fil in the heli."

"You put Gaz in a chopper?" Price asks, the humor in his voice veiled by the gravity of your circumstances.

"Is now really the time?" You hiss, once more checking your gear to ensure all your ammo and weapons are in place. "Shit, left my knife."

"Leave it." Ghost orders, using a hand to brace Price on the wall as the captain grunts in pain.

"It's my favorite." You grumble with annoyance but make no effort to go back and retrieve it.

"Ghost, be advised." Soap relays over the comms, voice low and grave. "Enemies moving in on your position. Think they know we're here."

"Are the stairs clear?" Ghost asks in return, but before Soap can speak next there's a shout from the top of the stairs and something clatters down the steps.

"DOWN." Ghost bellows, reaching for the grenade and lobbing it back towards its sender before hunching down beside you and Price. The resulting explosion has the world shake and hum around you, the smoke filling your nostrils and your ears ringing in the aftershocks.

When you come to next, you can hear shots echoing down the stairs as the soldiers up top open fire on you all. Shielded by the wall, you watch the bullets pierce the plaster at the bottom of the stairs, creating holes where your flesh would be had you not been paying attention.

"Rookie!" Ghost barks, and you follow his hand gesture, scooting past Price long enough to unload your weapon at the men up top, relishing the cry of hurt at finding your target. Ghost takes the opportunity of the resulting gap, darting across the base of the stairs so both of you flank either side. You watch your shots, darting out long enough to shoot, find your target, and then make your mark. It takes little time, but even in the moments that follow you find yourself yelling into the radio towards the Scot on the other end.

"Now would be a really good time for that diversion, Soap!" You shout, and whatever Soap says next is swallowed by the resulting gunfire that rains down on you all.

Eventually there's the sound of a thud as the last of the guards slumps to the ground, and you force your way up the stairs behind Ghost and Price, weapon raised and breathing leveled. The deadly focus of a soldier engulfs you now, dreams and nightmares forgotten, not even pausing to look at the bodies you step over, their dying breaths coloring the bottom of your boots red.

"Gaz, get that helo ready." Ghost growls at the sergeant, to which Gaz clips an affirmative just as Ghost turns his attention to Soap. "Soap, how copy?"

Silence. Then, in the near distance, an explosion. It shudders the floor under your feet, makes dust fall down from the ceiling and coat a thin coating of gray over your gear. You can hear the distant crackle of something burning as smoke coils up into the midnight sky.

"That should keep them occupied." Soap chirps, perhaps a little too gleeful.

"The hell did you do?!" You shoot back, following quickly behind the two officers in front of you, sweeping behind to check your six.

"Set fire to their supply depot." Soap responds smugly before his voice turns serious once again. "I'm moving in on your position. RV in five."

"Check your shots." Price reminds you both, to which you and Ghost nod, continue to press forward. It isn't long before you encounter another squadron of soldiers in one of the hallways, this one more heavily armed than the ones before. When you lean out to shoot, you can see the hard exterior of a riot shield keep your shots at bay.

"Shit." You curse, leaning back to reload. The stairs to the roof aren't far beyond, but the hallway before you is choked with soldiers that manage to press closer towards you all, closing the distance. You pull a grenade from your vest, yanking the pin with your teeth and lobbing it down the hall, covering Price from the implosion that makes your teeth chatter with the impact. Yet it only slows the remainder of the force ahead of you all, doing nothing to eliminate the obstacle ahead of you.

"We're going to get flanked." You yell to Ghost above the gunfire, but the lieutenant doesn't respond, focused on his own task at hand, rapidly reloading and trying to shoot anyone who gets too close.

True to your warning, you hear a shout from the hallway behind you, spinning on your heel to shoot at the head that pops around the corner.

"We're being boxed in!" You bellow to Ghost and Price, only for the captain to flatten you to the wall, moving you behind him so he can empty a few rounds at the next figure to come around the corner.

"Keep your head, Rookie!" He yells over the chaos, voice garbled with the injury to his chest. You do, you try, but with enemies on both sides you feel the temptation of panic threaten to rise inside you, obscure your focus into a deadly distraction. You force it down, remind yourself the three of you have been in far worse scenarios than this.

"Soap!" You bark over comms instead, bending your head to your radio for just a moment before you lean out to shoot once more, draw back as a bullet flies inches from your head. "Soap, what's your status?"

The other end of the hallways explodes.

Ah. That would be him then.

"MOVE UP!" Ghost thunders, and you wait until Price is past you before firing several parting shots to the soldiers behind you, rounding the corner and crouching to avoid the lingering shots fired overhead. You can hear panicked shouts from the KorTac operatives now, as they realize they've been flanked, spinning in both directions to try and fend you all off. Yet it's useless, because as soon as they try to turn from Soap's line of fire they only manage to expose themselves to yours, their screams cut off as you find your mark.

Once the hallway is empty the three of you quickly make your way forward, finding a breathless Soap on the other side, offering you a grin smeared with grenade dust.

"Good to see you alive and well, Cap." He offers to Price. Price doesn't have time to respond, instead jerking his head to the soldiers coming up behind you. The Scot takes the order wordlessly, falling in beside you as Ghost and Price take point, pushing towards the stairs that lead up to the next floor.

The resulting minutes that follow are fueled only by the ring of gunshots, the ringing aftershocks of grenades, barked orders and clicking sounds of reloading weapons. You forget the past and future, allowing the battle worn focus of your training and experience to fall over you, eyes wide and focused, taking in the smallest miniscule movements and allowing your aim to ring true.

It isn't long before the four of you reach the ladder to the roof. Ghost signals for you to go first and clear the way, and as you ascend through the shaft you can hear the gunfire below mute into a distant ringing. It takes a moment to reach for your bolt cutters, balancing precariously on the rungs of the ladder as you snap the lock to the hatch in two. The entrance swings open with a groan, revealing the dark, roiling clouds hanging high above in the heavens.

Almost there. You remind yourself with a breath of cold air. Just a little longer.

You make sure to help Price up onto the flat surface of the roof, where you can hear the distant thump thump thump of a helicopter's blades beating distantly at the air. You allow yourself a single moment of relief before your ears attune to shouting below the building. Price catches your eye, and without even being asked you fall in, planting yourself to the edge of the building and adjusting your rifle so you gaze down onto the pathways connecting the buildings. You can see soldiers scurrying, hurrying to the building you're atop of, barking orders and racing to the burning supply depot that licks orange and bright against the black sky.

Flat on your stomach, you adjust your rifle and find your targets, watching as KorTac soldiers jerk, drop to the ground in a violent splash of crimson. You can hear chatter over the radio, but it dims to a mere hum as you fully immerse yourself into your specialized skill set, plucking enemies off the map one by one with unerring, precise calculation.

Yet then you see the glint of a scope, one that catches the light of the burning building nearby, a single warning before the other sniper finds you in their sights.

You roll out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding the bullet that chips the brick of the building next to you. It takes a moment to adjust, and as you roll back to focus, you can see the figure aiming up at you from another rooftop. Dark hair, lean build, kohl darkened eyes gazing at you from her own sniper nest.

Roze.

You feel a snarl tugging at your lips, aim once more at her, but your aim is off as you once more duck to avoid her own shot at you. Even so, there's a distant thrill of excitement that pulses through you, wild and shuddering with a bright, biting taste of adrenaline.

"Been a while since I had a sniper shootout." You mutter to nobody in particular, allowing yourself an untamed smile, eyes bright with fixation. You narrow yourself to the scope focused on the woman opposite of you, finger hovering over the trigger as the crosshairs fall onto her own mirrored expression.

You don't get the chance, because suddenly the distant whir of the chopper gets loud, and the roof Roze is on explodes into a trail of dust as the turret of the helo turns on the enemy there. You think you see Roze vanish into a puff of soot, but don't stay long enough to find you, shouldering your weapon and raising yourself up to get ready for exfil.

There's a shout from the ladder, and you watch as Soap tumbles back from the hatch with a cry mixed with pain and outrage, his back hitting the gravel with a crunch. He curses, quickly tries to right himself, and as he stands he curses again, balancing awkwardly on one leg. You watch as blood oozes from the hole in his pants and he snarls at the enemies who left it there.

"Bloody fuckin' bastards." He seethes, but somehow manages to shut the hatch once Ghost follows, preventing any pursuers from following. You can barely hear him as the chopper angles down, lowering onto the rooftop and beating the air around you into a gale.

"Everyone on the chopper. NOW." Price bellows despite the choke in his chest, and despite his injuries he tries to be the last one on, covering your retreat as you tumble onto the helicopter floor. Ghost none too gently forces him to follow, knocking Price into your arms as you scramble to catch him, holding him fast just as the chopper raises itself off the roof.

"Get us out of here, Nik!" Gaz shouts over the noise, his hands still secured to the turret that leans out the side of the chopper. You flinch, duck, doing your best to cover Price as a few stray bullets ping the side of the chopper as you all lift off. The noise of the turret beside you only continues to deafen your senses, Ghost kneeling beside it and offering his own parting regards to the soldiers far below that try to bring you down.

"RPG!!" Gaz hollers, and the chopper angles severely to avoid the rocket that narrowly misses one of the blades. You feel yourself begin to slide backwards with Price in your arms, and manage to catch hold of one of the ropes, gripping tight with a yell, trying to prevent yourself from falling backwards further. You can hear Nikolai curse vividly in Russian, securing the controls before the bird goes into a tailspin. Even so, you can't help but glance over your shoulder, staring with a horrified gaze at the tilting earth that spins dizzily on the other exit of the heli.

When the chopper finally does even out, you hear the final, dull remaining bullet pings graze off the exterior of the heli, until they too fade to silence, and the only thing left is the urgent beat of the blades above you all.

It's only then that you manage to catch the gazes of the men around you, chests heaving, wild eyed, disbelieving as the adrenaline continues to thrum high in their veins.

"Steamin' Jesus." Soap offers in the silence that follows, grazes a hand over his face and stares first at you, then at Ghost, Gaz, until his eyes finally land on Price. Yet his smile cracks at the wild shock there, eyes dancing and bright, almost bewildered in the chaos of his thoughts before he asks you all: "Tha bloody hell was that?!"

As if those are the words needed, you watch as Gaz slumps into the seat beside him, head tilting down to his chest as he loudly declares "I am never, ever, ever getting on a fucking chopper again."

It startles an almost manic laugh from you, your hands still tucked under Price's arms, blinking and trying to quell the like-minded disbelief from your own mind.

"Who's hurt?" Ghost asks, and you all list an observed catalog of injuries. Bruises, scrapes, bullet holes, but all of you alive, whole, narrowly escaping the jaws of certain defeat intact. There's a pulsing, almost deranged relief between you all, one that sings loudly between gasping pants and heaved breaths.

"We did it." You breathe at last to Price, who has yet to straighten from your lap. His eyes are scrunched, forcing himself to breathe through the hurt radiating from his chest. You can see his chest rising with stuttering inhales, but even so your captain manages to raise his hand, patting it against the back of your palm in a wordless acknowledgement.

Well done.

It takes more than a few minutes for you to collect yourselves, thrumming with leftover, frenetic energy and bloodlust that bites down on the pain of your injuries. You hear Nikolai rumble something in Russian to Price, to which Price huffs, offers a groaning. "Da." in reply.

Finally, when he feels fit to move, you help Price stand, gently getting him strapped into a chair with Gaz's help. You seat yourself across from him, and when you finally let your shoulders fully uncoil with relief, Price catches your gaze. He taps on his headset, and you switch on your own just in time to hear him ask: "How did you know where I was?"

You blink, memories rewinding to the broad, dark figure of a hooded soldier illuminated in the dim darkness, eyes staring down at you past trails of bleached tears. His words once again echo endlessly into your thoughts, pulling at something dark and twisted and all too familiar. Yet there's warmth there, and it colors your smile as you offer:

"A little lark told me."

Taglist: (Please reblog this post to add yourself to the taglist)

@fatedeniedhope @gio-gio007 @glassgulls @sednonamoris @ohgraywardens @greatlydelirious @guyfierriii @wanderingisobel @nijiluvbot @deceiverofgodss @xasement @zwiiicnziiix @bloodyknucklesforme @kkinky @imkumichan @fluidthoughts @secre-flower @sandinthemachine @starlitnotes @00mogars @adorephina @cowanonofficial @dhns-stuff @kgbtardis @kaitlynisinfinite @thisperspective @darlingcyare @rk1v35 @classickook @smoggyfogbottom @cass-andor-junkie @uroldall @whore4dilfs @beeslythebee @the-queerpoet-collecterter @artbythedarksideedarkside @deepdreamerbouquet-world @scatter-mind001 @emrzennn @cuckoo-on-a-string @sednonamoris @azzoka @tinykaka @amp-0000 @imalovernotahater @ramadiiiisme @akir4a @ddiamondsdancing @kroowonderemporium @fuckimhere @xespresso-depressox @imtherain @fatedeniedhope @bythe-waterfountain @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @brainlessgf @mionacaped @wltneko9006 @snarkygentile @blvkwondaland @shinyportalsandthings @lilpothoscuttings @tzipora-art @nowaydin @ihatesunfl0wers @4-est @xdarkcreaturex @beesandpollen @frazie99 @kamino-mermaid @wildechildwrites @glitterypirateduck @miamia89

(If you see your url on here but it isn't underlined, it means you weren't tagged! Please reblog to the url you would like to be tagged at and check your settings to make sure you can be tagged, thank you!)

(If you'd like to remove yourself from the taglist, please send me a DM)