#i like their blue mask with the black around their eyes. i think that's nice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shotmrmiller · 6 months

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johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader

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bleekay · 1 year

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i started this waaaaay back when i first binged miraculous ladybug. couldn't get over the dynamic of superhero duo who don't know each other's secret identities but do also know each other in their normal lives, and they're in love but they aren't but they are they just don't know it.

you know, i originally was spending so much time trying to think of sokka's alter ego, and i put grey wolf in as a filler but then i realized how Sokka it was. like this other dude in a costume introduces himself like "hey, I'm the Blue Spirit" and sokka who hasn't had time to process yet that he's a superhero and is indeed the worst at naming things, goes, "oh, Blue Spirit? Hi. I'm..... Grey.... Wolf." and then zuko would be like "You just used my name as a template! You just changed the color and the creature!!!" and sokka's like "Whaaaaat! Nooooo. No. I actually had this idea before you even said anything, which means actually you are the one copying me!" and zuko demands he change his name, think of something better, but the news is there so it's already circulating and people are saying what a nice pair they make

[id: digital fanart of Sokka and Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender, split into two sections. The top section is a 4-panel comic, from an interview-style perspective asking questions individually of Sokka and Zuko, both wearing modern clothes. Panel 1 asks Sokka, “What do you think about Zuko?” He shrugs and looks away thoughtfully, answering, “Zuko? Hm. I don’t know him too well. I guess he’s pretty cool.” Panel 2 asks Zuko, “What do you think about Sokka?” He scratches at the back of his neck and looks away, blushing with a sheepish grin, and answers, ”Ah… He’s… he’s nice.” A little heart indicates his true feelings. Panel 3 asks Sokka, “What about the Blue Spirit?” Sokka clasps his face between his hands, eyes shiny and half-lidded, cheeks red, a squiggly smile on his face and hearts all around, and answers, “… LOML.” Panel 4 asks Zuko, “What about Grey Wolf?” Zuko’s face is stern, his hand balled in a fist, and he answers, “Annoying.” There’s two small captions on the bottom that read (he’s kidding) (… maybe). The bottom section is a depiction of Sokka and Zuko together as their alter egos, Grey Wolf and the Blue Spirit respectively. Grey Wolf has a wolf mask that covers the top half of his face, a skintight blue, grey, and white suit, with leather straps to hold weapons and white fur on his shoulders and wrists, as well as a fluffy tail. The Blue Spirit is in the canon mask, plus a skintight blue and black suit, with a sword strapped to his back. Grey Wolf has one arm around Blue Spirit’s back grabbing his shoulder, and his other hand is gently poking at the Blue Spirit’s cheek. Grey Wolf is grinning and has a little heart indicating he’s enjoying this. The Blue Spirit is standing with his arms crossed and a scribble indicating he’s annoyed. The background is a vague cityscape at sunset. end id]

#zukka #blee arts #sorry for the long post #i cant design a costume to save my life rip #but its more about the vibes anyway #theyre superheroes you get it

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latenightdaydreams · 1 month

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Cowboy!König x Farmer (fem pov)

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, mention of death (widow), p in v, spanking, oral

2.3k word count

Set in 1890's America

🤠

It has been exactly four months and seventeen days since your husband, Henry, passed away. The two of you decided to leave your dull city life for the excitement of the untouched wilderness. Everything had been going perfectly. In only five years the both of you were able to build a beautiful home, a big barn with animals to fill it, and enough crops to feed yourselves and sell. Success to the point of needing to hire extra hands. It was the American dream.

It’s just you and a failing farm. The work just continues to pile up and you never seem to be able to catch a break. With no other options, you set off into town looking for help. You hang fliers in the local stores and on street posts, hoping someone reliable will respond. All you can do is wait.

Only just two days later while you’re outside feeding your chickens, you see a black draft horse approaching. You place the bucket of feed on the floor, wipe your hands off on your blue jeans, and adjust your cream-colored button-down shirt before walking towards him. As you approach you notice that underneath the cowboy hat is an odd t-shirt like mask covering his face.

“I hope you’re not here to cause trouble.” You rest your hand on the pistol resting on your hip as you continue to approach him.

“Nein, no trouble, Fräulein."

His thick Austrian accent takes you by surprise. Your eyes look over his body as he gets off of his horse, taking note of how massive this man is. He looks down at you with his pale blue eyes squinting from a smile.

“I’m König,” he holds his hand out to you, “I saw your fliers in town.”

“I’m, y/n. Have you worked on a farm before?” You weakly shake his hand, your body so exhausted from hours of work and no rest.

“I grew up on one in Austria.”

You cross your arms keeping your defenses up as you two speak. There are so many questions running through your mind about his mask, but you decide to not ask. Never in your life did you think a 6’10 giant would be the one to show up.

“Well, as the post states; I can’t pay much but I can offer food and a room to compensate.”

The fact that you can’t afford to pay the standard rate to a farm hand makes you feel ashamed. There used to be three workers and now it’s only you. You can feel the heat in your face begin to build as you wait for him to reject your offer. Without him, you might not be able to keep the farm past this coming harvesting season.

“That sounds like a good deal to me, Fräulein.”

A small smile cracks at the corner of your lips as he agrees. There is a wave of relief that washes over your body. The possibility of getting the farm back to its glory days lingers in the back of your mind.

“Come with me, I’ll give you a tour.”

You turn and start with showing him the farm land before walking inside the home. It’s a two-story farmhouse, well taken care of by your husband. On the walls there are two photos; one of you and your late husband and the other of your parents. You notice König eyeing them, but he doesn’t ask about it.

Up the stairs and around to the left is the spare room. It was supposed to be a nursery, but those hopes of a family died with your husband. In the corner is a single bed and a wardrobe on the wall. It’s not a must, but it’s all you could afford.

“Here is where you’ll be sleeping.” Your eyes follow König as he walks past. His muscles are so big the ripple though the tight blue shirt he’s wearing. His thighs would be so nice to sit on. Henry was a skinny little man. You didn’t know men could be this big. “There are some house rules. No parties, no drinking yourself dumb, and please clean up after yourself.”

König places his small bag on the bed; clearly, he travels light. He nods as he looks around and then his eyes land back on you. The beautiful shade of light blue is only accentuated by the black mask covering his face.

“Ja, I promise to follow the rules. When do I start?”

“You can help me now. All of the animals are fed, but the stalls need to be cleaned out.”

“I’m on it.” König says as he walks past you. You get a whiff of his musky smell from his travels. Deep inside you feel wrong but, on the surface, you can’t help but to be aroused by the man.

You wait a moment before going outside to tend to the crops. Right now, you just need to remain focused on the farm and Henry’s vision. There is no time for men in this life.

You march down the stairs and head to the barn to grab your tools. Once you enter the door you see König with the pitchfork shoveling the animal manure, just as you asked of him. Except his shirt is now off and resting over one of the hooks on the wall. His body is glistening with sweat as his muscles flex with each movement. Trying to not get caught staring, you turn and grab what you need quickly and leave. The sound of your heart beat echoes in your ears, what is wrong with you?

The day passes until the sun begins to set. You’ve noticed that König took the liberty to go around the barn and fix things that have been broken for a while. His work ethic only makes you feel even worse for not being able to pay him more.

A few days pass, the both of you have slowly begun to build a routine. It has been nice to have him around the house, the chores no longer seem unmanageable. There hasn’t been much conversation, but you steal glances of his body everyday when he’s outside.

Today as you’re bent over planting seeds, you feel a warm hand rest on your lower back. You can feel a tingle crash over your body as you stand and turn to him. Your bodies are so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him. All you want to do is rub your hand down his chest and feel his sweat on your body.

“I can finish up; you should go inside and rest.” His eyes flicker back and forth between yours causing your heart to flutter.

“No, it’s okay—”

“Bitte meine Liebe, let me finish.”

You nod slowly. His hand drifts from your back to the curve of your rear before dropping off. The look he gives you melts you completely. Thanking him once more, you walk forward and towards the house. You turn back to look at König and see his eyes following your hips before he continues working.

As you turn the corner, you realize that you forgot your jacket in the barn. You walk back and see it lying next to König’s shirt. With your jacket in hand, you look around before grabbing his shirt. Bringing it up to your face, you take a deep breath in, savoring his scent.

“Liebling, I thought I told you to get some rest.”

König’s voice causes you to jump, accidently dropping his shirt on the ground before turning around to face him. You can’t seem to find the right words to attempt to talk yourself out of this situation; it’s embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry, I know this must look—”

“Like you were smelling my shirt.” König says with a certain cheerful tone in his voice.

All you can do is nod, you’ve been caught; the thought of him quitting makes your heart drop. Words escape you; how does one apologize for this? You pick his shirt back up and hand it to him.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat in a meek tone.

König looks at you for a while before slowly approaching you. His massive hand ups the side of your face and tilts your head back for you to look directly into his eyes. A chill travels over your body.

“That’s…very naughty of you.” His voice is almost a whisper as his other arm wraps around the side of you, pressing you against his chest.

You look up with wide eyes at his response; it isn’t what you were expecting at all. Before you can say anything, his hand squeezes your soft plump ass through your jeans. He gently grinds his hips up against you, making sure you feel how aroused you make him.

“You are simply stunning, Liebling.” König growls in your ear, goosebumps travel all over.

Both of his hands move down to unbutton your shirt, every button felt like it was taking an eternity to undo. The way he looks at your bare breasts like a hungry beast causes your pussy to tingle, a rush of desire pulsing throughout your body. He gently pulls his cowboy hat off and places it on the wooden stable behind you, pulling off his mask as well.

You see a long and deep scar that travels down the right side of his face. It isn’t a turn off for you, he’s still a handsome man. With one hand you reach up and caress the right side of his face gently, König presses his face into your hand as he relishes your touch.

He leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples while he unbuttons your jeans. The feeling of his wet tongue swirling around your nipple causes you to let out a soft moan. Your fingers comb back his messy blonde hair as you watch him with closed eyes enjoy your body.

The fabric of your jeans brush along your legs as he pulls them down off of your body along with your underwear. His large hands caress your legs from your calves up to your thighs. He pulls away to look at your full body; your eyes drop to his hands to see his erection straining against his jeans. Your eyes follow as he stands up, towering over your much smaller frame as his hands undo his pants. In this moment you didn’t feel like a widower or even the stress of the farm. It’s just you and König.

A tiny yelp leaves you as he lifts you up and holds you in his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist while he walks with you to the barn wall. His lips crash into yours in a passionate kiss. You pull him to you, deepening the kiss. He tastes strongly of tobacco and smells like sweat from working in the hot sun all day.

König pulls away from the kiss, leaving your lips wet and craving more of him. His eyes look hazy, drunk at this moment. Then you see the head of his cock press against your sopping wet pussy. His once pale blue eyes are now blackened by his pupils.

With one harsh thrust, König shoves himself inside of you. A loud moan leaves your lips as your face scrunches with pleasure. König is such a strong man that he so effortlessly holds you and moves you down on to his cock to meet his thrust.

“Y/n.” He huffs your name.

No words can even be formed as your body experiences new heights of pleasure you’ve never felt before. His cock is monstrous, bullying itself inside of you. Your short finger nails dig into and drag across his pale skin, reddened from the blistering August sun.

Animalistic groans leave König as the most pathetic mewls leave yours. His body leans against yours as he presses you harder against the barn wall, his hips bucking up rapidly like a man in heat. You feel a way of electricity as his tongue licks across the side of your neck. He covers your pulse point with his lips and begins to lightly suck.

Beads of sweat begin to drip on your body, both of you growing increasingly slippery. He gently puts you down, but quickly grabs you by the back of your neck and walks you over to a stack of hay. Not being too rough, he bends you over the stack and presses your face into the hay.

You form goosebumps across your body as he gently caresses down to your hips, grasping them firmly. His pace continues, but you feel his heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit. Your eyes flutter back as one hand reaches behind you to push his chest.

“Too much.” You whimper.

König doesn’t listen, grabbing your arms and folding it behind your back instead. He reaches for your other arm to also hold it that way, one of his hands wrapping around both of your wrist to keep them together. Your ass ripples with every merciless thrust only bringing you closer to orgasm.

You can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, a low moan leaving him in response. This is just too much. The strong build up of ecstasy radiates from deep inside of your core throughout your whole body. In response to this sensation you tremble, König’s name being the only thing you can say as you cry for him over and over again.

“Can I—” König begins to ask, but before he finishes his sentence you can feel his cock begin to pulse deep inside. His heavy body leans forward and rest on you, pressing you more into the hay. He gives your marked neck soft kisses as your body takes every single drop of his cum.

493 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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luvyeni · 6 months

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p. yanderebf!jay x fem bodied reader | warnings: mafia? it's not flat out said, mentions of sex, blood, jay is crazy | words: 0.7k ~ (738) 🦅ㆍ₊⊹

request: can i req a dark romance involving established rs w jay and reader wherein he took "i would kill for you" seriously and too far 👀

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“baby I love you so much, you don’t understand id do anything for you— fuck I’d kill someone for you.”

Hearing your boyfriend say that; you didn’t think anything of it, jay always said this, and you chalked it up as your boyfriend proving how much he loved you after sex; being a little dramatic due to adrenaline— but you were so unaware of how dangerous your boyfriend actually was, and that he was serious.

“sit him up there.” Jay ordered his jake and heeseung to sit the tied up man; who’s face had already taken a brutal beating in the wooden chair. “wh-who are you?” the man struggled against the weight of jays friends. “now that doesn’t matter does it seeing as you wont be around long enough to tell anyone.”

“jay?” he looked up, your eyes looking around the room. “oh hi princess come.” He beckoned you over to him. “come see baby.” Your eyes went wide upon seeing the bloody man in the seat, his eyes black and blue; unable to even see the white’s of his eyes. “ja-jay who is this, what did you do?”

“oh you don’t remember him, he’s the guy who hit on you at the bar last weekend, you know the fucking creep who kept touching your ass.” He said, you didn’t even tell him that, so how did he know. “how’d you find that out.”

“pretty girl, you think i allow you to leave the house in a dress that small without someone watching you, what kind of boyfriend would I be?” he said almost offended you’d think something like that. “heeseung saw everything, how come you didn’t tell me?”

“i-it didn’t occur to me, it actually slipped my mind.” You tried not to make eye contact with the man, the smell of his blood burning your nostrils. “you did this to him?” your boyfriend showed no emotions. “that?” he pointed to his face. “oh no, jake did.” He said. “did a real number on him.”

“y-you didn’t have to do this, it was no big deal.” You said, jays eyes turned dark. “are you defending him?” he said. “no-no of course not.” He smiled softly. “don’t be scared baby, im not gonna hurt you of course.” He picked up the bat that was already sitting here. “just trying to protect you that’s all.”

“that’s why to avoid all this blood shed I’ll be joining you on your outings, I never felt comfortable letting you out alone anyway.” He said. “too many creeps out there and I may not be able to kill them all.” Kill? “jay how many people have you done this too?”

“how many creeps have hit on since we’ve been dating.” He chuckled darkly. “I stopped counting.” He said, you didn’t know what to do, you loved jay; but him killing people on your behalf wasn’t something you wanted. “yo-you don’t have to kill him, he’s already beat up enough, im sure he leaned his lesson.”

Held the bat im his hand, his other hand coming up to caress your face. “that’s why you don’t make the rules I do.” Before you could say anything else, he gripped your cheeks, your lips forming a pout. “this is where you stop talking princess, understand?” you nodded, he pulled away. “good girl, when im done with this fucker , I’ll take you to a nice dinner okay.”

You didn’t say anything else, watch your boyfriend and his friends raise their bats, the man barely getting a plea out before the bats came down— his screams making you jump, covering your ears to mask the sound of his bones cracking as the bats came up and down, his blood splattering everywhere.

Jay dropped the bat, catching his breath, his face and body covered in blood. “fuck this suit was expensive.” He cursed. “princess.” He turned to you. “lets go.” He held is bloody hand out. “I got us reservations at your favorite place.” He squeezed your hand, pulling you next to him.

“wh-what about him?” jay sighed, he didn’t want to deal with this much longer. “jake, heeseung; deal with him.” He said. “me and you are gonna go take a shower together.” He said, his eyes full of hunger, even after all that he was horny. “gonna go fuck my girl and then take her to dinner.”

“you love me baby right?” He kissed your wet skin, the water running down your bodies, the water red as it went down the drain. “you won’t have ever leave me right?” he squeezed your waist, you whined. “ye-yes.”

“good princess, and now you know I would really kill anyone for you to show you.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #jay park smut #jay smut #jay park scenarios #jay scenarios #jay park x reader #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours

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screamin-abt-haikyuu · 3 months

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"Excuse me, you dropped this," you call after the boy, your voice slightly echoing in the vast Sendai City Gymnasium.

He turns, scanning the bustling crowd before realising it was you who spoke. As your eyes lock with his, the noise of the gym fades into a dull hum.

Kawaii

His eyes widen, and a light pink dusts across his cheeks, a mixture of surprise and confusion evident on his face.

Shit, did I say that out loud??

You realise you have also been gaping at him.

"Uhh I- I mean this. You dropped this. It's really cute," you say, extending your hand with the teddy bear eye mask.

He looks down at the familiar object. "Oh. I didn't realise. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for the trouble," he says, bowing. Twice.

"It was no trouble at all," you smile at him, "My name is Y/N. L/N Y/N."

"Asahi. Azumane Asahi," he responds. His voice is gentle yet deep. You notice how his long brown hair, tied into a low bun, frames his face perfectly.

"I gotta say, you have good taste, Asahi. I've seen cute eye masks before but none this cute. And it's crocheted too! If you don't mind me asking, where did you get it from?"

He seems a little taken aback by your... question? The fact that you are talking to him? You don't know.

"I- actually- I made this myself," he admits.

"You did? Oh my god that's so cool! That makes this a hundred times better!"

A shy, embarrassed smile graces his lips. It makes you want to keep this conversation going for just a little longer.

"Th-thank you so much. It was just a hobby I took up during the summer," he says, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"Oi! Asahi! Don't stand around to chit chat. We need to war-," the black-haired boy's call from the end of the corridor is cut short by a smack on the head from a grey-haired teammate. They both seem to be wearing the same black jacket Asahi is. Another black haired boy next to them seems to be struggling to restrain two boys from running in your direction.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was keeping you. You should get back to your teammates. I need to get back to my friend's match as well. It was really nice meeting you, Asahi." You're a little disappointed but you think you manage to hide it well with your smile.

"It- It was really nice meeting you too," he says.

Oh well, that's that, I guess. You start walking away, feeling a pang of regret.

"W-wait!"

You stop in surprise. You turn to face him and see he is reaching into his bag.

"I- I want you to have this," you can hear the crinkle of paper as he pulls something out, "Don't worry, it's new. I haven't used it."

Your eyes widen as you realize it is another crocheted eye mask. It is tucked carefully away in a paper bag but you can see the design on it. The little blue penguin is even cuter than the teddy bear.

"Oh no no, I couldn't possibly accept that!"

"I can absolutely understand if- if you don't want to accept something from a stranger like me. Or is it the design? Do you like the bear better? I could make another-"

"No. That's not it. This design is really, really cute. In fact I love penguins. And this is so, so sweet of you to offer. I just feel like it wouldn't be right. You must have spent so much time making this and to just give it away like this? Plus you brought it here so I'm assuming you intended to use it."

"No no, I had just put it in my bag long ago in case I or my teammates needed it. I made three of these so I have another. Please don't worry. It would make me very happy if you accepted," he bows, both arms holding out the eye mask.

"I- well, at least let me pay you for it!"

He shakes his head. "No, please. It's a gift. From me to you," he says, determined. It is your turn to feel the heat in your cheeks.

You take the eye mask from his hands, your fingers lightly brushing against his.

"Thank you, Asahi. This is so precious. I promise to keep it safe," you say, smiling from ear to ear as you inspect the adorable little creation, "and since you won't let me pay you for this, will you at least let me buy you a cup of coffee after your game as a thank you? Please?"

His eyes widen in surprise. "A-a coffee? With you? Are you sure?"

You nod, "Of course. I'm sure."

He is clearly flustered but you can see a smile forming on his lips. "I'd really like that," he finally says, his voice soft.

"Great! It's a date then," you say, grinning when his blush returns in full force at the word 'date'.

"Kawaii," you say out loud this time, a little more confident.

Steam might have started coming out of his ears had his teammates not called for him again at that very moment. He quickly gives you his number and says his goodbyes, promising to meet up with you as soon as he can. The shy smile seems permanently stuck on his face as he jogs back to his team.

You watch him go, the little blue penguin eye mask clutched in your hands, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

Before he enters the stadium, Asahi glances back one more time and flashes you the biggest smile that makes your insides feel like goop. It is too soon to say but, somehow, your gut tells you that this might be the start of something special.

Inspired by this manga panel. || Kofi

#i don't know what to feel about this write-up but i am a firm believer in telling Asahi Azumane that he's cute unprompted #he deserves it #asahi azumane #azumane asahi #haikyuu asahi #asahi #asahi x reader #haikyuu #azumane #haikyuu x reader #asahi azumane x reader #haikyuu!!#asahi haikyuu

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dem-obscure-imagines · 6 months

Text

Nice to Meet You

Jaime Reyes x Reader

Fandom: DCEU

Summary: You and Jaime have been kicking ass together for years, but you’ve never seen his face before. Hell, you don’t even know his name. That changes one night when he shows up on your doorstep, injured.

Notes: So I had a dream last night that I was in a Miraculous Ladybug situation with Jaime, so have this fic hahaha. Also I have never seen Miraculous so…idek where it came from.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader is: Female, Apollo’s champion

Being a superhero and a normal person with a normal-ish life was not for the faint of heart. You spent your days working in the local history museum, your afternoons getting whatever sleep you could, and your nights sitting by the police scanner, waiting for news of some rogue giant robot or guy with a freeze gun. As it was, you were in no position to expose your identity. Not even to your partner.

Your mission partner, that was, the Blue Beetle.

You’d been fighting crime with him for the past three years, a few times every week. It had started as an accident. He’d show up to the same crime scenes you did, helping evacuate people out of burning buildings, stopping rampaging mutants from the questionable labs popping up around town, redirecting a plane with a broken propeller. It was admirable. He was admirable.

You’d never seen his face. You didn’t even know his first name. You knew his power came from the scarab in his back, an alien symbiote that was bonded to his body. It talked to him sometimes, like a computer, analyzing things. It also served as body armor and a built in artillery of weapons.

The scarab saved his ass a lot, basically. And yours, too. You couldn’t count the amount of times he’d saved you from blows you’d never seen coming.

Which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door, Beetle’s voice on the other side of it sounding…worried.

“Suncatcher? Are you home? I…I…I need some help!”

You were surprised to hear it at all, actually. You didn’t think he knew where you lived.

Also, you weren’t in costume, just in a cropped tee and some sweats, hair pulled back and face bare. Not that your mask covered a lot of your face, but it gave you anonymity. Or at least, you thought it did.

You pushed the thoughts aside when you heard him knock again, preparing for the very real possibility that someone had cloned his voice and was using your public-ish friendship against you.

You lit your fist with power and crept towards the door of your townhouse, peering through the peephole to find…nothing. You pulled the door open slowly and looked around. Sitting on the cement outside your door was a guy with luscious black curls, and, more importantly, a giant gaping wound on his stomach.

“S-Suncatcher?” He asked, meeting your eyes, tears brimming in his own.

“Oh my God.” You dropped to your knees, looking over him. “What happened?”

“Y-you’re…?”

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know where else to go…” He confessed.

“It’s okay, hey, can you stand? Where’s Khaji?”

“Offline.” He groaned as you helped him off the ground. It was clear he’d lost a lot of blood. You closed the door behind the two of you and locked it, lowering him onto the couch.

“How long have you been out there?” You asked, assessing the injury.

“Not long.” He assured you, moving to support the wound.

You took a breath, grounding yourself before tapping deeper into your powers, sunlight lit in your palms, creeping up your arms. “Alright Blue, I need to get in there.”

“Jaime. My name is Jaime.” He told you, pain etched across his handsome features. “Nice to finally meet you, sunshine. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” You replied, too preoccupied to offer your name in return. You gently lifted the fabric from his battered torso, revealing the wound. It was pretty bad, but it wouldn’t be for long. Using the power from your patron, you extended your hand, your glowing sunlight working to close the wound with warmth and precision.

Jaime watched, his eyes wide. He stared at you as you set to work. It tingled, the spot in his abdomen, where he’d been stabbed repeatedly by a guy with a glowing green sword. But it didn’t hurt anymore. And less than a minute later, it wasn’t there at all, completely smoothed over without so much as a scar.

You turned your attention to his face, where there was a cut across his nose, a purpled bruise on his chin.

If Khaji was online, he was sure she’d tell him about his increased heartrate due to your proximity, that focused look in your eye as you soothed his pain away. But she wasn’t. That was a problem he’d have to solve later.

The glow in your palms dimmed and you met his eyes, looking relieved. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

“Nah, I think that about covers it.” He replied, still staring at you. Maybe he’d never stop. “How did you…?”

“My patron, Apollo. The god of…well, lots of stuff, but healing is one of them. I’ll leave him an offering later.” You explained. “He’s pretty chill, as far as deities go. Met him when I got my job at the museum and, well, the rest is history.”

“That’s really cool.” He said, sitting up without trouble. “I didn’t know that.”

“I guess it never came up.” You shrugged. “My name is (Y/N), by the way. Would have introduced myself earlier if I wasn’t so busy trying to prevent you from bleeding out in my apartment.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

You smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

He took in your face, seeing most of it for the first time. He smiled, eyes soft and sparkling, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re really pretty, (Y/N).”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Jaime.” You looked him over, taking him in for the first time. Warm brown eyes, a handsome face, fluffy black curls, toned build. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this under that suit of yours.”

He laughed, sheepish. “We should have done this sooner.”

“Way sooner.” You agreed. “Not the fatal wound part, of course, but…we could have gotten coffee or something.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” He murmured, leaning closer. “If I’m moving too fast, stop me.”

“You’re not.” You replied, a hand cupping his face as you pressed your lips to his. He melted at the contact, arm settling around your waist and tugging you closer to him. “I’ve been waiting to do this for…so long.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “That makes two of us.”

***

At the museum, a few weeks later, you sat at the guide desk in the center of the lobby, typing away on your laptop, researching an ancient relic Apollo was interested in, a necklace he’d gifted to the Oracle of Delphi that had gotten into the wrong hands.

Someone cleared their throat. You looked up to find Jaime there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Is this where I find the pretty tour guide? If she’s not too busy, that is.”

“Jaime!” You leapt to your feet, walking around the edge of the desk and straight into his arms.

“Hey, sunshine. Thought I’d come brighten up your day.”

“My day has been brightened.” You assured him, pressing a long kiss to his soft lips.

“Khaji, not now.” He murmured, cheeks burning red.

“Hi, Khaji.” You whispered.

He chuckled. “She says hi.”

“This must be Jaime. I’m (Y/N)’s coworker, Jess.” Your favorite coworker introduced. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. Is it alright if I steal her for a bit? I’m excited to finally see the place.”

“Oh, of course. You two have fun. I’ll put those in water for you.” Jess said, taking the flowers with a careful hand and a knowing smile.

Jaime took your hand and you led him proudly through your workplace. You loved getting to know the real him, without a mask in the way. Finally, your two lives had combined into one and you couldn’t be happier.

#jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes #jaime reyes imagine #blue beetle #blue beetle x reader #dc

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actual-changeling · 9 months

Text

I was ENTIRELY too nice in that last ficlet, and we cannot have that. Since that phrase is going to be stuck in my brain for a while, enjoy "they aren't talking" take two.

This time with more pain <3 You're very welcome.

They aren't talking.

Crowley is exhausted, Aziraphale is spiteful, and so, as they inevitably begin to orbit around one another once more, it is in a cutting silence. It hurts somewhere deep in their chests, a hollow with empty claws reaching out and being denied what it wants, what it needs.

I miss you, is written in the air between them, always a few steps apart, always far enough away to make it look deliberate, to make a point. Dark glasses cover Crowley's eyes, his face a chiselled mask of petrified longing, and the purple irises that Aziraphale returns with are enough to deter Crowley from meeting his gaze.

Blue, they were blue. He remembers. a storm-grey, summer-sky-bright, sparkling and familiar and alive—dimmed to a bleached-out violet, a hyacinth blossom on the verge of rotting.

Come back, he breathes, listening to the melodic cadence of his voice as it drifts through the bookstore, finally at home. They do not talk to each other, but they talk to everyone else; not that they had another choice with yet another apocalypse about to end them all.

Crowley's fingers twitch, his body constantly leaning and stumbling when it finds not the subconsciously expected shoulder but emptiness, and he catches Aziraphale lifting his hands in his periphery, almost reaching out to steady him.

Almost.

Angels descend, demons ascend, and it is chaos. It is plans going wrong and the sky turning red, it is running and thinking and praying. Even right in the middle of Armageddon number two, they still do not talk, distracted and frenzied now, less intentional, more habitual.

Then the world tilts, blinding white ripping through his body like it's nothing, meeting a black hole where his grace had been and setting fire to his heart.

The why, who, how, where—none of it matters, not to him, not to Aziraphale, who screams his name. His knees meet the ground with a dull crack, and Crowley blinks through the lightning bolts in his vision to see scared blue eyes, wide open and heavy with tears. Relief washes over him, his thoughts narrowing to he's back, he's mine again, he's back.

"Crowley," soft, terrified, desperate, and the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

They aren't talking.

A strangled sob escapes his aching chest, darkness swallowing him whole to soothe the pain eating away at him. He will wake later, he hopes, if just to hear Aziraphale say his name again. To hear it gentle and amused, to hear it pressed against his skin, his lips, to hear it over and over and over for all the times they did not, could not.

Aziraphale is praying. Crowley is silent.

They aren't talking.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #they aren't talking #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens 3

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 1 year

Text

your knight to the rescue

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

WC: 1.8K

warnings: cursing, creepy older man, sexual tension? i think thats it.

summary: being a plus one has its perks and downsides.

A/N: i wrote this for @alecmores my editor and friend since they did a fic for my birthday this year. a little reward for having to read all my stories and listen to me talk nonsense in chat.

also tried to make this as gender neutral as possible. so if theres something that comes off as fem presenting just let me know and ill fix it!

also used two prompts from @urfriendlywriter , forced proximity numbers 3 and 4

in the drafts since may13

masterlist / dick grayson

“please, y/n! you’ll be doing me a solid!”

“if you get on your knees and start begging i might consider throwing myself to the wolves.”

you were just joking, you would’ve done anything dick asked of you. but he got on his knees with his hands clasped in front of his face and put on his best puppy dog eyes. oh! he really didn’t want to go.

“y/n l/n, will you do your best friend in the whole world a huge favor and be my plus one to this wayne gala event?” he even shuffled closer and leaned his head against your thighs as you leaned against the cave computer.

without a thought you set a hand on the crown of his raven hair and run your fingers through the strands. “can we get a big belly burger after?” you know the gala will only have alcohol and finger food.

dick moved his head as his chin sat on the meat of your thighs so he could look directly into your eyes. “of course, y/n. what kind of friend would i be if i let you starve yourself on my time?”

“a terrible friend.”

“and i am anything but a terrible friend.” he groaned as he pushed himself from the floor and walked to the suit displays.

“sure you should be going out? i heard you groan from just getting off the floor, you might be getting old.” you followed behind with your arms crossed over your chest.

dick just threw a middle finger over his shoulder, not wasting his time to look your way. “fuck you. i’m in my twenties, this is my prime.”

“yeah, okay, boy wonder.”

dick grabbed his black and blue outfit before heading to a changing area. you lingered around and the silence slowly got to your head. your fingers bit into your biceps and looked down at your slippers.

“just… just be careful, dick.” you scrunch your face at your simple wording, “cause- cause i’m sure alfred is tired of patching you up. and- and you don’t want to look a mess at the gala… could cause some rumors or something.” rambling just so it doesn’t seem like you care too deeply for dick’s safety. honestly just saying, “i like you dick grayson, so don’t be an idiot as you’re backflipping off buildings.” would be a lot easier than what just came out your mouth.

dick stepped back into the cold cave and stood in front of you. his black eye mask was in place along with his gear all secured in their compartments. you couldn’t see his baby blues due to the white holes staring back at you, but he had a smirk on his lips that made you scuff without knowing his next words.

“worried about my safety?” he copied your arms-crossed stance. his head cocked to the side. you narrowed your eyes, “no shit, dumbass. you're fighting criminals, street level and insane.”

you rolled your lips, “i know it’s unavoidable at times, just…” you sighed, “just don’t get in the line of fire if you can.” you touched his arm before walking away and back up the spiral stairs.

in your rush to leave you missed how dick’s arms fell and his smirk vanished in a blink. hidden eyes watching your every step until you were gone from his sight.

“i want big belly burger.”

“all in due time, y/n.”

your hands tugged at the nice, but tight fabric of your black formal attire. you even shuffled on your feet, already feeling the blisters forming. you were used to loose and flowy clothing with sneakers or slippers since you worked behind the scenes.

with you knowing there would be cameras in attendance, you took extra long to make sure you were presentable and cleaned well. especially since you would be standing beside dick for most of the event, you didn’t want to look like sewer trash next to a sculpted statue.

“stop fidgeting,” dick leaned close to your ear, “you look marvelous.” his breath caressed your ear and you had to suppress the shiver it caused.

leaving the outfit alone, your hands clasped over your stomach. a more appropriate gesture than arms crossed as you stare down the boring one percenters. you could spot bruce somewhere in the distance chatting along with some people, and you could spot his fake laughing from a mile away. letting your eyes scan the room you land on detective gordon, who’s tucked away in a corner with his hands shoved in his khaki trench coat.

“looks like gordon didn’t get the dress code memo.” giving dick a hit from your elbow as you knocked your chin in the cop’s direction.

“wants a little attention. nothing wrong with that.” and something about that last part… “i’m- i’m gonna get a drink. i’ll- i’ll be right back.” and you hurried off before dick could stop you.

politely moving through the sea of people, you landed at the open bar. palms wrapping around the cool granite counter, you leaned forward and waved down a bartender. he was very handsome, but he wasn’t-

“just champagne, please. thank you.”

the flute of bubbling amber liquid sat in front of you and the bartender left to help others. you fiddled with the stem and bottom, giving the liquid a little swirling making the bubbles fizzle. you held the glass in hand as you turned your back to the counter and faced the chatting party. you needed a breather from grayson.

from the corner of your eye, you saw an older gentleman saddle up to the bar top, right next to you. to close for comfort. you could feel the air shift as he moved his arm, suit jacket popping your bubble. you stiffened, not feeling brave enough to make it obvious that he was the cause of discomfort. now you wished dick would come to your rescue and lead you away, on the other side of the room would be nice.

“may i just say,” his hand touched you, “you are a visionary.” fingers moving caused goosebumps. you had to swallow the acid rising.

“you're too kind.” fake smiled as you raised your glass. where is dick?

“are you here alone? how do you know bruce wayne?” the man questioned. moving closer, his chest almost bumping yours.

you licked your lips, “i’m a- a worker for bruce wayne… secretary. or personal assistant to mister wayne.” not too much of a fib. “and i’m here with someone. i should,” you pointed a finger at the crowd, “i should go look for him.”

the man’s grimy fingers trapped your wrist after just a step and tugged you into his body. his breathing grating against your ear and neck, “what’s the rush? i’m sure your friend can wait.”

“really, i should-“ he slipped an arm over your waist and you shut down. it’s like you were hit with mr. freeze’s ice gun.

your heart started hammering and your eyes were darting around for any sight of him. your chest was heaving, your panic growing the longer his touch and breath were on your body.

“how about we-“ “there you are, baby. i was starting to get worried.”

it’s like an angel was sent to save you from death. the chandelier lighting cast dick in a halo of blinding light. his tall stature and wide shoulders held with grace and strength. his dark black hair swept in a clean style as his piercing irises stared the man down. you heard the gasp and took a shallow breath when you felt him move away.

dick held a hand out and you grasped it like a lifeline as he tucked you into his side. arm protective on your waist and fingers splayed, it was the warmth you need after freezing to death. your arm circled his waist to pull him even closer, head falling to his chest. he even positioned himself to where you were less in the older man’s eye line, his wider frame acting as a shield.

“who’s your new friend?” dick asked. it came off playful, but you heard the undertone. he was ready to hang him upside down by his shoestrings.

“i’m not sure. haven’t been given a name.” and you haven’t. but you already have his face memorized.

the creep opened and closed his mouth. a fish gasping for water as sharks played with their dinner. you tried to give the air of innocence to compliment dick’s bomb that was slowly ticking with each second.

he stuck his hand out for a friendly shake, “dick grayson. nice to meet you…” he trailed off. waiting for the answer before he searched him up on the computer back home.

the man took his outstretched hand, “mr. cooper. pleasure to meet you.” and you saw the flash of pain over his face. dick’s grip looked like it could crush a skull.

“mr. cooper, well i hope you have an excellent evening. if you don’t mind, i’d like to steal my dance partner back.” without waiting, he walked the both of you away. you left your champagne behind without a thought.

near the edge of the dance floor on the other side was where dick planted the both of you. he held your right hand in his while his left hand settled at the small of your back. you let your left-hand rest on his strong shoulder. it wasn’t much dancing, just bodies swaying.

“thank you… for back there-“ “no need to thank me. i would do it again in a heartbeat.”

his eyes twinkled. your heartbeat stuttered.

the orchestra continued their melodic strumming and you let yourself get swept away. eyes closing, you leaned your head on dick’s dress shirt. right near his heart. the smell of citrus and pine invaded your senses and you almost got dizzy. the hand on your back pressed in harder and then rubbed along your spine.

you almost snapped your eyes open at the feeling of dick’s lips being pressed to your temple. and it wasn’t just a simple peck, it lingered. your body felt hot and you would bet ten bucks your ears were burning red. his lips moved and then he nudged his nose against your hairline as he sighed.

“i still want a big belly burger.”

your hunger broke the romantic moment.

feeling dick’s laugh through his chest and hearing the boyish noise lit you up. pressing your chin into his shirt, you made eye contact and both flashed smiles.

“wanna ditch?” “you make it sound like high school.” hands tightening. he grinned, “you're right. i think it’s time to leave.”

and dick grayson, being your knight in shining armor, led the both of you out of the stuffy venue. and he took the waiting chariot to the closet's big belly so you could stuff your face with food you’ve been waiting to scarf down.

and as you moaned with ketchup at the corner of your mouth and chugged soda, dick grayson thought you were the best thing to ever happen to him. and he would do anything to keep you safe and smiling.

...

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the-froschamethyst4 · 8 months

Text

The Badass

𖤐Pairing: Biker! Ghost x F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, slight harassment, language, creepy men, P in V, aftercare, older Ghost, age gap, drinking, smoking, kissing/making out, groping, nipple play, ass smacking,

𖤐Summary: Biker! Ghost saves college student Y/n from being harassed by some creepy older men at the bar.

————

The bar was a bit loud tonight, karaoke and someone's birthday were going on tonight. Simon Ghost Riley rolled up on his motorcycle like usual seeing the bar from the outside packed.

He rolls his eyes, taking his black helmet off and taking the bottom of his skull mask off his face. He fixes his hair and walked into the bar.

"Nice bike," someone yells but Ghost ignores them.

He knows he has a nice bike, he doesn't need people telling him that. He worked hard for that bike.

He opened the door and the scent of drunken people filled his nose. Ghost walks to the bar sitting in an open spot and ordering his usual. The bartender knew him like the back of their hand, anyone handsome like Ghost, they always remember.

As Ghost brought the glass to his lips, his side was bumped into by some drunk patron of the bar. Ghost places his glass on the bar's counter and saw some drunk male ordering probably his 5th drink of the night.

"Watch it," Ghost growls.

"Or what old man?" The patron pushed.

"Or I'll fucking pound you into the ground," Ghost threatened.

"Oh I'm so scared. HEY BABE HOW MANY DRINKS AGAIN!?" The drunk male yelled towards the large group of women drinking with a girl wearing a birthday sash over her shoulder.

"Uh~ SEVEN!!" She sassed him.

Ghost rolled his eyes and the bell over the door rung. He turns back to his glass and took a sip from his strong bourbon.

Someone sat next to him, he turns and sees a cute girl, maybe college girl? A light blue short dress, she was pulling the end of the dress to cover her thighs.

"What can I get you?"

"Whiskey sour?"

"Sure." She looks around like she was waiting for someone.

"Hey, little lady," some guy walked up to her, she flinched, she was scared and wasn't expecting someone to walk up to her.

"Hi," she says as the bartender placed her glass in front of her. Ghost was being 'nosy' and listened in just in case.

"You here alone?"

"No...I'm waiting for someone," she says.

"Whiskey sour? I didn't think a college girl like you would drink something like that."

"What do you mean? Should I know you?"

"Nah, nah, I'm just saying, I've never seen a girl drink a whiskey sour before." The girl rolled her eyes, a little annoyed that she was being talked to by some random drunk man.

The guy then moved closer to the girl, she moves back accidently bumping into Ghost. She turns to him and apologized to him.

Ghost just looks down at her. He looks her up and down, almost like taking a mental note of her.

The mans hand went to her back and then to her waist to her thighs. She looked uncomfortable, but didn't want to say anything and make a scene, but she didn't have to.

Ghost stood up from his stool and grabs the guys collar and pulled him away from the girl. Ghost opens the door and pushes the man out of the bar door.

"Fuck off," Ghost says.

He walks to the bar again and she turned to him.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he says, sipping from his glass.

"I'm Y/n."

"Cool," he says.

"Sorry, you probably are here to drink not talk," she stops talking and runs her finger over the rim of her glass.

Her fingers were delicate. She looks around waiting for someone again.

"Who are you waiting for?" He asks.

"Oh, I met someone, and he recommended we come here...I've...never been to a bar like this."

"What bars do you go to?" He chuckles.

"I mean...I'm in college, there are college bars around, they are like fun, loud music....this...this is-"

"Old saloon?"

"Yeah," she giggles.

"It's my favorite place, usually it's not pack like it is tonight," Ghost says. "I need a smoke," he says.

"Can I come with you?"

"You smoke?"

"No, I just...I just need some fresh air."

"Sure," they take their glasses and head outside, Ghost placed his leather jacket back on and Y/n grabs her light sweater following him outside.

Ghost lit a cigarette immediately stepping out of the bar, he leans on the door letting Y/n out. He shuts the door and moves to the side of the bar, leaning on the brick wall.

Y/n bends down looking at the rocks and kicking some.

"You one of those girls who are obsessed with rocks?" He asks.

"Nah, not my thing, I have a few friends who like them," she smiles up at him.

Ghost looks down at her and then seeing people checking out his bike. They weren't touching it or leaning on it taking pictures and calling it theirs.

He notices Y/n standing back up and looking at his black and white motorcycle.

"That's a nice bike."

"It's mine," he says, puffing out some smoke.

"Really? It's pretty."

"I didn't get it for it to be called pretty, I like the term sexy," he smirks putting out his cigarette. "You wanna ride?"

"Oh, I've never been on one before," she says.

"It's easy to ride, come on," he grabs his keys from his jacket and walked to his bike, starting it up and placing his mask over his face, he motions Y/n to come closer as he gave her his helmet.

"It won't fit you, because I got a big head, but it will do for now," he says clipping it together and pulling the strap to make it as tight as possible for her. "There," he says.

"How do I get on?" She asked.

"Here," he let her get on the back, then he gets on, kicking the kick-stand and starting it up. He grabs her hands making her hug his waist, but she moves her hands.

"Wait-" he moves forward without warning and she hug his waist again.

"Hold on, tight," he says.

He drives slow and then takes off down the road. Y/n hugs him a bit tight. (Don't drink an drive)

"Hey, easy," he says, tapping her hands.

"Sorry, I'm just scared."

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen, I'm a professional," he says, making her giggle.

They stop at a red light, he puts his foot on the ground and moved his hands off his throttle, his hand gently touched her knee, gently caressing her knee, he leans back, his head laying against her chest.

"What are you doing?" She asked him, worry was in her tone of voice.

"Have you ever been with an older guy before?"

"How old are we talking?"

"40?"

"A-Are you 40!?" She asked, she makes him sit up and he slightly turns to her.

"I mean, I am."

"How would your wife feel if she saw you with me on the back of your motorcycle or your kids! How old are they?! Won't it be weird that they see someone like me close to their age, on the back of their fathers motorcycle-"

"What are you talking about? I'm not married, I don't have any kids either, I'm not dating anyone, and I don't care what people think about me," he says.

The light turned green and Ghost took off again. Y/n looked at the back of Ghost's head and rested her head on her back between his shoulder blades.

Ghost drove to his apartment, Y/n looks up and saw the nice apartment complex. He pulls into a parking spot putting the kickstand down and turning off his motorcycle.

He gets off first, taking his mask off and unclipping his helmet from Y/n's chin. She takes it off and he fixes her hair.

"Helmet hair, you look hot with it," he says, her face was red and she turned her face. "Don't look away from me, come on," he says.

He opens the door and letting her walk in first. They head to the elevator and Ghost hit the 15th floor.

Ghost opened his apartment door and let her walk in.

"You wanna drink?"

"S-Sure." She says.

---------

Ghost and Y/n sat on his black couch. Both drunk as hell. Probably two bottle of Jack Daniels, some girly drinks, Mike Hard Lemonades, and 4 glasses of wine.

Y/n was on her back laughing at Ghost, in her eyes, he looked a little funny and then she sat back up and her eyes focused on him again.

"You're so hot, sexy even," she crawled towards him.

"Hey, now, kid, wait-"

"I'm not a kid," she says sitting on her knees and touching his biceps dragging her hands down to his thick thighs. "I'm in college, I'm 23, I'm not a kid."

"Well hang on, kid," he says.

He moves her hands from his thighs and starts removing his jacket and she removed her sweater.

She moves closer to him and sat on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs on both side of him.

"Kid-"

"I can leave if you don't want to," she says.

"I won't let you leave, you're drunk, I don't want to see your face on the News as a missing person, it'll be my fault for letting you leave."

"Then...have sex with me," she bluntly says.

"Kid-"

"Please," she rubs herself on his lower half, she moans and his eyes narrowed but his hands went to her butt.

"If you keep rubbing yourself on me-"

"What? What will you do?" She asks.

"If you keep cutting me off, I swear," he mumbles.

Y/n moves her hair from her face and she leans in kissing his lips, he pulls away from her, his hand going to the back of her head and kissing her more deeper and passionate.

He moves her to her back and hovered over her. Her hands went down to the bottom of her dress wanting her dress off her body, she was too hot.

He could feel her struggling underneath him. His hands went behind her back and unzipped her dress and pulled it off her body. She was only in underwear, he smirks when feeling her hardened nipple against his thin shirt.

"God...I could kiss you...all day long..." he says.

He pulls away and looked down at her barely covered body, his hands went to her panties and pulled them off her. She was now completely naked.

Her hands went under his shirt and he started to strip from his clothes. "I'll go easy on you, kid," he says.

He takes his dick pumping himself a few times, her hands go to his dog tags around his neck. He then slapped his tip against her lower half, and slowly pushed inside of her.

Her head went back and moaned.

"God, you're so tight," he mumbles. He pulls her up sitting down on the couch and placing her against his chest, her legs spread open and he bounces her on his dick.

She moans and tossed her head back on his shoulder. She looked up at the TV and could see in the reflection of herself bouncing on him.

She moans and her fingernails dug into his thick thighs, he groans of the pain of the nails digging into his skin.

Y/n tossed her head back, one of his hands went to her breast squeezing her and pinching at her nipples. She moans at his rough calloused hand pinching her nipples and rolling them between his fingers.

She loves this feeling of him touching her, feeling up on her, and fucking her. She looks over her shoulder and kissed Ghost lips. He moans into the kiss.

Ghost picks her up and takes her to the bedroom, he lays her on her back and crawled on the bed, kissing her lips, hands holding her small waist in his hands and he pushed himself back inside of her.

"AH!" She moans into the kiss, her legs were resting on his shoulders, he thrusts into her, holding her legs, and kissing her. His tongue fought with hers.

He pulls his tongue out and drags it down her chin to her chest, kissing her breasts, sucking on her breasts and nipples. Playing with her other nipple with his free hand.

Y/n squeezed around his dick, earning a soft moan from him and kissing his lips. His tongue still inside of her mouth. Sticking his tongue out now she sucks on his tongue.

He flips her on her stomach. He sits up gripping her ass, smacking her ass, his hands went to her waist.

"Holy fuck," he says as he thrusts faster inside of her. Her hands grip the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white and she felt herself close to coming.

Ghost could feel her squeezing him and with a few more thrusts, he felt himself come inside of her and with a few more, Y/n came as well.

He pulls out and Y/n collapsed on the bed.

"Come on, kid, let me get you cleaned up," he says, picking her up and taking her to the bathroom.

-------

Ghost laid on the bed, back against the black headboard. Y/n was on his right, back to him, but she rolled on her other side and looked up at Ghost who had a cigarette to his lips.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" He hums.

"How come you don't have a wife?"

"Because I didn't want to date and then settle down with someone."

"What about now, since...you had sex with me?"

"You're a kid."

"I'm 23, I'm of age, you call me kid makes me feel weird." She sits up and rubs her arms.

"Sorry...I don't know," he says, cupping her chin and kissing her lips.

"You don't know?"

"I'm not...I'm not looking for something serious, love, okay?" Ghost says.

"I understand."

"Where you hoping, I'd ask you out or something?"

"No, no....maybe a little," she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Love...when we meet again, I'll ask...but for right now, you're in college, you shouldn't be wasting your time on someone like me," he says.

She just nods and moves the covers off her lower half and grabbed her clothes.

"Where you going?"

"Home...I have a test tomorrow," she says, she fixed herself up and called for an UBER. "Thanks for the good time, Simon," she says.

Simon watched her leave his apartment. He wasn't going to chase after her, but she shouldn't be with someone like him.

---------

"Hey, I missed you at the bar, last night."

"Oh sorry, I was there but...I'm not going to lie, I got bored, the bar just felt weird and I left."

"Oh I get it, okay, we can go to the movies or something."

"How about just dinner?"

"That works, I'll pick you up tonight, okay?"

"Sure," Y/n was talking to the guy she was suppose to meet last night, she goes to her class that she has a test in.

She sits down at her desk and she looks out the window, seeing the pretty sky and something else.

The sexy bike.

"Simon," she says, seeing him leaning on his handles looking up at her in her class. He was waiting for her.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost

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shotmrmiller · 5 months

Note

Sexy secretary, youthful secretary, cute secretary and etc...

But what about a secretary (like yeoseop romance) that is in her middle old twenties and after looking for different jobs... finally found one who paid well. So she doesn't wanna lose it and became a fierce, precise, persona (hot head too).

And guess what..!? She is the secretary of John fucking Price

and maybe john didn't even want a secretary. he's a busy body, likes to be hands on his own work, right? so hes not mean, but he's not nice either. expects her to mess up because all of them do whenever they come across the pretty boys kyle and johnny who tend to be in and out of his office but her eyes are GLUED to her planner, her laptop and whatever paperwork he's given her for the day.

johnny almost goes out of his way to make her flustered but she takes no shit.

Yes, Mr. MacTavish.

Ach, call me Johnny, lass.

It would be inappropriate for me to do so, Mr. MacTavish.

hey hey and then john gets used to her, trusts her to run his day without him even being around. and one day, some average sized male with blonde hair and blue eyes comes in, flashing some black wallet she couldn't even get a proper look at, asking her in his southern drawl if she knows where john's at. all spider senses are tingling here, and she's long learned to trust her gut so with her professional, practiced smile she tells him that no, he's not coming since he's on vacation.

he hands her a card, telling her to let him know when he does come back.

it's important, sugar. we are under the impression that your boss isn't a very good man.

now she's irate, the only one that gets to call her pet names is johnny.

i will call as soon as he comes back. is there anything else?

he's barely stepped out the door when she rings up john, telling him that there was an american man asking for him and his voice takes a vicious tone she's never heard before.

you tell them anything?

she stiffens her spine and tells him that no sir. told him you were out of the country.

she can hear him exhale, in relief or something, she doesn't know. but what happens next is something she didn't expect. a sleek, black car pulls up the front and a towering, broad man with a skull mask opens the back door and tells her to get in.

she's hesitant, her moms voice ringing in her ears about stranger danger and all that but his deep voice cuts derails any other train of thought she had.

now. before i make you.

who, she thinks as she meekly climbs in the back, am i working for?

who is john price??

this was a cute idea and i got carried away sorry :}

#toni asks

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medlarmeadows · 10 days

Text

you’ve captured me (and my heart)

hero!Charlie Slimecicle x villain!reader

Synopsis: You’d think capturing and interrogating a hero would be easier what with the number of years you’ve been a villain. Turns out it’s a whole lot more complicated when the hero you captured fancies you a little.

Warning(s): slightly suggestive, swearing, a bit of sexual tension, violence (no blood, just some tripping and a headbutt).

Word count: 1.4k words

A/N: No part of me wants to admit that this emerged from the Duolingo stream. I wrote this in an hour. I am ashamed and amazed at the same time.

masterlist || requests are open!

Slime had been yapping non-stop since you’d kidnapped him midway during his nightly patrol. Even after placing a bag over his head; even after shoving him into your getaway car; even after dragging him into an abandoned warehouse; even after forcing him onto a chair and tying his arms behind his back – he refused to stop talking.

You should’ve just knocked the idiot out while you had the chance to.

Now, you had no more chance to render him unconscious because you were meant to interrogate the yapper.

“ – dude, the ropes are kinda chafing my wrists, could you loosen them a little?”

Rubbing the space between your eyebrows, you sigh wearily before yanking the bag off his head.

He looked like the typical hero in your city: a green mask obscured the top half of his face, and he was clad in a flexible, but sturdy suit of different green hues. He really committed to the slime theme.

You guess you were no different. You could see his eyes scanning your dark purple suit, which was accompanied by a cloth that obscured the lower half of your face from your nose down. What can you say? You loved your moniker Foxglove.

A light sparks in Slime’s eyes when he registers who you are.

“Ah shit, Foxglove,” he starts somewhat nervously, one foot tapping a rhythm on the floor. “We meet again, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, folding your arms in front of your chest.

“This isn’t a meeting, Slime. It’s an interrogation.”

“And a kidnapping, I noticed,” he quips, arms twitching in what you assumed was discomfort. “I know kidnapping kind of runs in villainy, but I didn’t think that was your brand.”

“I don’t really give a shit about branding,” you shoot back, cocking your head to the side. “That’s your kind of thing.”

“Yeah, hah,” he replies, a little breathy. “Heroes and branding, that’s how we appeal and gain people’s trust, I guess. Anyways, nice place you’ve got here. A little bare and dusty. You come here often?”

You squint at him. He was rambling.

The two of you often exchanged banter and insults during your fights, and there was usually an air of confidence, almost playfulness around Slime. You don’t recall a time he truly sounded nervous or borderline panicky.

You suppose you’ve never seen him under duress like that before.

Good. It means you had the upper hand.

“ – mean, it’s not a bad place, just not too homey. I could help you spruce things up! It would require the use of my hands though, so maybe we could negotiate that – ”

Snorting at his predicament (that you put him in), you interrupt his rambling by snatching one of your batons and pointing it at him threateningly.

“Zip. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

Slime’s rambling cuts short with his mouth still agape. His eyes dart between your face and the baton warily.

“What are you going to do if I refuse?” he asks, eyes wide, body fidgety.

The corner of your lip twitches up in a smirk, and you draw closer to rest the tip of your baton under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head up to look at you.

“If you refuse,” you begin slowly, trailing your eyes over his obscured features, “you’re going to be a lot more black-and-blue when I return you to your fellow heroes.”

He meets your eyes with a wide-eyed gaze, treating you to front row seats of brown speckled blue eyes. You’re surprised that you never noticed that before, though you suppose you’ve never been this close to Slime before no matter how much you tussled with him.

It seems as though you’d finally intimidated him into submission, as his breathing slows and shoulders set almost cooperatively. So, it catches you off guard when his lips quirk up and he lets out a little breath through his nose.

“Freaky, I like it.”

Frowning, you’re about to throw a remark when a hand suddenly shoots up to grab onto your wrist. A hand that should’ve been bound behind his back.

“What – ”

You don’t get any more time to react as Slime’s other hand reaches forward to shove you backwards. At the same time, his leg kicks out to knock your feet from under you.

In a second, you’re slammed with your back to the hard warehouse floor, the complete upset of your balance sending you to the ground. You hear your baton go skittering across the floor as Slime lands on top with you, hips straddling your thighs to keep you in place.

One hand is still around your wrist, while the other presses onto your collarbone.

Normally, your body would’ve kicked into overdrive by instinct and started pushing him off you, but your brain was still reeling from his comment and his body on yours and how close his face is.

“At least take me to dinner first,” Slime continues, a smirk rising on his lips.

“What the fuck,” you sputter.

Finally regaining one brain cell, your free hand comes up to jab at his throat. Unfortunately, he anticipates your attack, and his hand on your collarbone quickly slides to your wrist, capturing it and holding it next to your head, mirroring your other wrist.

It’s your turn to stare at him wide-eyed, wiggling in his grip in attempts of some futile escape plan. With both his arms caging you now, you’re stuck under his weight with no way out. The cogs in your brain were running on overdrive.

It didn’t help that you could feel every puff of hot breath against your throat when he exhaled.

You wish you could say you had some experience breaking out of this position, but truth be told, you were bailed out by another villain anytime Slime managed to catch you like this.

As though he could read your thoughts, Slime raises an eyebrow almost mockingly at you.

“What’s wrong? No friend to help you out of this one, huh?”

You glare at him before attempting to buck your hips to upset his weight, but the hero had placed himself over your thighs instead of your hips, smartly evading your escape attempt.

“Now, now,” he chides, “I don’t think we’re at that base yet. Although, it could be negotiated.”

“The only negotiation we are going to have is one that gets you off me, you bastard,” you shoot back.

Slime chuckles, much to your chagrin. But he quickly calms and turns serious.

“Listen, I’m not sure what you were going to try and get out of me, but you’ve already lost the upper hand here. So, why not we just call it a day, eh?”

You keep glaring at him.

“Will you get off me then?”

“Depends. Will you try to attack me?”

“Yes.”

“What if I get off you and take you to dinner some time?”

“Yes – what?”

You’re so caught off guard that your body slackens under him. Staring up at him, you notice something shining in his eyes.

Something like hope.

“I mean it,” he repeats. “Will you let me take you to dinner some time?”

As the two of you gaze into each other’s eyes, his grip on you relaxes slightly. Taking the opportunity, you headbutt him and slip your hands from his grip, pushing him to the side and getting up on your feet. You don’t look back at him before you book it out of the warehouse, swiftly pulling yourself up into a ledge on the side of the warehouse he wouldn’t be able to notice you on when he came out.

Seconds later, Slime is sprinting out of the warehouse, scanning the immediate area for you. He chuckles a little before cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling:

“You never said no!”

You roll your eyes, holding in a scoff as you watch him leave, figuring his way back to the city centre.

You’re not sure why you remain there, on the side of the warehouse. But you sit there and recall the events that had just happened. How he managed to outsmart you and undo his binds; how he quickly overpowered you before you could even start interrogating him.

How right it felt for the weight of his body to be over yours.

Feeling warmth creep up your neck, you shake the thoughts out of your head. There was no way you were falling for a hero, right?

#charlie slimecicle #charlie slimecicle x reader #slimecicle #slimecicle x reader #q!charlie slimecicle #q!charlie slimecicle x reader #q!slimecicle #q!slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle imagines #charlie slimecicle fluff #slmccl #charlie slimecicle fic #cc!charlie slimecicle x reader #cc!charlie slimecicle fic #cc!charlie slimecicle fluff #cc!slimecicle x reader #cc!slimecicle fluff

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cookierunauprompts · 8 months

Note

OOO I have another one that came to me in a dream! Basically the kingdom yn lives in hosts a ball which anyone can attend and yn let's say they're a maid/Butler attends and shadow milk (I'm obsessed with him right now) asks them for a dance and as they're chatting while dancing the yn notices that shadow milk knows a bit more about them than he should and as the dancing goes on he becomes more dominant practically not letting yn step in their own two cookie feet! And as the music stops a dread suddenly dread enters the dance floor and the only thing yn remembers happening after that is shadow milk leaning down to their shoulder and whispering something before they passed out.

bestie you are literally tickling my silly brain right now, also i may have diverged from the prompt a bit and just made the thing a whole little fic instead of a prompt like I'm supposed to be doing.

Request Prompt #8 - 💓

Reader is fem btw, popping this one under a cut because it is LONG

" Princess- No, Reader Cookie. Do you even realize how foolish you're being right now?" Your best friend and private advisor warned as they followed you around your room. " You father explicitly forbade you from going to the ball tonight! if he recognizes you there then I fear you may never leave your room again!" " He can't just expect me to miss out on every important social event until he deems me 'worthy enough to be queen'!" You argue back, already grabbing your masquerade mask and dress. " Besides, my mask is enchanted! There's no way he'll know it's me." You said, holding up your supposedly enchanted mask. " I wasn't aware of how far you planned this... to even sneaking out to purchase a dress for the ball beforehand." Your advisor mumbled in an exasperated manner, you simply just nodded along with their words. Truthfully, you'd gotten the dress and mask as a secret gift upon your windowsill one day. you'd originally planned to sneak out as a waiter... but actually partaking in the festivities sounded a lot more fun. " Oh calm down Crab Claw Cookie," You giggled. " It'll all be fine, I'm still a queen-to-be no matter what my father says. I am his only child after all, and it's not like anyone will be marrying him anytime soon." You spoke with a dismissive wave of your hand, you could still feel Crab Claw Cookie's worried eyes upon you, but you'd be fine, right? Plus, there was that odd dream you had a few days ago. A strange, shadowy cookie had appeared in the darkness, offering to give you your freedom in exchange for what you valued most. You had accepted, not thinking much of it at the time, but now that you thought about it... the dress had appeared once you woke up. And then there was the fact he'd said that he'd come to collect the other part of the deal at a later date. You shook your head, you should just continue to get ready. You have a night of freedom to attend to!

-✢-

The ball was in full swing, and yet here you were sitting off to the side. Why weren't you on the dance floor dancing away with the other cookies? Simple, you were completely unprepared for this kind of event! Because of your father and his overbearing nature, he never allowed you to attend any social events when you were younger. You must have gotten so used to your isolation that you had no idea how to actually interact with real people...! Crab Claw Cookie's social interaction simulations paled in comparison to the real thing... And maybe you were scared of your father noticing and recognizing you in the crowd. In short, you were completely lost. " Oh?" You here a voice speak, and looking next to you you can see a Cookie in quite the fancy blue and black suit, his white and blue haired mostly combed back into a sophisticated style while some covered his left eye. The eye that was uncovered was a rather nice shade of blue, like the ocean illuminated by the light of the full moon, or perhaps a blue moon? The mysterious cookie smiled at you, and you took note that it was rather cat-like. " What's a lovely girl like you doing over here on your own? Shouldn't you be having fun and dancing like the rest of the cookies here?" He asked with a tilt of his head, the playful grin never leaving his face for a moment. You hesitated before you let out a sigh, deciding to air your grievances to the stranger. Because isn't everyone a stranger at a masquerade ball? And yet, there was something familiar about him... " It's just that... I've never had the chance to go to a proper ball before. And now that I'm here, I have no idea what to do..." " Is that so?" The cookie mused with a hum, soon extending his hand after a moment. " Well, why not come dance with me? I can show you the ropes if you don't know how~" He offered, his expectant gaze imploring you to take his hand. So, and almost without question, you place your hand in his. Letting him lead you to the dance floor. The waltz was pretty simple, the music changing to signify that the current song was meant to be waltzed to. You knew how to waltz, but you still let him take the lead despite the fact that you( if only slightly) were the taller of your pair. It wouldn't hurt to strike some quiet conversation, right?

" It's so... odd." You mutter, your soft words having caught the ear of the cookie you were dancing with. " Hm? What is?" He asked, staring up into your masked eyes. Something about his gaze felt as if he were searching your very soul... But that was just a weird feeling, it was nothing. " It's just that..." You look down at your feet, yet a subtle movement from your partner caused you to make eye contact with him once again. " Who are you? I feel like I've seen you somewhere before..." You mumbled to the amusement of the other. " My dear Little Star, are we not at a masquerade ball? We aren't supposed to know who the other attendees are." He said with a chuckle, leading you further into the dance. You felt like you've heard someone call you that before, but where? You aren't sure. Are you even dancing anymore? It feels more like you're being puppeteered. You took a quick glance around, you weren't sure if the people watching you were anything more than shadows. " Princess," your partner begins, and your attention snapped back to him almost instantly like a dog hearing their favorite toy squeak. " You do know that you should keep your eyes on your partner while you're dancing, right~?" He hummed with a light giggle, taking your hands in his own. The music has stopped, in fact, you weren't even sure when it had. The entire ballroom was blanketed in shadows, the people you saw no more than silhouettes painted with glowing blue eyes. You felt like you were dreaming, hell, even your eyelids felt heavy as you continued to sway to the command of your partner. Soon enough, you lost your footing, collapsing into the other cookie's arms as you struggled to stay conscious. You could hear the cookie let out a slow, almost villainous chuckle. " Oh princess~ I've come for your half of the bargain~" He purred into your ear, leaving that as the last thing you heard before passing out.

-✢-

" Sire! Terrible news!" A pair of castle knights hollered, interrupting the king's morning. Reader Cookie hadn't even bothered to come down for dinner the prior night, even though he ended the ball early just to make time for her. If she kept up this pettiness then she would never be fit for the role of queen. " Yes?" He gruffly spoke, " Get on with it. Has another rebel group formed to usurp my throne? Is it an escaped Prisoner? It doesn't matter, we can handle all of those things." He said with a dismissive wave of his hand. " You don't understand sire!" The other knight cut in, stepping in front of the first knight. " It's Reader Cookie, she's gone missing!" It was as if a fuse had gone off inside the king's head. " WHAT!?" He yelled, almost spitting out his coffee. " What are you standing around for? Find her immediately! Her misbehavior will not be tolerated in this kingdom!" He barked out the order, with the knights saluting him and immediately running off to get to work. He slumped back into his throne, Reader Cookie was well above the age to know that her behavior was vastly unfit to be queen. Then, he heard it, that witches forsaken giggle that slowly turned into a cackle. " My my! It seems like your little princess has run off, your majesty!" The voice the laughter belonged to said in a mocking tone, with a certain jester stepping out from the shadows. " What a shame, truly!" " Shadow Milk Cookie." The king hissed, glaring at the jester with searing hatred. " You should know that you, nor any of the other beasts, are not welcome in this or any other kingdom!" He hollered, pointing directly at the beast. " Oh, your coldness wounds my heart..." He sighed dramatically, putting a hand over wherever his heart was supposed to be. " But, if you're going to be so rude, then I might as well just... not tell you what's happened to Reader Cookie." He smiled smugly, knowing that the King was falling right into his trap. " You! What have you done to my daughter?!" The king roared with frustration, which only caused Shadow Milk to laugh even more. " I swear, if you've hurt her then-!" " Then what?" Shadow Milk said with a sickening grin. " What will you do, your majesty? You and I both know that you've cared more about your kingdom than you do her, you just want her back because she's the only blood heir to the throne." He cackled at the revelation, and the horror dawning upon the king's face. " But if you want to prove me wrong... Then give up your kingdom, and I'll make sure she's safely returned." He proposed, eyes glinting with delight as he saw the hesitation in the king's stance. Oh how he loved to watch as cookies tried to decipher whether he was telling them the truth or not, not a single one had managed to catch him in a lie before it was already far too late. Such are the perks of practically embodying deceit, he supposed. He turned on his heel, waving goodbye to the king. " I'll give you a day to think it over. Either give up your kingdom and have your daughter returned to you... Or fail her for the last time, and live with the guilt." He left without another word, fading back into the shadows.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run au prompts #crk #shadow milk cookie #cr kingdom #beast yeast #cookie run x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #in case you're wondering whether Shadow Milk was lying to the king or not... He was telling a white lie #Reader cookie is fine btw. She's chilling in Shadow Milk's domain #might make a continuation later...#might also draw?? from this au?? who knows

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